Alina,” he began at dinner, “what money did you use to buy gifts for your mother? A dress, a certificate, a photo album… Am I right in thinking it was your own?”
“Yes,” she replied gently. “I’d set some money aside in advance. I ordered the dress two months ago, and I got the spa certificate at a discount thanks to a friend. And the album… I made it myself: I just bought it and printed the necessary photos.”
Galina Sergeevna’s birthday was already on the horizon. She was turning 55 and decided to invite her closest circle to a cozy restaurant: her children, grandchildren, a few old friends, people she hadn’t seen in years but held dear.
Such was Alina’s mother—wise and generous. Throughout her life, she never reproached her daughter. She gave Alina gifts when times were hard—always from the heart, without conditions or demands.
When Alina was little, money was tight, and her mother compensated with warmth. Now that Alina was grown, her mother tried to make up for what they once lacked. Sometimes it was trips to the seaside, sometimes a shopping day, sometimes an outing with the whole family to a café.
Alina understood and accepted it with gratitude. Especially now, with a daughter of her own, Olesya, she understood her mother better than ever.
That’s why she wanted to create a special celebration for her: she ordered a beautiful dress in her mother’s taste, bought a spa certificate, and prepared a photo album—printing her mother’s best pictures, from Alina’s childhood to Olesya’s first steps. Her desire to give her mother a beautiful, memorable evening was immense.
She carefully packed the gifts into a box, thinking only: “Mom will be so happy…” But right before the celebration, the day before, something unpleasant happened. Alina’s husband, Pavel, looked irritated and distant.
“Alina,” he began at dinner, “what money did you use to buy gifts for your mother? A dress, a certificate, a photo album… Am I right in thinking it was your own?”
“Yes,” she replied softly. “I’d set some money aside in advance. I ordered the dress two months ago, and I got the spa certificate at a discount thanks to my friend. And the album… I made it myself, just bought the album and printed the photos.”
“That’s all very nice. But two years ago, you didn’t do anything like that for my mother.”
Alina remembered that time. Indeed, for her mother-in-law they had only bought a jewelry store certificate because Pavel had insisted on a pricey gift for his mother, Olga Ivanovna.
“Well… we bought a thirty-thousand-ruble certificate. All my gifts this year cost less than that. I don’t see the problem.”
“Maybe so, but your effort for your mother annoys me. You bought gifts for her, but didn’t chip in for mine! Why don’t you ever make that effort for my parents?”
“Perhaps because they’re yours. Besides, I’ve only been back at work for a year and a half. Where was I supposed to get the money? I was on maternity leave,” Alina replied calmly.
“So what?” her husband shot back.
“So nothing. If you want, you can buy all the gifts you want for your mother. But this year I wanted to spoil mine. She’s helped us so much and still does.”
“Are you saying my mother doesn’t help us?”
It wasn’t that Olga Ivanovna never helped, but it couldn’t really be called support. She’d drop by, take the granddaughter out for a couple of hours, and that was it. There was no financial contribution from his parents.
“I’m saying I love my mom and want to give her something heartfelt. That’s all. Let’s drop it, I’m tired and want to sleep,” Alina yawned and headed toward the bedroom.
Pavel stayed at the kitchen table, watching her leave, unable to accept it. This sense of unfairness toward himself and his parents gnawed at him. Rationally he knew that every trip and big purchase had also benefited Galina Sergeevna, but he didn’t want to admit it.
Pavel muttered a few more words under his breath, pushed the chair back noisily, and went to bed. He had expected Alina to say something conciliatory, to apologize like she had before, but she said nothing. Not because she was proud, but because she truly felt no guilt. She had done what she believed was right. And to apologize for showing love to a mother who had rescued their family time and again seemed absurd.
The next morning, Alina rose as usual—quietly, so as not to wake anyone. She got herself ready, made breakfast, then dressed Olesya for kindergarten. After saying goodbye to a sleepy Pavel, they left.
The day passed full of errands and thoughts of the upcoming celebration. She wanted everything to be beautiful, to make her mother feel loved.
In the evening, after they put Olesya to bed, Alina carefully took some clothes from the wardrobe. For tomorrow, she chose a soft pastel dress for herself and an adorable matching one for Olesya. For Pavel, she laid out a gray shirt that paired perfectly with his trousers. Everything looked harmonious.
“What’s with the masquerade?” he smirked the next morning, seeing the prepared clothes. “I’m wearing a white shirt. Save these trendy tricks for someone else.”
“As you wish,” Alina replied calmly, though she felt hurt—not because of the shirt, but because of his general attitude, as if none of it mattered.
The restaurant was beautiful. White tablecloths, elegant table settings, soft music, and the fragrance of fresh flowers. Guests were smiling, hugging, and chatting. Galina Sergeevna looked stunning, glowing from within.
Pavel immediately settled at the table, sprawling in the chair like a lord, short of asking someone to take his coat and hat. Alina, holding Olesya’s hand, approached her mother. She handed over the gift box with care but without theatrics.
“Thank you, my dear,” Galina Sergeevna smiled and embraced Alina. “I’ll open it later, all right? I want to savor the moment.”
Alina nodded, and just then, her phone buzzed in her purse. She glanced at the screen—it was Olga Ivanovna.
“This is definitely not the best time,” Alina thought, but she answered anyway.
“Yes, Olga Ivanovna?”
“Hello, Alina. I wanted to send congratulations to your mother. May she be healthy! After all, she helps you so much, right? Not like us. You only care about money, and we, poor as we are, aren’t welcome at the table.”
“What are you talking about?” Alina stepped into the restroom, only there able to raise her voice. “What does poverty or being unwelcome have to do with anything?”
“Oh, it’s got everything to do with it. Pasha told me all about how you arranged a celebration for your mother.”
“I didn’t arrange anything. Mom booked the restaurant herself. I honestly don’t understand what this is about.”
“It’s about this, dear: you’ll have to work harder to stay on good terms with me if you want to keep your marriage. You know how I can separate you and Pavel with a snap of my fingers,” Olga Ivanovna said with a triumphant smile.
“Really? Don’t bother. I’ll take care of it myself if you and Pasha can’t live peacefully. Tomorrow he’ll come to you with his things. After all, we live in my mother’s apartment,” Alina snapped back.
“Wait!” Olga Ivanovna’s tone changed. “That’s not what I meant.”
“What then? You just wanted to insult me and my mother and get away with it? Pavel has been crossing the line lately and behaving terribly. I can be patient, but patience has its limits.”
Alina hung up, looked at herself in the mirror, adjusted her hair, and returned to the guests. Outwardly she was friendly, smiling, pouring juice for Olesya, chatting with her cousin, but inside she was boiling.
Barely ten minutes after she returned to the table, Pavel had already downed a glass of wine, then another—“to Mom,” then “to the birthday girl’s daughter,” and then simply “to good company.” He joked and laughed loudly, as if he were carefree and single.
When an unfamiliar woman in a glittering, tight dress approached and asked him to dance, he didn’t hesitate. Worse, he even winked at Alina with a smirk, as if daring her. Alina said nothing, just met her mother’s eyes. Galina Sergeevna frowned, but Alina gave a barely perceptible nod—everything’s fine.
“Don’t ruin your evening,” she told herself.
Olesya, delighted, ran between the tables, twirling near her mother, thrilled with the candy, balloons, and beautiful setting. It was her celebration, too—she adored her grandmother and wanted her to be happy on her birthday.
The party ended late in the evening. Everyone left in good spirits, and as they approached home, Pavel announced,
“I’ll grab a couple of beers. For the mood.”
Alina said nothing, just locked the door behind her. She helped Olesya change, gave her pajamas, and tucked her into bed. Then she went to the kitchen and sat silently at the table.
For the first time in a long while, she didn’t feel fear or anxiety. She felt calm. That moment when everything inside settles, like thick fog clearing—when you see clearly that it’s time to move forward alone.
When Pavel started rattling the handle and ringing the bell outside, Alina didn’t open. She walked to the door and said,
“Stay at your mother’s tonight. You’re closer to her anyway.”
“Are you out of your mind? Open the door!..”
“No. And don’t call. I won’t open the door for you anyway.”
She heard him curse, then footsteps going down the stairs.
Alina locked all the bolts, turned off the lights, and went to Olesya’s room. Her daughter was already almost asleep, and Alina lay down next to her.
That night, for the first time in a long while, Alina allowed herself to be honest not only with others, but also with herself.
She woke up surprisingly refreshed. For the first time in ages, she had slept soundly, without anxious dreams or sudden awakenings. Beside her, Olesya was breathing softly. When the little girl opened her eyes and saw her mother still lying there, she was surprised:
“Mom, did you sleep with me?”
Alina smiled and stroked her daughter’s head.
“Today is a special day, sweetheart. That’s why I slept with you.”
Olesya, not fully understanding what her mother meant, yawned happily and stretched.
Pavel didn’t call. Not in the morning, not later. And though his silence was strange, it was understandable.
The phone rang closer to eleven. It was her mother.
“Sweetheart, how did you get home last night? Everything okay?” Galina Sergeevna’s voice was warm, as always. “I just wanted to thank you for yesterday. It was a wonderful evening. And the gifts too, you moved me so much…”
“Mom,” Alina sat on the edge of the bed, “I wanted to tell you something… I’ve decided to divorce Pasha.”
“You know, I’m not surprised!” her mother replied after a short pause. “He’s not your person, dear. Too immature, too fragmented for his age. And you were always beside him, convincing yourself it wasn’t so bad. That’s not living.”
“That’s exactly what I realized too. I don’t want to convince myself anymore. I don’t want to live next to someone who believes he’s the most important person in the world.”
“And you’re right, Alina. Don’t be afraid of anything. You’re strong, intelligent; you have me, you have Olesya. Everything else is secondary. We’ll manage!”
Olga Ivanovna, however, was furious. Pavel had shown up drunk at her place at two in the morning, reeking of alcohol and wounded pride. First she scolded him, then listened to his complaints, and by morning, unable to contain herself, she showed up at Alina’s door.
She knocked for a long time, loudly and rudely. Alina looked through the peephole and simply didn’t open. Everything that needed to be said had already been said. There was nothing more to discuss.
But Olga Ivanovna wasn’t about to give up:
“You wretch! Who are you without my son?! You won’t last a day alone! He tolerated you, and you threw him out! Disgrace! Brainless girl!”
Alina calmly leaned against the wall behind the door, listening as a neighbor from the fifth floor came out and asked angrily:
“Ma’am, do you have any decency? People are sleeping! Should we call the police or will you leave on your own?”
“I came to see my daughter-in-law!”
“And she clearly doesn’t want to see you. And neither do we, for that matter.”
A couple of minutes later, Olga Ivanovna left. At that moment, Alina exhaled. That was it. The line was drawn.
The divorce process went quickly and without drama. Pavel visited Olesya, but otherwise disappeared from Alina’s life. And she was only glad. There was no longing, no emptiness. On the contrary—life seemed to have more space to breathe.
Alina didn’t think she would never love again. Quite the opposite. She believed everything was only beginning. Now she was truly herself—calm, whole, and happy. And life really did start smiling at her—in the smallest, yet most important things: the morning sun, Olesya’s funny phrases, old songs in the car, and in the simple joy of dreaming again.
