The former mother-in-law accidentally found out how I live after the divorce. She didn’t expect me to be happier than her son.
The self-checkout was beeping annoyingly long. Lena scanned a jar of olives and reached for the terminal. Someone behind her swore.
“Where am I supposed to press, for heaven’s sake?”
Lena turned and froze. Galina Petrovna was standing at the next register, poking the screen in confusion. Her gray hair was carelessly pinned up, her jacket was worn, a cheap bag hung from her hand. The very woman who had called her a bad wife three years ago.
Two minutes of silence. Galina Petrovna was the first to recognize her.
“Lena?” her voice trembled. “Is that really you?”
“Hello, Galina Petrovna.”
Lena calmly finished the payment. The new coat fit her nicely; a genuine leather handbag lay on the trolley next to the groceries she was buying without counting the money.
The former mother-in-law looked her over — neat manicure, a rested face, none of the traces of that tormented woman who’d left their family two years ago with a single bag.
“Need help?” Lena nodded toward the terminal.
Galina Petrovna stepped back. Lena quickly paid for her modest purchases — bread, milk, the cheapest sausages. She would have not noticed earlier; now she automatically compared them with the contents of her own trolley.
“Thank you,” muttered Galina Petrovna. “Andrey used to help with these things, and now…”
She broke off and blushed.
They left at the same time. Lena headed for her brand-new car. Galina Petrovna stopped at the bus stop and glanced back at her.
“Did you buy it yourself?” she nodded at the car.
“I did. I work as a copywriter, from home.”
“Is that good? Staying at home?”
“Very good. No one bossing me around.”
The last words carried a slight emphasis. Galina Petrovna understood the hint and looked away.
The bus didn’t come. They stood in silence, occasionally exchanging glances. Lena loaded the bags into the trunk slowly. She used to fuss, rush home — cook dinner, do the laundry, clean. Now there was nowhere to rush to. And that was wonderful.
“How are you?” Galina Petrovna finally asked.
“Good. And you?”
The question hung in the air. Galina Petrovna stared at the asphalt, clutching her bag handles.
“It’s… complicated right now.”
“Andrey?”
The voice was uninterested. Galina Petrovna flinched as if struck.
“He… came back home. After your divorce. I thought — temporarily, until he finds a job.”
“And it turned out…?”
“He brought a girl. Says she’s his wife now.”
“No papers,” she added hurriedly. “They live together, but nothing official.”
Lena nodded. A crowded bus went by.
“Get in, I’ll give you a lift.”
“No need to trouble—”
“Get in.”
The car smelled of new upholstery and light perfume. Galina Petrovna settled cautiously into the leather seat, looking around.
“Sadovaya, building seventeen,” she said quietly.
Lena nodded. The apartment where three years ago she’d been washing floors on weekends, cooking borscht for the whole family, enduring the mother-in-law’s scolding about how “good wives don’t upset their husbands.”
“You still live there?”
“Now there are four of us,” bitterness crept into Galina Petrovna’s voice. “She rearranged all the furniture, threw out my flowers. She says it’s to get rid of the dust.”
The traffic light changed. Lena turned to the passenger.
“And you put up with it?”
“What can you do? He’s my son.”
“An adult son.”
“He’s still mine,” Galina Petrovna pressed her lips together. “Although… she’s the one in charge now. I don’t even make tea without asking in my own apartment.”
The car moved off. Lena looked straight ahead but listened closely.
“And him? Is he working?”
“He lost his job a month after he brought her home. The boss kept finding fault, he says. Now he sits at home, plays on his phone. And she demands money from me — for groceries, for utilities.”
“And you give it?”
“My pension is pennies, but what can I do? Throw them out on the street?”
Lena fell silent. She remembered how that woman had taught her “don’t air your dirty laundry” and “support your husband in hard times”…
“Do you know what hurts the most?” Galina Petrovna continued, as if something had burst inside her. “She’s young, beautiful. I thought he would change for her — start working, get himself together. But he’s the same. Lying on the couch, demanding to be taken care of.”
“Just like before.”
“Just like before,” the mother-in-law agreed quietly.
They stopped by the familiar entrance. Lena didn’t hurry to say goodbye.
“Do you remember what you used to tell me about good wives?”
“What did I say?” Galina Petrovna tensed up.
“That they don’t bother their husbands over trivial things. They understand and forgive. That a real woman creates home comfort and doesn’t nag.”
Galina Petrovna lowered her eyes.
“And that divorce is a disgrace for a woman, but not for a man. Do you remember those pearls of wisdom?”
“I remember,” she whispered.
“Well then. Now live with the result of your advice.”
The silence in the car grew heavy. Galina Petrovna clutched her bag handles, not lifting her head.
“Lena, I wanted to apologize.”
“For what exactly?”
“For blaming you for the divorce. For saying you were a bad wife, that you didn’t know how to live with a man.”
Lena turned toward her fully.
“And what do you think now?”
“Now I understand — you were just the first one who couldn’t take it anymore,” Galina Petrovna finally lifted her eyes. “I raised him wrong. I covered for him all his life, protected him from everything. He never learned to take responsibility for himself.”
“You knew what you were raising. It was just convenient for me to end up with him.”
Galina Petrovna flinched as if struck.
“You’re right. But I thought… I thought I was protecting my son. That motherly love…”
“Motherly love is teaching your child to live without you. You taught him to live at your expense.”
The words sounded harsh. Galina Petrovna shrank into her seat.
“Forgive me,” she said almost in a whisper. “I didn’t know what I was doing. I didn’t think it would turn out like this.”
“You did think. You just imagined the consequences were far away.”
Rain began to drizzle outside. Galina Petrovna opened the door but didn’t rush to get out.
“And are you… happy now?”
“Calm.”
“Don’t you miss having a family? A husband?”
“Miss what? The shouting? The reproaches? The feeling that everything I do is wrong?”
Lena started the engine. The sound filled the pause.
“But you loved him…”
“I loved who he could have been. Not who he actually was.”
Galina Petrovna finally got out, but she stood by the open door, getting wet in the rain.
“Maybe you’ll come in? We’ll have tea, talk… I’ll tell Andrey I ran into you.”
“No.”
“He’ll be happy, I’m telling the truth…”
“I doubt it. He probably hasn’t forgiven me for leaving first.”
Pause. The rain grew heavier.
“Galina Petrovna,” Lena said calmly, “you got exactly the son you raised. The one you shielded from all hardships, the one you allowed not to work, not to take responsibility. And I got freedom.”
“But you’re alone…”
“And it’s wonderful. Do you know what it’s like — to wake up in the morning and not be afraid someone will complain about breakfast? To buy yourself something and not listen to lectures about wastefulness? To work late and not cook dinner because ‘a man should come home to a hot meal’?”
Lena’s voice grew firmer.
“It’s called living your own life. Instead of servicing someone else’s.”
A plea flickered in Galina Petrovna’s eyes — for understanding, forgiveness, for Lena to somehow ease the weight of her guilt.
“But what should I do now?” she asked desperately. “How do I live with this?”
“That was your choice thirty years ago. Now live with the consequences.”
Lena reached for the door handle.
“Good luck.”
The door shut. The car smoothly pulled away from the curb.
In the rearview mirror flashed a hunched figure standing in the rain by the entrance. Lena didn’t look back.
At home she unhurriedly unpacked the groceries and opened her laptop. Her phone vibrated — a message from a client. New project, good pay, interesting topic. No one asked where the money came from or what she would spend it on.
Outside, rain pattered. The silence of the apartment wrapped her in warmth. No one expected dinner at a certain time. No one grumbled about spent money. No one demanded to know where she had been or who she talked to.
Lena opened a new file and began typing. Her fingers glided easily over the keys. Work she loved, in a home where she was the mistress. A life she didn’t have to share against her will.
Another message came — from a friend, an invitation to the theater for the weekend. She used to refuse such offers:
“My husband doesn’t like when I go anywhere without him.”
Now she quickly typed:
“Of course, I’ll be there!”
The rain outside grew heavier, but inside it was warm and bright. Lena smiled at her thoughts and continued working. Tomorrow would be a new day — her day, lived the way she wanted.
