“What’s going on here, son? Why is the lock broken and the glass smashed? Did that rude girl cause all this?” the mother-in-law screamed.
“You little wretch! You ungrateful thing!” Valentina Petrovna burst into the apartment like a hurricane, sweeping everything in her path. Her voice, sharp and piercing, filled the narrow hallway. “I knew this wouldn’t end well!”
Wait. Where did this fury come from? What had happened an hour before the mother-in-law stormed into their lives with yet another round of accusations?
Here is what happened.
Natasha stood in the middle of the living room, staring at the shards. Large, small—they were scattered across the parquet like icy tears. The window gaped with a hole through which the October wind rushed in, cold and merciless.
The curtain was slapping against the frame, making a faint flapping sound. The door lock was hanging by a single screw—someone had clearly tried to break it off, roughly, without any finesse.
She wasn’t crying. Her tears had run out that morning, when Gleb left, slamming the door so hard that the walls trembled. Now there was only emptiness inside—heavy, like wet sand.
“What’s going on here, son? Why is the lock broken and the glass smashed? Did that rude girl cause all this?”—that was exactly how her tirade would begin in a few minutes. But Natasha didn’t yet know that Valentina Petrovna was already on her way, speeding over in her old Moskvich.
That the neighbor, the eternal gossip Zinaida Borisovna, had already managed to call the mother-in-law and breathlessly report: “Something awful is happening over there! Noise, banging! Surely that daughter-in-law of yours is causing a scene again!”
Natasha sank onto the couch that she and Gleb had chosen together five years ago. Back then, it seemed everything would be fine. Back then, he looked at her as if she were the only person in the universe. And now?
She ran her hand over her face. Her cheek was still burning—right where he… no, he didn’t hit her. He just pushed her when she tried to block the door. “Move, Natasha! I’m sick of this!” he barked, and in his eyes sloshed something foreign, unfamiliar. Fatigue? Anger? Indifference? She didn’t have time to figure it out.
“I’m not guilty,” she whispered into the emptiness. “I’m not guilty…”
But who would hear her? She wasn’t the one who broke the window. She wasn’t the one who damaged the lock. That was Misha, Gleb’s brother, who barged in two hours earlier, drunk, red-eyed, demanding “to borrow some cash, quick.”
Natasha refused—there was no money, and besides, Gleb had forbidden giving his brother a single kopek after the incident when he drank away their last savings. Misha got angry. Started shouting, insulting her.
Then he tried to snatch her purse, where three thousand rubles were tucked away—for groceries, for utilities. Natasha fought back. He shoved her, she fell, hitting the coffee table with her elbow. A vase with artificial flowers rolled across the floor…
And then everything became a blur.
Gleb came home earlier than usual—his boss had let him leave work. He saw the scene: his brother drunk, his wife on the floor, the shattered vase. And instead of figuring anything out, he yelled at Natasha:
“You pushed him again?!
Couldn’t you talk to him like a normal person?!”
Misha, of course, immediately slipped into the role of the victim:
“Gleb, bro, she tried to kick me out! Said I didn’t belong here! Throwing your own brother out onto the street!”
Natasha tried to explain. But Gleb wouldn’t listen. He was on her side only as long as it didn’t involve his family. His mother. His brother. Whenever it concerned them, she instantly became the outsider.
“You’re always against my family!” he burst out, and there was so much pent-up resentment in that one sentence that Natasha choked on her breath. “Mom was right — you’re selfish!”
Misha smirked and, swaying, headed for the door. Gleb followed him—seeing him out, calming him down, as always. And Natasha was left alone. She sat on the floor and just stared into nothing.
When Gleb returned, she tried again. Calmly, without hysteria. She told him what had actually happened. But he brushed her off:
“Enough, Natasha. I’m tired. Misha’s my brother, he didn’t mean anything by it. His life is hard.”
But hers was easy, apparently?
Something inside her clicked then. Didn’t break—clicked, like a switch. She stood up, looked him in the eyes, and said quietly but clearly:
“If you don’t believe me… then why do you even need me?”
For a moment, he looked confused. Then he frowned.
“Don’t start. I’m not in the mood.”
“And you think I am?” Her voice shook, but she steadied it. “Gleb, your brother broke the window! He tried to take our money! Why are you defending him instead of me?”
“Because you always exaggerate!” he snapped. “Misha didn’t break any window!”
“He punched the frame when I shut the door! Look — the glass is right there on the floor!”
Gleb stayed silent. He looked at the shards, at her, at the shards again. Then he waved his hand dismissively:
“We’ll deal with it later. I need to think.”
And he left. Just took his jacket and walked out, leaving her alone with the broken window, the damaged lock, and the heavy knot in her chest.
Now Natasha sat and waited. For what? She didn’t know. Maybe for Gleb to come back and say, “I’m sorry, I was wrong.”
Or for Misha to call and confess.
Or for all of this to turn out to be a bad dream.
But instead, the door flew open, and Valentina Petrovna burst into the apartment.
“What’s going on here, son? Why is the lock broken and the glass smashed? Did that rude girl cause all this?” she shrieked without even looking at Natasha.
Gleb walked in behind her, gloomy and silent. So he had gone to his mother. Of course. Where else?
“Valentina Petrovna, I didn’t—” Natasha began, but her mother-in-law cut her off:
“Quiet! I know everything! Zinaida Borisovna told me — you threw Misha out, insulted him! Didn’t even let your husband’s own brother cross the threshold!”
“He was drunk and demanding money!” Natasha burst out.
“And you should have given it to him! Family is family!” Her mother-in-law stepped closer, and Natasha could see her face twisted with righteous anger. “Do you even understand what you’re doing? You’re destroying our family! Driving Gleb away from us!”
Natasha looked at her husband. He stood by the door with his arms crossed. Avoiding her eyes.
“Gleb,” she called softly. “Tell her the truth. Tell her what really happened.”
He stayed silent.
One second.
Two.
Three.
Then he murmured, staring at the floor:
“Mom, don’t. We’ll figure it out ourselves.”
He didn’t defend her. Didn’t take her side. Just… pulled away.
Valentina Petrovna snorted:
“Figure it out! I see how you’re figuring it out!” She swept her hand across the room. “She wrecked the place! And why? Because she has a nasty temper! I told Gleb back then — don’t marry her, you’ll suffer. But he didn’t listen!”
Natasha stood still, and inside her something hot was rising. Not anger — something bigger. Awareness. Understanding that this is how it would always be. No matter what happened, she would always be the one to blame. Because it was convenient. Because the mother-in-law had decided so, and Gleb didn’t dare contradict her.
“You know, Valentina Petrovna,” she began quietly, and there was a new note in her voice, “I’m tired of justifying myself.”
Her mother-in-law frowned:
“How dare you talk to your husband’s mother like that?!”
“I’m talking the way I’ve been taught here,” Natasha straightened. “You burst into my home and accuse me without even listening. Your son is standing there, silent. Misha broke the window, demanded money, and somehow I’m the one at fault. Always me.”
“Natasha, enough,” Gleb muttered. “Don’t make it worse.”
“Make it worse?” She turned to him. “What do you think I’m doing? Defending myself? Is that forbidden now? Am I supposed to just stay silent and nod while you all throw dirt at me?”
Gleb clenched his jaw. Irritation flickered in his eyes — the same look she’d seen more and more often lately.
“Mom is worried about us,” he hissed. “And you’re making a scene.”
Natasha let out a short, bitter laugh.
“A scene. Sure. I’m the troublemaker.” She walked to the window and looked at the shattered glass. The wind tugged at her hair, cooling her flushed face. “You know, Gleb, I really thought we were a team. That if something happened, you’d be there for me. But you always choose them.”
“They’re my family!” he exploded.
“And what am I?” Natasha turned around. “A random guest?”
Valentina Petrovna sniffed:
“See, son? She’s trying to turn you against us! A classic manipulator!”
“Manipulator,” Natasha repeated slowly. “So if I ask my husband to support me — that’s manipulation?”
“You’re demanding he choose between us!” the mother-in-law barked.
“No. I’m asking him to simply… see me. Hear me.” Natasha’s voice cracked. “But he doesn’t want to. It’s easier for him to believe that everything is my fault.”
Gleb ran a hand through his hair, clearly not expecting her to stand her ground. Usually Natasha gave in quickly — went to the kitchen, cried into a pillow, and later pretended nothing happened. But today something had changed.
“Listen,” he began in a conciliatory tone, “let’s calm down. We’ll fix the window, repair the lock. Let’s forget this situation.”
“Forget,” Natasha repeated softly. “As always. Like your birthday you missed because your mother needed help at the dacha. Like that trip we canceled because Misha suddenly needed money. Like…”
“Enough!” Gleb barked, and Natasha fell silent. Not out of fear—out of surprise. He had never shouted at her like that. “Are you seriously going to bring up every grievance from the past five years?”
“Why not?” she asked quietly. “Or am I supposed to stay silent?”
Valentina Petrovna nodded approvingly:
“That’s right, son, put her in her place. She’s gotten completely out of hand.”
And at that moment Natasha understood — that was it. The end. She could explain, defend herself, plead as much as she wanted. But they had already decided who she was. A difficult, quarrelsome, ungrateful daughter-in-law who didn’t appreciate Gleb and ruined his family’s life.
“You know what,” she said, her voice suddenly strangely steady, “do whatever you want. Fix the window. Replace the lock. Just do it without me.”
She walked into the bedroom and pulled a bag from the closet. Gleb followed her with his eyes but didn’t move.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Valentina Petrovna asked suspiciously.
Natasha didn’t answer. She stuffed the first things she saw into the bag—jeans, a sweater, a cosmetic pouch. Her hands trembled, but she forced herself to move precisely, without rushing.
“Natasha, wait,” Gleb finally spoke. “Don’t do this.”
“I have to,” she threw over her shoulder. “I really have to.”
“You know this is stupid, right?”
She walked out of the bedroom with the bag in her hand. She looked at him — this man she had lived with for five years. The man who once brought her flowers just because, kissed her on the landing, whispered that she was his happiness. Where was that Gleb? Or had he never existed?
“What’s stupid is staying where you’re not valued,” she said.
Her mother-in-law snorted:
“There it is, her true nature! Running away at the first sign of trouble!”
Natasha laughed softly:
“The first? Valentina Petrovna, this is the hundredth, if not the thousandth. I just kept enduring it before.”
She headed for the door. Gleb stepped in front of her.
“Wait. We need to talk.”
“About what?” Natasha met his eyes. “About how I’m wrong? How I should apologize to Misha for breaking the window? Or how I should thank your mother for calling me a rude brat?”
Gleb stayed silent. He searched for words and couldn’t find them. Valentina Petrovna was nodding triumphantly:
“See, son? She never intended to stay. She was just waiting for a convenient moment to run away!”
Natasha turned to her. And suddenly laughed. A short, almost hysterical laugh.
“You really believe that? That I spent five years planning how to escape?” She shook her head. “No, Valentina Petrovna. I wanted a family. A real one. But you did everything to make sure I didn’t have one.”
The door slammed behind her. And Natasha finally exhaled.
Valentina Petrovna stood in the middle of the living room, breathing heavily. Gleb stared at the closed door, his face strangely empty.
“Well, let her go!” the mother-in-law snapped. “Good riddance! You’ll find yourself a normal wife, not like this one…”
“Mom,” he interrupted quietly. “Stop.”
She froze.
“What’s wrong with you, son? I did everything for you! Protected you!”
“From what?” Gleb turned to her, and something new flickered in his eyes. Weariness? Understanding? “From my wife? The one who put up with Misha’s antics for five years? Who came to your dacha every Sunday and listened to your lectures without a word?”
“Gleb!”
“She was right. I always chose you over her.” He sank onto the couch, burying his face in his hands. “Even when I knew you were wrong.”
His mother flushed bright red:
“How dare you! I’m your mother! I dedicated my life to you!”
“I know, Mom. I know.” Gleb lifted his head. “But my wife just walked out. And that’s my fault.”
Valentina Petrovna grabbed her purse and buttoned her coat with sharp, angry movements:
“Well, if that’s the case, I don’t belong here! If you dare raise your voice at your own mother! Stay here with your broken glass!”
She stormed out, slamming the door so hard the damaged handle rattled. Gleb was left alone. In silence, surrounded by shattered glass and the cold wind from the broken window.
He took out his phone and looked at the screen. Dialed Natasha’s number. She declined the call. He wrote: “I’m sorry. Let’s talk.”
Read. No reply.
Gleb stood and walked to the window. Down in the parking lot, he saw her — with a bag over her shoulder, walking quickly, not looking back. She got into a taxi. The car pulled away.
And only then did it hit him: she really left. Not to pressure him or manipulate him. Simply because she was tired of waiting for him to become a husband instead of an obedient son.
Gleb looked around the apartment. Their apartment. The wedding photo on the shelf. Her slippers by the door. The book on the coffee table — she never finished reading it.
He sank onto the floor, right among the shards. Took out his phone again, dialed her number. This time Natasha picked up.
“What do you want?” Her voice was tired, but firm.
“I…” Gleb hesitated. What could he say? That he understood everything now? That he was ready to change? But she had heard those promises so many times. “I want to fix everything.”
“Gleb, it’s too late.”
“No. It’s not. Natasha, I—”
“You already chose,” she said quietly. “When you stayed silent, when you looked away — you chose. And I’ve chosen too. Myself. Finally.”
The line went dead.
Gleb sat on the floor of the wrecked apartment and suddenly understood: he hadn’t just lost his wife. He had lost the only person who saw him not as a mommy’s boy, not as Misha’s older brother, but simply as himself. Gleb. The one who believed he could be better.
And now there remained only broken glass, a shattered lock, and a cold wind reminding him that some things cannot be fixed.
A week later, their neighbor Zinaida Borisovna would tell the entire building:
“Imagine, he lives alone now! And she, they say, is renting a place on the other side of the city — and looks… happy. Who would’ve thought!”
And the truth was simple: sometimes leaving isn’t weakness.
Sometimes it’s the only way to stay yourself.
