— December 30th, by six in the evening, you’re to be at my place. The table needs to be set, lots of guests are coming, — her mother-in-law barked orders over the phone, but Alyona didn’t answer.

— December 30th, by six in the evening, you’re to be at my place. The table needs to be set, lots of guests are coming, — her mother-in-law barked orders over the phone, but Alyona didn’t answer.

— So listen to me carefully, — Polina Markovna’s voice sounded as if she were issuing commands at a military parade. — December 30th, by six in the evening, you’re to be at my place. The table needs to be prepared, lots of guests are coming. My entire women’s club will gather — ten people, maybe twelve. You’ll chop the salads, cook the hot dishes. And be sure to make aspic; Tamara Yegorovna adores it.

Alyona leaned her back against the wall in the entryway. Her coat was still on her shoulders, her bag pulling her down. Her head was buzzing after a long workday. She tried to get a word in, but her mother-in-law gave her no chance.

— Polina Markovna, but I can’t…
— What do you mean, “can’t”?! — the voice on the other end of the line turned hard as steel. — What is there even to discuss? My son married you, I helped you buy the apartment when you took out the loan. And now you can’t even help? Yura, by the way, has already agreed. He understands that one must respect one’s mother.

Alyona slowly slid down the wall and sat right on the floor. Her boots were still on her feet, the phone humming in her hand, and one thought was pounding in her head: “Yura agreed?”

— Yura knows about this? — she asked quietly.

— Of course he knows! I called him yesterday — he immediately said, “Okay, Mom, whatever you say.” So you say the same. In short, I’ll be waiting for you on the thirtieth at six. I’ll send the grocery list tomorrow morning. That’s it, I don’t have time — I need to call my friends.

The line went dead. Alyona sat on the floor in the entryway, staring at one spot on the opposite wall. Outside, it had grown dark. December twenty-third. One week until New Year’s. And she had just been ordered to spend the pre-holiday evening in her mother-in-law’s kitchen, serving her guests.

The front door slammed — Yura was back. He stopped in the doorway when he saw his wife on the floor.

— Why are you sitting there? Did you fall or something?

— Your mother called, — Alyona replied without lifting her head.

Yura shrugged off his jacket and slowly hung it on the hook. His movements were oddly hesitant, as if he were preparing for a fight but didn’t know how to throw the first punch.

— Well, she called. So what?

— She said that on the thirtieth I’m supposed to cook for her friends. And that you already agreed to it. Is that true?

Yura walked past her into the kitchen. He opened the fridge, took out a bottle of water, poured it into a glass, and drank it in one gulp. Alyona got up from the floor and followed him.

— Yura, I’m talking to you. Is it true?

— Len, come on, it’s just once, — he set the glass in the sink without turning around. — Mom rarely asks for anything. She has some important gathering planned, wants to impress everyone. Tamara Yegorovna will be there — her husband used to be a big shot at the factory. Mom has wanted to…

— We were planning to go to my parents’ on the thirtieth! — Alyona’s voice broke. — I promised my mom! They’ve already bought all the groceries and set up the tree!

— We’ll move it to the next day.

— On the thirty-first my uncle and his family are coming from Tula! They won’t have time for us at all! — Alyona clenched her fists. — Why didn’t you consult me? You just went ahead and agreed for me?

Yura spun around sharply. His face flushed red.

— Because I knew you would refuse! That’s exactly why! My mother always gets less than your parents! Always! We run to yours every weekend, but we visit mine once a month at best — and even that feels forced!

— Because your mother finds a reason to criticize me every single time! — Alyona blurted out, everything that had been building inside finally bursting free. — Last time she spent two whole hours explaining to me how to cook meat properly! Two hours, Yura! She said I feed you wrong, that you’re walking around looking thin because of me!

— She just wanted to teach you…

— Teach me?! She was humiliating me! And you sat there silently and didn’t say a single word in my defense!

Silence fell. Heavy, oppressive. Yura turned toward the window, and Alyona saw his shoulders tense.

— I’m tired. So much happened at the site today… I don’t want to talk about this right now.

He left the kitchen. Alyona remained standing alone, staring at his empty glass in the sink. Her hands were trembling. She turned on the tap and held her palms under the cold water. She breathed deeply, counted to ten, trying to calm herself.

The phone on the table vibrated. A message from her mom:
“Alyonushka, you’re definitely coming on the thirtieth, right? Dad is already clearing the balcony for the Christmas tree, like you asked.”

Alyona picked up the phone with shaking fingers and typed:
“Mom, I’m not sure yet. Some problems came up. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

The reply came immediately:
“Did something happen?”

“I’ll explain later. Love you.”

She turned off the screen and placed the phone face down on the table. She didn’t want to talk to anyone. She just wanted to sit in silence and think about nothing. But the thoughts wouldn’t stop — they spun in her head like a squirrel in a wheel.

“My son married you.” Polina Markovna’s favorite phrase. As if Alyona were some object passed from hand to hand, now obliged to be grateful for the rest of her life. To bow deeply at every opportunity.

Alyona dropped her head into her hands. A long evening lay ahead, and tomorrow — a new day. And somewhere there, on her phone, a message from her mother-in-law was waiting with a list of everything she was supposed to cook.

In the morning, Alyona woke up to the slam of the front door. Yura had left early, without breakfast. She sat up in bed and reached for the phone on the nightstand. Half past seven. And there was already a message from Polina Markovna. Long. Very long.

Alyona opened it and began to read. With every line, her eyes widened more and more.

“List of products to buy and prepare: chicken and beef aspic — two large pots, so there’s definitely enough for everyone. Olivier salad — a five-liter bowl, no less. Herring under a fur coat — a large baking tray; Tamara Yegorovna usually eats two servings. Vinaigrette. Cold cuts of sausage and cheese — arrange nicely, with herbs, like in a restaurant. Tartlets with red caviar — at least fifty. Stuffed eggs — about thirty. Meat French-style — two trays. Baked potatoes with mushrooms — with porcini, not those champignons of yours. Napoleon cake — I remember you know how to make it, Yura once praised it. Cabbage pies — about forty, better more. You’ll buy the groceries yourself, show me all the receipts, I’ll reimburse you later. Come by at noon on Sunday so everything is ready by six in the evening. Guests arrive exactly at six, so no being late.”

Alyona reread the list. Then again. And again. She opened the calculator on her phone and started counting time.

Aspic — at least four hours of cooking.
Olivier — an hour and a half for boiling vegetables and chopping.
Herring under a fur coat — an hour to assemble.
Vinaigrette — another hour.
Cold cuts, tartlets, eggs — at least two hours.
Meat French-style — an hour to prep, an hour in the oven.
Potatoes — an hour and a half.
Napoleon cake — three hours, because the layers have to be baked one by one and cooled.
Pies — two hours for the dough, an hour for the filling, an hour for baking.

Eighteen hours. Eighteen hours of work. And her mother-in-law wanted her to do all of this from noon to six. In six hours.

Alyona opened the chat with her friend Vera. Her fingers trembled as she typed:
“Ver, can you meet for lunch today? I really need to talk.”

The reply came fifteen minutes later:
“I can. One o’clock at Teremok?”

“I’ll be there.”

Vera was already sitting at a table by the window when Alyona walked into the café. She saw her friend and immediately frowned.

— My God, you look awful! Didn’t sleep at all?

— Almost didn’t, — Alyona took off her jacket, hung it on the chair, and sat down across from her. — I couldn’t fall asleep, kept thinking.

— About what?

Alyona pulled out her phone, found the message from her mother-in-law, and slid it across the table. Vera took it and began to read. Her eyes widened, her eyebrows crept upward.

— Is this for real?

— For real.

— She seriously thinks you can do all this in six hours? Just the pies alone would take half a day!

— She doesn’t think. She’s certain, — Alyona leaned back in her chair. — And yesterday Yura said I could take a day off work and come earlier.

Vera put the phone down on the table and looked at her carefully.

— Wait. Let’s go step by step. She wants you to cook all this for her friends?

— She’s not asking. She’s demanding. Ordering.

— And you were planning to go to your parents on the thirtieth?

— Yes. Mom already organized everything, Dad bought the groceries. But Yura agreed with his mother without me. Said my family already gets too much attention.

Vera fell silent, watching the snow fall outside the window.

— So what are you going to do?

— I don’t know, — Alyona ran her hands over her face. — Honestly, I don’t know. Yura thinks I owe it. That it’s my duty. And I feel like if I agree now, it will never end.

— Does she do this often?

Alyona paused, and all the memories came flooding back at once.

— Constantly. Last year, remember, I told you? Polina Markovna went on a business trip for a week. Asked me to come every day to feed her cat. I drove across the city after work — an hour there, an hour back. Every evening. And then it turned out the neighbor could have fed the cat — my mother-in-law just decided it would be “useful” for me. For discipline, as she put it.

— Seriously?

— Absolutely. And then there was the storage room incident. She called Saturday morning and said, “Come over, we need to sort things out.” I came — there were about fifty boxes, all stuffed with old junk. I spent the entire day there, sorting, cleaning shelves. And she sat in the kitchen with her friends, drinking tea and chatting.

Vera shook her head.

— Lena, that’s straight-up exploitation. She’s using you.

— Yura says I have to respect my elders.

— Respect — yes. Be a free housekeeper — no, — Vera leaned closer across the table. — Listen to me. I’ve known you for five years. You’re always afraid of upsetting someone, disappointing them. You try to please everyone. But there has to be a limit! Say no. Clearly and simply.

— Easy for you to say…

— I know it’s not easy. But if you agree now, she’ll understand she can demand absolutely anything. And you’ll do it. Always. For the rest of your life.

Alyona looked out the window. People were walking down the street, hurrying about their business. Pre-New Year bustle had captured everyone. Stores were decorated with garlands, shop windows glittered. Everyone was preparing for the holiday, feeling happy. And she was sitting in a café, thinking about how to refuse her mother-in-law without destroying her own family.

— I’ll try to talk to her, — Alyona said quietly. — Explain calmly. Maybe she’ll understand.

Vera looked at her with obvious doubt but said nothing.

That evening, when it grew dark, Alyona dialed Polina Markovna’s number. She sat for a long time with the phone in her hands, gathering courage. The call was answered on the third ring.

— Yes, I’m listening.

— Polina Markovna, this is Alyona. I need to talk to you about the thirtieth.

— What is there to talk about? — the voice immediately turned wary.

— You see, I’m very uncomfortable letting you down, but I won’t be able to come. I promised my parents long ago to help them prepare for the holiday. Maybe you could move the gathering to another day? Then I would gladly…

— Another day?! — her mother-in-law’s voice shot up. — I’ve already invited everyone! All my friends know, everyone has made plans! What am I supposed to tell them now? That my daughter-in-law refused me? Do you want to humiliate me?!

— Of course not, but…

— No “buts”! Your parents see you every week! Every weekend you go to them! And I see my son properly once a month! This is selfishness, Alyona! Pure selfishness!

— I’m not selfish, I just wanted to explain…

— I don’t need explanations! I’m waiting for you on the thirtieth at six in the evening. With the groceries. Do you understand me?

— Polina Markovna, I can’t…

— Do you understand, I’m asking?!

Alyona clenched the phone. Something inside her boiled over.

— No. I don’t understand. Because I’m not coming.

Silence. Long, heavy. Then a short, bitter laugh.

— Fine. Excellent. Then deal with Yura yourself. You explain to him why you’re humiliating his mother. We’ll see what he says to you.

The line went dead.

Alyona lowered the phone to her knees. Her hands were shaking. A lump stuck in her throat. She stood up and paced the room from window to door and back. The city below sparkled with lights; New Year’s garlands hung on balconies, colorful lights blinked in windows. The holiday was approaching, but inside her it felt cold and empty.

Twenty minutes later, Yura called. Alyona saw his name on the screen and for a moment wanted to reject the call. But she answered.

— Yes?

— What the hell are you doing?! — he shouted immediately, without any preamble. — My mother just called me in tears! In tears, do you understand?! She says you were rude to her, humiliated her! How could you do that?!

— Yura, I wasn’t rude. I just told the truth — that I can’t come on the thirtieth.

— Can’t, can’t! And did you think about my mother? She tried so hard, invited all her friends, wanted to organize everything beautifully! And you just refused her, like you owe her nothing!

— I don’t owe her anything! — Alyona snapped. — Did you see that list?! Do you even understand how much time all of that takes?! Eighteen hours of work! How am I supposed to do it in six hours?!

— Take a day off, come earlier!

— We’re slammed at work before the holidays! We’re closing contracts, submitting reports! They won’t let me take a day off the day before New Year’s!

— Then work at night! Start the evening of the twenty-ninth, stay in the kitchen all night, finish in the morning!

Alyona was left speechless by his words.

— Are you seriously saying that right now?

— Absolutely serious! Other women manage both work and family responsibilities! And you only think about yourself!

— About myself?! — Alyona felt something inside her snap. — Yura, for the last two years all I’ve done is run at your mother’s first call! I feed her cat, sort out her storage rooms, wash the dishes after her guests! When is this going to end?!

— When you learn to respect your elders!

— I do respect them! But I’m not obligated to sacrifice my life!

— It’s not a sacrifice, it’s a family duty!

— No, Yura. It’s manipulation. Pure manipulation. And you know it perfectly well.

He was breathing heavily into the receiver. Then he said quietly, but with a threat:

— Fine. I’ll be home soon. We’ll talk seriously. Face to face.

He hung up.

Alyona sank onto the couch. She set the phone beside her. She stared at the ceiling and thought: how did it come to this? When did I become so convenient? Why did I stay silent for so long?

December 28th. Yura came home late, gloomy as a thundercloud. He tossed his jacket onto the rack so hard it almost fell. He walked into the room and slammed the door. Alyona was sitting in the kitchen with her laptop, trying to finish work reports, but the letters were blurring before her eyes.

She closed the laptop and went to him. She stopped in the doorway. Yura was sitting on the bed, staring at the floor.

— We need to talk, — Alyona said.

— Not now, — he snapped without looking up.

— When is “now”? We haven’t really spoken for two days.

— And whose fault is that? — he raised his head and looked at her with angry eyes. — You refused my mother. Now she can barely talk to me. She calls only to yell. Keeps asking why I can’t get my own wife under control.

— Can you? — Alyona asked quietly. — Get me under control?

— I want you to behave normally! The way you’re supposed to! To help when you’re asked!

— Yura, your mother doesn’t ask. She demands. She always demands. And I’m tired of putting up with it.

He lowered his head again.

— You don’t understand anything. My mother has done a lot for me in my life.

— I understand. But that doesn’t mean I have to give her all of myself, completely.

Yura’s phone rang. “Mom” on the screen. He answered.

— Yeah, Mom.

Alyona could only hear his side of the conversation, but it was enough to grasp the point.

— No, Mom, we haven’t decided yet… Well, I don’t know… I’m trying to explain, but she won’t listen… Mom, please don’t worry… Okay… Okay, I understand… I’ll call you back later.

He put the phone down on the nightstand and looked at Alyona.

— Mom said if you don’t come, she’ll move everything to our place. Here. She’ll bring all her friends to our apartment.

Alyona felt the blood drain from her face.

— She can’t do that.

— She can. And she will. You know her. She already called everyone and said the gathering will be here. Claimed she has heating problems at her place.

— But that’s a lie!

— So what?! — Yura jumped up from the bed. — She already told everyone! What do you expect me to do now?

Alyona stood there, absorbing it. Her mother-in-law was moving her get-together to their apartment. Without asking. Without permission. Just announcing it as a fact.

— Yura, — she said slowly, clearly. — If your mother shows up here with those plans, I won’t let her in. Do you understand? I won’t let her in.

— Have you lost your mind? That’s my mother!

— This is our apartment. And I have the right to decide who comes in here.

They stared at each other. The air was thick with tension you could cut with a knife.

— I can’t believe you’re saying this, — Yura said quietly.

— And I can’t believe you let your mother behave like this.

He turned to the window. Alyona left the room. Her hands were shaking, her heart pounding. She went into the kitchen, turned on the tap, held her palms under cold water. She breathed deeply, counting inhales and exhales.

The phone buzzed on the table. A message from an unknown number.

“Alyona, this is Viktor, Yura’s brother. I got your number from Yura — hope you don’t mind. Can we talk?”

She typed: “Yes, of course.”

He called a minute later.

— Hi. Listen, I know about the whole situation. Mom called me too, complaining about you. I want to tell you one thing: you’re right. Completely right.

Alyona froze.

— Really?

— Absolutely. My Svetlana went through the same thing. About three years ago. Mom was celebrating her anniversary — turned sixty. Sveta spent two months getting ready for the banquet. She organized everything herself — menu, hall, decorations. Spent a ton of our money. And then Mom called her for two more weeks telling her what was wrong — the salad was too salty, the music too loud, not enough guests came, even though she herself didn’t invite half the people.

— So what did you do?

— Sveta said: that’s it, enough. Not one more event like that. Mom was offended, of course. For about three months she didn’t call at all, didn’t visit. Then she gradually cooled off. She understood there was no point pressuring. Now we communicate normally, but Sveta doesn’t let herself be pushed around anymore.

— And Yura wasn’t mad at her?

Viktor gave a little snort.

— Yura is a mama’s boy. Always has been. I’m telling you that as his brother. It’s easier for him to agree with Mom than to argue with her. He’s been like that his whole life. But that’s his problem, not yours. You don’t have to sacrifice yourself for his comfort.

— Thank you, — Alyona breathed. — Thank you for calling.

— Stand your ground. Mom’s a strong woman, but she’s not stupid. If she sees she can’t pressure you, she’ll back off. The main thing is—don’t give in.

He hung up.

Alyona sat with the phone in her hand and felt something solid form inside her. Someone understood her. Someone said she was right. She wasn’t alone, it turned out.

December 29th. The workday dragged on unbearably. Alyona sat at her computer, staring at reports, but she couldn’t see the numbers. Her head was filled with one thing: tomorrow is the thirtieth. Tomorrow everything will be decided.

At four p.m., her mom called.

— Alyonushka, remind me — you’re coming tomorrow, right? Dad already started cooking the aspic; he says it’ll be ready by evening.

Alyona closed her eyes. Her heart tightened.

— Mom, I’ll try.

— You’ll try? — her mother’s voice became worried. — Sweetheart, did something happen?

— Nothing like that. Just… small problems.

— With Polina Markovna?

Her mom always sensed it. Always.

— Yes.

— If you want, come tonight. We’ll talk calmly.

— I can’t, Mom. I need to figure it out myself.

— Okay. But remember: whatever happens, we’re always with you. Do you understand? Always.

Those words warmed her. Gave her strength.

That evening Yura came home even darker than yesterday. He didn’t even say hello. He went into the kitchen and poured himself water.

— Mom called, — he said, staring into the glass. — She said she’s expecting you tomorrow at noon. If you don’t come, she’ll come herself. With all the groceries.

— I won’t let her in, — Alyona answered calmly.

— Lena, enough already! — Yura slammed the glass down so hard the water splashed. — Let’s not be stupid! Go to her, help with something. Cook at least something. Show you’re not against it.

— Yura, I’m not against helping. I’m against being used as free labor.

— No one is using you! It’s helping relatives!

— No. It’s exploitation. And you understand that perfectly well. It’s just convenient for you to pretend everything is fine.

He turned to the window. His shoulders slumped, his head bowed.

— You’re choosing conflict with my mother. Do you realize that?

— No, — Alyona stepped closer. — I’m choosing respect for myself. If your mother can’t understand that I have the right to say no, that’s her problem. Not mine.

Yura was silent. Then he asked quietly:

— And if because of this we fight? For good?

Alyona looked him in the eyes.

— Yura, if our relationship is held together only by me pleasing your mother, then it ended a long time ago. We just haven’t understood it yet.

He left the kitchen. Alyona remained standing alone. She took out her phone and texted her mom: “We’ll definitely come tomorrow. We’ll be there by three.”

The reply came immediately: “Okay, sunshine. We’ll be waiting.”

Alyona exhaled. The decision was made. Tomorrow would be war. But she was ready.

December 30th. Alyona woke up early, even though she’d set her alarm for eight. By six-thirty she was already lying there with her eyes open, staring at the ceiling. Yura was sleeping beside her, turned toward the wall.

The phone vibrated on the nightstand. Polina Markovna. A call.

Alyona answered, went into the kitchen, and closed the door.

— Hello.

— Well? Come to your senses? — her mother-in-law’s voice was icy.

— No, Polina Markovna.

— So you really want a fight? You want to destroy the relationship between me and my son?

— I don’t want to set anyone against anyone. I just can’t and won’t do what you’re demanding.

— Can’t, or won’t? — her mother-in-law repeated mockingly.

— Both. I have my own life, my own plans. I’m not obligated to cancel everything for your gathering.

— Your own life! — Polina Markovna laughed sharply. — Have you forgotten who provided you with that life? Who helped with the apartment? Who gave you a son?

— No one gave me anything, — Alyona felt it boiling inside. — Yura and I bought the apartment with a loan we’re paying ourselves. And your “help” was one down payment — which you’ve been reminding me of for three years!

— How dare you?! How dare you talk to me like that?!

— I’m telling the truth. The truth you don’t want to hear.

Polina Markovna choked with outrage.

— Fine! Wonderful! Then wait for me! I’m coming to you right now! With all the groceries! And I’ll bring the guests too! We’ll see how you don’t let me in!

— Try it, — Alyona said calmly. — But I’m warning you: I won’t open the door.

— This is my son’s apartment!

— This is our apartment. And I’m the one in charge here.

Her mother-in-law hung up.

Alyona stood in the kitchen, gripping the phone. Her hands weren’t shaking. Inside, she felt calm. For the first time in a long time — truly calm.

Yura came out of the bedroom. Sleepy, but anxious.

— Did she call?

— Yes.

— And?

— She said she’s coming here.

Yura ran a hand over his face.

— Lena, don’t do this. Maybe we should let her in after all? Let her at least cook something?

— No, Yura. If I back down now, it will never end. Your mother has to understand she can’t command me.

He sat down at the table and buried his head in his hands.

— This will end badly.

— It’s already been bad. Bad for three long years. Now it will be honest.

At noon, the doorbell rang. Long, insistent. Alyona walked up and looked through the peephole. Polina Markovna stood on the landing with a huge bag. Beside her were two boxes of groceries.

Alyona didn’t open the door. She just stood there and watched.

— Open up! — her mother-in-law shouted. — I know you’re in there! Open the door right now!

Silence.

— Yura! Yura, come out! Tell that… tell your wife to open the door!

Yura came out of the room. He walked up to Alyona and looked through the peephole. His mother stood there red-faced, disheveled.

— Len, maybe you’ll open it? At least we can talk normally?

— No. If I open it, she’ll come in. And I don’t want her to come in.

Yura hesitated. Then he shouted through the door:

— Mom, wait! I’m coming out!

He put on his jacket and opened the door. Alyona stayed in the hallway, listening to the voices outside.

— What is going on?! — Polina Markovna’s voice rang with indignation. — Why won’t she let me in?!

— Mom, calm down. Let’s talk спокойно.

— Talk about what?! She’s humiliating me! Your wife! Humiliating your mother!

— Mom, nobody’s humiliating you…

— Not humiliating?! I came with groceries, I want to make a holiday table, and she won’t let me in! If that isn’t humiliation, what is?!

— Mom, but you decided without asking that the gathering would be at our place. We’re not ready for guests.

— Not ready! Your apartment is basically empty! What is there to get ready?!

Alyona heard Yura let out a heavy sigh.

— Mom, maybe we really should move it to another day? Or do it at your place, just later?

— No! I already told everyone! Tamara Yegorovna is already getting ready to come here! What am I supposed to tell her now?!

— Tell the truth. That the plans changed.

Polina Markovna fell silent. Then she said quietly, but rigidly:

— You’re choosing her. Yes? You’re choosing that… that bride of yours over your own mother.

— Mom, I’m not choosing anyone. I’m just—

— You are choosing! — she screamed. — Betraying your mother for some girl! After everything I’ve done for you!

— Mom, don’t…

Polina Markovna grabbed the bag of groceries and hurled it to the floor. Tomatoes rolled across the landing, eggs smashed against the wall.

— Take your groceries! Take it all! Don’t come to me anymore! Don’t call! I don’t have a son! You understand?! I don’t!

She spun around and ran for the stairs. Yura rushed after her.

— Mom, wait! Mom!

But Polina Markovna was already racing downward, not looking back. The pounding of footsteps, the slam of the building’s front door.

Alyona stood behind the door and listened to the silence.

Yura came back upstairs. He entered the apartment. His face was gray as ash.

— She didn’t stop.

— I heard.

They stood in the entryway without looking at each other.

— Lena, she won’t forgive this. Never.

— I know.

— And you don’t regret it?

Alyona turned to him.

— No. The only thing I regret is that I tolerated it for so long. That I stayed silent. That I let her behave like that.

Yura went into the kitchen and poured water. He drank it in one gulp, set the glass down, and leaned against the windowsill.

— Viktor called me the day before yesterday. He told me about Svetlana. I didn’t know Mom treated her the same way.

— Your mother is used to everyone obeying her wishes. But I won’t anymore.

— And if we get divorced because of this?

Alyona stepped closer to him.

— Yura, if our marriage depends only on me pleasing your mother, then we haven’t been husband and wife for a long time. We’re just living under the same roof.

He turned toward her.

— I don’t want a divorce.

— Neither do I. But I want to be respected. I want my opinion to matter.

Yura nodded. He hugged her, uncertainly, carefully.

— I’m sorry I didn’t understand sooner.

— The important thing is you understand now.

They stood in the kitchen, holding each other. Snow was falling outside. The city was preparing for the holiday.

— Should we go to your parents’? — Yura asked.

— Yes. Let’s go.

December 31st. Her parents’ home greeted them with the scent of pine, a Christmas tree, tangerines, and home-cooked food. Tatyana Vasilyevna opened the door and immediately hugged her daughter tightly, for a long time.

— I’m so happy you came!

Alyona pressed against her mother and felt something inside her loosen. All the tension of the past days, all the fear, all the doubt — it all receded.

Mikhail Petrovich came out of the kitchen in a cozy sweater, smiling.

— Well, here are the young ones! Yura, come in, take off your jacket. I’ll put the kettle on now.

Yura took off his jacket and hung it up. Alyona could see how tense he was, how tight his shoulders were. For him, this was a trial too.

Tatyana Vasilyevna led her daughter into her old room.

— Tell me. What happened?

Alyona told her everything. From the first call from her mother-in-law to yesterday’s scene on the landing. Her mother listened in silence, sometimes shaking her head, sometimes pressing her lips together.

— And how are you now? — she asked when Alyona finished.

— Tired. But calm.

— You did the right thing, sweetheart, — Tatyana Vasilyevna took her daughter’s hands in hers. — You know, I always saw how Polina Markovna was using you. But I kept quiet. I thought you two would work it out yourselves. But I’m glad you finally said “no.”

— Yura has now fought with his mother.

— Yura is a grown man. It’s time he learned to defend his wife.

By evening Uncle Sasha arrived with his family from Tula. The noisy cousins — Misha and Katya — immediately started running around the apartment, examining the ornaments on the tree. Uncle Sasha’s wife, Aunt Lida, began helping in the kitchen.

They set a big table — stretching across the entire dining room. They lit candles, music played softly. Mikhail Petrovich poured champagne into glasses.

— To everyone having a good year ahead, — he said, raising his glass. — To you taking care of each other. That’s the most important thing in life — to protect the ones you love.

Alyona looked at Yura. He squeezed her hand under the table.

When everyone went into the kitchen for seconds, the two of them ended up alone on the balcony. The city shimmered with lights; in the sky the first fireworks flared — impatient, early.

— Mom texted Viktor, — Yura said, looking out over the city. — She said I’m a traitor. That I’m a bad son.

— And what did Viktor reply?

— That I finally became a real man. Someone who protects his wife. And that he’s proud of me.

Alyona smiled.

— Viktor is a smart man.

— Lena, I don’t know if we’ll ever make up with Mom. Maybe she’ll never forgive me. But I understand one thing: you were right. From the very beginning. I’m sorry I didn’t see it right away.

— Yura, I don’t want you fighting with your mother because of me. I just wanted the right to say no. To be heard.

— I hear you. And Mom has to learn to hear you too.

They stood on the balcony, watching the lights. In the apartment there was laughter, music, voices. Warm, cozy, truly family.

— Come on, the chimes are soon, — Yura called.

They returned to the living room. Everyone gathered by the TV. The countdown began on the screen.

Ten… nine… eight…

Alyona watched the screen and thought about how the passing year had taught her the most important thing: to respect herself. Not to be afraid to say “no.” Not to bend under someone else’s demands, even if those demands came from her mother-in-law.

Three… two… one…

The New Year began with fireworks exploding outside the window, with joyful shouts, with hugs. Yura hugged Alyona and whispered:

— Happy New Year. Thank you for not giving in.

She pressed closer to him.

— Thank you for finally taking my side.

Ahead lay a lot of uncertainty. Maybe a long silence from Polina Markovna. Maybe difficult conversations and attempts to rebuild the relationship — but on different terms, with respect. Maybe her mother-in-law would never forgive.

But right now, in this moment, Alyona felt free. She had stood up for herself. Defended her right to be heard. And that mattered more than any showy “peace,” any fake smiles at family holidays.

She had learned to say “no.” And it was the most important gift she gave herself in the outgoing year.