The door flew open, revealing the last person Olya had expected to see standing on the threshold.
Galina Petrovna.
Her former mother-in-law. The same woman who, two years earlier, had happily approved of her son’s affair and thrown his pregnant wife out of the apartment. The same woman who had called Nikolai’s mistress “a real woman” and dismissed Olya as nothing but a burden.
“Olechka, I need to talk to you,” Galina Petrovna said, her voice trembling. “About my granddaughter. About helping financially. I am her grandmother, after all.”
Olya leaned against the doorframe.
Well, this was unexpected.
A husband who had betrayed her. A mother-in-law who had encouraged that betrayal. And now, suddenly, a visit accompanied by demands for family rights.
“You are not even going to invite me inside?” Galina Petrovna tried to peer over Olya’s shoulder. “How rude! I came all the way across the city to see you.”
“Good manners mean not throwing your pregnant daughter-in-law onto the street in winter,” Olya replied calmly. “And you could have crossed the city at any point during the last two years. Not one phone call. Not a single ruble. So what happened? Did your conscience finally wake up, or did Nikolai send you?”
“Do not speak about my son that way!”
“Which version of your son do you mean? The one who abandoned his pregnant wife for a woman with two children? Or the one who is now raising another man’s children because his new wife refuses to have one with him?”
Galina Petrovna went pale. Her lips tightened into a thin line, and her eyes darted nervously, like those of a trapped animal.
Olya had heard the news from mutual acquaintances. Judging by the older woman’s reaction, it was clearly true.
“The world is a small place, Galina Petrovna. Especially when you were the one telling everyone what an excellent match your precious Kolya had found. The irony is that his wonderful new partner now has him changing diapers for children who are not his, while his own daughter is growing up without him. Beautiful, is it not?”
“I came here to make peace!” Galina Petrovna’s voice rose to a shriek. “And you are mocking me! You have always been like this—vindictive and spiteful!”
“Vindictive?” Olya gave a faint smile. “No, Galina Petrovna. I simply do not suffer from amnesia. I remember every word you said. ‘She got pregnant on purpose to trap Kolya.’ That was you, was it not? You said it when I put the ultrasound results on the table.”
“I was upset.”
“You were delighted. At last, you had an excuse to get rid of me. You never liked the fact that your little boy married someone you had not personally chosen.”
Galina Petrovna opened her mouth, but Olya did not let her interrupt.
“And do you know what the funniest part is?” she continued. “Nikolai asked what I wanted in exchange for disappearing. As though I were an inconvenience that could be paid off. So I named my price. A one-bedroom apartment. Do you remember how you screamed that I had robbed you?”
“That apartment cost…”
“That apartment was the price of my peace. My dignity. My right not to watch my husband run off to his former girlfriend. Or perhaps she was the one running to him. It hardly matters now. The important thing is that both of you got exactly what you wanted. He got his freedom. You got your obedient son back. And I got a roof over my head for myself and my child.”
“But two years have passed! People change! Nikolai wants to see his daughter!”
“What daughter?” Olya raised an eyebrow. “There is no Nikolai listed on my child’s birth certificate. Not under ‘father,’ and not in her patronymic. My daughter’s name is Alisa Andreevna Smirnova. Legally, I am a single mother. Nikolai is simply a man who used to be my husband.”
Galina Petrovna staggered slightly.
“You… you took away his parental rights?”
“He gave them up himself. When he agreed to a quick divorce because he could not be bothered to wait. When he signed every paper without even reading it. When he never called—not once—to ask how the birth went. Whether it was a boy or a girl. Whether I was even alive.”
“He was busy.”
“He was busy with someone else’s children. The very children his ‘true love’ brought into his life. Two of them. Already raised enough to have their own habits, personalities and demands. And do you know something? I almost feel sorry for him. Almost.”
Olya paused and looked her former mother-in-law directly in the eyes.
“But not enough to let him back into my life.”
“You cannot do this!” Galina Petrovna grabbed hold of the doorframe. “She is my granddaughter! My own flesh and blood!”
“Your flesh and blood is Nikolai. And the two children he is raising now. Go and visit them. My daughter is my flesh and blood. And the flesh and blood of my parents, who helped me rebuild my life. They are helping me pay the mortgage on the three-bedroom apartment where we now live. They visit every weekend. They know which porridge Alisa likes and which bedtime story she asks for every night.”
“I could do that too.”
“No,” Olya cut her off. “You cannot. Two years ago, you made your choice. You chose your son and his mistress. You said to me—and I remember the exact words—‘Do not take it personally. The divorce is inevitable.’ Do you remember? I was still hoping to speak to Nikolai alone. But he was afraid. He was too frightened to have a conversation with his own wife unless his mother was standing beside him.”
Galina Petrovna said nothing. Her shoulders sagged, and the light faded from her eyes.
“Do you know what he said when he found out I was pregnant?” Olya went on. “He asked, ‘What do you want in exchange for disappearing from my life?’ He did not ask how I felt. He did not say we would find a solution. He wanted to know the price of making me vanish.”
“He was confused.”
“He was cowardly. And selfish. And you know that perfectly well because you are the one who raised him that way. Now his new wife refuses to have children, and he has finally realized that he is raising someone else’s sons while his own child exists somewhere without him. And suddenly, family feelings have appeared? How convenient, Galina Petrovna. Extremely convenient.”
“I only wanted to see my granddaughter,” Galina Petrovna whispered, her voice suddenly quiet and pleading. “Just once. Even from a distance.”
“And I wanted the father of my child to be there when she was born. I wanted her grandmother to call and congratulate me. I wanted at least one person from your family to ask whether we were all right or needed help. But the apartment was the payment, remember? Payment for my silence. Payment for my disappearance. Payment to make sure I would never disturb your precious Nikolai again.”
Olya stepped backward, preparing to close the door.
“Well, Galina Petrovna, the terms of the agreement have been fulfilled. I disappeared. Permanently.”
“But…”
“You are a stranger to me. And even more of a stranger to my daughter. She already has a grandmother and grandfather who love her. They were there when she took her first steps. They heard her first word. And you… you are simply an unfamiliar woman standing outside someone else’s apartment.”
Galina Petrovna swallowed hard. Tears glimmered in her eyes.
“Olya, please…”
“Goodbye. Give my regards to Nikolai and his new family. I hope those children bring him as much joy as his own daughter brings me.”
The door closed softly.
Olya had no intention of creating a scene. She was not going to shout or cry.
A quiet sob came from the hallway outside. Then she heard slow, shuffling footsteps descending the stairs.
Olya walked into the living room, where Alisa was playing in her playpen. The little girl had fair hair, brown eyes and dimples in her cheeks. She looked up and smiled.
“Mama!” she exclaimed happily, reaching out her arms.
Olya lifted her daughter and held her close.
This was what was real.
Alive.
Hers.
Only hers.
Somewhere on the staircase, a woman was crying because she had understood too late what she had lost. Not a granddaughter—the child had never belonged to her. She had lost the right to call herself family.
A right she had thrown away with her own hands two years earlier, when she chose betrayal.
Olya kissed her daughter on the nose and smiled. Sunlight poured through the window. Ahead of them was an ordinary evening: bath time, dinner and a bedtime story.
The ordinary happiness of an ordinary life.
A life Olya had built herself.
Without Nikolai.
Without his mother.
Without their hypocritical love, which could be switched on and off whenever it suited them.
“Come on, sweetheart,” Olya whispered to her daughter. “Let us keep living.”
Galina Petrovna stood outside the apartment building, unable to move.
She had truly believed Olya would forgive her. She had believed time healed everything. She had believed blood ties were stronger than resentment.
But some doors, she now realized, closed forever.
No amount of tears or pleading could make them open again.
She took out her phone and called her son.
“Kolya,” she whispered when he answered. “She would not let me in. And she never will.”
There was a long silence on the line. Then came a tired sigh.
“I told you,” Nikolai replied. “You should not have gone.”
Galina Petrovna ended the call and slowly made her way toward the bus stop.
Two years earlier, she had been certain she was doing the right thing. She believed she was protecting her son from a failed marriage. She believed she was helping him find genuine happiness.
Now her son was raising another man’s children. His new wife refused to give him a child of his own. And his biological daughter carried another surname and another man’s patronymic.
The consequences were far more devastating than Galina Petrovna could ever have imagined.