Dasha had barely finished arranging the cutlery on the festive table when the front door of the new apartment flew open without so much as a knock.
She had bought the apartment with the money from selling her late mother’s house in the village. Every square meter belonged to her—not to her husband and certainly not to his family.
Her mother-in-law swept inside like a storm, barking orders from the doorway as though Dasha were a servant instead of a wife. In Valentina Mikhailovna’s mind, words like “betrayal” and “mistress” applied to any daughter-in-law who dared to have an opinion of her own.
“Get ready. You’re going to pick Lena up from the airport!” Valentina Mikhailovna ordered. “Her flight lands in three hours, and taxis are expensive these days. You have a car, so make yourself useful!”
Dasha’s husband, Oleg, hovered behind his mother, not quite daring to step inside.
Dasha slowly straightened and turned toward them.
“Good evening, Valentina Mikhailovna. You seem to have forgotten to say hello.”
“There’s no time for pleasantries! Your husband can celebrate his birthday without you. You need to go and meet my daughter. Lena’s flying back from Egypt. She must be exhausted after her vacation!”
Dasha smiled—the kind of smile that usually made the person facing her develop a nervous twitch.
“What fascinating logic. Your daughter is tired from lying on a beach, so I’m supposed to abandon my husband’s celebration and drive across the entire city? Brilliant. Napoleon himself would be jealous.”
“Have you completely lost your mind?” her mother-in-law snapped, stepping forward with flared nostrils. “I’m speaking to you like a civilized person, and you’re standing there showing off!”
Oleg finally squeezed into the hallway and raised his hands in a conciliatory gesture.
“Dasha, Mom does have a point. Lena is my sister. Maybe you could quickly run over there? We’ll wait for you.”
Dasha looked at her husband the way an entomologist might examine a previously unknown species of cockroach.
“Oleg, did you honestly just say that? I spent three months preparing this evening. For you, by the way. The table is set, and our friends are already on their way.”
“Why are you turning nothing into a tragedy?” Valentina Mikhailovna shrieked. “It’s only a birthday! You have one every year, but Lenochka only flies home once a year!”
“Then perhaps you should go and meet your precious Lenochka yourself?” Dasha shrugged. “Public transportation is running, and there are taxis for every budget. As it happens, I have plans of my own this evening.”
Valentina Mikhailovna turned so red that Dasha instinctively wondered where she had put the first-aid kit.
“Well, look at the lady of the manor! I bet you bought this apartment with Oleg’s money, and now you’re looking down your nose at us. We know women like you—always scheming!”
At that, Dasha burst out laughing—openly and sincerely.
“Oh, what an unexpected plot twist! Oleg, would you care to explain to your mother whose money paid for this place? Or should I do it? I can bring out the documents, bank statements, official seals—the whole collection.”
Oleg shifted uneasily and looked away.
“Dasha, why bring this up now, in front of everyone?”
“Because, darling, your mother seems to have imagined herself the owner of a public building. Let me explain in simple terms: this apartment belongs to me. Entirely and exclusively. It was purchased with the money from selling my mother’s house. Your financial contribution, Oleg, was exactly zero rubles and zero kopecks. Shall I remind everyone which one of us still takes a minibus to work?”
“What are you saying?” Valentina Mikhailovna gasped. “Olezhek, do you hear the way this woman is speaking to you? She has no respect for you at all!”
“I’m speaking in facts,” Dasha replied calmly as she adjusted the vase of flowers. “And facts, as everyone knows, are stubborn things. The apartment is registered in my name. The car is registered in my name. I organized today’s celebration. And I will also be the one deciding where I go.”
The doorbell rang.
Dasha opened the door to find Stas and Polina standing there with an enormous gift bag and a bottle of champagne.
“People are arriving. Wonderful!” Dasha greeted them with a warm smile. “Come in and make yourselves comfortable. Tonight we’re celebrating my housewarming!”
Stas raised an eyebrow in surprise.
“Housewarming? I thought we were coming to celebrate Oleg’s birthday.”
“The program has been revised,” Dasha said with a wink. “Go on into the living room. Everything’s ready. I’ll join you in a minute.”
Valentina Mikhailovna stood frozen in the hallway, her mouth hanging open.
“What kind of circus is this?”
“A circus, my dear, is when someone barges into a home uninvited and starts issuing orders. What I’m having is a small celebration for people close to me.”
“Oleg!” his mother turned sharply toward him. “Are you going to allow this? She’s making a laughingstock of you!”
Oleg opened his mouth, but Dasha spoke first.
“Making someone look ridiculous would be forcing a wife to abandon her husband’s celebration so she can provide free transportation for his sister. I’m merely rearranging my priorities. And tonight, my priority is celebrating the purchase of my own apartment. My own, do you understand? Not yours, not Oleg’s—mine.”
The doorbell rang again.
Artyom and Nika arrived carrying a cake, followed closely by Gena.
“Dasha, this apartment is incredible!” Artyom whistled as he looked around. “Congratulations!”
“Thank you, my dears! Come in. We’re about to start.”
Valentina Mikhailovna stared at the scene as though she had just been informed of an alien invasion.
“What on earth are you doing?” she hissed. “It’s my son’s birthday!”
“It was his birthday celebration,” Dasha said serenely as she straightened a napkin. “Until you decided your demands were more important. Now it’s my housewarming. Oleg may stay if he wishes—as an invited guest in my apartment.”
“Dasha…” Oleg finally managed. “This is going too far.”
“Too far is when your wife asks for your support and you stand there blinking silently. Too far is when you agree with your mother that I can be sent off somewhere like hired help. I am not your maid, Oleg. I am your lawful wife. Or perhaps I was.”
“Was?” Valentina Mikhailovna clutched her chest dramatically. “Are you threatening my boy?”
“I’m stating the obvious. If my husband is incapable of choosing a side, then he has already made his choice. And clearly, it wasn’t me.”
Stas appeared in the doorway to the living room.
“Dasha, we’ve poured the drinks! We’re only waiting for you!”
“Coming!” she called before turning back to her mother-in-law. “Valentina Mikhailovna, Lena’s flight lands in three hours, and you’re still standing in my hallway. Taxis may be expensive, but the metro is running perfectly well. Or you could order a car. You do own a smartphone, don’t you?”
“You… you’ll regret this!” her mother-in-law hissed. “You think you’re so clever, don’t you?”
“I don’t think it. I know it. The property documents are kept in a secure place, and so is the prenuptial agreement. Everything is clear, legal, and properly documented. Now, please excuse me. My friends are waiting.”
Dasha turned and walked into the living room.
Five guests were already seated around the table.
“To the hostess and her new home!” Polina declared.
“To the new home!” everyone echoed, clinking their glasses.
Oleg remained in the doorway, unable to decide whether to enter or leave. His mother tugged angrily at his arm.
“Let’s get out of here!” she whispered furiously. “There’s no reason to humiliate yourself in front of this social climber!”
But Oleg kept staring at his wife, who was laughing with their friends, at the beautifully set table, and at the apartment they had spent the past few weeks settling into.
And he understood that if he walked out now, there would be no way back.
“Mom, go and pick Lena up yourself,” he said quietly. “I’m staying.”
“What? Are you serious?”
“You went too far today, Mom.”
Valentina Mikhailovna stormed out and slammed the front door behind her.
Oleg entered the living room and lowered himself into an empty chair.
No one paid him any attention.
The conversation flowed around him. Laughter filled the room—but none of it was meant for him.
Dasha did not look in his direction even once.
It was not punishment.
It was a lesson.
The guests left at around midnight.
Dasha saw each of them to the door, hugged them goodbye, and thanked them for coming. Oleg silently collected the dirty dishes, keeping his eyes lowered.
When the door closed behind the final guest, a heavy silence settled over the apartment.
“Dasha…” he began.
“Sit down.”
He obeyed.
She took the chair opposite him. Her face was calm, but her eyes were cold.
“Do you understand what happened today?”
“Yes.”
“Say it out loud.”
Oleg swallowed.
“I took my mother’s side against you. In your home. During the celebration you organized.”
“Almost correct. You didn’t simply take her side. You showed me that, to you, I am disposable. That my effort, my money, and my wishes mean nothing the moment your mother raises her voice.”
“I didn’t mean to…”
“Intentions are irrelevant. Actions are what matter. And this is what you did: you suggested that I abandon the celebration I organized for you so I could work as an unpaid driver for your sister.”
“Lena had nothing to do with it.”
“Lena is a grown woman. She has a phone, money, and two perfectly healthy legs. She is fully capable of getting home from the airport by herself. You, on the other hand, were incapable of defending your own wife from open disrespect.”
He said nothing.
“One more incident like this, and we are finished. That is not a threat. It is information you should remember. I have no intention of living beside a man who turns into an obedient little boy the moment his mother gives an order.”
“Dasha, I’ll change.”
“I don’t need promises. I need actions. Now go to bed. It has been an exhausting day.”
She rose and went into the bedroom.
Oleg remained sitting at the empty table, surrounded by dirty plates and half-finished glasses.
Not a single person had wished him a happy birthday.