I want to introduce you to my mother this evening, after dinner,” Oleg told his girlfriend as he sat on the edge of the sofa.
“Why?” Angela asked calmly as she looked at the man she already considered her husband. She was seated in her favorite chair, casually flipping through the pages of a trendy magazine.
Oleg was taken aback; for a moment he was even at a loss for words. A young man used to logic and order in everything had not expected such a reaction.
“Well, how is it not? We’re getting married soon, and you haven’t met my mother yet—and she’s been asking about you.”
“No,” came the brief reply.
“No?” The man paused, thinking perhaps he had misspoken. Just to be sure he asked again, “Did you say you don’t want to meet my mother?”
“That’s right,” Angela answered. “I don’t want to.”
“Explain why?” Oleg couldn’t understand why his fiancée—the woman he was about to marry—refused to meet his mother.
“There are always problems with mothers-in-law. I’m not forcing you to meet my mother because for you she would be like a mother-in-law, and then there would be scandals,” she said as she set the magazine aside.
“Where did you get that from?” Oleg asked. “My sister Yulka has a wonderful mother-in-law.”
“But I don’t want to,” Angela repeated. “No meetings.”
Alright, Oleg decided not to insist. Perhaps Angela had her reasons. After all, there was still time before the wedding, and he could talk with her about it later. Outside, the rain intensified, the droplets drumming louder on the windowsill as if emphasizing the tension of the moment.
Once a week Oleg visited his mother just for a chat—to see her, sit together, have some tea, catch up on news, and make sure she was well.
“We’ve submitted our application to the registry office,” he announced that he had finally found his future wife.
“Congratulations,” said Lyudmila Vasilievna as she hugged her son. “When am I going to meet your chosen one?”
“Mom…” Oleg hesitated; he fully understood that it was rather strange not to meet the parents.
“What?” the woman asked and opened a new pack of cookies.
“Angela doesn’t want to meet her,” Oleg said, but then, noticing that his mother was about to ask “why,” he continued, “She has two older sisters, and I guess they have problems with their mothers-in-law. And Angela thinks that if she meets you, then problems will start.”
“Hmm,” Lyudmila Vasilievna murmured.
She recalled her own mother-in-law, with whom she had really clashed during the first year—as if they were two cats—but after the birth of Yulia, her eldest daughter, her mother-in-law had suddenly softened, so she understood Angela.
“Alright then, we’ll wait,” the woman said, moving the cookies closer to her son.
When Oleg returned home, he was surprised to see Marina, Angela’s older sister, as his fiancée had often talked about her not recognizing her relatives.
Half an hour later, Marina had left, and Angela, picking up Oleg’s phone (since it had been acting up lately), turned on some movie. A few minutes later, the phone rang; Oleg was about to answer, but she beat him to it.
“Don’t call anymore,” the girl said coldly as she turned the movie back on.
“Who was calling?” Oleg asked.
“I don’t know,” Angela replied.
The man approached, extended his hand, and the girl, pausing the movie, reluctantly handed him the phone.
Oleg opened the call log folder and saw that the call had come from his mother.
“On what grounds did you tell my mother not to call?” Oleg asked his fiancée in a cold tone.
“You need to dot every i and cross every t,” Angela replied coldly.
“You’re going to apologize to my mother right now, alright?” he said, looking at her. She sighed deeply and nodded.
Oleg dialed his mother’s number.
“Hi, Mom, it’s me. Angela was watching a movie and probably thought the call was an advertisement. I’ll hand you the phone,” he said as he passed the phone to her.
She took it, looked at Oleg, then after lowering her gaze and bringing the phone closer to her lips, said, “I’m sorry, I really didn’t notice.”
“It’s nothing,” came the short reply.
Oleg took the phone from Angela: “Mom, I’ll call you back later, okay?” She said something in reply, and he, nodding, ended the call.
For the third year now, Oleg had been working at an oil company. There was plenty of work—reports and more reports—but he was well paid, very well paid. Thanks to that, he managed to mortgage a three-room apartment and just this month he made the last payment. It was a relief, although he still had two other loans: one for the furniture he bought for the apartment and another for his car, but that wasn’t as terrifying. If everything went well, he would be rid of them in a year or two.
“We’re getting married in three weeks!” Angela said as she sat down next to Oleg and, hugging him, started kissing his cheek.
“But I thought there were at least a couple more months until the wedding,” Oleg replied.
“Yes, yes, and you’ll be my husband,” Angela said with a roll of her eyes on the last word, “my very own husband!”
“That sounds tempting,” he replied, embracing her, and she, giggling, promptly settled onto his lap.
After kissing him a few times, she squinted and quietly asked, “How about before the wedding we take a trip somewhere? Maybe to some islands for a vacation? Or at least somewhere by the sea?”
“That would be nice,” Oleg answered. He had been thinking about it himself. Tired from work, often spending ten, sometimes even twelve hours at a desk with paperwork—even on weekends he didn’t get enough sleep—so the idea of heading to the seaside was appealing, yet seemingly impossible.
“It won’t work,” he told his fiancée.
“Oh, why not?” Angela asked, disappointed.
“I’ve just finished paying off the mortgage, and I still have two loans,” he said, showing two fingers. “I can’t afford to miss those payments.”
Angela thought for a while. She snuggled closer to him, listened to his heart beating, and then suggested, “Why don’t you borrow from your mom?”
“Whoa!” exclaimed Oleg. “But didn’t you say you don’t want to meet my mother? That means you don’t have any of my relatives, and for me, it turns out, I don’t have any of my relatives either. And that leads to the conclusion that I can’t ask my mother for money.”
Angela straightened up and looked intently into Oleg’s eyes, thinking he must be joking—but the man was as serious as ever. With a disapproving snort, she got up, looked at the groom once more, and then, with a displeased expression, headed toward the bedroom.
A couple of days later, Oleg was sitting in the kitchen, leaning back on the sofa and sipping strong coffee. Suddenly he remembered that he had promised to call his mother.
“Hi, Mom!”
“Aunt Lyuba has been admitted to the hospital.”
“Is it something serious?” Oleg inquired.
“You know she has heart failure, plus diabetes. And now she’s also developed respiratory failure.”
“Indeed,” Oleg said sympathetically. He remembered Aunt Lyuba well—a stout woman who hadn’t left the house much recently—but she was kind, and he used to visit her often in his childhood.
“And in which hospital is she?”
“They took her to the regional hospital, they pumped her lungs. I’d been telling her for a long time: you need to watch your calories. But you know how she is…”
“Yes,” Oleg agreed. Aunt Lyuba loved to eat; she could eat every half hour.
“I’ll go see her tomorrow. It’s not far from you.”
“And which ward is she in?”
“Number 326. And if anything, visitors are allowed after four. But please, don’t bring anything.”
“Will juice or fruits be okay?”
“Better mandarins. You know she adores them.”
“Then I’ll drop by tomorrow,” Oleg replied.
They spoke for another minute, and then he ended the call and placed the phone on the table.
“Then why are you calling her?” Angela suddenly asked as she entered the kitchen and sat in front of Oleg.
“Because she’s my mom,” he replied, not understanding her question.
“Nowadays everyone lives separately; everyone takes care of themselves.”
“Of course, living separately is understandable—but she’s my mother, and that says it all.”
Oleg simply couldn’t understand why he should or shouldn’t call his mother.
After pouring himself some tea, the girl left for the living room.
In the morning, as he was leaving for work, Oleg called his mother once again and asked for her ward number.
“Ah, got it,” he quickly scribbled the number on his hand (he always did that so as not to forget). “I’ll drop by after work,” he assured her, and after kissing Angela, he headed out.
Lyudmila Vasilievna, as promised, went to her sister’s hospital. Her sister was already feeling somewhat better, puffing like a steam engine, but quite tolerably, walking along the wall.
“Here, give it to your son,” said Aunt Lyuba as she rummaged through the pocket of her robe and produced a small keychain.
“Oh!” Lyudmila Vasilievna exclaimed. “I thought I’d lost it.”
“It was in my pocket; Oleg gave it to me. Where should I keep it? Better with him,” the woman said as she handed the keychain over to her sister.
They sat together for about fifteen minutes, and afterwards, Lyudmila Vasilievna, after saying goodbye to her sister, decided to go straight to Oleg’s home—after all, he lived nearby.
Ascending to the fourth floor (there were no elevators in this five-story building), the woman approached the door and rang the bell. Thinking that no one was home, she was about to leave when suddenly the lock clicked and the door opened—there stood a young woman looking at her.
“Are you Angela?” Lyudmila Vasilievna asked the stranger.
“Yes,” the girl replied, raising an eyebrow questioningly.
“I’m Lyudmila Vasilievna, Oleg’s mother.”
“Ahhh,” Angela uttered, a displeased grimace appearing on her face.
“May I come in and wait for your son?” asked the future daughter-in-law.
“No,” came the immediate, cold reply.
Startled, Lyudmila Vasilievna took a step back; it seemed to her that a cold wind had blown in.
“No,” Angela repeated, then added, “Leave and do not come into my house again.”
With those words, she closed the door.
For a while, Lyudmila Vasilievna stood there, unsure of what to do—perhaps to call her son and complain about how rudely Angela had treated her. In the end, however, she decided against it—after all, Oleg was an adult man; if he had chosen such a woman as his wife, it meant he was content. With a heavy sigh, she went home.
After Oleg visited his aunt and confirmed that she was doing well, he returned home. On the way, he stopped by a flower shop and spent about ten minutes choosing flowers. Finally, he paid for a bouquet and briskly headed to see his beloved.
When he opened the door, he immediately heard female voices.
“I’m here!” Oleg declared as he removed his shoes.
At once, Angela appeared. She looked stunning in her wedding dress.
“Is this for me?” the girl exclaimed in delight, taking the bouquet from her groom’s hands and pressing it to her chest.
“Careful, don’t get stained,” the man gently requested.
Angela beamed with happiness, embraced him, and, ignoring her sister Nina who stood behind him, kissed his lips a couple of times.
“You seem like you’re about to go to sleep in it soon,” Oleg mused with a smirk, greeting his future sister-in-law. She only nodded in response.
After kissing Oleg once more, Angela returned to the living room and, standing before a large mirror, began twirling.
Oleg didn’t feel like listening to the women’s chatter about the upcoming wedding; he went into the bedroom to change.
“By the way,” Angela interjected as she peered into the room, “your mother came by.”
“Mom?” Oleg was surprised at this news.
“Yes, she came.”
“When?” he asked, very taken aback.
“Probably about half an hour ago. I didn’t let her in,” the girl said proudly.
“Repeat what you did?”
“I didn’t let her in,” Angela said, equally proudly.
Not believing her, Oleg took out his phone and dialed his mother.
“Mom, did you come in?” he asked.
“Yes,” came a female voice.
“And what happened?” he inquired while glancing at his fiancée, who just shrugged and walked back to the living room.
“I wasn’t allowed in,” said Lyudmila Vasilievna as calmly as possible. “I wanted to give you back that pendant that you used to give Aunt Lyuba—it had just been lying in her pocket.”
“You mean you weren’t allowed in by Angela?”
“I didn’t even step into the corridor. I was told not to come anymore.”
“I’ll call you back later,” Oleg said before ending the call.
His mind went blank; his face flushed, it became hard to breathe, and his thoughts came to an abrupt stop. The man walked to the window and stared out for several minutes. Still, from the living room, the chattering of the future sister-in-law circling around Angela could be heard. Finally, regaining his composure, Oleg returned to the living room and asked his fiancée calmly, “Why didn’t you let my mother in?”
“I have no intention of maintaining relations with your relatives,” Angela replied for what felt like the umpteenth time.
“She’s my mother,” his voice trembled.
“And I don’t care who she is. There will be no mother-in-law in my house,” the girl turned to him, looked coldly, and added, “They cause endless conflicts. There will be none,” she repeated.
Oleg returned to the bedroom. He felt utterly empty—yes, completely drained. Moments before he had loved Angela, but now his heart was void of even the smallest spark of love. He realized one thing—this wasn’t the woman he wanted to spend his life with.
Silently, the man went to the kitchen, grabbed some trash bags, and returned to the bedroom. He took out a suitcase and slowly began packing Angela’s belongings, and whatever didn’t fit went into additional bags.
Once everything was packed, Nina continued to chatter, exclaiming how wonderful her younger sister’s dress was.
Oleg opened the bedroom door and, without a word, carried the suitcase into the corridor. At first, Angela didn’t pay any attention to him, but when he carried two bags, she asked, “What is that?”
“Your things,” Oleg replied curtly.
Click-clacking in her high heels, Nina ran to the bag, opened it, and saw that it indeed contained her sister’s belongings.
“What does that mean?” she demanded loudly.
“Who are you?” Oleg asked her coldly.
“Sister of your wife!”
“My wife has no sister,” Oleg retorted immediately.
The girls exchanged looks.
“She’s my sister!” Angela declared loudly.
“You—you,” Oleg pointed at the woman he once loved, “you refused to acknowledge my relatives. What made you think I would accept yours?” After a pause, he added, “For me, there are no your sisters.” Then he turned his head to Nina and added, “You are a stranger here.”
“How dare you!” Angela screamed.
“Ohhh,” Oleg said, “don’t you like it when I pay with your own coin?”
At that moment Nina burst into tears. She recalled all the saints in heaven and somewhere down below. For a while, Oleg listened calmly to her cry. Soon the cry of hatred from Angela joined in.
“If my woman disdains my mother so blatantly,” Oleg said, looking coldly at his fiancée, “then it means she also disdains me.”
“No!” Angela immediately protested.
“And I’m not going to live with a woman who disrespects me,” he stated.
He went into the bedroom and, taking another two bags, headed for the exit.
“What are you doing?” the girl yelled.
“I want you to leave,” Oleg said as calmly as he could.
“No!” she declared.
“Out!” he shouted so loudly that even he was startled by his own voice.
Nina recoiled from him. Perhaps she had encountered such anger before. Seeing that her sister had already opened the door, Angela hurried after her.
“And what about the wedding?” she asked him.
“No wedding,” Oleg growled, “none!”
At that very moment, bags were thrown toward him and their contents scattered, but Oleg, stepping on them, moved toward Angela. The cold look in his eyes made her quickly start to back away.
Within seconds, still in her wedding dress, she stepped onto the landing.
“Get out!” Oleg said in parting and immediately closed the door.
Inside, his soul felt nauseous, painful, awful, and revolting. Ignoring the scattered belongings, he returned to the spacious living room. In two weeks, he was supposed to go to the registry office and have his apartment transferred to Angela’s name as his wife.
Taking out his phone, Oleg stood motionless for several minutes. Only after he had calmed down did he dial his mother.
“Mom, I’m sorry for how things turned out,” his voice was low.
“Are you alright?” Lyudmila Vasilievna asked anxiously.
“Yes, I’m fine now,” he said, casting a glance at the scattered items, and added, “Mom, I’ll call you back shortly.”
With a tap on his phone screen, the connection was lost.
Setting the phone on a small table, Oleg bent down and began gathering the belongings of the woman he once loved. Yes, he thought he had loved her, but did she love him? That no longer mattered. After collecting everything, he carefully packed it in a bag. Tomorrow he would call a courier and send all of it to her mother’s home.
Entering the bright kitchen, he turned on the kettle, opened a cupboard, and took out a packet of tea that someone at work—a girl—had given him. Who exactly, he couldn’t recall, but the tea, indeed, was very tasty.
In the room there was a dim glow of an autumn evening. Outside, the last yellow leaves rustled on the birches, and the few passersby hurried to shield themselves from the drizzling rain under their umbrellas. Oleg mechanically went through his familiar motions, trying to return to normal life.