— Napkins. Rearrange them.
The voice of my mother-in-law, Tamara Igorevna, cut through my nerves like a dull knife on glass. I froze, staring at the perfectly even stack of linen napkins.
— What’s wrong with them? — my voice sounded too quiet, almost inaudible.
— The corner. It’s raised by a millimeter. The guests will think we’re slobs.
I slowly exhaled, trying to stop the trembling in my fingers, and fixed the unfortunate corner.
The whole house buzzed with tension in anticipation of this dinner. My husband, Kirill, had been pacing back and forth in the study for half an hour, rehearsing his speech. This evening was crucial for his project.
Tamara Igorevna stepped closer, her sharp gaze scanning my simple dark blouse and skirt.
— You’re not going to sit at the table like that, are you?
— I thought that…
— I’m the one who will do the thinking here, — she cut me off. — Put on the dress I left on the bed. And behave properly. Viktor Petrovich is a man of old school.
He values modesty and good manners.
I nodded without raising my eyes. I had seen the dress. A beige shapeless sheath that was supposed to turn me into a pale shadow.
Kirill came out of the study, adjusting his tie. He threw me a quick, apologetic glance and immediately looked away.
He always did that when his mother started her attacks. As if his silent apology could fix anything.
— Mom, maybe it’s not necessary? Alina looks fine.
— Fine for what? Going to the store? — Tamara snorted. — Kirill, your career is at stake. Every little detail matters. Your wife is your face. And today it must be flawless.
She turned to me, and her eyes became two icy dots. She grabbed me by the elbow, her fingers digging into my skin.
— Remember, — she hissed so Kirill wouldn’t hear. — All evening you sit and smile sweetly.
No opinions, no stories about your work in that library of yours. If asked — answer briefly. You must be silent, poor girl. Your task is not to ruin your son’s life. Understand?
I pulled my hand away; red marks remained on my skin. Inside, everything clenched into a tight, burning lump.
At that moment, the doorbell rang.
Tamara Igorevna’s face instantly transformed. A warm, welcoming smile blossomed. She straightened her jacket and rushed to the hallway.
— I’m coming! Viktor Petrovich, we’re so glad to see you!
I stayed in the living room, feeling like an empty space. Kirill approached and awkwardly touched my shoulder.
— Lin, don’t be offended. She’s nervous.
I said nothing. Just looked toward the hallway, where loud voices and laughter were coming from.
The guests entered the room. Leading was a tall, gray-haired man with an authoritative but tired face — the very Viktor Petrovich. Behind him followed his wife, an elegant and restrained woman.
Tamara fussed around them, offering drinks.
— …please, come in, make yourselves at home! Kirill, take care of the guests!
Viktor Petrovich glanced around the room briefly, politely nodded at Kirill, and suddenly stopped. His eyes met mine.
He froze mid-sentence, staring at my face. The smile on his lips slowly faded, replaced by an expression of utter astonishment, as if he had seen a ghost.
Tamara Igorevna followed his gaze and looked at me too. Her triumphant smile trembled and slid downward.
The air in the room thickened and became viscous. Viktor Petrovich’s wife, Anna, gently touched her husband’s elbow, trying to bring him out of his stupor.
— Darling, what’s wrong?
But he seemed not to hear her. He took a step toward me, then another. I instinctively stepped back, pressing against the wall.
His gaze was so piercing it seemed he wasn’t looking at me but through me, into my past.
— Excuse me… do we know each other? — his voice sounded hoarse and uncertain.
Tamara Igorevna immediately stepped between us, her smile stretched to the limit.
— What are you talking about, Viktor Petrovich! Where would you know her from? Alina is a simple girl from the provinces. An orphan. You couldn’t have seen her.
She emphasized the last word, throwing me a warning glance. “Be silent.”
Kirill, pale as a sheet, tried to save the situation.
— Yes, Alina… she doesn’t often attend such events. Shall we move to the table? I’m sure you’ll appreciate our appetizers!
He tried to lead the guest aside, but Viktor Petrovich gently brushed his hand away without taking his eyes off me.
— What is your last name, young lady? — he asked directly, ignoring everyone else.
The question hung in the air. I felt my mother-in-law’s scorching gaze on me.
I opened my mouth to say the rehearsed “Petrova,” my husband’s surname, but the words caught in my throat. Something in this man’s expression wouldn’t let me lie.
— My maiden name… Kovaleva, — I whispered.
Viktor Petrovich staggered. His wife Anna gasped and took him by the arm; her face showed worry and… recognition?
— Vitya, please sit down. You mustn’t get upset.
Tamara Igorevna was furious. Her face flushed red.
— What Kovaleva? — she hissed. — You’re Petrova! My son’s wife! Have you lost your mind?
She tried to grab my hand and lead me away, but Viktor Petrovich blocked her path.
— Don’t touch her, — he said quietly, but his voice was so steely that the mother-in-law recoiled.
The entire dinner turned into a farce. Kirill desperately tried to start a conversation about his project, but Viktor Petrovich didn’t listen.
He sat across from me and just stared. His questions were not about my current life.
— Where did you grow up, Alina?
— In an orphanage near Kostroma.
— And your parents? Do you know anything about them?
Every answer I gave made his face darker. Tamara Igorevna shifted in her chair; her hands gripped the fork so hard it seemed she might bend it.
Kirill looked from me to his mother to the investor, completely losing the thread of conversation.
— Excuse me, Viktor Petrovich, — the mother-in-law could no longer hold back, — but I don’t think these questions are appropriate. We are here to discuss business…
— Business can wait, — he cut her off without even looking at her. He turned back to me. — Did you have any item when you entered the orphanage? Something your parents left you?
A lump formed in my throat again. I remembered. A small, worn medallion in the shape of a crescent moon. The only thread to my past that I had kept all these years.
I stayed silent, afraid to answer. My mother-in-law’s order still echoed in my ears.
— Alina? — Viktor Petrovich repeated insistently.
I lifted my eyes and met his gaze full of hope and pain. At that moment, I made a decision.
I ignored Tamara Igorevna’s furious hissing. I looked at Kirill, who was pleading with his head, begging me to be quiet. But I could no longer.
— Yes, I did, — my voice sounded surprisingly firm. — A small silver medallion. In the shape of a crescent moon.
Viktor Petrovich’s face twisted. With a trembling hand, he reached under his shirt collar and pulled out a chain.
On it hung a small, tarnished silver sun.
— And on the back… was there an engraving? — he asked, his voice breaking. — The letter “A”?
Tears poured from my eyes. I could only nod.
— And on yours… — I whispered, — the letter “V”?
He also nodded, unable to say a word. He looked at me as if he had found and lost the whole world in an instant.
— Daughter…
This word fell into a dead zone where all sounds froze. Tamara Igorevna stood with her mouth open, her face turned into an ugly mask of shock and horror. Kirill looked as if he had been struck.
Viktor Petrovich, staggering, stood up, came to me, and hugged me tightly and desperately. I clung to his jacket, inhaling an unfamiliar but native scent.
— I have been looking for you, — he whispered into my hair. — All these years. They told me you had died. With your mother. The one who caused the accident… he made sure I thought so.
His wife Anna came over and placed her hand on my shoulder. Her eyes were also full of tears.
— We never stopped looking, Alina. Your father believed you were alive.
Tamara Igorevna finally found her voice.
— What… what kind of circus is this? — she screeched. — What father? That can’t be! She’s… she’s a poor girl! An orphan from an orphanage!
Viktor Petrovich slowly turned around. His face was cold and hard as granite.
— She is my daughter. And I ask you to choose your words carefully when you speak about her.
He surveyed the perfectly set table, the frightened Kirill, and his petrified mother.
— I believe our business dinner is over. Kirill, I think there is nothing more to discuss. My investments require not only a promising project but decent partners. And people capable of humiliating my daughter for years are not among them.
He turned back to me; his hand rested on my shoulder, giving me an incredible sense of protection I had never known in my life.
— Let’s go, daughter. Let’s go home.
I looked at Kirill. He stood with his head lowered, unable to look at me or at his failed investor.
I looked at his mother, who seemed to have aged twenty years in those few minutes.
And for the first time, I felt neither pain nor resentment.
Only lightness. As if a heavy stone I had carried all my conscious life had fallen off my shoulders.
I took my father’s hand and, without looking back, left that house toward a new life.
A week passed. I lived in my father’s house, and it felt like a dream.
No one hissed behind my back, checked whether the cups stood perfectly, or made me feel like a mistake of nature. The air was filled with calm.
My father and I sat in the garden for hours. He told me about my mother. How they met, how she laughed, how she loved to read poetry.
I greedily absorbed every word, piecing together the image of the woman I had never known.
— That man, our former partner, he wanted to take everything from me, — my father said, looking into the distance. — He staged that accident. The car was found in the river… They told me there were two bodies. He paid who he had to, to hide the truth. He knew losing you would break me. And he almost succeeded.
Anna, his wife, brought us blankets and sat nearby. She was surprisingly tactful, not trying to replace my mother, just being there, warming with her kindness.
In the evening, my mobile phone rang. An unknown number. I answered.
— Alina? It’s Kirill.
His voice sounded pathetic and uncertain. I was silent.
— Lin, I… forgive me. I was weak. I was always afraid of my mother, she… she broke not only you but me too. After that evening, she had an attack. She is in the hospital now. The project failed. Everything collapsed.
— I’m sorry to hear that, Kirill, — I answered calmly, surprised by my own composure.
— I understand nothing can be undone… But maybe you could talk to my father? Explain that I didn’t know… I love you, Lin.
I smirked.
— You don’t love me, Kirill. You love convenience. And I’m no longer convenient. Goodbye.
I hung up and blocked the number. For the first time in my life, I didn’t feel a pang of guilt. Only relief.
The next day, my father came into my room.
— I was thinking… You said you worked in a library. Did you like it?
— Yes, very much. Books were my only friends.
— I have an idea, — he smiled. — There is an old bookstore in the city, on the verge of closing.
I could buy it. And you would become its owner. You could do whatever you want there. Maybe a literary café? Or a reading club?
I looked at him, and tears welled up again. But these were different tears.
— Are you serious?
— Absolutely. You’ve been silent for so many years, daughter. It’s time for you to find your voice. And let it sound as loud as you deserve.
I hugged him. At that moment, I realized my story hadn’t ended that evening at my mother-in-law’s house.
It was just beginning. The story of a woman who turned from a poor girl forced to be silent into someone who would tell her own stories. And finally, she would be heard.