The gate creaked shrilly and nastily, as if underlining the end of yet another quarrel with my mother. I was almost running to the car, swallowing tears and feeling how badly my hands were shaking.
Behind me were the half-weeded garden, the half-picked raspberries, and… Mom. Alone again at her dacha.
The day was hot. By three in the afternoon it had become impossible to work. That’s when it all started.
“Lenočka, sit down for a minute,” Mom called, wiping sweat from her forehead. “We need to talk.”
I already knew what the conversation would be about. For the last six months all our talks ended the same way.
“Sweetheart, you have to understand, I’m worried about you. Tell me, why doesn’t your husband want children? You’ve been married three years and nothing! And you used to dream of a baby…”
“Mom, we’ve discussed this! First we want to get on our feet, finish the renovation…”
“What renovation? In your apartment? Which any day now…” She broke off, but I was already triggered.
“Finish it, Mom! Which what? Which my husband will take from me? Is that what you wanted to say?”
“Isn’t that how it is? Do you really think he loves you? He only needs your gorgeous apartment in the city center! Otherwise he’ll toss you out like a stray mutt!”
Those words caught up with me right by the car. I spun around sharply. Mom stood on the porch, arms crossed over her chest. In her faded calico robe she seemed so small and defenseless, but her gaze was full of stubbornness and a kind of desperate resolve.
“Mom, stop it! You’re the one who chose him, remember? You said he was so decent, so reliable…”
“Exactly! He seemed decent! And now what? He sits at home all day, supposedly working. Normal men…”
“…go to an office, right?” I cut in. “Do you know how much he makes working remotely? We flew on vacation twice this year!”
“Exactly, he’s wasting your money! Your apartment will fly away the same way! You won’t even have time to blink! He’ll swindle you and dump you! Brainless! I’m telling you for the thousandth time! You must transfer the apartment to me before it’s too late! Otherwise you won’t even notice when you end up living under a bridge! I’m your mother, I won’t give you bad advice.”
I looked Mom straight in the eyes…
Three years ago it was different. We weren’t just mother and daughter. We were best friends. She was the first to hear all my secrets; we could talk on the phone for hours and go to sales together.
When I met Andrey, Mom rejoiced for me like no one else.
“So serious,” she said then, “and kind eyes. A man for life!”
After the wedding her attitude toward the new son-in-law suddenly began to change. At first it was trifles: a displeased look when Andrey didn’t finish her signature pie, a remark that he “spends too much time on the computer.” Then the reproaches grew: criticism of his work, hints at his supposedly lukewarm attitude toward me.
And then came this obsessive idea about the apartment.
Andrey tried to stay out of our conflicts.
“I don’t want to be the apple of discord,” he’d say. “These are your and your mom’s relations, I shouldn’t interfere.”
At my request my husband reduced contact with his mother-in-law to a minimum, showed up at family celebrations and left right away…
I started the engine, taking one last look at the little dacha house. I remembered our evenings on the veranda with tea and apricot jam, heart-to-heart talks until dawn, her warm hands on my shoulders…
Where had it all gone?
“Len, maybe stay?” Mom’s voice carried from afar. “I’ll bake a pie. Your favorite. With apples and cinnamon…”
“Sorry, Mom. I can’t stay here any longer…”
I shook my head and pulled away. In the rearview mirror her lonely figure flashed by. My heart clenched in pain. But I couldn’t go back: inside I was boiling with hurt and anger.
Only when I got onto the highway did I realize I was crying.
Mom’s words about Andrey, like poisoned needles, lodged in my head. I had never doubted my husband before, but now…
What if there was a grain of truth in her fears? What if I really wasn’t seeing something important?
I got home around five.
Andrey wasn’t there. The apartment was eerily quiet, broken only by the ticking of the clock. I automatically touched its case, the way I always did when walking past. For some reason it calmed me, reminding me of times when everything was simple and clear.
On the kitchen table there was a cup of coffee and a half-eaten piece of toast. So Andrey had eaten at home. He usually always washed his dishes, but now…
Was he in a rush? Strange.
I mechanically took yesterday’s salad from the fridge and poked it with a fork. I couldn’t swallow a bite.
Mom’s words kept spinning in my head like a stuck record. Before, I’d just wave off her suspicions, chalking them up to ordinary maternal jealousy.
But today something was different…
“I won’t wind myself up,” I decided and reached for my phone.
It rang a long time, but Andrey didn’t pick up. I dialed again. Same result. Odd. He usually always answered, even if he was busy—at least declined and called back.
In three years of living together, this had become our unspoken rule.
Ten minutes later a message came:
“Sorry, darling, I’m busy. Important meeting at the Silva café. I’ll be free late, don’t wait for me for dinner.”
I reread the message several times.
What meeting? Why at a café and not at the client’s office? And why couldn’t he just call?
Andrey had never held business meetings in cafés before. He said it was unprofessional.
I dialed his number again and once more heard long rings into the void.
Anger began to bubble up inside. What kind of nonsense was this? For the first time my husband was acting so strangely. Even on business trips he always found a minute to call back.
“Calm down,” I told myself. “You’re being paranoid. The man’s in a meeting; it’s inconvenient for him to talk.”
To distract myself, I tried to clean, but it didn’t help. My hands went through the motions while my thoughts kept circling back to my husband. I dusted, mopped the floors, even sorted the closet. I did everything on autopilot, noticing nothing around me.
Then I called Marinka, my best friend, but she was busy with the kids and couldn’t talk.
“I’ll call back after ten,” she promised. “Are you okay? Your voice sounds odd…”
“It’s fine,” I lied, not even convincing myself.
Around seven I couldn’t take it anymore.
“I’ll just drive by,” I told myself as I went down to the car. “I’ll make sure everything’s fine and go home.”
An inner voice whispered that I was acting like a jealous fool, but I couldn’t stop.
“Silva” was located in an old merchant’s mansion. What I liked most were the huge panoramic windows. We used to walk past it often. I kept trying to talk Andrey into going in for dinner, but he would joke it off:
“Too pretentious a place for simple IT folks.”
Parking across the street, I immediately saw my husband. He was sitting at a table by the window. Opposite him sat a young woman: a slender brunette in an elegant blue dress. On the table in front of them stood a bottle of wine and some appetizers.
I froze, unable to look away.
They were chatting animatedly. Andrey kept laughing. The stranger was showing him something on her phone, leaning in very close, and he was looking intently, his head inclined toward her shoulder. Their faces were so close…
The scene blurred before my eyes.
So this is what an “important meeting” looks like! That’s why he didn’t pick up! That’s why he never wanted to go into this café with me!
My head roared. Mom’s words echoed louder:
“You think he loves you?”
I sat gripping the steering wheel, unable to move. And in the café’s picture window, like in a movie frame, my husband kept smiling at the beautiful stranger in the blue dress.
I don’t remember how I ended up inside. I think the maître d’ tried to ask me something, but I swept past like a hurricane. Blood pounded in my ears; red spots swam before my eyes.
“So that’s how it is?” I shouted so loudly that every patron turned to look at our table. “An important meeting, huh?”
Andrey flinched and turned sharply. His companion raised her eyebrows in surprise.
“Lena? What are you…”
“Don’t bother explaining! Miserable liar!” I could feel everyone’s eyes on me, but I couldn’t stop. “Three years you lied to me about your work? About important meetings with clients?”
“Listen…”
“And you,” I turned to the woman in the blue dress, “do you know he’s married? Or does that not matter to you? Stealing someone else’s husband is routine for you, is that it?”
The stranger’s cheeks flushed slightly, but she remained remarkably composed.
“Elena, I presume?” she pronounced each word coldly, authoritatively. “My name is Vera Aleksandrovna. I’m a co-owner of the company where your husband works.”
I stumbled mid-sentence, not knowing how to proceed.
“I flew in from Singapore specifically for a personal meeting with Andrey. We planned to offer him the position of Director of Development. I stress—planned. Because after your… spectacular entrance I’m forced to reconsider.”
She dabbed her lips with a napkin and continued:
“You see, in such a position a person must be able to control emotions and assess situations adequately. Unfortunately, public family scenes do not fit our company policy.”
Only then did I notice the business papers on the table, the tablet with charts, and a presentation on the phone screen.
Vera Aleksandrovna rose from the table and with a single motion threw a pricey jacket over her shoulders.
“Andrey, I’m sorry. You truly are an excellent specialist. But under the circumstances…”
“Wait,” I grabbed her sleeve. “I didn’t mean… I just…”
“Remove your hand,” she said with distaste, jerking her shoulder. “And in future, before accusing strangers of immoral behavior, at least learn basic manners.”
She turned and walked toward the exit. Her heels clicked sharply on the parquet in the funeral silence of the hall.
I turned to my husband.
“Andrey, I didn’t know… I’m sorry, please…”
He slowly lifted his eyes to me. I had never seen so much hurt and disappointment in them.
“You know,” he said quietly, “for a long time I couldn’t understand how you resisted your mother’s influence. Now I see you’ve become just like her. The same suspicion, the same readiness to see the worst in people…”
He stood, took a bill from his pocket, and laid it on the table.
“You’ll be better off with her than with me. You deserve each other.”
“Andrey, wait!”
But he was already heading for the door without looking back. I stood in the middle of the café, feeling the patrons’ condemning stares. Tears rolled down my cheeks.
Somewhere behind me hovered a concerned waiter, but I didn’t see him. All I could see was my husband’s face, and his last words echoed:
“You’ve become just like her…”
In complete turmoil I drove to my mother’s. Despite our disagreements, she was always my closest person, the one shoulder I could lean on in a hard moment.
I needed advice, support. Who, if not a mother, sincerely wants happiness for her child?
Mom seemed to be waiting for me. She opened the door at once, as if she’d been standing behind it.
“Lenočka!” She hugged me tight. “I was so worried after our quarrel. Thank God you came. Forgive me, dear. Come in! Let’s have some tea?”
The kettle was already humming in the kitchen; jam was on the table. My favorite, apricot. Just like in childhood, when I’d run to her with my troubles and she always knew how to comfort me.
“Mom,” I could barely hold back tears, “I think I’ve ruined everything…”
And I told her everything: about the café, about the woman in the blue dress, about Andrey’s missed promotion, about his last words…
“What should I do? How do I get my husband back? Mommy, tell me!”
Mom listened silently, stirring her tea with a spoon. And then suddenly… smiled?
“Sweetheart, this is wonderful! Everything happens for the best. It just wasn’t meant to be for you two.”
“What?” I couldn’t believe my ears.
“Don’t get heated! These are just first emotions. In a month you won’t even remember his name! You broke up, that’s that. Fate! I’ll help with the divorce, I know a good lawyer…”
“Mom, you don’t understand! I don’t want a divorce! I love my husband!”
“Love?” she snorted. “There’s no such thing as love. All men are the same, dear. Do you think your father was different? They all betray sooner or later. The best thing a man can do for a woman is get out of her life! Do you understand, my dear? You and I will manage just fine on our own! Why do we need anyone else? We’ll rent out the apartment, go to the seaside next summer. Hm?”
I looked at my mother and didn’t recognize her.
“We’ll get a kitty, go to the dacha on weekends. Remember how good it was before? Just you and me…”
And suddenly it dawned on me!
It wasn’t about the apartment. And it wasn’t about Andrey.
All this time Mom had been methodically destroying my marriage not for mercenary reasons. She simply… wanted me back for herself.
“Mom,” my voice trembled, “did you do this on purpose? All those hints, suspicions… You deliberately tried to set Andrey and me against each other?”
She fell silent mid-sentence, and that silence spoke louder than any confession.
“God,” I rose from the table. “How could you? You’re my mother! You’re supposed to want my happiness!”
“And I do!” she shot up too. “Do you think you’ll be happy with him? He…”
“Enough!” I was almost shouting. “You’re selfish! You ruined my marriage because you were lonely! You poisoned me with your suspicion, your fantasies! You turned me into your copy!”
“Lena…”
“No, Mom. I won’t become like you. I won’t live in a made-up world where everyone is an enemy. And I won’t let you manipulate me for your own convenience.”
I grabbed my bag and headed for the door.
“You know what’s the worst? I came to you for support. I thought you’d help me fix everything. And you… you don’t even try to hide your joy that my marriage is broken.”
Mom stood in the middle of the kitchen, her hands dropped helplessly. For the first time in her life she had nothing to say.
“Goodbye, Mom. I’ll try to be different. For myself. For my future happiness.”
For two weeks I tried to talk to Andrey. I called, wrote, waited outside his office.
But my husband was adamant:
“We have nothing more to talk about. Lena, please, don’t bother me.”
Then a court summons arrived. Divorce.
I sat in the kitchen, holding the official sheet of paper, and felt my world finally collapsing.
My head spun; nausea rose to my throat. I chalked it up to stress, but over the next couple of days I felt only worse. Marinka insisted I see a doctor.
“Congratulations,” the doctor smiled after the exam. “Six weeks pregnant.”
I burst into tears right there in the office. I cried from happiness, from despair, from fear. All at once.
A baby… our baby with Andrey… So ill-timed and at the same time so right!
My first impulse was to call my husband. But something stopped me.
What if he thought I was trying to manipulate him and keep him this way? No, I couldn’t. Let things take their course.
I shared the wonderful news only with Marinka.
She hugged me tight.
“Congratulations, dear! Children are wonderful! It’ll work out, you’ll see. Everything will be as it should be, even if it’s different!”
About a week later I was making dinner. Just to keep my hands busy and chase away dark thoughts. It was getting dark outside; a drizzle fell. Suddenly a key turned in the lock.
My heart stopped. Andrey? Probably for his things…
He stopped right in the entryway and looked at me with a questioning gaze.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Tell you what?” I knew perfectly well what he meant, but I was afraid to believe it.
“About the baby, Len. Why do I hear about your pregnancy from someone else? Why are you always thinking for me? Deciding what I’ll think and how I’ll react?”
I kept silent, afraid to scare the moment away.
“You know,” he went on more softly, “when Marinka called… I thought for a long time. About you, about us. About how we met, how you laughed at my stupid jokes… And now we’re going to have a child. Maybe it’s a sign. Maybe… maybe we should try again?”
“Can you forgive me? Truly. Can you trust me again?”
“I’ll learn again. Day by day. I’m willing to try if you are.”
“I’ll never again…”
“Don’t promise,” my husband interrupted. “Just be yourself. The girl I fell in love with. She knew how to be sincere.”
…Timoshka was born on a spring morning. A sturdy, loud-voiced little boy.
When they discharged us from the maternity hospital, the first thing I saw was Andrey’s happy face. And next to him—my tearful mother with a huge bouquet of flowers.
“Lenočka,” she came up to me and took my hand. “Forgive me. I understand everything now. I promise I’ll never interfere in your family again. Just… may I be a grandmother? A real, loving grandmother?”
I looked at Andrey. He gave the slightest nod.
“Of course, Mom. Just remember that Timoshka has a father. The best father in the world!”
She nodded rapidly, clutching the bouquet to her chest.
“I know, dear. I know now.”
Timoshka stirred in his swaddling. We all turned to him involuntarily. He was so tiny, yet he managed what we adults could not: he taught us to trust each other again.
Andrey took my hand and said quietly:
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For being stronger than your fears. For not becoming like…” He trailed off.
“Like Mom?” I smiled. “You know, she can change too. For her grandson’s sake.”
“For the family,” he corrected, and kissed me.
Outside, the spring sun was shining. Life was beginning anew. A life with room only for trust, love, and forgiveness.