— “Your husband can have his birthday without you. You go meet my daughter,” the mother-in-law said brazenly.
Victoria slowly lifted her eyes from the colorful gift boxes she was neatly arranging on the table. In the doorway stood Evelina Markovna—her mother-in-law—draped in an expensive dress the color of burgundy wine.
“Excuse me, WHAT?” Victoria set aside the satin ribbon she’d been about to tie around Avdey’s main present.
“Are you deaf? My Milana is flying in from Dubai this evening. You need to meet her at Domodedovo, drive her home, help her unpack. Avdey will be just fine without your silly surprises.”
Victoria straightened up. In four years of marriage she had grown used to Evelina Markovna’s antics, but this was a first.
“Evelina Markovna, tomorrow is Avdey’s thirty-fifth birthday. I’ve been preparing this party for half a year. I booked a table at his favorite restaurant, invited friends he hasn’t seen in years…”
“YOU’LL CANCEL IT,” the mother-in-law waved a hand heavy with gold rings. “Milana is more important than your nonsense. She hasn’t been home for three months; she’s missed us.”
“I’m not a chauffeur or a maid! Milana has a husband of her own—let Rostislav pick her up!”
Evelina Markovna narrowed her eyes; her lips, painted a dark wine color, twisted into a contemptuous smirk.
“Rostislav is busy. He has an important deal. And what useful thing are you doing? Sitting at home and spending my son’s money on all sorts of trifles. For once in your life, do something to benefit the family!”
“I work!” Victoria protested. “I run my own floral studio; I have twelve employees!”
“You sell flowers,” the mother-in-law snorted. “That’s not work, it’s a pastime for bored housewives. Real work is signing multi-million contracts, like my late husband did. Or like Avdey does now.”
Victoria clenched her fists. A hot, choking wave of indignation rose in her chest.
“Is Avdey aware of this ‘request’ of yours?”
“Avdey has no time for women’s foolishness. He’s in important negotiations in Yekaterinburg and won’t be back until tomorrow by lunch. By then you’ll have already taken Milana home and returned. You might even manage to cook something for your husband’s birthday. Though with your culinary skills, better order in.”
“I’M NOT GOING,” Victoria said firmly.
Evelina Markovna walked closer, smelling of expensive French perfume— and arrogance.
“Listen carefully, girl. You live in an apartment MY son bought. You drive a car MY son gave you. You wear jewelry that—”
“ENOUGH!” Victoria sprang to her feet. “I’m not a gold-digger! I have my own business, my own money! And we bought that apartment TOGETHER; I paid half!”
“Oh please, don’t make me laugh. Your pennies from selling daisies? Avdey let you chip in out of pity, so you wouldn’t feel like a freeloader. Which, in fact, you are.”
The words landed hard and true. Victoria knew they were lies—her studio was thriving; she really had paid half the apartment’s cost. But Evelina had a remarkable talent for twisting facts to suit herself.
“You know what? Do without me. Let Milana take a taxi. Or you pick her up yourself since she’s such a Very Important Person.”
“Me?” Evelina pressed a hand to her chest. “I have a heart condition; doctors forbade stress and long drives. And Domodedovo is a real ordeal for my health.”
“Yet flying to Monaco every two months doesn’t seem to strain your health,” Victoria couldn’t resist.
The mother-in-law’s face turned crimson.
“How DARE you! You ungrateful girl! We took you, a penniless provincial, into our family, and you—”
“I’m from Nizhny Novgorod, not a village! And I have a university degree, my own business, and—”
“SILENCE!” Evelina barked. “You will be at Terminal Three at seven p.m. Milana arrives at seven-thirty, flight from Dubai. And don’t you dare be late!”
With that, she turned and strode out, slamming the door.
Victoria sank onto the couch. Her hands trembled with anger and hurt. She pulled out her phone and dialed her husband. Long rings, then voicemail: “The subscriber is temporarily unavailable.”
For the next few hours Victoria paced the apartment, trying to decide. On the one hand, she refused to give in to manipulation. On the other, she knew saying no would spark a grand scandal that would ruin Avdey’s birthday completely.
At five o’clock the phone rang. Her husband’s name lit the screen.
“Avdey! Thank God you called! We have a—”
“Hey, Vika. Listen, Mom said you’ll pick up Milana. Thanks for agreeing. I know you two don’t really get along, but it’s important.”
Victoria was speechless.
“So… you KNEW? And didn’t tell me anything?”
“Well, Mom called an hour ago to tell me. I thought she’d already discussed it with you. What’s the problem?”
“The problem is that tomorrow is your birthday! I arranged everything—restaurant, guests…”
“Oh, Vic, let’s move it to the weekend. What’s the difference when we celebrate? Milana rarely comes; she needs support. She and Rostislav are having some issues.”
“She ALWAYS has issues! And why should I drop everything and rush to the airport?”
“Because you’re my wife and part of the family,” his voice hardened. “Don’t make a scene, please. I’ve got three more hours of meetings, then a partners’ dinner. Meet Milana, drive her home, and that’s it. It’s not hard.”
“And the fact I’ve spent six months preparing your party doesn’t matter?”
“Vika, DON’T START. I’m tired; the negotiations are tough. We’ll discuss everything when I’m back.”
He hung up without saying goodbye.
Victoria stared at the dark screen. The hurt inside swelled until she wanted to scream. She called her friend.
“Alyona, hey. Can you swing by? I need help.”
Half an hour later, Alyona Mokeeva—her best friend and co-owner of the studio—sat in the kitchen, listening to Victoria’s halting account.
“What a witch,” Alyona exhaled when she finished. “Sorry, but your mother-in-law is a real one. And Avdey isn’t much better—a mama’s boy.”
“What do I do? If I don’t go, there’ll be a scandal for the whole building to hear. Evelina will make my life hell.”
“And if you go, she’ll know she can wipe her feet on you. You know what? I have an idea.”
Alyona pulled out her phone and started texting quickly.
“What are you doing?”
“Messaging our lawyer, Makar. Remember he said his brother owns a transport company? We’ll sort this out.”
An hour later, the plan was ready. With grim resolve Victoria got ready and headed to the airport. Not alone—Alyona insisted on coming.
Domodedovo greeted them with its usual bustle. Victoria stood at the arrivals exit holding a sign: “Milana Sechina.”
“Maybe we should just leave?” she wavered at the last moment.
“NO WAY,” Alyona said firmly. “The plan’s already in motion.”
Milana appeared forty minutes after the plane landed. Tall, thin, with long bleached hair and a haughty expression—the spitting image of her mother, just younger.
“Victoria? Where’s the car? I’m tired; I want to go home.”
No greeting, no thanks for being met.
“The car’s in the parking lot. Let’s go.”
Milana sniffed disdainfully, eyeing Victoria from head to toe.
“What are you wearing? Is that from the mass market? God, Avdey could have found himself a more presentable wife.”
Alyona, walking behind them, hissed under her breath. Victoria clenched her teeth and said nothing.
They reached the parking lot. Next to Victoria’s car stood a young man in a driver’s uniform.
“Good evening. I’m Timur, your driver for today.”
“What kind of circus is this?” Milana bristled. “Victoria, can’t you drive yourself?”
“I can. But I won’t. Timur will take you home. He knows the address. Have a nice trip.”
Victoria turned and walked away. Alyona followed.
“HEY! STOP!” Milana shouted. “Where are you going? What about my luggage? And helping me unpack?”
“You’ll manage,” Victoria tossed over her shoulder.
“I’LL TELL MOM! She’ll throw you out of the apartment!”
Victoria stopped and turned slowly.
“Tell Evelina Markovna that I fulfilled her request—I met you. There was no mention of helping with luggage. And also tell her that tomorrow at exactly seven p.m. we’ll be celebrating Avdey’s birthday at the restaurant ‘Marseille.’ If she or you show up there, security won’t let you in. The guest list is finalized.”
“You… you…” Milana was practically choking with rage. “Who do you think you are?”
“Your brother’s wife. A wife, not a servant. Timur,” Victoria nodded to the driver, “please deliver madam home. Here’s the address, just in case. And don’t listen to her tantrums—you’re not paid extra for that.”
She and Alyona got into Victoria’s car and drove off, leaving Milana standing in the middle of the parking lot, mouth agape.
“You were magnificent!” Alyona breathed. “You should’ve seen her face!”
“Now it begins,” Victoria sighed. “Evelina will never forgive me.”
The phone started exploding with calls fifteen minutes later. Mother-in-law, Milana, then mother-in-law again. Victoria silenced it and put the phone in her bag.
A surprise awaited her at home. Standing on the doorstep was Avdey—rumpled and angry.
“What the hell did you do? Mom’s hysterical, Milana’s sobbing! Have you lost your mind?”
“You were supposed to be in Yekaterinburg,” Victoria said, taken aback.
“I flew back when Mom called! I canceled a crucial meeting! Do you realize what you’ve done?”
“I met your sister and arranged transportation to take her home. What’s the problem?”
“You HUMILIATED her! Hired some driver as if she were nobody!”
“And what am I? A free chauffeur? A maid?”
“You’re my wife; you should help my family!”
“I’m your wife, not your mother’s slave! And you know what? I’ve HAD ENOUGH! Four years I’ve put up with rudeness, humiliation, insults! Your mother wipes her feet on me and you pretend nothing’s happening!”
“Don’t exaggerate. Mom is just… peculiar.”
“Peculiar? PECULIAR? Today alone she called me a pauper, a skank, a freeloader!”
“She’s emotional. Don’t take it to heart.”
Victoria looked at her husband like a stranger.
“Avdey, tomorrow is your birthday. I’ve spent six months preparing. I found your childhood best friend you lost touch with. Invited your favorite professor from university. Ordered a cake made to your grandmother’s special recipe that only one place in Moscow bakes. And what? None of that matters because your spoiled sister needed a personal driver?”
“Stop the hysterics. We’ll cancel the restaurant and celebrate at home, just family.”
“ ‘Just family’ meaning your mother and sister?”
“Of course. They’re family.”
“And me?”
“You too, obviously. Don’t start getting jealous.”
“I’m not jealous. I’M LEAVING.”
Victoria went to the bedroom and pulled out a suitcase.
“What are you doing? Vika, stop!”
“I’m going to my parents in Nizhny. Celebrate your birthday with Mommy and Sis. I’m sure they’ll be thrilled.”
“Victoria, ENOUGH! Put the suitcase down!”
“NO.”
She quickly packed the essentials. Avdey stood in the doorway, unable to believe it.
“You’re serious? Over something this trivial?”
“If four years of humiliation is ‘trivial’ to you, then yes—serious.”
“Where will you go? You don’t even have real money!”
Victoria stopped and turned to him slowly.
“I have a business that brings in a net profit of a million and a half a month. I have my own apartment that I rent out. I have savings I never merged with the household budget because your mother kept implying I was after your money. So don’t worry about me.”
The color drained from his face.
“A million and a half? But you said…”
“I said things were going well. You never asked for details. It was more convenient for you and your mother to think I’m a loser who sells ‘little flowers.’”
His phone rang—“Mom” on the screen.
“Answer it,” Victoria said wearily. “Don’t keep Mommy waiting.”
He picked up and put it on speaker.
“AVDEY! Has that wretch arrived yet? I demand she apologize to Milana IMMEDIATELY! And to me! Otherwise she can get out of your apartment!”
“Mom, I’ll call you back…”
“DON’T YOU DARE hang up! You must put that upstart in her place! Show her who’s boss in the house! I won’t tolerate this attitude toward our family!”
Victoria took her suitcase and headed for the door.
“Vika, wait!”
“Tell Evelina Markovna she got what she wanted. I’M LEAVING.”
The door closed softly behind her, but to Avdey it sounded like thunder.
“Avdey? AVDEY! Are you listening?” his mother screeched through the phone.
He hung up and sank onto the couch.
The next day—his birthday—was a nightmare. Victoria didn’t answer calls. At “Marseille” restaurant he was met by Alyona, who coolly informed him the celebration was canceled at the birthday boy’s request.
“But I didn’t—”
“Your mother called the manager yesterday and said you’d celebrate at home with family. We’ll refund the deposit to Victoria’s card.”
Guests his wife had invited phoned with congratulations and confusion about why the evening was canceled. His childhood friend Pasha, whom Victoria had tracked down on social media, was especially upset—he’d flown in from St. Petersburg.
At home, his mother and sister were waiting. On the table sat a supermarket cake and cheap champagne.
“Happy birthday, son! See, we took care of you. Not like that ungrateful thing.”
“Mom, what is this?” he gestured at the pathetic cake.
“A festive dinner! Milana picked it. Right, dear?” chirped Evelina, but there was false sweetness in her voice.
“Where’s Victoria?” Milana asked, looking around.
“She went to her parents. Because of you.”
“AND GOOD RIDDANCE!” his mother brightened. “No need to put up with that hysteric! You’ll find yourself a better wife. From a good family, with a dowry.”
“Mom, Vika is from a good family. And she has a successful business.”
“Ha! Flowers! Some business!”
“Her studio is one of the most popular in Moscow. She has contracts with major hotels and restaurants. She decorated the deputy mayor’s wedding.”
Evelina pursed her lips.
“Still. Her character is awful. Always sticking her nose in the air.”
He looked from his mother to his sister and suddenly saw what he’d missed before—pettiness, envy, malice.
“You know what? Go home. I want to be alone.”
“But son! Your birthday!”
“HOME!”
Mother and sister left, lips pinched in offense.
He was alone in the empty apartment. On the hall table lay tickets—Victoria had bought them a week in Italy as his birthday present. Now the tickets looked like a cruel joke.
A week passed. Victoria didn’t come back and didn’t answer calls. He tried reaching her through friends, but they only said coolly that she was fine and asked him not to bother her.
Work troubles began too. It turned out several large clients had come to his company thanks to recommendations from Victoria’s business partners. Now those clients were doubting the firm’s reliability—if a man can’t manage his own family, how can he be trusted with million-ruble contracts?
Evelina called ten times a day, demanding he start divorce proceedings.
“We have to beat that wretch to it! She’s surely planning to sue for half the property!”
“Mom, the apartment is in both our names. She has a right to half.”
“What right? You paid for everything!”
“No. She paid exactly half. I have the documents.”
There was a pause; then Evelina screeched:
“She did it ON PURPOSE! So she could take the apartment later!”
“Mom, ENOUGH! My wife left because of you! Because of your rudeness and arrogance!”
“Me? I only wanted what’s best for you!”
“You insulted her every time you met! Called her a pauper, even though she earns more than Milana!”
“DON’T YOU DARE compare that upstart to your sister!”
He hung up.
Two weeks later an unfamiliar number called.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Avdey. My name is Makar Volokhov; I represent Victoria Andreevna. We need to meet to discuss division of property.”
“She’s filing for divorce?”
“Not yet. But she wants to divide jointly acquired assets and live separately. If you agree to an amicable settlement, divorce can be avoided.”
“I… I need to talk to her.”
“Victoria Andreevna does not want personal meetings. All questions go through me.”
He agreed to meet. On the appointed day he went to the law office. Victoria wasn’t there—only her attorney, a sharp-eyed young man.
“So, my client is willing to leave you the apartment entirely in exchange for monetary compensation for her share. The amount is fifteen million rubles.”
“Fifteen million? But the apartment is worth twenty-five!”
“Correct. Half is twelve and a half. Plus two and a half million—compensation for moral harm after four years of systematic humiliation by your mother, which you failed to stop.”
“That’s blackmail!”
“It’s an offer. You can refuse, and we’ll see you in court. I have audio recordings of your mother insulting my client, witness statements, correspondence. The court may order you to pay much more.”
“What recordings?”
Makar took out his phone and played a clip. Evelina’s voice called Victoria a “pauper,” a “skank,” a “freeloader.”
“Where did you get that?”
“Victoria recorded all meetings with your mother for the last two years. For her own protection. She knew she’d need it sooner or later.”
He signed everything. A month later the money was transferred, and Victoria officially relinquished her share in the apartment.
He tried to track her down, to find out where she lived. But Victoria had vanished. The studio kept running, but its owner didn’t appear—Alyona handled everything.
Then the real problems began.
The tax inspection arrived out of the blue. It turned out that Evelina, who had “helped” her son with accounting for years, had been running gray schemes for her girlfriends through his company. The amounts were huge.
“Mom, what is this?” He shook the papers in her face.
“I may have a bad heart, but I’m not stupid!” Evelina yelled. “I thought it was petty income for your firm!”
The fine came to eight million rubles. Plus interest. Plus the threat of criminal charges.
“Mom, I could go to prison,” he said, clutching his head.
“You’re exaggerating! You’ll pay the fine and that’s it.”
“With what money? I gave Victoria fifteen million; now another eight to the tax authorities!”
It took six months to sort out. He sold his car, took out loans, pawned his share of the business. Evelina suddenly grew much quieter and called less often—apparently she realized her son was no longer a gold mine.
A year later, after the worst had passed, he ran into Alyona by a shopping center.
“Hi,” he said.
“Hi,” she replied curtly, heading for the exit.
“Alyona, wait! How’s Victoria?”
His wife’s friend looked him up and down.
“Great. She’s happy.”
“Could you tell her I’d like to meet? To talk?”
“All right.”
The meeting took place a week later in a small café. Victoria looked wonderful—rested, serene. A new ring sparkled on her hand.
“Thanks for agreeing,” he began. “I wanted to apologize. For everything. You were right. Mom… she really is unbearable.”
“Thank you for the apology.”
“Vika, maybe we could try again? I’ve realized a lot; I’ve changed…”
“Avdey,” she interrupted gently, “we’re different people. You’ll choose your mother—I know that. And I need a husband who’ll be on my side.”
“But I love you!”
“And I don’t anymore. I’m sorry.”
She nodded toward the ring.
“Shall we divorce amicably?”
He nodded. There was no other way.
He signed the divorce papers a month later. That same evening, Evelina called with fresh complaints about the property management company.
“Mom,” he said quietly, “I’m tired.”
At that moment, Victoria was standing in line at the registry office with documents for a new marriage registration. Beside her, holding her hand, stood a tall man with kind eyes—Dmitry, a surgeon who never raised his voice and believed the flower business was serious work.