Lyudmila froze in the doorway, a suitcase clenched in her hand. The woman facing her—Evdokia Markovna—stood with her arms spread, as if she could physically block the entire space.
— I don’t have to explain anything to you, — the young woman said quietly, fighting to keep her composure. — Arkady knows about my decision.
— He knows?! — Evdokia Markovna shouted. — My son doesn’t know a thing! He’s at work, doing everything for this family, and you’re here staging a melodrama!
Lyudmila shifted the suitcase to her other hand. Two years. Two endless years of swallowing this woman’s insults. Every morning began the same way—with criticism: how she cooked, how she dressed, how she spoke. Evdokia Markovna interfered in everything, from choosing bed linens to deciding how weekends should be spent.
— Please move, — Lyudmila tried to step around her, but the mother-in-law blocked her again.
— No! You’ll stay right here and wait for Arkady! What do you think he’ll say when he comes home and his wife is gone? Do you even realize what you’re doing?
Just then, Lyudmila’s phone buzzed in her pocket. The name on the screen was Svyatoslav. She didn’t answer, but Evdokia Markovna understood immediately.
— So that’s it, — her voice turned to ice. — You’ve got someone else! I knew it! A decent woman doesn’t sneak out in the middle of the night with suitcases!
— It’s not what you think…
— Quiet! — the mother-in-law snapped. — I always knew you weren’t a match for my son! Where did you even come from—no family, no pedigree! Arkady could have married our friends’ daughter—Alevtina, a wonderful girl from a respectable home! But he chose you!
Lyudmila clenched her teeth. Alevtina was another sore subject. Evdokia Markovna mentioned her at every opportunity—how well-bred she was, how capable around the house, how beautifully she played the piano. And most of all: what a “proper” mother she had, Evdokia Markovna’s close friend for twenty years.
— I’m leaving, — Lyudmila said firmly. — And you won’t stop me.
— Just try! — Evdokia Markovna grabbed her wrist. — I’m calling Arkady right now! Let him hear what kind of wife he has!
She pulled out her phone and started dialing. Lyudmila tore her hand free and moved toward the window. Outside, twilight was slowly settling, dyeing the sky in deep violet tones. Somewhere on the other side of the city, Svyatoslav was waiting—the man who had become her real support over the last six months.
They’d met by accident, in the library where Lyudmila used to escape the suffocating atmosphere at home. Svyatoslav restored antique books, and a conversation about literature sparked between them. After that came coffee meetings, long walks through the park, talks about everything. He never pushed, never demanded—he was simply there when she needed him.
— Hello, sweetheart? — Evdokia Markovna put the call on speaker. — You need to come home right now! Your wife… she’s trying to leave!
— Mom, I’m in a meeting, — Arkady’s voice came through. — What happened this time?
— This time?! You say it like I’m harassing you every day! Your wife is standing by the door with a suitcase! She’s obviously found another man!
— Mom, stop. I’ll call you back in an hour.
— Arkady!
But the line went dead. Evdokia Markovna glared at her daughter-in-law with pure hatred.
— You’ll see. He’ll come home and deal with you.
Lyudmila said nothing. She thought about how much had changed. When they first got married, Arkady had been different—gentle, attentive. But little by little, under his mother’s influence, he turned into a man who no longer noticed her suffering. For him it became normal that his mother ran their home—choosing the wallpaper, deciding what would be cooked for dinner.
— You know what your problem is? — Evdokia Markovna kept going. — You’re ungrateful! We took you in, gave you a roof over your head, and you—
— Took me in?! — Lyudmila finally snapped. — This is my apartment. Mine!
— But we all live here together! And until my son comes back—
The door suddenly flew open. Arkady stood in the doorway, disheveled, his shirt collar undone.
— What’s going on? — he looked from his mother to his wife.
— Arkasha! — Evdokia Markovna rushed to him. — She’s leaving! To another man! I told you she—
— Mom, enough! — Arkady cut her off, unexpectedly sharp. — Go out, please. I need to talk to my wife.
— But—
— Mom.
Evdokia Markovna pressed her lips together and walked out. Arkady and Lyudmila were alone.
— You’re really leaving? — he asked, lowering himself onto the couch.
— Yes.
— To Svyatoslav?
Lyudmila lifted her eyebrows, surprised.
— You know?
— I’m not blind, Lyuda. I can see how you’ve changed lately. You’ve become… more alive, I guess. Before, you moved through the house like a ghost, and now—
— Now I have someone who respects me, — she finished. — Someone who doesn’t let his mother turn my life into hell.
Arkady stared at his hands in silence.
— I’m at fault, — he said at last. — I should have protected you. But Mom… she’s always been controlling. Ever since I was a kid. Dad left when I was five and she raised me alone. I got used to obeying.
— You’re thirty-two, Arkady.
— I know. But it was easier not to argue. To pretend everything was fine. And you… you endured it. I thought you’d get used to it.
— Get used to being humiliated? To your mother treating me like a servant?
— Forgive me, — Arkady looked up. — I know it’s too late, but… forgive me.
Lyudmila went to the door and took her suitcase.
— I’ll leave the apartment papers with a notary. It was your wedding gift, remember? You wanted the two of us to live here. Instead, it ended up being three.
— Lyuda…
— Goodbye, Arkady.
She stepped into the hallway. Evdokia Markovna stood by the kitchen, arms crossed.
— Get out! — she hissed. — And don’t you ever show your face here again!
Lyudmila walked past without turning back. She went down the stairs and out onto the street. The evening air was cool and clean. Svyatoslav’s car was waiting by the entrance.
— Everything okay? — he asked, coming toward her.
— Now it is, — Lyudmila smiled for the first time all day.
Three months later, Lyudmila was living in a small apartment on the other side of the city. Svyatoslav helped her land a job as an editor at a publishing house, doing what she loved—working with texts. The divorce went quietly; Arkady didn’t cause any trouble.
One evening, an unexpected visitor arrived—Alevtina, the very “perfect” daughter-in-law Evdokia Markovna had always dreamed of.
— I’m sorry to come like this, without warning, — the woman began, embarrassed. — Arkady gave me your address.
— Come in, — Lyudmila invited her into the living room. — Tea?
— Yes, thank you.
They sat facing each other. Alevtina was a striking woman—tall, slim, with delicate, symmetrical features. But there was worry in her eyes.
— I came to warn you, — she said. — Evdokia Markovna… she hasn’t stopped. She’s spreading rumors about you, trying to dig up dirt.
— Why? — Lyudmila asked, startled. — I left. I cleared the way.
Alevtina gave a sad smile.
— You think I’m hoping to take your place? Do you know how many years Evdokia Markovna tried to match me with Arkady? Since university. But I always kept my distance. Because I saw what kind of mother she is—controlling, tyrannical. My friend Veronika dated Arkady before you. She lasted six months, then ran. She said it was better to be alone than to have a mother-in-law like that.
— But Evdokia Markovna said…
— That I’m the perfect daughter-in-law? — Alevtina laughed. — Do you know why? Because I’m her friend’s daughter. Which means she can control me through my mother—manipulate, pressure. But I’m not stupid. I saw what she did to you. And to Veronika. And to Arkady’s first girlfriend—Milena. She moved to another city just to avoid that family.
— Why are you telling me this?
— Because Evdokia Markovna crossed a line. She hired a private investigator to follow you. She wants to “prove” you cheated on Arkady while you were still married. She’s planning to sue—challenge the divorce and demand compensation for emotional distress.
Lyudmila went pale.
— That’s insane. She has no evidence.
— She’ll manufacture it. She has connections—people who’ll do a lot for money. I heard her on the phone with someone named Modest. She promised to pay well for “the right” testimony.
— Oh God, — Lyudmila covered her face with her hands. — When will this end?
— There’s one way, — Alevtina said carefully. — I have something on Evdokia Markovna. Information she would never want made public.
— What kind of information?
Alevtina pulled a flash drive from her purse.
— These are recordings of her conversations with a man named Elisey Pavlovich. They were involved years ago, when Arkady was a teenager. Elisey was married and had three children. Evdokia Markovna blackmailed him—threatened to tell his wife about the affair unless he paid. She took money from him for almost ten years. Then he died of a heart attack. His widow still doesn’t know the truth.
— How did you get this?
— My mother knew about it. They’re friends, after all. Evdokia Markovna bragged to her—about how clever she was. Mom recorded it all, just in case. She’s afraid of your ex-mother-in-law too.
Lyudmila took the flash drive and turned it over in her hands.
— And what am I supposed to do with it?
— Give it to Arkady. Let him see who his mother really is. And let him stop her before it’s too late.
The next day Lyudmila met Arkady at a café.
— Thanks for coming, — he said. — I didn’t think you would.
— Alevtina came to see me yesterday.
Arkady looked up.
— Alevtina? Why?
Lyudmila set the flash drive on the table.
— Listen to this, and then decide what you’re going to do. Your mother is trying to destroy my life. But before she succeeds, you need to know the truth about her.
— Lyuda… what’s on it?
— Just listen. Then talk to your mother. If she doesn’t back off, I’ll send these recordings to Elisey Pavlovich’s widow. And then your mother will have real problems.
Arkady took the flash drive and squeezed it in his fist.
— She really hired an investigator?
— Yes. Alevtina heard her talking about it.
— I’ll speak to her.
— Arkady, — Lyudmila stood. — I don’t wish you harm. Not you—and not even her. I just want peace. I want to start over. I have Svyatoslav, I have a job I love. I’m happy. Don’t let her ruin that.
— I promise, — Arkady rose too. — Lyuda… I truly regret a lot of things.
— I know. Take care.
That evening, a real storm broke out in Evdokia Markovna’s apartment. Arkady arrived after work and went straight into the living room, where his mother was watching TV.
— Mom, we need to talk.
— About what, sweetheart? — she didn’t even turn her head. — If it’s about that traitor, I don’t want to hear her name in this house.
Arkady played the recording on his phone. From the speaker came his mother’s voice—young, coquettish:
“Elisey, darling, you understand I can tell your wife about our meetings any time I want, right? Imagine the scandal! Three thousand a month is so little for my silence…”
Evdokia Markovna sprang up, her face turning deathly pale.
— Where did you get that?! Where did you get it?!
— Is it true? You blackmailed him?
— That was a long time ago! You don’t understand! I needed money to raise you!
— Dad paid child support. And not a small amount, either.
— It wasn’t enough! I wanted to give you the best education, the best life!
— By blackmailing someone? And this is the woman lecturing me about morals—about honesty and decency?
— Don’t you dare judge me! I did everything for you!
— No! — Arkady shouted. — You did it for yourself! For your ambitions! And now you’re trying to destroy Lyuda for the same reason—because she dared not obey you!
Evdokia Markovna clutched her chest and swayed.
— I feel faint…
— Stop acting. Your heart is fine. This is your usual trick—pretending to be sick when you’re cornered.
— How dare you!
— Like this. Listen carefully: you will leave Lyuda alone. No investigators. No lawsuits. No rumors. Otherwise I’ll give these recordings to the people who should hear them. Elisey Pavlovich’s widow, for instance—she’s a determined woman. And she has good lawyers.
— You wouldn’t! I’m your mother!
— And Lyuda was my wife—the one you turned into a hunted creature. Choose. Either you forget about her, or I forget about you.
Evdokia Markovna sank back onto the couch. Rage and fear swirled in her eyes.
— You’re betraying your own mother for some—
— For a person you humiliated for three years. For a woman who has the right to a quiet life. Mom, enough. You ruined my marriage. Don’t ruin the little I have left—my respect for you.
Arkady headed for the door.
— Where are you going? — Evdokia Markovna sobbed.
— Home. To my apartment—the one you turned into a branch of hell. Pack your things, Mom. A moving truck will come tomorrow. You’re going back to your place on Michurinsky Avenue.
— But it needs repairs!
— Then fix it. With the money you’ve been saving all these years. The same money you extorted.
The door slammed behind him. Evdokia Markovna was left alone in the empty living room. The TV droned on about something meaningless. She muted it and sat in silence, staring at one point.
A year passed. Lyudmila and Svyatoslav married—quietly, without grand celebrations. Only the closest people attended. Arkady sent a congratulatory card and a bouquet of white roses—her favorite.
On an autumn day, Lyudmila ran into Evdokia Markovna in a supermarket. Her former mother-in-law stood by the grains, studying price tags. She looked unwell.
Their eyes met. Evdokia Markovna flinched as if to step away—then stopped.
— Hello, — she said softly.
— Hello, Evdokia Markovna.
They stood facing each other—two women once tied by family, now strangers.
— I heard you got married, — Evdokia Markovna glanced at the ring on Lyudmila’s hand.
— Yes.
— Are you happy?
— Yes.
Evdokia Markovna nodded and took a pack of buckwheat from the shelf—the cheapest one.
— Arkady rarely calls, — she suddenly said. — Once a month, no more. Says he’s busy. New job, new… girlfriend. Some designer, I think. Her name’s Cornelia. Strange name.
Lyudmila stayed quiet. There was nothing she wanted to say to this woman.
— I think a lot, — Evdokia Markovna continued, — about what would’ve happened if I’d behaved differently. If I hadn’t interfered in your life. Maybe I’d have grandchildren by now. And instead… it’s just loneliness.
— Evdokia Markovna…
— Don’t, — the old woman lifted a hand. — I’m not looking for sympathy. Least of all from you. I just… I just wanted to say it. You were a good wife to my son. And I was a terrible mother-in-law. And probably a terrible mother too.
She rolled her cart away—hunched shoulders in a worn coat. Lyudmila watched her go and felt something strange—not pity, no—more like understanding. The understanding that everyone chooses their own path, and then lives with what they chose.
At home, Svyatoslav greeted her. He hugged her, kissed her.
— How was your day?
— Good. You know, I ran into my ex-mother-in-law.
— And?
Lyudmila thought for a moment.
— Nothing. She doesn’t scare me anymore. She doesn’t scare anyone anymore. Just a lonely woman who ruined her own life.
— Do you feel sorry for her?
— No. But there’s no anger left either. Just emptiness—like those three years never even happened.
Svyatoslav held her tighter.
— They did happen. But they’re over. And something new has started. Ours.