— Yanochka, darling, why didn’t you tell me right away that you’ve come into some money?
— Hello, Yulia Konstantinovna. I’m not sure what you’re talking about?
— What do you mean? Kirill said your mother transferred a hefty amount to your account.
Yana was the ultimate career chaser. Her job consumed her: early mornings, late-night reports, endless meetings. Her friends joked that her middle name should be “Overtime,” and her personal life had been replaced with a schedule full of deadlines.
Kirill, her boyfriend, was her mirror image—a workaholic too, falling asleep with his laptop on his knees. Their relationship felt more like a business partnership: rare in-person meetings, quick calls between meetings, discussions not about romance but about quarterly reports.
Then one morning, Yana felt something was off—a delay. The test confirmed her worst—or maybe best?—suspicions: two lines. She was pregnant.
— This can’t be, — she whispered at her reflection. — I wasn’t planning on having a baby this soon… But what about becoming department head? That was her dream…
But as always, life had other plans.
The first person Yana decided to tell the news was her mother. Aleksandra Dmitrievna listened quietly as her daughter spoke, then said:
— This isn’t quite what you dreamed of, is it?
— No, — Yana sighed heavily.
— I’ll help you. You should keep the baby. You’re twenty-five—that’s the perfect age to become a mom.
— Thank you, Mom. You know how I am—can’t live without work.
Kirill didn’t find out about his girlfriend’s pregnancy at home, in a cafe, or in bed. He was standing in a conference room, finishing a tough Zoom call with clients, when a short text from Yana popped up on his phone:
“We’re going to be parents soon.”
He didn’t get it at first and read it again. Then he stepped out of the conference room and called her.
— Is this for real? — he whispered.
— Absolutely, — Yana answered calmly. — I took all the tests. It’s confirmed. What do we do next?
Silence. Then suddenly:
— Yana, let’s get married. Today. Well, okay—not today, but in the next few days. We don’t need a big celebration. Just us, the paperwork, and dinner with our families.
— Are you sure? It’s not just because…
— I’ve wanted to ask you to marry me for a long time, but work took over everything… We’re adults, we should take responsibility for our actions. And yes, I love you, in case you forgot.
A week later, Yana and Kirill were at the registry office. No fancy white dress, no 200-person banquet. Just the signing, a handful of photos in front of a dusty flower arch. They exchanged rings, shared a smile, and headed to the restaurant where their parents were already waiting.
At the table were only the closest family: Yana’s parents—Aleksandra Dmitrievna and Viktor Nikolaevich, Kirill’s parents—Yulia Konstantinovna and Vasiliy Petrovich, and Kirill’s older sister, Natasha. The mood was cozy—salads, appetizers, champagne, and conversations about everything.
Yulia Konstantinovna, a woman with perfect posture and a slightly haughty look, poured herself a glass and suddenly said:
— Newlyweds, a wedding, starting a family — it’s wonderful. But now it’s time to think about where you’ll live. Renting with a child just isn’t an option.
Yana tensed slightly. She worried the talk was turning toward living together or accepting her mother-in-law’s “help,” but Kirill remained calm.
— Yana and I have already decided. We’re getting a mortgage.
Yana shot her husband a surprised look, her eyebrows raised:
— When did we manage that?
— Wow, — exclaimed Yulia Konstantinovna, not noticing her daughter-in-law’s reaction, — Are you sure about this? The interest rates are so high right now…
— We’ll manage. I have a stable job. I’ve done all the calculations, — Kirill replied confidently, looking at Yana. — And we want to start from scratch, by ourselves.
For the first time that evening, Yana relaxed. He’d said exactly what she wanted to hear.
— Well then… here’s to you, — Yulia Konstantinovna nodded and raised her glass.
— To us, — Yana quietly added, beaming from ear to ear.
The apartment was in a brand new complex, finished in light colors and overlooking a small park. The moment Yana stepped through the door, she knew: this place was perfect.
She and Kirill furnished their home piece by piece: first a cozy bed, a sofa for the living room, and a dining table — where soon they’d be feeding their little daughter.
Then came the finishing touches: a soft blanket, colorful plump pillows, pots of green plants, a floor lamp, and Yana’s favorite bergamot-scented candles. She gladly browsed the shops, picking out curtains, pillows, and rugs — all the things she’d never had time for before.
Kirill became more and more absorbed in his work — sometimes late into the night. He worked hard to pay off the loan as quickly as possible. More than anything, he wanted Yana to have nothing to worry about, and for their daughter to be born into a home ready just for her.
Yana didn’t get upset — she understood. Despite the morning sickness, drowsiness, and her heightened sense of smell, she kept working from home. Management was supportive: she could handle some tasks remotely, which was a real lifesaver.
In her final months of pregnancy, Yana rarely went to the office. But she didn’t mind — their apartment was already filled with the anticipation of their daughter’s arrival. Tiny booties, miniature onesies, a crib in the bedroom corner, and a baby album with the name “Anechka” on the cover. Yana had always known what she’d name her girl: in honor of her grandmother Anna — a woman with the kindest heart and incredible strength, who had passed away just three years earlier. When Yana spoke the name, Kirill just nodded:
— Perfect. Anechka it is.
The little girl arrived right on time, early in the morning, with soft, fluffy hair and an intent gaze that made it seem like she already understood so much. When Kirill held her in the hospital for the first time, he couldn’t hold back tears — he hugged the tiny body tightly and kept repeating:
— Hello, baby girl… I’ve been waiting for you.
Life changed. Tiredness was constant, the rhythm broken up, but each evening, when Anechka fell asleep and Yana snuggled up to Kirill’s shoulder, they both knew: this was right, and everything was as it should be.
Yulia Konstantinovna re-entered their lives quietly: no fuss, no remarks, no reproaches. One morning, she just called and said:
“Yana, I’ll be nearby today, so I’ll drop by and take Anya for a walk. You need to rest.”
Yana was surprised and couldn’t refuse. She really wanted to finally sleep for at least a couple of hours in a row or simply enjoy a coffee slowly from a clean cup. From that day on, Yulia Konstantinovna’s visits became regular. She started coming several times a week in the mornings, when Yana was still in her robe, feeding her daughter, and would smile from the doorway:
“Don’t rush, I’ll wait,” and she truly never hurried her daughter-in-law.
Her mother-in-law would take the stroller, slip on comfortable ballet flats, and head to the park with Anya. They’d walk for a long time, until her granddaughter woke up, so Yana could make the most of the break. In that time, she managed to do laundry, cook, catch up on work on her laptop, and even rest a bit.
“Yulia Konstantinovna, I don’t know what I’d do without you,” Yana would say when her mother-in-law returned, gently taking Anya out of the stroller.
“I’m just a grandma who loves her granddaughter,” her mother-in-law would reply with a reserved smile.
“Just a grandma who knows a young mom needs fresh air too. Not just the baby.”
But most importantly—Yulia Konstantinovna didn’t offer unsolicited advice. She didn’t tell Yana how to hold the baby, what to feed her, or how much she should sleep. She drank tea, chatted about the news and her granddaughter, and, as soon as she sensed Yana was getting tired, she’d get ready to leave:
“Alright, I’m heading out. You go rest. And don’t even think about mopping the floors, got it? Just rest.”
“I promise,” Yana would smile and really would settle down on the couch with a blanket and a cup of coffee.
At first, Kirill was a bit wary of this new “routine.”
“She’s not bothering you, is she?” He knew all too well what his mother’s personality was like.
“Quite the opposite. I just realized I have the perfect mother-in-law. She’s not intrusive or harsh. She just helps.”
“You’ve become friends with her?” Kirill smirked.
“You could say that…”
And things would have stayed wonderful, if one day Kirill hadn’t let it slip to his mother that Yana’s mom sold her inherited apartment and gave the money to Yana. Aleksandra Dmitrievna had wanted to do this a long time, but was waiting for the three-year mark.
“Yanochka, dear, why didn’t you tell me right away that you got some money?”
“Hello, Yulia Konstantinovna. I’m not sure what you’re talking about?”
“What do you mean? Kirill said your mom transferred a rather large sum to your account.”
“Oh… now I get it. I’ve already bought a one-bedroom apartment on the edge of town. The remaining money is earning interest. Three years on maternity leave is a long time… you never know what might happen.”
“You bought an apartment? How wonderful. Natasha really needs a place to stay. You and Kirill already have a home, but she doesn’t. She can live in your apartment, okay? Everything’s just working out so well for you two,” Yulia Konstantinovna said sweetly.
“Yes, of course, no problem,” Yana replied calmly, holding the phone with her shoulder so she could pick up her daughter. “I was actually planning to rent out the apartment. But for Natasha, as family, I’ll ask for just fifteen thousand.”
“Fifteen thousand? I thought you’d let her stay for free,” her mother-in-law answered, clearly shocked.
“I was planning to rent it out for twenty. That way it covers my portion of the mortgage for the apartment where Kirill and I are living now. It’s hard for him to handle it alone.”
“Well, why didn’t you just pay off the entire mortgage then? Were you just being stingy?” Yulia Konstantinovna hissed.
“I don’t recognize you,” Yana replied in surprise. “No, it’s not about being stingy. It’s just that with my plan, we’d have two apartments. And if anything suddenly happens, where would Anya and I go? Back to my parents’ place?”
“Oh, I see! So you’re already thinking about divorcing my son?”
“Not at all. I’m just thinking about the future, so our daughter has her own place too. Why not, if we have the opportunity?” the daughter-in-law shot back.
“I hear you!” Yulia Konstantinovna snapped before hanging up.
Confused by the conversation, Yana told Kirill everything.
“I didn’t want to upset you when you mentioned my mother was helping you. I thought maybe having a granddaughter might have changed her… but it seems it didn’t.”
“Really?” Yana was surprised by her husband’s confession.
“My mother never helped me, which is why I found her behavior odd. Also, at the wedding, Alexandra Dmitrievna mentioned you had inherited an apartment from your grandmother, so she remembered that. And now you’ve outwitted her. Of course my mother wants to set things up for her daughter, but you did the right thing. I don’t blame you.”
“Well… I didn’t expect you to admit that,” Yana managed to say.
From that day, Yulia Konstantinovna stopped visiting her granddaughter, except on rare, major holidays like birthdays and New Year’s. A year and a half later, Yana was working part-time, and once Anya started preschool, she returned to her old job.
Together, Yana and Kirill quickly paid off the mortgage, and meanwhile, Yulia Konstantinovna made several more attempts to ask for money and expensive appliances for herself or Natasha, but nothing worked out. Kirill immediately explained that no one would be able to just take their money, and he only bought what he considered necessary.