“Lizonka, where are you? We’re already here!”
Liza froze in the doorway of her own apartment, keys in hand. Her mother-in-law’s voice carried from the kitchen—cheerful, loud, and in charge. Slowly, she took off her shoes and walked down the hallway.
At her table sat Vera Romanovna and her sister-in-law, Lena. In front of them were cups, and on a plate lay cookies from Liza’s own pantry. Lesha was busying himself at the stove, heating up the kettle.
“Hi,” Liza tried to keep her voice even. “I didn’t know you were coming.”
“Leshenka gave us keys,” Vera Romanovna smiled. “I told you I wanted to bring you my special semolina cake. There it is, on the windowsill. But you weren’t home, so we decided to wait.”
Liza looked at her husband. He shrugged apologetically:
“Mom asked yesterday, I didn’t think it would be a problem.”
“What problem?” Lena stretched her legs out and crossed one over the other. “Liza, relax. We’re not strangers.”
Liza walked into the kitchen and poured herself some water from the pitcher. Her hands shook a little, and she gripped the glass tightly. In her own apartment. In the very apartment she bought three years ago, back when she worked twelve-hour days at the travel agency and saved every ruble. That was before she ever met Lesha.
“You look kind of pale,” Vera Romanovna gave her an assessing look. “Are you working a lot? Do you even have clients at the travel agency these days? There’s a crisis, after all.”
“We do,” Liza put her glass in the sink. “Everything’s fine.”
“But that sofa is in a bad spot,” her mother-in-law went on, looking around the room. “It should be moved by the window, so you get more light. And the refrigerator is really old. Lesha, didn’t you say you wanted to buy a new one?”
Lesha nodded without looking up:
“Yeah, we’ve thought about it…”
“That’s right,” Lena sipped her tea. “We’ve always kept everything in order in our family. Mom always makes sure everything’s just right.”
Liza sat down at the chair across from them. Vera Romanovna handed her a plate with semolina cake:
“Try some, I made it just for you. Leshenka has always loved my cake.”
“Thank you,” Liza broke off a piece. The cake really was delicious, but the lump in her throat made it hard to swallow.
“Actually, there’s a lot that could be changed here,” her mother-in-law pressed on. “See how boring the wallpaper is? I’d pick something brighter. And the kitchen could use a renovation, too. Lesha, show me later where you keep your tools.”
“Mom, maybe not right now?” Lesha finally looked up.
“I’m just saying,” Vera Romanovna waved her hand. “I just want to help. You’re young, you need someone to guide you.”
Lena smirked:
“Liza, why are you so tense? Mom just wants the best for you.”
After they left, Liza closed the door and leaned against it. Lesha came out of the room, giving her an apologetic smile:
“Please don’t be upset. Mom just wanted to treat us. She brought cake, after all.”
“Lesha,” Liza straightened up. “You gave them the keys to my apartment. Without asking me.”
“Our apartment,” he corrected her. “We’re married. Or am I missing something?”
“You do get it,” Liza walked into the kitchen and started cleaning up the table. “But that doesn’t mean your mom can come whenever she wants.”
“Oh come on, why are you making a mountain out of a molehill?” Lesha ran his hand through his hair in irritation. “Is my mom a stranger to you now? She’s not some villain, she just wanted to help.”
Liza silently put the plates into the sink. She didn’t want to argue. And really, what could she say? Lesha would never understand. For him, his mom was sacred. And she, Liza, was supposed to be grateful for the attention.
That evening, she called Olga. Her friend immediately understood what was going on by the tone of her voice:
“Wait, they just came and sat in your apartment? Without you there?”
“Lesha gave them the keys,” Liza lay down on the couch, swinging her legs over the armrest. “He says he doesn’t see what the problem is.”
“Liza, did you tell him about the paperwork? That the apartment is registered in your name?”
“Well… not exactly straight out,” Liza confessed. “From the start he’s told everyone it’s his apartment. And I never corrected him—I thought, why embarrass him in front of his family.”
“Exactly,” Olga sighed. “You gave in. Now they think they have every right to take over. Listen, you’ve got to talk to him seriously. Now. Before it gets worse.”
But the conversation never happened. Lesha disappeared into the shower, then sat down to watch the news, yawning and flipping through channels. Liza chose not to push it. She decided they’d deal with it tomorrow. For sure, tomorrow they’d talk things out calmly.
Only tomorrow never came.
***
A week later, Liza came home from work early—she’d managed to finish all her tasks by noon. In the hallway, she ran into her neighbor, Tamara Lvovna. The elderly woman was holding a bag of groceries and greeted her with a friendly nod:
“Hello, Lizonka. How are things?”
“I’m fine, Tamara Lvovna,” Liza held the elevator door open.
“Tell me, do your relatives visit often?” Her neighbor leaned in, as if sharing a secret. “I’ve already seen that lady with the keys opening your door for the third time this week. Tall, dark hair.”
“Mother-in-law,” Liza answered shortly.
“Ah,” Tamara Lvovna nodded knowingly. “Well then. I had one like that too, God rest her soul. Hang in there, dear. If you ever need anything, knock, I’m always home.”
Liza walked to her floor. The apartment door was slightly open. Voices and the sound of a drill came from inside.
She stepped inside and froze. Lesha stood on a stepladder in the living room, drill in hand. Vera Romanovna was directing him from below, gesturing where to drill. Lena was unpacking a big bag, pulling out… new fabric window blinds.
“Liza!” Her mother-in-law turned to her with a smile. “There you are! We decided to surprise you. Aren’t these lovely? Beige, to match the wallpaper. Your old ones were so faded.”
“Hello,” Liza slowly took off her jacket. “Did I… even ask for this?”
“Oh come on, dear,” Vera Romanovna waved it off. “It’s a gift! Lena saw them at the store yesterday—there was such a great sale. We immediately thought of you two.”
Lena unrolled the fabric to show her:
“Aren’t they beautiful? I have the same ones at home. So practical.”
Lesha came down from the stepladder:
“Liza, don’t just stand in the doorway. Go to the store and grab something for dinner, will you? We can’t just let our guests go without a treat.”
Liza looked at him. He was smiling, completely oblivious to what was going on. For him, this was all perfectly normal—his mom and sister had come over, brought some things, changed things around the apartment. His apartment, as he liked to think.
“Okay,” she said quietly. “I’ll go.”
She stepped outside and almost ran to the nearest store. She needed some fresh air, a moment to calm down. Olga’s voice echoed in her head: “You gave in.” Yes, she had. And now what? Start a scene? Kick out her mother-in-law and sister-in-law? And Lesha—would he take her side? Hardly.
When she came back with the bags, the apartment smelled delicious. Vera Romanovna was already busy in the kitchen, frying something on the stove. Lena was setting the table.
“That’s great,” her mother-in-law said, taking the bag from Liza. “Is there sour cream? Wonderful. Sit down, I’ll finish up here.”
Dinner had a strange vibe. Vera Romanovna talked about her work at the school, Lena complained about her customers at the salon, Lesha laughed and chimed in. Liza sat quietly, only occasionally answering questions.
“Why are you so quiet, Lizonka?” her mother-in-law finally noticed. “Tired, I bet? That’s fine, go to bed early. We’ll stay up a bit longer—I want to tell Lesha about our cousin Pyotr, he just the other day…”
Liza got up from the table:
“Excuse me, I have to get up early tomorrow. Good night.”
She went to the bedroom and closed the door behind her. Sitting on the bed, she hugged her knees. Voices drifted from the kitchen—Vera Romanovna telling a story, Lesha laughing, Lena adding her comments. Their family. And she… she just felt like someone living here, merely the daughter-in-law.
Lesha came in an hour later. He sat next to her, putting his hand on her shoulder:
“Why are you upset? Mom was just trying to help.”
“Lesha, this is my apartment,” Liza said quietly. “I didn’t ask anyone to change anything.”
“Our apartment,” he corrected her, already annoyed. “Or are you going to keep reminding me? Like I’m just a guest here?”
“I never said that.”
“But you think it,” Lesha stood up. “You know, I’m tired of this. Mom’s trying to help us, and you’re just turning up your nose. Ungrateful.”
He left for the bathroom, slamming the door. Liza lay down, pulling the blanket up to her chin. Sleep wouldn’t come. She kept seeing flashes: how she’d saved up for this apartment, the joy of getting the keys, decorating every little corner. Something of her own. Her first real home. And now…
The next day, she stayed late at work. When she came home, Lesha was gone—a note on the fridge said he was at his parents’. Liza wandered through the rooms. The new blinds really did look nice, but they weren’t her choice. She didn’t pick them.
On Friday, it happened again. Liza came back to find Vera Romanovna in the kitchen. Her mother-in-law was going through the cupboards.
“Oh, Lizonka!” she turned around. “I decided to tidy up. See what a mess? The grains are mixed up, the jars aren’t labeled. I’ll rearrange everything like it should be.”
“Vera Romanovna,” Liza tried to keep her voice steady. “I don’t need any help. I know where everything is myself.”
“Come on, dear, it’s just a little thing,” her mother-in-law said, not even stopping what she was doing. “Once I’m done, you’ll see how much better it is. Lesha has been complaining for a while that things are just a mess here.”
“Lesha has been complaining?” Liza repeated in surprise.
“Of course. He’s a guy, he’s not used to disorder. Our house was always spotless.”
Liza turned and walked out of the kitchen. She took out her phone and dialed Lesha’s number. He didn’t answer right away.
“Yes, I’m listening.”
“Your mom is here. Again. She’s going through our cabinets.”
“So what?” His voice was indifferent. “Let her help if she wants to.”
“Lesha, I don’t want her help!”
“Liza, stop being hysterical,” he raised his voice. “Do you even understand how badly you’re behaving? My mother is doing her best for you, and you…”
“For me?” Liza felt something snap inside her. “She doesn’t even ask if I need it!”
“Because it’s obvious you do!” Lesha barked. “It’s always a mess here, I’ve just kept quiet because I didn’t want to upset you. Mom saw it and decided to help out. That’s a normal person’s reaction!”
Liza muted her phone and set it down, her hands trembling. She walked into the bedroom and locked the door behind her. Vera Romanovna kept busy in the kitchen—she could hear the dishes being moved around.
Half an hour later, there was a knock at the door:
“Lizochka, I’m done! Come and see how beautiful everything looks!”
Liza didn’t respond. Another ten minutes later, the front door slammed—her mother-in-law had left. Liza walked into the kitchen. Everything had been rearranged. The grains were organized by size, jars were turned label-out, and plates were stacked by color. Someone else’s hands had made someone else’s order in her home.
***
On Saturday, Liza’s parents came to visit. Boris Petrovich immediately noticed the changes:
“What’s with all the new stuff on the windows? You said you liked things the old way.”
Liza explained. Her father listened in silence, his face growing hard. Her mother, Svetlana Ivanovna, shook her head:
“Honey, you should have set boundaries from the start.”
“What boundaries?” Boris Petrovich stood up. “Liza, bring me the sale contract. Right now.”
Liza took the folder with the documents from the closet. Her father spread the papers out on the table, tracing the lines with his finger.
“Look. The apartment is in your name. March 8, 2022. That’s a year before you got married. No prenuptial agreement. So by law, it’s your personal property, not joint property. Does Lesha even know this?”
“I thought he did,” Liza said. “But he tells everyone the apartment is his.”
“Really,” her father put the papers away. “And you just stay quiet and let it slide. Liza, you’re a grown woman. Why do you let people walk all over you?”
“Dad, I didn’t want to hurt him…”
“Hurt him?” Boris Petrovich smirked. “Isn’t he the one hurting you? He brings his mother here, and she takes charge like it’s her own place? Listen, I’m not letting this go. Where’s Lesha?”
“With his parents,” Liza clenched her hands. “Dad, don’t make a scene. I’ll deal with it myself.”
“When?” Svetlana Ivanovna took her daughter’s hand. “Liza, I get it, you love him. But love isn’t about letting yourself be humiliated. If he doesn’t respect your space now, what will it be like in the future?”
They sat together until evening, chatting about everything from work to their neighbors and summer plans. But no matter what they talked about, Liza couldn’t shake the heaviness in her chest. Her parents were right. She had cornered herself, always afraid to hurt her husband’s feelings. And now what? How could she get out of this?
On Monday, something happened that was just too much. Liza came home from work and couldn’t open the door. The key turned, but the lock jammed. She pulled the handle several times—nothing worked.
She called Lesha:
“The lock is broken. I can’t get into the apartment.”
“Really?” He sounded genuinely surprised. “That’s odd. Mom called me today, said she hired a locksmith. The lock was old, so she decided to change it.”
“She did what?” Liza felt herself boiling inside.
“Well, she changed the lock. She said the old one barely worked. She’ll be there soon to bring you the new keys.”
“Lesha,” Liza gripped the phone so hard her knuckles turned white. “This is my apartment. No one has the right to change the locks here without my permission!”
“Liza, stop it,” he was growing irritated. “What do you mean your apartment? Enough of that. We’re husband and wife, or am I missing something?”
“You are missing everything,” Liza heard her voice crack. “Everything!”
She hung up. Stood there in front of her own apartment door, unable to get inside. All because her mother-in-law had decided to change the lock. Without asking. In her—Liza’s—apartment.
Twenty minutes later, Vera Romanovna showed up, striding confidently, holding out a set of keys:
“Lizonka, here! New keys. See how shiny they are? Got a good locksmith, he did it all in half an hour.”
“Vera Romanovna,” Liza took the keys. “You had no right to do that.”
“What?” Her mother-in-law frowned. “What are you talking about?”
“You had no right to change the lock in my apartment.”
“What do you mean, your apartment?” Vera Romanovna straightened up. “Liza, what are you even saying? This is my son’s apartment. He lives here, he’s the owner. And I’m his mother, I have every right to help set up his home.”
“It’s not his apartment,” Liza replied calmly. “It’s registered in my name. I bought it before we were married.”
Vera Romanovna froze, staring at Liza as if she had suddenly started speaking Chinese:
“What are you talking about? Lesha told me himself this was his apartment!”
“Lesha wasn’t telling the truth.”
“You…” Her mother-in-law pressed her lips together. “You lied to us? You were pretending?”
“I didn’t lie to anyone,” Liza unlocked the door with the new key. “I just never corrected your son when he presented the apartment as his. Now I see that was a mistake.”
Vera Romanovna spun around and left without saying goodbye. Liza stepped into her apartment and locked the door behind her. The new lock clicked softly and smoothly.
***
That evening, the whole family arrived. Lesha came in first, his face red and eyes angry. Behind him were Vera Romanovna and Lena with her husband Igor. Liza’s mother-in-law was holding furniture catalogs and wallpaper samples.
“Sit down,” Vera Romanovna gestured to a chair for Liza. “We need to talk.”
“This is my home,” Liza said, refusing to sit. “I’ll stand if I want to.”
“Liza, don’t start,” Lesha stepped forward. “Mom wants to talk about renovating. We wanted to surprise you.”
“What renovation?” Liza looked at him.
— There you go, — Vera Romanovna opened up the catalog. — I’ve picked out wallpaper and new furniture. Lesha already talked to the workers, they’ll start Wednesday. You two will come stay with me for the time being.
— No, — said Liza.
— No what? — Lena leaned forward.
— There isn’t going to be any renovation.
— And why not? — Vera Romanovna raised her voice. — Lesha is the man of the house, he made the decision! — She turned to her son. — Why is your wife acting like she owns the place? Is this even her apartment?
— Lesha isn’t the owner, — Liza walked slowly to the cabinet, pulled out a folder with documents. — This apartment belongs to me. I bought it on March 8th, 2022. A year before we got married.
She put the sale contract on the table. Vera Romanovna snatched up the papers, quickly scanned the lines. Her face went white, then turned red.
— Lesha! Did you know about this?
Lesha shifted awkwardly and shuffled his feet:
— Well… I thought… we’re married, so everything’s ours…
— Ours? — Lena came over and snatched the contract from her mother’s hands. — So she’s just using you! You’re living on her territory, like… like some sort of freeloader!
— Lena, let’s go, — Igor quietly touched his wife’s elbow. — This isn’t our issue.
— How is it not our issue? — Lena waved him off. — He’s my brother…
— Your brother’s a grown man, — Igor raised his voice. — He needs to sort this out himself.
Vera Romanovna slowly stood up. Her face was stony:
— I always said you weren’t one of us. You deceived us. Pretended.
— I never deceived anyone, — Liza met her gaze. — Your son was the one telling everyone the apartment was his. I didn’t correct him because I didn’t want to embarrass him in front of his family.
— Embarrass him? — Vera Romanovna put on her coat. — Lesha, pack your things. You’re coming with me. You don’t have to live here out of pity.
Lesha looked back and forth between his mother and his wife, confused. He stayed silent.
— Are you staying? — Vera Romanovna asked, her voice quiet but dangerous.
He dropped his head:
— Mom, I…
— I see, — his mother headed for the door. — Lena, let’s go. Let them enjoy themselves.
Lena threw the keys on the table with a loud clatter for effect:
— Here. Take your keys. And your precious apartment. Congratulations.
Igor looked back before leaving and gave an awkward nod:
— Sorry for all of this.
The door slammed shut. Liza and Lesha were left alone. The silence was heavy. Lesha was the first to break:
— Did you set up this whole circus on purpose? You embarrassed me in front of my entire family!
— I was protecting my rights, — Liza picked up the keys from the table. — You’re the one who lied to your mother. Why did you say the apartment was yours?
— Because… — he hesitated. — Because that’s how it’s supposed to be! The man should be in charge!
— In charge of someone else’s apartment?
— You’re my wife! So it should all be ours!
— That’s not the law, — Liza said, tiredly sitting down on the couch. — It’s my personal property, bought before marriage.
Lesha paced the room anxiously:
— So what, you think I should pay you to live here now? Like a tenant?
— I never said that.
— But that’s what you mean! — he spun toward her. — You know what? Mom’s right. I’m not going to live here like some dependent!
He stormed off into the bedroom, slamming the door loudly. Liza sat staring into space. Did she do the right thing? Or should she have just kept quiet and endured, like always?
For three days, they barely spoke to each other. Lesha would come home late and leave early. Every evening, he spent hours on the phone—judging by his tone, talking to his mother or his sister. Liza didn’t interfere; she gave him time to think.
On the fourth day, she came home from work and found him in the bedroom with a bag. He was packing his things.
“Are you leaving?” Liza stopped in the doorway.
Lesha nodded without looking up:
“Yes. Mom is right. I can’t live in your apartment. It’s… humiliating.”
“I see,” Liza leaned against the door frame. “I won’t stop you.”
“Exactly,” he zipped his bag. “You don’t really care.”
“Lesha, that’s not true. But I won’t apologize for protecting my home.”
He walked past her in silence. A minute later, the front door slammed shut. Liza went to the window and watched as he got into his car and drove away.
***
Olga arrived an hour after the call, bringing pizza and juice:
“Tell me everything from the beginning.”
Liza told her the whole story. Her friend listened, nodding along:
“And how do you feel about it all?”
“Strange,” Liza looked around the apartment. “I think I did the right thing. But why does it feel so awful?”
“Because you love him,” Olga squeezed her hand. “Liz, serious question. Is he really the one you want to spend your life with? He can’t say a word against his mother. He lied about the apartment. And when the truth came out, he got offended instead of apologizing.”
“I don’t know,” Liza covered her face with her hands. “He isn’t a bad person. He’s just… weak.”
“Weakness is a character trait too,” Olga said softly. “And you’re the one who’ll have to live with it.”
The week dragged on painfully. Lesha didn’t call. Liza didn’t either. She went to work, came back to an empty apartment, cooked dinner for one. In the evenings, she sat by the window, staring at the city lights. Thinking.
On the eighth day, coming home from work, she found Lesha on the staircase landing. He was sitting on a step, hugging his backpack. He looked exhausted—red eyes, stubble, wrinkled jacket.
“Hi,” he looked up. “Can I come in? We need to talk.”
Liza opened the door and silently let him inside. Lesha walked into the kitchen, sat down, and put his backpack beside him.
“A week at my mom’s was a real trial,” he began, avoiding her gaze. “She talked about you every day. Called you calculating. Said you deceived us. Lena keeps adding fuel to the fire. They’re urging me to file for divorce.”
“And?” Liza sat down across from him.
“And I realized,” Lesha raised his voice, “that my mom will never let us live in peace. She thinks I should only listen to her. And you… to her, you’re a rival.”
“Lesha…”
“Let me finish,” he interrupted. “I was a fool. It was convenient for me that you didn’t argue when I talked about the apartment. It made me feel good. In front of friends, in front of relatives. Look at me, I bought a place for my wife.”
“You didn’t buy me an apartment,” Liza said quietly. “I bought it myself.”
“I know!” Lesha slammed his fist on the table. “I know that now! And I’m ashamed. I was taking credit for what you accomplished. I lied to everyone. But most of all, I lied to myself.”
Liza stayed silent. She waited.
“I want everything to be fair,” Lesha said as he pulled an envelope from his backpack. “Here are my details. This is my share for the apartment. I’ll pay every month. And half the utilities. And groceries too. I have no right to expect you to support me.”
Liza took the envelope and opened it. Inside was a piece of paper with his bank details and a breakdown—half of the current market rent.
“Lesha, I don’t want your money for rent.”
“You do,” he insisted, jaw set stubbornly. “Otherwise, I’ll feel like a freeloader. Do you understand? I want to be your husband, not a sponger.”
“Okay,” Liza put the envelope aside. “Let’s do it differently. You pay all the utilities. And for groceries. But you don’t have to pay for the apartment. Because this is our home. Legally mine, but ours in fact.”
Lesha nodded slowly:
“Deal. But I want you to know—I called my mom. Told her the truth about the apartment. She was furious, yelled that you’d deceived me. I told her I was the one who lied. And that I’m staying with you. If she wants to see me, she’ll have to accept it and respect my wife.”
“What did she say?”
“She hung up,” Lesha gave a bitter smile. “Then Lena texted. She called me weak. Said I’m under your thumb. But I… I don’t care anymore. I’m tired of being mama’s boy. I just want to be your husband.”
Liza reached her hand across the table and covered his with hers:
“Lesha, I don’t need a perfect husband. I need an honest one. One who isn’t afraid to tell the truth. And who’s on my side when it matters.”
“I’ll do my best,” he squeezed her fingers. “Just give me a chance.”
They sat in silence, holding hands. Outside, dusk was gathering. Somewhere a car hummed, somewhere a dog barked. Life went on as usual.
“Liz,” Lesha finally broke the silence. “Can I stay?”
“You can,” she smiled. “It’s your home too.”
***
A month passed. On Saturday morning, Liza walked into the kitchen and found Lesha at the table with a notebook. He was writing something down, brow furrowed in concentration.
“What’s that?” she asked, peering over his shoulder.
“A shopping list. And I’m adding up the utility bills. The receipts came yesterday.”
Liza sat down next to him and poured herself some juice:
“Lesha, listen. Mom called. She’s inviting us over for lunch tomorrow.”
“To your parents?” he looked up. “Of course, we’ll go.”
“No,” Liza shook her head. “To your mom. Vera Romanovna called. She said she wants to talk. And she wants me to come too.”
Lesha put his pen down:
“Seriously? This is the first time she’s reached out in a month, and she’s inviting us?”
“Yes. I don’t know if we should go or not.”
“Let’s go,” Lesha took her hand. “Together. If anything feels off, we just leave.”
On Sunday, they went to Vera Romanovna’s. Liza was nervous, though she tried not to show it. Lesha held her hand the entire way.
Lesha’s mother opened the door. She looked tense, but nodded politely:
“Come in.”
Lena and Igor were waiting for them in the living room. The atmosphere was stiff—everyone sat upright, like they were taking an exam.
“Have a seat,” Vera Romanovna gestured to the couch.
They sat down. An awkward pause followed.
“I wanted to apologize,” her mother-in-law began, and Liza almost fell off her chair. “Lesha explained the situation to me. I was wrong. I shouldn’t have come over uninvited. And I definitely shouldn’t have changed the locks.”
“Mom,” Lesha started, but she raised her hand.
“Let me finish. I’ve always been used to being in control. My house, my rules—always. I thought it should be the same for you, but I was wrong. Liza is right—this is her apartment. I had no right to take charge there.”
Lena snorted… sighed, and turned to look out the window. Igor nudged her with his elbow. She crossed her arms over her chest but stayed silent.
“Vera Romanovna,” Liza found the strength to speak. “I don’t mind you visiting, really. But I’d appreciate if you let us know in advance. And please don’t change anything without asking.”
“Deal,” her mother-in-law nodded. “I’ll call ahead from now on.”
“And one more thing,” Lesha added firmly. “Mom, I love you. But Liza is my wife. If I have to choose, I’ll choose her. I’m sorry.”
Vera Romanovna pursed her lips but nodded.
“I understand.”
Lunch passed in a strange atmosphere—everyone was polite, but guarded. Lena barely spoke, just threw side glances now and then. Igor tried to lighten the mood by telling funny stories from his taxi rides.
As they were about to leave, neighbor Tamara Lvovna appeared at the door. She was carrying a bag of groceries and waved happily:
“Oh, Lizonka! How are things?”
“Hello, Tamara Lvovna,” Liza smiled. “Everything’s fine.”
“That’s good. I just remembered a story,” the neighbor set her bag by the door. “About my mother-in-law, God rest her soul. She also loved to take charge. One day she came over unannounced, called a handyman, told him to repaint the walls. Pink! I put up with it for a while, then said, ‘Anna Semyonovna, this is my home. I don’t like pink. Please ask next time.’ She got offended, didn’t come for three months. But after that, she always called ahead.”
Vera Romanovna pressed her lips together but said nothing. Tamara Lvovna kept going:
“So, girls, learn to speak up right away. Otherwise, it just gets harder later.”
Igor cleared his throat discreetly. Lena turned away. And suddenly, for the first time all day, Liza laughed. Lesha looked at her and smiled, too.
They stepped outside, and Liza took a deep breath of fresh air:
“There, the first step is done.”
“Yeah,” Lesha put his arm around her shoulders. “Thank you for giving me a chance.”
“Thank you for not being afraid of honesty,” she nestled closer to him.
They walked toward the car, and for the first time in a long while, Liza felt light. Not everything was resolved, and problems still lay ahead. But the most important thing had happened—they learned to speak the truth. To each other, and to others.
And as it turned out, that’s truly priceless.