“I was at my mom’s, that’s why I was delayed. Sorry, my phone died,” Zhenya said.
“I see. Are you going to eat? Or did you eat at your parents’?” I automatically sat up, ready to start heating up dinner.
“I ate, don’t worry, Masha. Let’s watch a movie and then go to bed. I’m really tired.”
Zhenya and I got married two years ago. On the eve of our wedding, the groom introduced me to his parents. My father-in-law was a worldly man who, although he made a fortune from his auto parts company, did not flaunt his wealth. He retained a charming simplicity and respected me from the first day as his son’s choice. However, my relationship with my mother-in-law turned out to be much more complicated. Marina Gennadyevna saw me as a second-class person.
Once, as a girl from a backwater town, she had come to the big city and met a promising young man, whom she married. Zhenya’s father, Sergey Ivanovich, had a god-given talent for making money. He was like a magnet for rubles, which obediently flocked to him, swelling his accounts with substantial sums, allowing my husband’s family to live lavishly. My mother-in-law earned money through her hobby—she grew exotic flowers for sale in a private greenhouse, which her husband had custom-built next to their spacious two-story house. Compared to what Sergey Ivanovich earned from his business, the money from this was small, but my mother-in-law could afford not to work at all.
I, however, came from a simple family, from a village no less. My mother was a rural schoolteacher, and my father was an agronomist. We lived modestly, but my parents did everything so that I could get an education and apply to a university in a big city. I got in on a scholarship, paid my own way, and lived in a dormitory at first, and during my final year at university, I met Zhenya. He was one of those who didn’t look at income but saw the soul in a person. He liked that I was modest and simple, and as he often liked to say, “real.”
My husband worked under his father’s supervision, involved in his business. By twenty-six, he already had his own fairly expensive foreign car and a spacious three-room apartment earned through his hard work. He worked a lot, and money didn’t fall from the sky for him. His father was a demanding and quite strict boss, but his son was not accustomed to working half-heartedly. Everything was done conscientiously.
We met on the street, in line for ice cream. During the season, cute little vans stood on the streets where smiling vendors filled waffle cones with colorful scoops of cold sweets. Both of us happened to have free time, and after chatting, we went for a walk in a nearby park. The next day, Zhenya invited me to a restaurant. I was very nervous because I had little money. My evening job at a pizzeria brought in just enough for the bare minimum of clothing, food, and to send to my parents. They were already elderly, and as their only daughter, no one else but me could help them.
In the past, it was customary for the man to pay for the woman, and it never even occurred to her that it could be otherwise. Now, however, the world has turned upside down, and often we work and pay everywhere and for everything ourselves. Seeing the prices in the restaurant, I was speechless—there wasn’t even a salad for less than three thousand rubles. Turning pale, I raised my frightened eyes to Zhenya:
“Maybe we should go somewhere else? There’s a cafe across the street.”
“What’s the problem? Scared of the prices? I invited you, I’ll pay for everything. Order what you want, please don’t worry!” he immediately clarified the situation.
I smiled and relaxed, ordered a light salad with lots of greens and a fish in some kind of coconut milk and avocado batter. It was incredibly delicious, I forgot about everything in the world, seeing only the shining eyes of the boy opposite me.
Six months later, Zhenya proposed to me. Knowing that my relationship with his mother would be difficult, I took a moment to think.
“What are you afraid of? Why are you hesitating?” Zhenya guessed my anxiety.
“Understand, you are very rich. And I… a village girl. Your mother really didn’t like me, and I wouldn’t want to be the cause of arguments between you two because of me.”
Then the groom laughed:
“You’re not marrying her, you’re marrying me. My money doesn’t matter, I love you. If you love me too, forget about everything and agree.”
And I agreed. After all, I wasn’t marrying him for his wealth. Zhenya knew this, and so did his father. And my mother-in-law… Well, we would meet less often. After all, we lived separately, everyone was busy with their own lives.
We had a modest wedding. I wanted it that way. If I had wanted a lavish celebration, Zhenya would have, it seems, even ordered elephants in lotus garlands from India. But we quietly registered at the registry office, where only Sergey Ivanovich came. Marina Gennadyevna did not deem it necessary to honor her only son’s wedding with her presence. As I later learned, she had invited her son before the celebration and cried in front of him, begging him to give me up. Zhenya didn’t do it, and I entered his apartment on a summer evening already as the mistress of the house and his lawful wife.
Zhenya, although he had bought this apartment five years ago, had hardly furnished it. Only the kitchen was fully finished and equipped with modern appliances, and there was a sofa in the bedroom. There really wasn’t much else. After moving to my husband’s, I eagerly took on the task of setting up our family nest. I bought fluffy soft carpets, decorative pillows for the sofa, a spacious bed, and a bedroom suite. I immediately planned how the nursery would be done, although I hadn’t started on it yet.
The bachelor’s apartment gradually transformed into a cozy home, where a woman’s caring hand was visible everywhere. I loved my husband and loved this apartment, where every corner was now arranged to my taste. Zhenya never tired of praising my talent for organizing space.
“Masha, you’re a magician! I suspected it, but one thing is to guess, another to see it with your own eyes! I didn’t even know you could make such beauty out of my spacious den. I come here and relax. Thank you, my love!”
I shyly lowered my eyes. My husband’s praise of my modest efforts warmed me deeply inside. I was glad that he was as happy with me as I was with him.
My mother-in-law almost never came to us, and if she did look in, it seemed only to jab me deeper.
“Cornflower curtains? Masha, seriously? Is that the fashion in the village?”
“It’s from an interior magazine, Marina Gennadyevna. And I embroidered the cornflowers myself.”
Such jabs were countless. It all boiled down to the fact that I had no taste, everything I did was wrong, and I was no match for her golden son. The situation was further complicated by the fact that after graduating from university and getting married, I could not find a job. Strictly speaking, this was not required of me, but it was my own desire. Sitting within four walls all day was not for me. I wanted to contribute to society, to be usefully occupied. I managed everything at home—cooking, cleaning, and even had time to rest.
All the vacancies that interested me somehow never turned into a permanent stable job for me. I wasn’t looking for a high salary—that would have been too presumptuous, having studied to be a history teacher. I wanted something interesting, something that would bring me joy. Private schools required experience, and in regular ones either the team, the schedule, or the director didn’t like me for some reason—too young, inexperienced, just got married, meaning I would soon be on maternity leave, and so on and so forth. Three months I searched unsuccessfully, and grew increasingly despondent. And my mother-in-law made a whole show out of my unemployment, ranting about how useless her daughter-in-law was.
I became more and more upset, and only my husband and my mother supported me with all their might.
“Listen, why don’t you try something else? You have golden hands. You embroider wonderfully, sew. Maybe go into that field?” Zhenya reasoned one evening as we dined together.
“You know, I’ve been thinking about that too. I want to sew a few dresses for sale with hand embroidery, create a group-store on social media. I have a friend who does this with ceramics and sells it. You know, there’s no shortage of customers there. Maybe I’ll succeed too?” I answered.
“I have no doubt that you will. The suit you sewed for me is just fire! Dad wants the same one. Only he’s taller. Can you make one for him too?”
“For Sergey Ivanovich, I’d fetch a star from the sky!” I laughed. “I wanted to give him a coat for his birthday. But I’ll manage the suit too. Need to take his measurements when we see him.”
Sergey Ivanovich did not celebrate his birthday—he was on a business trip in Japan. But when he returned, I gifted him a quality suit in ivory color made of natural crumpled linen, fitting his figure, and a luxurious draped coat. I snagged the fabric from an online store of luxury fabrics, paid a fortune, but it was worth it. The coat turned out so chic that it instantly made Sergey Ivanovich look fifteen years younger, and even slimmed down his figure, which had become a bit burdened with extra weight, as if the man had never left the gym. Touched by the gift, Sergey Ivanovich sincerely thanked me and wore the new clothes with pleasure. After finishing his gift, I boldly sat down to sew dresses for my future store.
Muslin, dense cotton, linen, and nettle were very popular for summer now. I bought a lot of the latter, all in light colors. Once, when there was no money at all, my mother bought white fabric for sheets, from which she sewed clothes for the whole family. To differentiate it by color, she dyed it herself. I now applied that motherly experience. Only there was a wide selection of dyes, and I boldly purchased a course on dyeing fabrics with natural and synthetic dyes.
Nettle fabric turned out to be ideal for playing with shades. Azure, yellow, and coal-black dyes obediently settled on it. I also dyed with fabrics. I particularly liked madder, which could be bought in any herbal shop. With this simple herb, I achieved colors from delicate pink to rich purple, fit for the festive togas of Roman emperors. I spared no expense on embroidery for each dress. Nettle ones I mainly embroidered with beets, carrots, dandelions, and chicory. Linen ones with various owls, foxes, lace. And muslin ones with olives, currants, blueberries, and raspberries. It turned out very beautiful. All that was left was to photograph them nicely and add them to the products in the already created store.
Zhenya insisted that I do a professional photo shoot in my dresses. Summer was outside, and we drove to the fields—with sunflowers, rye, wheat. Against a stormy sky that had just spread above us, the photos came out simply stunning. The natural fabrics of the dresses looked advantageous in natural landscapes, and at home, I rushed to start uploading the album. My husband smiled, watching how passionately I was engaged in my little store. Meanwhile, he was just reading about targeted advertising to promote my project.
The doorbell was a complete surprise, and I, looking at Zhenya in astonishment, went to open it. My mother-in-law was standing on the threshold. After greeting her, I let her into the apartment.
“Son, tell your little wife to come over, I need a cleaner,” declared my mother-in-law.
“Mom, did you come here to insult Masha?”
“No, I really need a cleaner. This kind of work is just right for Maria. Your wife will be busy and even be able to earn money.” Marina Gennadyevna spoke unflappably.
“Mom, please leave, I’m asking you, and don’t dare offer such a thing to the mistress of this house again!” Zhenya said through gritted teeth.
“Fine! I wanted to help, but you, as always, don’t look back at your mother’s opinion!” proudly declared the mother-in-law and left.
We exchanged puzzled glances with my husband, and I returned to my activity.
Four months later, I had already hired assistants. The idea with the store turned out to be so successful that there was no end to the orders. Another six months later, we rented our own studio, where eight women were already sewing. I was expecting our son with Zhenya, joyfully engaged in embroidery, and made a separate line of dresses for pregnant women. The models delicately emphasized the status, were made entirely of natural fabrics, dyed and decorated with hand embroidery and lace. Each item was sewn for a specific customer and was unique. I thus wiped my mother-in-law’s nose with it. She considered me a worthless dummy, but now I was a real business lady with a whole staff under me. My husband was very proud of me, and my father-in-law advertised me to everyone. I made many items for him, and Sergey Ivanovich wore them with gratitude and joy.
With my husband, we lived very happily. Matveyka was born, whom we both adored. A lively, bright-eyed boy, he walked early, spoke early, and enjoyed playing with threads in my studio, where all my craftswomen spoiled him. Happiness is in very simple things, and you need to see and appreciate it. That’s what I did, every day thanking the higher powers for such a wonderful husband and son.