The final drop fell onto the smoldering surface of my patience on that evening when I saw his fingers digging into her wrist, leaving crimson traces. My blood boiled, but my sister’s pleading, almost desperate look stopped me. And now, as she is carrying her third child by that monster, my mother suddenly calls me asking for help. “Anya, you’ve always been so sensible,” the gentle words spill out unexpectedly from the woman who for years saw me only as an inconvenient, flawed child. Funny, isn’t it? Now that her precious one is mired in an unhappy marriage, and I have built a successful career contrary to her expectations, Mom suddenly remembered that she has a younger daughter. I wonder where this unexpected twist will lead in our family drama.
In childhood, my room was a zone of constant conflicts. I would throw my things around haphazardly, which drove Mom into a rage.
— “Anya, did you scatter your rags all over the chair again?! How many times must I repeat the same thing to you?” Mom stood in the doorway, hands on her hips.
— “Mom, it’s so much more convenient for me! I’ll clean up later,” I replied, not taking my eyes off my book.
— “There must be order in this house! You live under my roof, so you follow my rules. Everything should be cleaned up within three minutes! Look at Polina – her room is in perfect order. Is it really so hard to follow your sister’s example?”
Polina had always been the embodiment of perfection for Mom. The eldest daughter – clever, beautiful, obedient, and “proper.”
— “Polina, are you doing your homework?” Mom would peek into my sister’s room with an entirely different tone.
— “Yes, I’m preparing for tomorrow’s algebra test,” Polina replied without lifting her eyes from her notebook.
— “You’re such a diligent daughter. A real genius! Unlike your sister – all she does is sit on her phone.”
— “Mom, I’ve already done everything!” I shouted from my room upon hearing these words.
— “If you’re done, then do something useful! Don’t just stare at that screen. Go help your mother instead.”
— “I just want to rest a bit.”
— “Rest? You’ll rest in the afterlife! Now run to the store for some grains – I want to make buckwheat cutlets.”
— “Ugh, I can’t stand them!”
— “Don’t you dare wrinkle your face! It’s your sister’s favorite dish, so be kind – respect other people’s tastes.”
Adolescence became a real trial for me. Mom did not accept my hobbies, considering them inappropriate for a girl.
— “I want to play basketball! Why are you forbidding it?” I argued furiously.
— “Because it’s not a girl’s sport! Do you want to grow up un-feminine? Perhaps you even want to shave your head?” Mom flailed her arms.
— “And if I do, so what?”
— “How dare you talk to your mother like that, you insolent girl? Do you think you can do anything you want? Take a lesson from Polina – she does cross-stitch and takes dance classes. She will become a real lady, but what will you become?”
— “Definitely not what you want!”
— “How dare you speak to me like that?!”
My rebellious nature was like a splinter to Mom. She saw me as a failure in upbringing – disobedient, willful, not shining with any particular talent. At school, I mostly befriended boys, finding common ground in sports and computer games. Girly gatherings with talk about rags, cosmetics, and boys filled me with a mortal melancholy. That remained me until I entered university.
After my first year, I decided I’d had enough. I got a part-time job and saved money to move out from under Mom’s roof. Meanwhile, my impeccable sister Polina married Gleb – a man who outwardly appeared to be an enviable groom, but behind closed doors transformed into a domestic tyrant.
One day, while visiting my sister, I found her in a depressed state.
— “Where’s Gleb?” I asked, surveying the empty apartment.
— “As usual, entertaining his friends at a sports bar,” Polina sighed, rocking her baby.
— “And you, then, are sitting at home like a faithful Penelope, waiting for your hero?”
— “Anya, please, don’t start,” my sister’s voice was laced with weariness.
— “Polina, I worry about you. You’ve tied your life to a man who doesn’t care about you or your child. Every evening you sit alone while he goes off to entertain himself. Are you sure he’s just drinking beer with friends?”
— “Enough, Anya.”
— “What is it that’s enough? Telling the truth? You see what’s happening. Why don’t you leave him?”
— “I can’t, we have a child. And soon there’ll be a second.”
— “You’re pregnant again?”
— “Yes.”
— “Oh, Polina! He treats you like a servant – I’ve seen it myself. Leave before things get even worse.”
— “I can’t leave, Anya. How will I manage with two children? Despite all his faults, Gleb earns well.”
— “So, are you willing to exchange your happiness and dignity for financial stability? And what about the love you dreamed of in your youth?”
— “I love Gleb.”
— “Really? To me, that sounds more like dependency. Is it love when you’re afraid of someone?”
Polina lowered her eyes but remained silent. A tear rolled down her cheek.
— “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you,” I said, softening. “Just live your life as you see fit, if it works for you.”
— “You’re too harsh,” my sister whispered.
— “But at least I’m honest. I used to try hinting at things, but you wouldn’t listen. Now I speak plainly, but it still makes no difference.”
I began to pack my bag, preparing to leave.
— “You’re not going to completely abandon me, are you?” Polina’s voice trembled with fear.
— “Where would I go? You’re my sister.”
Despite feeling hurt by her blind devotion to an unworthy man, I genuinely worried about Polina. I had heard about Gleb from mutual acquaintances – a self-absorbed narcissist with a superiority complex who asserted himself at the expense of the weak, including my sister. A single encounter with him was enough to confirm all my worst fears.
That evening had begun well. Polina and I sat in the kitchen, laughing and reminiscing about our school days. Suddenly, the front door slammed, and the atmosphere changed in an instant. Polina sprang up, as if on cue.
— “Hi, dear. My sister came to visit,” she said with forced cheerfulness.
— “Very interesting. Let her leave, I want to relax,” Gleb said, not even glancing in my direction.
— “But she just arrived…”
— “Was I not clear? Get out.”
— “Maybe we could sit in the kitchen a little longer? I promise we won’t disturb you.”
I saw him abruptly grab Polina’s hand, twisting her wrist.
— “Do you need to be told twice?”
— “Let her go immediately!” I stepped between them, boiling with anger.
— “Well, aren’t you a brave girl. Mind your own business.”
— “Polina is my sister, so it’s my business. Let her go now!”
Gleb smirked and relaxed his grip. Red marks remained on Polina’s skin from his hold.
— “And do you often allow such treatment of my sister?” I asked, feeling my anger rise.
— “Anya, please, no,” Polina whispered.
— “What did you say?” Gleb advanced toward me.
— “You heard her well. See her again mistreated, and I swear you’ll regret it.”
— “Oh, what threats! Get out of my house, you little brat. And don’t you dare talk to me in that tone.”
I opened my mouth to retort, but Polina firmly grasped my hand, pleading with her eyes.
— “Please go. Everything will be alright.”
I was boiling with rage – at that self-satisfied tyrant for humiliating my sister, at Polina for her slavish submission, and at myself for my helplessness in the situation. But as the years passed, and when Polina became pregnant with her third child by Gleb, I stopped hoping to change anything.
After several unsuccessful attempts to pull my sister out of the grip of an unhappy marriage, I decided to focus on my own life. Fate sometimes throws strange curves – a rebellious girl who despised everything “girly” ended up becoming a master of nail art. Something in this painstaking, creative process unexpectedly touched the strings of my soul. Moreover, this profession allowed me to earn well while maintaining my independence.
One winter evening, I stayed late at the salon with my last client and missed the final bus. Standing at the stop under the wet snow, I frantically wondered how to get home when a familiar silver sedan pulled up beside me. My old friend Kirill rolled down the window:
— “Anya, what are you doing shivering here? Climb in, we’ll give you a ride!”
In the car sat his girlfriend Marina – the only one among his conquests toward whom I felt genuine sympathy – and some unfamiliar guy. Throughout the ride, Marina and I discussed the latest news, while I stole glances at the rearview mirror, where that stranger’s face was reflected. There was something in his thoughtful, attentive eyes that made me keep returning to them again and again.
When I reached home, almost on impulse I invited the whole group for tea. We sat in the kitchen, laughing, and I kept catching that man’s gaze – the guy who introduced himself as Andrey. When the friends were leaving, he seemed to linger in the hallway:
— “Anya, maybe we could go out somewhere this weekend?” His voice was confident, though a hint of doubt flickered in his eyes.
Thus began a new chapter in my life. My relationship with Andrey strangely transformed me from the inside. My perpetually bristling nature gradually softened, as if I were thawing in the warmth of his attention and care. For the first time, someone saw not a rebellious girl in a skirt, but a woman – strong yet worthy of gentle treatment.
The regular bouquets, which once only bewildered me, began to carry a special meaning. Andrey never tried to change me, and his love, like a warm spring rain, gradually awakened new, unfamiliar facets of my personality.
Two years later we married, and a year after that, Timur entered our lives – a little bundle of energy with his father’s eyes and his mother’s stubbornness. We lived in a spacious apartment that Andrey had bought before we met, but one day he stunned me with an unexpected proposal:
— “Anya, have you ever thought about having your own house?” he asked, setting his book aside.
— “In what sense?” I raised my eyebrows in confusion.
— “In the literal sense. Our very own house, built from scratch.”
I looked at my husband, dumbfounded, trying to comprehend his words.
— “I figured if we sold this apartment, added our savings, and if necessary borrowed a little from our parents, we could build a home for our family,” Andrey continued. “Timur needs more space to play and grow.”
— “And what about work? You’re not suggesting we move to some remote village?”
— “Of course not! I’ve spotted a lot in the suburbs – a quiet place, just twenty minutes by car from the center. I’ll continue commuting to work as usual, and you can set up a separate office for your clients at home. Or you could even take a break from work if you want.”
At first, the idea seemed crazy, but the more I thought about it, the more it captivated me. Our own house, built to our design, where every corner reflected our individuality – it was like the realization of a childhood dream I hadn’t even known about.
After a year of grueling hassles, endless negotiations, and last-minute building rushes, we finally moved into our new home. Timur was over the moon – now he had his own yard to play and explore. I decided to invite Polina and her family over to show them our new place.
— “Oh my, Anya, what a beauty! Simply incredible!” my sister marveled as she wandered through the rooms.
— “It’s just a house, nothing special,” Gleb grumbled, looking around boredly.
Polina arrived with her entire family – three children and her husband. I wasn’t thrilled by Gleb’s presence, but I understood that otherwise my sister simply wouldn’t have come. The kids ran off to the backyard to play ball, the men chatted on the terrace, and Polina and I strolled through the rooms.
— “And this bedroom is just a marvel!” my sister exclaimed in admiration as she inspected the interior. “And you did buy that dresser you mentioned!”
— “Andrey gifted it to me on our anniversary,” I smiled.
— “You’re all so wonderful,” my sister said with genuine joy in her voice.
— “Are you all right?” I asked, looking her in the eyes carefully.
— “Stop worrying so much, Anya. Gleb changed after I gave him an ultimatum and threatened to take the kids,” a sly smile crossed Polina’s face.
— “Really?” I laughed in disbelief.
— “Has Mom been told about the house?”
— “What do you mean? We don’t even talk.”
— “You should tell her; she’d love to see it. Maybe it’s a chance to reconcile?”
— “We’ll see,” I answered evasively.
It wasn’t long before the phone erupted with the insistent trill of Mom’s call. I don’t know how she got my new number, but she was determined to pay a visit. After a brief conversation, I reluctantly agreed.
— “Hello, Mom,” I greeted her at the door.
— “Hello, Anya,” she said, appearing unusually restrained.
— “Come in, make yourself comfortable.”
Mom methodically walked through every corner of our home, carefully examining the interior, furniture, and finishes. Her face gradually brightened, her lips stretched into a smile, and she nodded in approval. When the inspection was over, we went down to the living room.
— “Darling, what a magnificent home you’ve built. I’m taking it for myself,” Mom declared.
I froze, thinking I must have misheard.
— “What, excuse me?”
— “You owe me something, dear,” she continued as if nothing had happened. “For all the sleepless nights, for all the gray hairs you added to me with your temperament. I raised you, fed you, clothed you, and all you did was cause trouble with your basketball and your friends. Now it’s my turn to live in comfort. I’ll bring Polina and the kids here, and we’ll live as one big family.”
— “Mom, stop!” I couldn’t believe what was happening. “This is our home, mine and Andrey’s. We built it for our family; we invested not just money but our souls into it. There will be no moving.”
— “I’m not inviting some strangers, I’m inviting your own mother! Do you think you achieved everything by yourself? If it weren’t for my strict upbringing, you’d still be nobody.”
— “And what have you done? You forgot all about me as soon as I moved out. You always exalted Polina, and then? You missed how she tied her life to a tyrant!”
— “Polina is an adult woman; she’ll figure it out on her own!”
— “And I’ve long grown up too, Mom. No one will ever take your home from you, don’t even hope.”
Our raised voices attracted Andrey, who entered the room.
— “What’s going on here?”
— “My mother decided that we should give her our home,” I retorted, restraining my anger.
— “I don’t want to take it away, I just want to live together!” Mom shot back. “Andrey, doesn’t a daughter owe care to the mother who raised her?”
— “As far as I know, you hardly participated in Anya’s life ever since she became independent,” my husband replied calmly. “And suddenly, when we got our own home, you remembered your filial duty?”
— “How dare you talk to your elders, you insolent whelp?! I’m your mother-in-law, by the way!”
— “I would gladly show you respect if I saw the same regard for your daughter. But the house is ours, and we’re not going to give it away or share it.”
— “You’re such heartless egoists! I never thought I’d raise such a daughter! And your husband – he suits you perfectly, just as heartless!”
After unleashing a torrent of bitter words, Mom slammed the door. I exchanged a look with my husband and unexpectedly burst into laughter:
— “So, my heartless husband, shall we have dinner?”
— “Only if you, you selfish woman, don’t skimp on the portions,” he replied, joining in the joke.
I quickly let the incident go – years had taught me not to dwell on Mom’s outbursts. The situation only confirmed what I had always known: to my mother, I was merely a means to achieve her ends. Instead of wasting emotions on grievances, I chose to enjoy what I had now – a loving husband, a charming son, and a home that was the true embodiment of our shared dreams.