Leaden clouds hung over the city, as if ready to pour down a thick blanket of snow at any moment. The winter morning was damp and unbearably cold. The air soaked through the skin to the bone, while rare snowflakes slowly twirled in the air, settling on car roofs and pavement tiles. Lidiya Nikolaevna, tightly wrapped in a woolen shawl and adjusting the hood of her coat, hurried toward the banquet hall, clutching a box with flowers and candles to her chest.
Tomorrow was the wedding of her son Pavel. Her only child, her dearest person, who had finally decided to bind his life with Veronika — a sweet, well-mannered girl who knew how to comport herself in society, radiating care and kindness… or so it seemed to Lidiya until recently. But lately, something inside her had given a nervous jolt. Maybe it was just maternal intuition? Or was there something she did not yet know?
She wanted to believe that everything was falling into place. But she could not fully entrust the organization of such a large-scale event to strangers. If Pavel remained calm, Lidiya was restless. Thoughts about the upcoming day gave her no moment of peace: from the schedule of the feast to the placement of glasses. That’s why she came today — to check everything with her own eyes.
The parking lot at the complex was nearly full: catering staff were unloading crates of food, designers were adding final touches to the photo zone, somewhere sound was being tested. Lidiya parked at the edge, took out from the trunk a neat box with white lilies, eucalyptus branches, and candles in golden candlesticks. These elements were her idea — to add warmth and a cozy, homey feel to the celebration. The wedding should be not just beautiful but alive and full of meaning.
Entering the hall, Lidiya relaxed a little. The setting was exactly as she had imagined: simple champagne-colored tablecloths, garlands of fresh flowers, soft, cozy light. She walked along the rows of tables, checking every detail. Musicians were tuning their instruments, waiters carefully arranged the cutlery. From the kitchen came the aroma of spices, roasted meat, and fresh pastries.
The head chef, a middle-aged man with gray in his beard and a confident smile, assured her that everything would be ready on time and without complaints. Hearing this, Lidiya felt the first relief of the day.
She returned to her box and began decorating the newlyweds’ table. With love, she arranged the lilies, adjusted the greenery, neatly laid out the textiles, and chose suitable candles. In the center, she placed a card with warm wishes of love, understanding, and happiness. Looking around the hall, she allowed herself to sit down and catch her breath for the first time that morning.
But suddenly voices broke the silence. They came from a small room Lidiya had previously mistaken for a storage closet. The voices were female, lively, tinged with self-satisfaction. One, particularly familiar, made her heart tighten. Lidiya cautiously approached closer.
“The main thing is that Pavlik suspects nothing,” said Tamara Vasilyevna — the mother of the bride — with a light laugh.
“Of course,” replied another. “He’s so soft and kind. Veronika behaves properly, just as she should.”
“And what about the apartment?” asked a third woman whose voice Lidiya did not recognize.
“Almost everything is settled,” said Tamara. “After the wedding, he’ll sign the deed. The apartment is central, spacious — inherited from grandma. Not taking it would be a sin.”
Lidiya froze. That apartment — the home where Pavel took his first steps, learned to talk and read, where she and her husband spent their best years…
“Does he really see nothing?” the third woman asked in surprise.
“He’s in love like a boy. For Veronika, he’s ready for anything. The main thing is to smile, agree, and not contradict.”
“And your husband? How is he?” the voice came again.
“Valery?” Tamara snorted. “As always — lost in his books. A couple of times he tried to object, saying it’s not done that way. I explained to him: it’s not the ’90s anymore; we have to think about the future. Veronika deserves that.”
Lidiya stepped back from the door as if pushed. Her heart pounded as if it wanted to burst out. A deep, painful emptiness formed in her chest. Not anger, not fury — rather a bitter destruction of something fragile inside.
She returned to the hall where everything still shone with festive splendor. Only now all that beauty seemed deceptive, fake. Something had to be done. Right now. She took out her phone, dialed her son’s number, but changed her mind and hung up. No. It couldn’t be like this. It had to be a personal conversation.
When Pavel arrived — in a great mood, eyes shining with joy — Lidiya met him at the entrance. He hugged her warmly, smiled, and asked:
“Mom, how do you like it? Is everything beautiful?”
“Very beautiful, son,” she replied restrainedly. “But we need to talk. Right now. It’s important.”
They got into her car. The doors closed with a muffled click, shielding them from the hustle and cold. Inside, there was silence, broken only by the faint hum of the heater. Pavel looked at his mother in bewilderment:
“Mom, you’re scaring me… What happened?”
Lidiya tightly clasped her hands on her knees, gathered her thoughts, and began:
“I never interfered in your life. Not in your friends, not in your relationships. But today I accidentally overheard a conversation. Tamara Vasilyevna and her relatives. They were talking about you… about everything. And what I heard broke my heart. I had to tell you myself.”
Pavel frowned, his face tensed.
“What exactly did you hear?” he asked, his voice quieter, more tense.
“They said Veronika is playing a role. That this is all part of a plan. That to them, you’re just a soft, trusting person who’s easy to deceive. That the main goal is to get the apartment. That you’re not a husband to them but a means to an end.”
Pavel fell silent. Sat motionless, staring at the windshield where snowflakes slowly swirled. Finally, he whispered:
“That can’t be… Are you sure?”
“Yes,” Lidiya replied softly. “I was standing nearby. They didn’t even try to hide it. For them, it was an everyday matter.”
Pavel ran his hand over his face. It seemed the ground was slipping from under his feet.
“Why are you telling me this the day before the wedding?” His voice held hurt and pain.
“Because I only found out today,” Lidiya answered. “And I couldn’t stay silent. I couldn’t let you go through this without knowing the truth.”
Pavel closed his eyes, clenched his fists, then took a deep breath.
“Thank you,” he said quietly. “It hurts terribly. But it’s better to know the truth now than realize it too late.”
Lidiya wanted to say more, but he hugged her — tightly, almost desperately.
“Thank you, Mom. You’re always with me.”
Outside the car, the snow fell thicker, covering the streets with a white blanket. Inside, a decision was growing — heavy but the only right one.
“I need time to think it over,” Pavel said. “But thank you. Maybe you saved me from a mistake I would never forgive myself for.”
Late in the evening, Pavel called Veronika and suggested meeting. By the fountain on the embankment — where their story once began. It was quiet, the frost tickled the skin, snowflakes gently twirled in the air.
“Pavel, you’re scaring me,” she said as she approached. “What happened?”
“I know everything. About the apartment. About your tactics. About how you ‘love’ me out of calculation.”
“Who told you that?! It’s all lies!” Veronika exclaimed.
“I heard it myself. And Mom too. And your mother… She said enough.”
Veronika froze. Her face hardened. Then she quietly exhaled:
“You think I didn’t love you?”
“I think you loved what I could give. And that’s something else entirely.”
He took out a ring, offered her the box:
“Take it. There will be no wedding.”
She stood there, unable to say a word. Then sharply turned and walked away. Snow softly settled on her shoulders. Her steps led her away from the fountain. Pavel watched her go and felt a new feeling growing inside — freedom.
At home, in the quiet of the winter evening, Lidiya brewed herself tea. Outside, the snow continued to fall, soft and silent. She looked at it with a slight, thoughtful smile. Her heart was calm.
Her son remained himself. Of course, it would hurt him. But that pain would pass. But if he had married, knowing nothing… that pain would stay with him forever.
He would manage. He was strong. And most importantly — he was free.