— Yanochka, dear, why didn’t you tell me right away that you now have some money?
— Hello, Yulia Konstantinovna. I don’t understand what you mean.
— How so? Kirill said that your mother transferred a nice sum of money to your account.
Yana was a terrible careerist. Work consumed her completely: early mornings, late-night reports, endless meetings. Friends joked that her middle name was “Overwork,” and her personal life had long been replaced by a schedule of deadlines.
Kirill, her boyfriend, was her mirror image — just as much a workaholic, falling asleep with a laptop on his lap. Their relationship resembled a business partnership: rare meetings, short calls between meetings, discussing not romantic plans but quarterly reports.
And one morning, Yana sensed something was wrong — a delay. The test confirmed the worst — or the best? — fears: two lines. Pregnancy.
— This can’t be, — she whispered, looking into the mirror. — I wasn’t planning to have a child this soon… And what about becoming a department head? That was her dream…
But life, as always, made its adjustments.
The first person Yana decided to tell was her mother. Aleksandra Dmitrievna listened silently to her daughter, then said:
— This is not at all what you dreamed of, right?
— Yes, — Yana sighed heavily.
— I’ll help you. You have to keep the baby. You’re twenty-five — the best age to have a child.
— Thanks, Mom. You know I can’t manage without a job.
Kirill found out about his beloved’s pregnancy not in the kitchen, not in a café, and not in bed. He was standing in the conference room, just finishing a tough Zoom call with clients, when a short message from Yana popped up on his phone screen:
“We’re going to be parents soon.”
At first, he didn’t understand and read it again. Then he left the conference room and called.
— Are you sure? — he whispered.
— Absolutely, — Yana answered calmly. — I had tests done. Everything is confirmed. What shall we do?
Silence. Then suddenly:
— Yana, let’s get married. Today. Well, okay—not today, but soon. We don’t need a big celebration. Just us, the registry office, and dinner with family.
— Are you sure? Not just because…
— I’ve wanted to propose for a long time, but work completely consumed me… We’re adults and must take responsibility for our actions. And yes, I love you very much, in case you forgot.
A week later, Yana and Kirill stood at the registry office. Without a fancy white dress or a banquet for two hundred people. Just the ceremony and a couple of photos against a dusty arch with flowers. They exchanged rings, smiled, and… went to a restaurant where their parents were already waiting.
At the table were only the closest people: Yana’s parents — Aleksandra Dmitrievna and Viktor Nikolaevich, Kirill’s parents — Yulia Konstantinovna and Vasily Petrovich, and Kirill’s older sister Natasha. The atmosphere was cozy — salads, appetizers, champagne, and conversations about everything.
Yulia Konstantinovna, a woman with a straight back and a slightly haughty gaze, poured herself a glass and suddenly said:
— Newlyweds, a wedding, a child — all wonderful. But now it’s time to think about housing. Where will you live? Renting an apartment with a child is not a solution.
Yana tensed slightly. She feared conversations about living together and “help” from her mother-in-law would start, but Kirill was calm.
— Yana and I have already decided. We’re taking out a mortgage.
Yana looked surprised at her husband and raised her eyebrows:
— When did we manage that?
— Wow, — exclaimed Yulia Konstantinovna, not noticing her daughter-in-law’s reaction — are you sure? Interest rates are so high now…
— We’ll manage. I have a stable job. I’ve calculated everything, — Kirill answered confidently and looked at Yana. — And we want to start fresh, on our own.
For the first time that evening, Yana relaxed. He said exactly what she wanted to hear.
— Well then… to you, — Yulia Konstantinovna nodded and raised her glass.
— To us, — Yana added quietly, smiling wholeheartedly.
The apartment was in a new residential complex, with finished light-colored repairs and a view of a small park. When Yana first stepped inside, she understood: the apartment was perfect.
They furnished the apartment gradually: first buying a comfortable bed, a sofa for the living room, and a dining table — where soon they would feed their little daughter.
Then they added small touches: a throw, soft colorful pillows, flower pots with green plants, a floor lamp, Yana’s favorite bergamot-scented candles. Yana happily shopped, choosing curtains, pillows, rugs — everything she never had time for before.
Kirill got more and more immersed in work — sometimes until late at night. He tried to pay off the loan as quickly as possible. Besides, he wanted Yana not to worry about anything and for their daughter to be born in a home that was ready for her arrival.
Yana wasn’t upset — she understood. And despite morning sickness, drowsiness, and heightened smell sensitivity, she continued working from home. The management was understanding: some tasks could be done remotely, which was a lifesaver.
In the last months of pregnancy, Yana hardly went to the office. But she didn’t want to: the apartment already had the atmosphere of awaiting their daughter. Booties, tiny bodysuits, a crib in the corner of the bedroom, and an album with the name “Anechka” on the cover. Yana already knew what she would name her daughter. After her grandmother Anna — a woman with a kind heart and incredible strength, who passed away only three years ago. When Yana said the name, Kirill only nodded:
— Wonderful. She’ll be Anechka.
The girl was born right on time, early in the morning, with fine fluffy hair and a serious look, as if she already understood a lot. Kirill held her for the first time in the maternity hospital and couldn’t hold back tears — tightly holding the tiny body to his chest, repeating:
— Hello, daughter… I’ve been waiting for you.
Life changed. Fatigue became constant, the rhythm — intermittent, but every evening, when Anechka fell asleep and Yana leaned on Kirill’s shoulder, they both understood: everything was right, everything was for the best.
Yulia Konstantinovna appeared in their lives quietly: without unnecessary noise, remarks, or reproaches. She just called one morning and said:
— Yana, I’ll be nearby today, I’ll drop by, take a walk with Anechka. You need to rest.
Yana was surprised and couldn’t refuse. She really wanted to sleep at least a couple of hours straight or simply drink coffee without hurry from a clean cup. Since that day, Yulia Konstantinovna’s visits became regular. She came several times a week in the morning when Yana was still in a robe feeding her daughter, smiling from the doorway:
— Don’t rush, I’ll wait, — and really didn’t rush her daughter-in-law.
The mother-in-law took the stroller, put on comfortable ballet flats, and went to the park with Anechka. She walked for a long time until the granddaughter woke up, so Yana could get more done. During that time, she managed to do laundry, cook something, work on her laptop, and even lie down a bit.
— Yulia Konstantinovna, what would I do without you? — Yana said when her mother-in-law returned, gently taking Anya out of the stroller.
— I’m just a grandmother who loves her granddaughter, — the mother-in-law smiled reservedly.
— Just a grandmother who knows that a young mother needs fresh air too. Not only the child.
And most importantly — Yulia Konstantinovna didn’t interfere with advice. She didn’t teach Yana how to hold the baby, what to feed her, or how much she needed to sleep. She drank tea, discussed news and the granddaughter, and whenever she sensed Yana was tired, she would say:
— That’s it, I’m going. You rest. And don’t you dare mop the floors, hear me? Rest.
— I promise, — Yana smiled and really sat down on the couch with a throw and a cup of coffee.
Kirill was initially wary of this new “routine.”
— She doesn’t annoy you? — he definitely knew what kind of character his mother had.
— On the contrary. Only now I realize I have a great mother-in-law. Not intrusive and not rude. She just helps.
— You’ve made friends with her? — Kirill smirked.
— You could say that…
And everything would have been fine if one day Kirill hadn’t let it slip to his mother that Yana’s mother sold the inherited apartment and gave the proceeds to Yana. Aleksandra Dmitrievna had long wanted to do this but waited for the three-year period.
— Yanochka, dear, why didn’t you tell me right away that you now have some money?
— Hello, Yulia Konstantinovna. I don’t understand what you mean.
— How so? Kirill said that your mother transferred a nice sum of money to your account.
— Ah… now I understand. I already registered a one-room apartment on the outskirts. The remaining money I left in an interest-bearing account. After all, three years on maternity leave… You never know what might happen.
— You bought an apartment? How wonderful. Natasha really needs an apartment. You and Kirill have a place to live, but she doesn’t. She’ll stay in your apartment, okay? You already have it too good, — Yulia Konstantinovna said kindly.
— Yes, of course, no problem, — Yana answered calmly, pressing the phone to her shoulder to take her daughter in her arms. — I was just going to rent out the apartment. But for Natasha, as family, it will be about fifteen thousand.
— What fifteen thousand? I thought it would be free, — the mother-in-law answered, shocked.
— I was thinking of renting it for twenty. That will be my contribution toward the mortgage apartment where Kirill and I live now. It’s hard for him alone.
— Well, then pay off the mortgage completely. Stingy? — Yulia Konstantinovna hissed.
— I don’t recognize you, — Yana answered surprised. — No, I’m not stingy. But in my situation, we’ll have two apartments. And if something happens, where will Anechka and I go? To my parents?
— Ah, so that’s it! You’re already thinking about divorcing my son?
— Not at all. I’m thinking about the future, so our daughter will have her own place too. Why not, if there’s such an opportunity? — the daughter-in-law retorted.
— I heard you! — Yulia Konstantinovna said in farewell and hung up.
Yana, not understanding what was going on, told Kirill everything.
— I didn’t want to upset you when you said my mother was helping you. I thought having a granddaughter changed her… but it turned out not.
— Really? — Yana was surprised by her husband’s confession.
— My mother never helped me, so I found her behavior strange. Besides, Aleksandra Dmitrievna said at the wedding that you inherited the apartment from your grandmother, so she remembered it. But you turned it upside down. Of course, my mother wants to arrange her daughter’s life, but you did the right thing. I don’t blame you.
— Okay… Didn’t expect that confession from you, — Yana squeezed out.
From that day, Yulia Konstantinovna stopped visiting the granddaughter except for rare big holidays, like birthdays and New Year. After a year and a half, Yana worked part-time, and when Anya went to kindergarten, she returned to her old job.
Together, Yana and Kirill quickly paid off the mortgage, and Yulia Konstantinovna tried more than once to ask for money and to buy expensive equipment for herself or Natasha, but nothing worked out. Kirill immediately explained that pulling money out wouldn’t work, and he bought them only what he thought necessary.