— Didn’t understand?! — Misha’s voice cut through the silence of the stairwell, echoing off the concrete walls. — What is going on here?!
The key wouldn’t turn. The lock… the lock was different. Completely different. Misha crouched down, staring at the metal lock plate as if it could explain what had happened to his apartment during these three weeks of his business trip.
— Misha! — came the familiar voice of the neighbor. Aunt Lilya, in a faded robe and with curlers in her hair, peeked out from her door. — You’re back… Oh, my dear, what’s going on…
— Aunt Lilya, what the hell is this? Why was the lock changed? Where is Olya?
The woman hesitated, fidgeting with the belt of her robe. Her face took on the expression of someone who knows the truth but is afraid to say it.
— Your mother came… — she began cautiously. — Lidia Petrovna. She made such a scandal… The whole management heard it.
Misha’s heart dropped somewhere into his stomach. He knew that tone. He knew he was about to hear something terrible.
— She kicked Olenka out, — Aunt Lilya said almost in a whisper, looking around nervously. — She yelled at her that she was… well, you know, a girl of loose morals. The poor girl cried, packed her things… And then…
— And then what?! — Misha clenched his fists so tightly his knuckles cracked.
— Zakhar came. Your brother. With a bag, with drunk friends. Said he’d be living here now. The lock was changed the next day.
The world around Misha swayed. He leaned against the wall, trying to process what he’d heard. Zakhar… His younger brother, a thirty-year-old loser who couldn’t keep a job for longer than a month. Zakhar, who drank everything that burned and believed the world owed him.
— Where… where is Olya? — Misha asked hoarsely.
— I don’t know, dear. She left somewhere. She was very upset…
Misha took out his phone. Olya hadn’t answered for a week. He thought she was just upset by his long absence. But it turned out…
The sound of a turning lock made him lift his head. The door to his apartment slowly opened, and Zakhar appeared in the doorway. Disheveled, in a dirty tank top, with a swollen face and red eyes.
— Oh, little brother’s back, — he drawled, staggering on the threshold. — Welcome to your own home.
The smell from the apartment hit Misha’s nose. Sour beer, tobacco, something rotten… Was this his apartment? The very one where he had left Olya three weeks ago?
— Zakhar, — Misha’s voice was threateningly quiet. — What. Are. You. Doing. Here?
— Living, — the brother shrugged. — Mom allowed it. Said it was time to wean you off that… what’s her name… that fool of yours.
— Fool?! — Misha stepped forward, and Zakhar instinctively backed away. — Fool, you say?!
— Yeah, — Zakhar tried to smile, but it was a crooked grin. — Mom did the right thing. Why do you need some girl? You’ve got a family, a brother…
Misha pushed past him into the apartment and froze. What he saw didn’t fit in his head. His brand-new parquet was stained with some kind of spots. The walls, which he had painted himself last autumn, were scribbled with some kind of scrawl. Bottles, cigarette butts, and some rags were scattered on the floor.
— What have you done? — he whispered, walking into the living room.
The sofa, on which he loved to hug Olya in the evenings, was torn. Foam chunks stuck out of it. The TV worked, but the screen was cracked. Dirty plates with dried food remnants sat on the coffee table.
— Nothing special, — Zakhar plopped down on the couch, raising a cloud of dust. — The guys came by, celebrated my move-in. Don’t be stingy, little brother.
— Don’t be stingy?! — Misha turned to him, and Zakhar saw something in his eyes that made him shrink. — Don’t be stingy?! This is my apartment! I’m paying a mortgage on it! I lived here with the person I love!
— You love, — Zakhar snorted. — Mom says that your Olya just latched onto your money. She works somewhere in a beauty salon, cuts ladies’ hair… What kind of wife is she? You need to find a normal girl from a decent family…
— Zakhar, — Misha’s voice became dangerously calm. — Where are my things? Where are Olya’s things?
— What things? — the brother shrugged. — Mom said to pack everything in bags and throw it out. Why keep old junk?
— Throw it out? — Misha felt something turn inside him. — Throw out my things? Olya’s things?
— Don’t get worked up, — Zakhar reached for a beer bottle on the floor. — Buy new ones. You’ve got money, you work well…
Misha slowly approached the window. Below, near the trash bins, he saw familiar items. Olya’s dresses, his books, photographs… Their shared photos lay in the dirt.
— Mom, — he whispered, pulling out his phone. — Mom, come here immediately. We need to talk.
— Why bother her? — Zakhar finished his beer and burped. — She did the right thing. You should thank her…
— Thank her? — Misha turned to him. — Thank her for what? For destroying my life? For kicking out the person I love? For turning my home into a brothel?
— What love? — Zakhar waved his hand. — You’ll get over it. Are you a man or what? There are many women, but only one brother…
— Brother, — Misha said the word as if it burned his tongue. — A brother who can’t go two days without drinking. A brother who lives off our mother. A brother who…
The phone ringing interrupted him. Lidia Petrovna, as if sensing her son had arrived.
— Hello, Mom, — Zakhar grabbed the receiver before Misha. — Yeah, he’s here. Yelling, complaining… Yeah, I told him you did the right thing…
Misha snatched the phone from his brother’s hand.
— Mom, — his voice was so cold that Zakhar shuddered. — Come. Right now. We need to talk.
— Son, — Lidia Petrovna’s voice sounded surprisingly cheerful. — Just don’t argue. I did it all for your own good. I kicked out your girl and gave Zakhar a roof over his head. He’s your brother, family…
— Mom, — Misha closed his eyes, trying to hold back. — Come now.
— Why get so worked up? — irritation crept into his mother’s voice. — I wanted the best for you. That Olya of yours…
— Her name is Olya, — he interrupted. — And she’s not “my girl.” She’s the woman I love. The woman I was going to… — he stopped himself. — Never mind. Come.
He hung up and looked at Zakhar, who sat on the couch with a stupid smile.
— Little brother, — Zakhar said. — Don’t be mad. Let’s have a drink and talk man to man…
— Man to man? — Misha slowly approached him. — Do you know what “man to man” means? It means taking responsibility for your actions. It means not hiding behind your mother’s skirt at thirty. It means respecting other people’s lives and feelings.
— Come on, — Zakhar tried to get up but staggered. — So what if it’s some girl? There are millions of them. And I’m… well, you know, your brother. Same blood…
— Blood? — Misha looked at him with disgust. — You want to talk about blood? About family? Where was that family when I worked two jobs to buy this apartment? Where was that family when I did the repairs here with my own hands? Where was that family when I…
He stopped himself. It wasn’t worth telling Zakhar how he dreamed of proposing to Olya. How he chose the ring. How he planned their future together.
— Where is Olya? — he asked quietly. — Where is she now?
— How should I know? — Zakhar shrugged. — Mom talked to her. I was at the store then…
— What did she say to her? — Misha stepped closer. — What exactly did our mother say to my girlfriend?
— Well… — Zakhar hesitated. — The usual. That she’s not right for you. That she’s… you know… from a simple family. That you need a wife with education, with status…
— With status, — Misha repeated. — And what about Olya? Doesn’t she have education? She graduated from the pedagogical institute. She works, by the way, not just in a beauty salon, but as an administrator. She earns her own money. Doesn’t ask anyone…
— What difference does it make! — Zakhar waved his hand. — Mom knows better what you need. She’s lived life, has experience…
— Experience? — Misha laughed, but it was a harsh laugh. — Experience raising two sons? One workaholic who at thirty is afraid to tell mom he wants to marry. And the other… — he looked at Zakhar. — The other an alcoholic who can’t take care of himself.
— Hey, — Zakhar tried to protest. — I’m not an alcoholic. I’m just… going through a tough time…
— Ten years of tough times, — Misha cut him off. — Ten years of tough times. And all at mom’s expense. And now at mine.
The clank of the door lock interrupted their conversation. Lidia Petrovna always carried keys to both sons’ apartments. “In case of fire,” she used to say. Now Misha understood what exactly she meant.
— Misha! — a plump woman of about sixty appeared in the doorway, wearing a strict dark coat. — My son, you finally came!
Lidia Petrovna was one of those women who could look solemn even in the worst situations. Her gray hair was neatly styled, her lips were made up, and she held her purse like a shield.
— Mom, — Misha didn’t move from his spot. — Sit down. Let’s talk.
— What’s there to talk about? — she walked into the living room, glanced at the mess, and grimaced. — Zakhar, you should clean up a bit. This is not a barn…
— Mom, I’ll clean tomorrow, — Zakhar mumbled, avoiding Misha’s gaze.
— Mom, — Misha’s voice was dangerously calm. — Explain to me by what right you’re managing my apartment?
— By what right? — Lidia Petrovna straightened. — By maternal right! I’m your mother, not some stranger aunt!
— Maternal right doesn’t give you the right to kick out the person I love from my home.
— You love, — she snorted. — At your age, you should understand the difference between love and infatuation. That Olya of yours…
— Olya, — corrected Misha. — Her name is Olya.
— I don’t care what her name is, — Lidia Petrovna waved her hand. — She’s not right for you. I realized that as soon as I saw her for the first time. Cunning, calculating. I can smell those from a mile away.
— You don’t even know her, — Misha felt rage boiling inside. — You haven’t really talked to her even once!
— And I don’t need to talk, — the mother sat on the couch next to Zakhar. — I can see everything in her eyes. She’s not in love with you but interested. Apartment, salary, status… That’s what she’s after.
— Mom, — Misha stepped closer. — Olya works. She never asked me for money. She even always tried to pay half for groceries…
— Yeah, — Lidia Petrovna smirked. — Putting on a show. Pretending she’s independent. But actually she’s latched onto your apartment and lives here like a parasite.
— She lived here because I asked her to! — Misha’s voice broke. — Because I feel good with her! Because I don’t want to spend evenings alone!
— What’s wrong with being alone? — Mom shrugged. — You work, earn money, build a career. Why do you need some girl hanging around underfoot?
— Some girl, — Misha repeated. — Mom, did you know that Olya cooked dinner for me every evening? That she ironed my shirts? That she…
— Exactly! — Lidia Petrovna raised a finger. — Exactly! She makes herself indispensable! Classic female trick. First, all sorts of services, showy care, and then she’ll demand a stamp in the passport. And then she’ll want your inheritance.
— Inheritance? — Misha was shocked. — What inheritance? Mom, I still have five years left on the mortgage! What inheritance?
— And this apartment? — she gestured around the living room. — And your job? You’re an engineer, good salary…
— Mom, — Misha sat down in a chair opposite the couch. — I’m thirty-five years old. I want a family. I want children. I want to wake up next to the person I love and fall asleep next to her. That’s normal!
— Normal, — agreed Lidia Petrovna. — But not with her. Find yourself a girl from a good family. A teacher, for example. Or a doctor. Someone educated, well-bred…
— Olya is educated! — Misha jumped up. — She’s a teacher! Smarter than many of your “good girls”!
— Then why does she work in a beauty salon and not at school? — the mother asked sarcastically.
— Because the salary at school is pennies! Because she wants to earn a decent living! What’s wrong with that?
— That’s what I’m saying, — Lidia Petrovna nodded triumphantly. — Money is the most important thing for her. And love… love is when a woman is ready to live in a dugout with a man, as long as they’re together.
— Mom, — Misha looked at her with despair. — We live in the twenty-first century. Women have the right to want a normal life. The right to work where they want. The right…
— They have, they have, — his mother interrupted. — But not at the expense of my sons. You already have one concern — work and career. And here comes this… this clingy woman.
— Clingy? — Misha’s voice grew quiet. — Mom, do you even realize what you’re saying? You’re insulting the woman I love.
— Love, love, — Lidia Petrovna waved her hand. — How many times have I heard that! I remember in college you “loved” some girl too. What was her name… Svetka or something. You were dying without her. And where is she now? Probably forgotten.
— That was twenty years ago, — Misha rubbed his temples. — Mom, I was a student. It’s completely different.
— Nothing different, — she shook her head. — Men always think that every new passion is love for life. But then it turns out it’s just hormones.
— What did you do with her things? — Misha suddenly asked. — Where are Olya’s dresses? Her books? Her…
— Threw them out, — the mother answered shortly. — Why keep junk?
— Threw them out, — Misha repeated. — Mom, there were her documents. Her photographs. Her…
— I gave the documents to her, — Lidia Petrovna adjusted her purse on her lap. — I’m not some beast. And the rest… what rest? Rags. She’ll buy new ones.
— Rags, — Misha closed his eyes. — Mom, there was a dress she wore on our first date. Her favorite book she read to the kids in the kindergarten. Photos of her late grandmother…
— So what? — Lidia Petrovna shrugged. — You can’t bring back the dead. And the dress… so what. A woman should renew herself, not wear the same thing for years.
Misha opened his eyes and looked at his mother. Looked at her like never before. As if seeing her for the first time.
— Mom, — he said slowly. — Do you remember how Dad gave you flowers? How he kept your letters in an old box? How he…
— That was a different time, — Lidia Petrovna interrupted. — People were different then. More serious. More responsible.
— Different? — Misha stood up. — Mom, did you know that Olya called you every day in the hospital when you were sick with pneumonia? That she bought medicine that wasn’t available in the pharmacy near the hospital?
— Bought it, — Mom nodded. — Of course. She bought it with your money.
— With her own, — Misha said quietly. — With her own money. I found out by accident. She never told me.
— Didn’t tell you, — Lidia Petrovna smirked. — Of course not. So you’d think she’s kind. Classic female move.
— Mom, — Misha went to the window. — Tell me honestly. No matter what Olya did or how she behaved, you would still be against her. Right?
— Why? — Lidia Petrovna was surprised. — If she was suitable…
— Suitable for who? — Misha turned to her. — Describe the ideal woman for your son.
— Well… — Mom thought. — From a good family. Educated. Works in a decent place. Not made up like a clown. Modest. Knows her place…
— Knows her place, — Misha repeated. — And what place is that?
— Home, family, children, — Lidia Petrovna said firmly. — The husband earns money at work, the wife runs the home. Order in everything.
— Mom, — Misha sat on the windowsill. — What if this ideal woman wants to work? If she has her own interests? Her own friends?
— Why? — Mom was sincerely surprised. — If the husband is good and the family is strong, why else?
— Because she’s a living person, — Misha said. — Not an appendage to a man.
— See, — Lidia Petrovna nodded. — That’s where you got these ideas from. That’s Olya filling your head with feminism.
— Mom, — Misha felt exhaustion coming over him. — Olya never talked to me about feminism. She just… she just was herself. Worked because she liked working. Met friends because she liked talking with them. Read books because she liked reading. Is that a crime?
— A crime is when a woman forgets her purpose, — Lidia Petrovna said lecturingly. — When she thinks only of herself.
— Of herself? — Misha laughed. — Mom, she cooked breakfast for me every morning. She met me after work. She sat with me when I was sick. She…
— She was playing a role, — his mother interrupted. — Pretending to be a good wife. And as soon as she got the stamp in the passport, she’d show her true nature.
— What true nature? — Misha stood and approached his mother. — Mom, do you even know what she’s like? Do you know she read to kids in kindergarten? That she helps homeless cats? That she…
— I know, I know, — Lidia Petrovna waved her hand. — A saint, basically. All like that at the beginning of relationships. Then they show their true character.
— Or maybe it’s not about character? — Misha’s voice grew softer. — Maybe it’s that you just don’t want me to have a family?
— What nonsense! — Mom was outraged. — Of course I do! I only dream of grandchildren!
— Really? — Misha looked at her carefully. — Then why did you ruin the only serious relationship I had in the last five years?
— Because it wasn’t serious! — Lidia Petrovna slammed her hand on the purse. — Because that girl was unsuitable!
— Unsuitable for whom? — Misha asked. — For me or for you?
— For you, of course, — but uncertainty flickered in her voice.
— Mom, — Misha sat on the edge of the couch. — Tell me honestly. Do you really want me to get married? To have children?
— Of course I do, — but she looked away for some reason.
— Then why do you always find flaws in every girl I bring home?
— I don’t always…
— Sveta was too frivolous. Marina was too career-driven. Katya was too young. Olya was too simple. Mom, was any of them suitable?
Lidia Petrovna was silent. Zakhar, who had been silent all this time, suddenly spoke:
— Misha, come on. Mom wants the best for you. She’s lived life, has experience…
— Experience? — Misha turned to him. — Zakhar, do you remember how many years mom was alone after Dad died?
— Well… about fifteen years, — Zakhar answered uncertainly.
— Fifteen years, — Misha repeated. — And do you know why she didn’t remarry? Because every time she found faults in men. This one drinks, that one smokes, the third isn’t the right nationality…
— Misha! — Lidia Petrovna stood up. — How dare you!
— I dare, Mom, — he looked at her calmly. — Because I understand what’s going on. You don’t want us to be happy. You want us to be yours. Forever.
— What nonsense! — but her voice trembled.
— Not nonsense, — Misha stood and looked at the broken TV. — Look at Zakhar. He’s thirty and can’t live without you for a week. He doesn’t know how to cook, wash, clean. He doesn’t know how to earn money. He doesn’t know how to build relationships with women. What did you make of him?
— I loved him! — Lidia Petrovna shouted. — I protected him!
— From what? — Misha’s voice became harsh. — From life? From responsibility? From growing up?
— I… I wanted him to be okay, — the mother sank onto the couch.
— Okay? — Misha turned to Zakhar. — Tell me, brother, are you okay? Do you like living at thirty on mom’s money? Do you like not having your own family? Your own kids?
— I… — Zakhar hesitated. — I’ll find it… someday…
— Someday, — Misha nodded. — And meanwhile, you drink and destroy what others build. Like you just destroyed my apartment.
— Come on, it’s just an apartment, — Zakhar waved. — Got money — fix it.
— It’s not about the apartment! — Misha exploded. — It’s that you don’t understand what other people’s work is! What respect is! What responsibility is!
— Misha, — Lidia Petrovna got up and approached him. — Calm down. Don’t shout at your brother. He didn’t mean to…
— Didn’t mean to? — Misha pushed her away. — Mom, he’s thirty and “didn’t mean to” get drunk every day. “Didn’t mean to” can’t keep a job. “Didn’t mean to” lives at someone else’s expense.
— He’s going through a hard time, — Mom weakly objected.
— Ten years of hard times, — Misha cut in. — And will keep going for ten more. Because you don’t let him grow up.
— What’s it to you? — Zakhar suddenly snapped. — You live, work, bother no one. What do you lack?
— I lack a brother, — Misha said quietly. — A real brother. One who could support me, with whom I could consult. One I could drink beer with and talk about life. But I only have… — he looked at Zakhar. — Only an eternally drunk child who at thirty can’t even tie his shoelaces.
— Screw you! — Zakhar tried to get up but wobbled. — I don’t need your advice! I’m living fine!
— Fine? — Misha laughed. — Zakhar, look at yourself. When was the last time you washed? Changed clothes? Were sober for more than a day?
— None of your business! — Zakhar waved his hand and nearly fell.
— It’s my business because you’re my brother, — Misha approached him. — Because I remember what you were like as a kid. Smart, funny, talented. You drew, played guitar, girls chased you…
— That was a long time ago, — Zakhar muttered.
— Yes, a long time ago, — Misha agreed. — And now look what’s left of you. Mom, — he turned to Lidia Petrovna. — Look at your younger son. Is this what you wanted?
— I wanted him to be happy, — Mom cried.
— Does he look happy? — Misha pointed at Zakhar sitting on the couch with a vacant look. — Does he look like a happy person?
— I don’t know, — Lidia Petrovna sobbed. — I don’t know what to do…
— Too late, — Misha said. — Too late to do anything. You already made what you made of him. And now you want to do the same with me.
— No! — Mom raised her head. — No, with you it’s different! You’re strong, independent…
— I’m strong because I ran away from you in time, — Misha said harshly. — Because I started living on my own, working, making decisions. And now you want to regain control.
— What control? — Lidia Petrovna wiped her eyes. — I just want you to be happy!
— Mom, — Misha sat beside her. — Tell me honestly. When have you seen me happy? When I came home to Olya? When I told you about our plans? When I laughed?
— You… you seemed content, — she answered uncertainly.
— Content? — Misha shook his head. — Mom, I was happy. For the first time in many years, I was truly happy. I woke up with a smile. I hurried home after work. I planned for the future…
— But that girl…
— Olya, — he corrected. — Her name is Olya. And she made me happy. And you destroyed that.
— I wanted to protect you, — Lidia Petrovna whispered.
— From happiness? — Misha stood. — Mom, what were you protecting me from? From love? From family? From the future?
— From a mistake, — she looked up at him. — I wanted to protect you from a mistake.
— What if it wasn’t a mistake? — Misha asked. — What if it was my destiny? My love? My family?
— Then… — Lidia Petrovna fell silent.
— Then what, Mom? — Misha crouched before her. — Then you destroyed my life. Understand?
— I didn’t want to, — she whispered. — I really didn’t…
— But you did, — Misha took her hands in his. — You kicked out the woman I loved. You threw away our things. You put a person who destroyed everything in my home.
— Zakhar… he is your brother…
— Zakhar is no longer my brother, — Misha said quietly. — Until he becomes a man, until he starts taking responsibility for his actions, he is not my brother.
— Hey! — Zakhar tried to protest. — What are you talking about?
— I’m telling the truth, — Misha stood and looked at him. — You can stay in this apartment. But I’m paying for it only until the end of the month. After that, pay yourself.
— How will I pay? — Zakhar muttered. — I have no job…
— Find one, — Misha answered shortly. — Thirty is the perfect time to start working.
— Misha, — Lidia Petrovna grabbed his hand. — Don’t be so hard on your brother. He just can’t…
— He can, — Misha freed his hand. — He just doesn’t want to. And you let him not want to.
— What now? — the mother asked confused.
— Nothing, — Misha went to the window. — Too late to do anything. You made your choice. Now I’ll make mine.
— What choice? — Lidia Petrovna stood up.
— I’ll find Olya, — Misha said without turning. — Find her and apologize. For myself, for my family, for not protecting her.
— What if she doesn’t forgive? — the mother asked quietly.
— Then I’ll know I lost the only person I truly loved, — Misha looked at her. — Because of you.
— Misha, — Lidia Petrovna stepped toward him. — Son, maybe we can figure something out? Maybe not all is lost?
— All is lost, Mom, — he shook his head. — The moment you came into my home and made a scene for my girlfriend, all was lost.
— But I didn’t know, — she cried. — I thought I was doing right…
— You knew, — Misha said harshly. — You knew perfectly well what you were doing. You knew I loved her. You knew we lived together. You knew our relationship was serious. But you decided your opinion mattered more than my feelings.
— I’m a mother, — Lidia Petrovna whispered. — I have the right…
— You had the right to my childhood, — Misha interrupted. — You had the right to raise me, teach, guide. Until I turned eighteen. After that — that’s it. I’m responsible for my life.
— But I worry about you, — she came closer. — I’m afraid you’ll be deceived, used…
— Mom, — Misha looked at her with pain. — Didn’t you think maybe I’m really loved? That maybe I can inspire love? That maybe I deserve happiness?
— You deserve it, — Lidia Petrovna nodded. — Of course, you do. That’s why I want you to find a good girl…
— I found one, — Misha said quietly. — A good girl. Kind, smart, caring. Who loved me for who I am. Who didn’t try to change me. Who was just there when I needed.
— Then why didn’t you marry her? — Mom suddenly asked.
Misha was silent. He had asked himself that every day for the last six months. Why didn’t he propose? The ring had been in the nightstand for three months. He rehearsed the words, chose the place, planned…
— Because I was afraid, — he finally said. — Afraid of your reaction. Afraid you’d make a scene. Afraid I’d have to choose between you and her.
— And what would you choose? — Lidia Petrovna asked.
— Her, — he answered without hesitation. — I would choose her. Because with her, I had a future. And with you — only the past.
— The past? — Mom recoiled.
— Yes, the past, — Misha approached the door. — Childhood, memories, habits. But not life. Life is moving forward. New people, new relationships, new goals.
— Where are you going? — Lidia Petrovna asked.
— To find Olya, — Misha grabbed his jacket. — Maybe it’s not too late to fix everything.
— And if it is too late? — the mother asked quietly.
— Then I’ll know I tried, — he buttoned up. — And that I will never again let you interfere in my life.
— Misha, — Lidia Petrovna stepped to him. — Son, maybe we should talk? Maybe I could talk to her? Explain I was wrong?
— Too late, Mom, — Misha opened the door. — Some things can’t be fixed. Some words can’t be taken back. And some actions can’t be forgiven.
— Will you forgive me? — she asked.
Misha stopped on the threshold. Turned around. Looked at his mother long and hard.
— I don’t know, — he said honestly. — Not yet.
And left, closing the door behind him.
Lidia Petrovna stood in the hallway, looking at the closed door. Zakhar sat on the couch in the living room, staring meaninglessly at the cracked TV screen.
— What have I done? — she whispered. — Lord, what have I done?
But there was no answer. Only the silence of a broken home and the realization that sometimes a mother’s love can be scarier than a mother’s hatred.
Six months later
A sunbeam pierced through the snow-white curtains, illuminating the ring on Olya’s ring finger. She stood by the kitchen window, stirring her coffee, smiling as she looked at the yard where children were playing.
— Good morning, wife, — Misha hugged her from behind, burying his face in her neck.
— Good morning, husband, — she turned in his arms. — How did you sleep?
— Wonderful, — he kissed her lips. — Everything is wonderful next to you.
Three months ago, they had quietly married. No grand ceremonies, just witnesses and close friends. Lidia Petrovna wasn’t at the wedding. Neither was Zakhar.
— Want some coffee? — Olya handed him a cup.
— Definitely, — Misha sat at the table. — Listen, Aunt Lilya called yesterday. Says Zakhar finally moved out of the apartment.
— Really? — Olya raised her eyebrows. — Where did he go?
— Back to mom’s, — Misha shrugged. — Of course, he couldn’t pay the mortgage. I warned him.
— And what will happen to the apartment now?
— I’ll sell it, — Misha said decisively. — I’ll buy us a house. A real house where we’ll raise our kids.
Olya smiled and put her hand on her belly. They hadn’t told anyone yet, but the test showed two lines a week ago.
— Misha, — she began cautiously. — Maybe we should try to reconcile with your mom? The child needs a grandmother…
— No, — Misha shook his head. — Until she changes, until she admits she was wrong — no. I don’t want our children to grow up in a toxic atmosphere.
— But she’s suffering…
— She’s suffering, — Misha agreed. — And let her suffer. Maybe suffering will teach her what love couldn’t.
A knock interrupted their conversation. Misha frowned — who could come so early?
— Who’s there? — he called, going to the door.
— Misha, it’s me, — came the familiar voice. — Zakhar.
Misha froze. Olya went to him, took his hand.
— Don’t open it, — she whispered. — Let him leave.
— Misha, please, — Zakhar’s voice trembled. — I need to talk to you. It’s important.
— Go home, Zakhar, — Misha said through the door. — We have nothing to talk about.
— Mom is dying, — Zakhar shouted. — Do you hear? Mom is dying!
Misha felt his knees weaken. Olya squeezed his hand tighter.
— What? — he whispered.
— Heart attack, — Zakhar spoke through tears. — Last night. She’s in ICU. The doctors say… say she might not make it.
Misha slowly opened the door. Zakhar stood on the threshold, sober but gaunt and aged. He wore a clean suit, hair combed, but his eyes were red from tears.
— How did it happen? — Misha asked.
— I don’t know, — Zakhar ran a hand over his face. — I woke up in the morning and found her on the floor. Called an ambulance. They say it was a severe heart attack. She might not pull through.
— Where is she?
— At the regional hospital. Cardiac ICU. Misha, — Zakhar grabbed his hand. — She keeps calling for you. Saying your name.
Misha looked at Olya. She nodded.
— Go, — she said quietly. — Go to your mother.
— And you?
— I’ll wait, — Olya kissed him on the cheek. — Go.
Hospital corridors smelled of bleach and pain. Misha walked behind Zakhar, feeling his heart pounding in his throat. Six months he hadn’t seen his mother. Six months he was angry, hurt, suffering. And now she was dying.
— Here, — Zakhar stopped at the door marked “ICU.” — The doctor said we can come in for five minutes.
Lidia Petrovna lay on the hospital bed, connected to numerous machines. She looked small, fragile, nothing like the commanding woman who six months ago ruined his life.
— Mom, — Misha said quietly, approaching the bed.
She opened her eyes. Recognized him. Lips moved.
— Misha… — she whispered. — Son…
— I’m here, Mom, — he took her hand. — I’m here.
— Forgive me, — she struggled to say. — Forgive… an old fool. I ruined everything.
— Mom, don’t, — Misha felt tears welling up. — Don’t say that.
— I must, — she squeezed his hand. — While… while it’s not too late. I was wrong. Your Olya… she’s a good girl. I saw… how she took care of me when I was sick. Saw how she loves you.
— Mom…
— I was scared, — Lidia Petrovna cried. — Scared you’d leave me. That you’d have your own family and I’d be unnecessary. So I… I did everything to destroy your happiness.
— Mom, don’t cry, — Misha stroked her hand. — It’s okay. Everything’s fine.
— No, not fine, — she shook her head. — Zakhar… look what I did to Zakhar. I broke him. Because of my love, I broke him.
Misha turned around. Zakhar stood by the wall, crying silently.
— Mom, — Misha bent down to her. — Olya and I got married.
— Married? — Lidia Petrovna’s eyes lit up. — Really?
— Really. And soon we’ll have a child.
— A child, — she smiled through tears. — Grandson or granddaughter?
— We don’t know yet, — Misha smiled too. — Too early.
— I… I want to see them, — she whispered. — I want to apologize to Olya. I want to be a normal grandmother.
— You will, Mom, — Misha kissed her forehead. — You definitely will.
— And Zakhar… — she looked at her younger son. — Zakhar, come here.
Zakhar approached the bed, knelt beside his brother.
— Zakharushka, — Mom stroked his head. — Forgive me. I didn’t love you with love but with selfishness. Didn’t let you grow up.
— Mom, — Zakhar cried. — Mom, I’ll fix everything. I’ll find a job, stop drinking…
— You will, — Lidia Petrovna nodded. — You will. But not for me. For yourself. You’re a man, Zakhar. A real man must take care of himself.
— I’ll try, Mom. Honestly.
— That’s good, — she closed her eyes. — Now go. I’m tired.
— Mom, — Misha didn’t want to let go of her hand. — Mom, you’ll get better. You will.
— I will, — she smiled. — Now I have something to live for. Grandchildren.
Lidia Petrovna survived. Spent a month in the hospital, then two months recovering at home. Zakhar took care of her, and for the first time in many years, they established normal relations. He found work as a loader, started earning his own money, quit drinking.
Olya visited her mother-in-law every week. At first, conversations were tense, but gradually the women found common ground. Lidia Petrovna realized she could have lost a wonderful daughter-in-law because of her own prejudices.
— I’m an old fool, — she confessed to Olya once. — Thought I knew what you needed. But I only ruined everything.
— Not old, — Olya smiled. — Not a fool. Just a loving mother who wanted to protect her son.
— Wanted to protect, but almost destroyed, — Lidia Petrovna shook her head. — Luckily, Misha was smarter than his mother.
— He loves you, — Olya said. — Loves you very much. Just doesn’t want that love to be destructive.
— Now it won’t be, — Lidia Petrovna promised. — Now I know where motherly love ends and motherly selfishness begins.
Little Lidochka was born in April, when the lilacs were in full bloom. Grandma Lidia Petrovna came to the maternity hospital with a huge bouquet of lilacs and cried seeing her granddaughter.
— How beautiful, — she whispered, rocking the baby. — She looks just like her mommy.
— And daddy too, — smiled Olya. — Look at her serious eyes. Just like Misha’s.
— Yes, — Lidia Petrovna gently touched the tiny hand. — Just like Misha as a child.
Zakhar also came to the maternity hospital. Sober, in a new suit, with a toy rabbit.
— Uncle Zakhar, — he introduced himself to his niece. — I’ll spoil you and protect you from all the boys.
— Too early to protect from boys, — Misha laughed. — She’s only a week old.
— Never too early, — Zakhar said seriously. — I’m her uncle. That’s my job.
And indeed, Zakhar turned out to be a wonderful uncle. He came every weekend, played with his niece, helped around the house. Completely quit drinking, got a good job, even met a girl.
— Marina is her name, — he told at a family dinner. — Works at the library. Very smart, well-read.
— Introduce her, — said Misha. — Time to sort out your personal life.
— Time, — Zakhar agreed. — Just afraid she won’t appreciate me. I was… well, you know, what I was.
— Was, — Misha emphasized. — Past tense. Now you’re a different person.
— Really? — Zakhar looked at him hopefully.
— Really, — Misha hugged his brother. — I’m proud of you.
Two years later
Lidochka learned to walk and talk. Zakhar married Marina, and they were expecting a child. Lidia Petrovna helped both families but didn’t impose or meddle.
— You know, — Misha told Olya once, — I think Mom became a real grandmother. One who loves without demanding anything in return.
— Yes, — Olya agreed. — And Zakhar became a real man. Look how he changed.
— People can change, — Misha said thoughtfully. — The main thing is to want to.
— And to know what for, — added Olya. — Your mom found something to live for. So did Zakhar.
— And us? — Misha hugged her. — Do we have something to live for?
— We have each other, — Olya kissed him. — We have Lidochka. We have a future.
— A future, — Misha repeated. — You know, I used to think the future was something that should happen. But it turns out the future is what we build ourselves.
— Wisdom comes with age, — Olya laughed.
— No, — Misha shook his head. — Wisdom comes with love. True love. The kind that doesn’t destroy but creates.
In the evening, they sat on the terrace of their new home, watching Lidochka play in the garden. Lidia Petrovna helped her build a tower from blocks, Zakhar and Marina discussed a name for their future child.
— How good it is, — Olya said. — How good that everything turned out this way.
— Yes, — agreed Misha. — It’s good that sometimes life gives a second chance.
— And a third, — added Olya. — And a fourth. The main thing is not to be afraid to take them.
— You know what the most important thing is? — Misha took her hand. — The most important thing is that we all understood: family is not chains that hold each other. Family is wings that help you fly.
— Beautifully said, — Olya smiled. — Very beautiful.
— And true, — Misha added. — Most importantly — true.
The sun set behind the horizon, painting the sky pink. A child laughed in the garden, adults talked quietly, and it seemed that finally there was peace. The very peace that can only be built on true love — love that does not demand but gives; does not hold back but frees; does not destroy but creates.
And Misha understood that this is happiness. Not loud, not bright, not showy. Simple human happiness made of small joys, quiet evenings, and the certainty that there are people near you who love you not for something but just because you exist.