“He’s with Liza now. And I’ll tell you a secret: she suits Vitya very well. Beautiful, well-groomed, and ambitious. And you… well, you understand—just a schoolmarm, in a word. You’re not what my son needs. So it’s time for you to pack your things and move out of the apartment. That’s what’s right,” the mother-in-law added.
When Marina met Viktor, she was already twenty-seven and in no hurry to get married. A teacher of Russian language and literature at a gymnasium, she valued quiet, evenings with books, and lemon balm tea. Viktor was a surgeon. He was the complete opposite of Marina’s romantic nature.
Vitya was a focused, even-tempered man who could find a way out of any situation. They quickly found common ground: they loved old movies, loved silence, and equally disliked crowded parties. Instead of noisy get-togethers with friends, they chose the forest, the river, kebabs on the grill, and a soft blanket at sunset.
A year after the wedding, they bought a dacha—modest but cozy, near a small river. They put up a big swing under an apple tree where Marina knitted herself a cable-knit cardigan and listened to the rustling leaves. Viktor would go down to the river, where he could sit for hours, casting a line and watching the water.
In the evenings they grilled the fresh catch, wrapped themselves in a throw, and turned on the projector—re-watching “The Irony of Fate,” “Office Romance,” and “Moscow Does Not Believe in Tears.” That was their happiness.
Marina loved her work. At school she felt in her element. The students treated her with nothing but respect. She never raised her voice, never humiliated children, and knew how to keep order. She spoke calmly, unhurriedly, and every word hit the mark. Even those who couldn’t stand writing essays would one day get carried away analyzing Dostoevsky’s characters or arguing about who was right—Anna Karenina or society.
Her colleagues valued her as well. In the staff room they came to her for advice; the older teachers shared pies with her, and the younger ones confided their worries about students. Marina had a particular gift—listening without interrupting. Her calm worked on everyone like a cup of mint tea in a stressful moment.
But at home it was different.
Viktor’s family—especially his mother, Yelena Petrovna—never managed to accept Marina. From their very first meeting, the mother-in-law frowned:
“A teacher?” she smirked, sipping her tea. “And what is it you do there, teacher?”
Later she would laugh at Marina’s precise pronunciation, at her literary turns of phrase, even at the way she thanked them for the borscht.
“What is it—are you trying to write me a review?” Yelena Petrovna would sneer.
Her father-in-law, Pavel Ivanovich, would back her up, though without much enthusiasm. Jokes about the “great and mighty” Russian language became routine in their home the moment Marina crossed the threshold of her in-laws’ apartment.
But she didn’t take offense. Marina didn’t get into conflicts, didn’t justify herself, and didn’t raise her voice. Inside, she was unshakable: her strength was in dignity, calm, and self-possession. She was a teacher not only at school but in life as well. Which meant she had to remain a role model for children not only within the school’s walls.
Viktor tried to smooth the edges. A doctor by profession and by nature, he approached life like a surgery: the main thing was to calculate everything precisely and get the patient’s test results. Feelings, grievances, and subtle matters weren’t his realm.
Marina understood and accepted this, but respect in that family never came her way.
At school, though, she was awaited every day—with open notebooks and eyes full of interest. And that was what gave her strength.
Over time, Marina started noticing odd things. Viktor more and more often went to his parents’ by himself. At first she didn’t attach any importance to it. Both she and Viktor were tired from work. Her husband would say he’d “just drop by for a bit,” “you’re tired anyway,” or simply “no point putting you under Mom’s fire again.”
Marina didn’t object. She never kept her husband on a short leash. And she really had no particular desire to sit at the same table with Yelena Petrovna yet again.
But with each passing month those visits became more regular, and they stopped inviting Marina altogether. She didn’t conduct interrogations, but deep down she felt something was wrong.
The answer presented itself over dinner.
“By the way,” Viktor said casually, “Liza was at my parents’ last Sunday. Remember, I told you about her? My classmate. We studied together at the institute. She’s a cosmetologist now and making decent money.”
Marina nodded, eyes still on her cup.
“I really liked her back then. Mom did too. I spent a whole year trying to win her over, but she chose Sasha—he already had a car then. And now…” he smirked, “When I think what a fool I was…”
Marina raised her head.
“A fool? Has something changed?” she asked calmly.
“Of course,” Viktor said with confidence. “I have you, a good job I enjoy. Lots of things. It was just a different time back then—funny to remember.”
“I see. And here I was thinking I should start getting jealous. Is this your mother’s handiwork? No wonder Liza showed up at their place.”
“You know, that hadn’t even occurred to me,” he grew serious at once. “Just don’t get any ideas, okay? I love only you and I don’t need anyone else. You know what a dry stick I am. Only someone as gentle as you can make me gentler.”
“Well yes, that’s true,” Marina smiled.
The next day Marina taught her classes as usual. The kids listened attentively, took notes, and Marina, as always, spoke calmly and measuredly. Not a single student would have guessed their teacher’s heart was uneasy.
When the bell rang, she stayed alone in the classroom. She put her papers in order, checked a couple of notebooks, and was about to leave when her phone rang. On the screen—Yelena Petrovna. Unexpected.
Marina answered anyway.
“Yes, Yelena Petrovna, hello.”
“You already know that Vitya doesn’t love you anymore,” the mother-in-law said without any preamble. Her voice was predatorily calm, like someone who had finally gotten an excuse to say what she’d long wanted to say.
Marina’s breath caught. She said nothing, just waited to hear more.
“He’s with Liza now,” Yelena Petrovna went on. “Last weekend Vitenka drove her home. And I’ll tell you a secret: she suits him very well. Beautiful, well-groomed, and ambitious. And you… well, you understand—just a schoolmarm. You’re not what my son needs.”
For a second, silence hung on the line, but Marina didn’t say a word.
“So it’s time for you to pack your things and move out of the apartment. That would be right,” the mother-in-law added.
Marina straightened. Her reply came out crisp and assured.
“Don’t be in a hurry to take away my premarital apartment. I know the law,” Marina shot back.
Silence on the line. Clearly, Yelena Petrovna hadn’t expected that reaction.
“You have nothing premarital. You think I don’t know you got that apartment from that old hag?” the mother-in-law kept pressing.
“Exactly so. Only not an ‘old hag’ but my respected grandmother, Klavdia Ivanovna. And the fact that the apartment was registered to me during the marriage doesn’t give you the right to dispose of it. And if you think I’ll let anyone throw me out just because you want it that way—you’re mistaken.”
The mother-in-law fell silent. For a few seconds all that could be heard was her heavy exhale.
“You’ve always had a willful streak,” she said at last. “Well then. We’ll see how this ends.”
“Of course we will,” Marina said calmly and hung up.
She put the phone on the desk and looked out the window. The leaves were beginning to yellow. Autumn was taking over.
All day Marina moved about with a heavy heart. She tried to stay calm, yet Yelena Petrovna’s voice played in her head like a broken record. Of course she trusted her husband more. Of course Viktor wasn’t the kind of person to start an affair behind her back. But too many “coincidences” in recent months had begun to sound the alarm.
That evening Marina decided to wait for Viktor and talk. Without accusations or hurt—just honestly, like adults. After all, everyone faces temptations in life, but marriage is built on trust. She even pulled their old throw from the shelf—the same one from the dacha they’d wrapped up in on evenings by the fire.
Ten o’clock struck, and Viktor still wasn’t home.
At half past ten a message came:
“Marin, urgent surgery. I’ll be back late. Don’t wait up. Love you.”
She looked at the screen, then slowly set the phone on the bedside table and turned to the wall. Marina pulled the throw over herself, but she couldn’t sleep—her thoughts were spinning like schoolchildren at recess.
Who was telling the truth?
Maybe it really was her mother-in-law’s scheming, eager to push Marina out of Viktor’s life. Or… maybe Liza really had found a place in Vitya’s heart?
Marina turned onto her other side. The house was quiet. Only the kitchen clock was marking the seconds till dawn. She fell asleep only toward morning. And her dreams were tormenting and heavy. In them Liza walked into her apartment, smiling, and Viktor stood beside her—silent, indecisive, as if he didn’t know whom to go to.
And in the morning—school again: correct speech, a confident voice, and an even stride. Only inside was endless anxiety. Too much left unsaid.
Viktor came back only at noon the next day. When Marina got home, he was already asleep. She carefully peeked into the bedroom. On his side, still in his clothes—he’d collapsed the moment he arrived. After a sleepless night, his face looked tired.
She stood in the doorway and watched. And the longer she watched, the more the tension inside built. Everything she’d been holding back for twenty-four hours burst out in a couple of seconds.
“So this is your ‘surgery’?” she snapped. “You must be so exhausted from Liza—worn out like after a shift in the ICU?”
Viktor flinched and slowly opened his eyes. It took him a moment to register where he was and what was happening. He saw his wife and pushed himself up.
“Marin… what’s wrong? What’s going on?”
“What’s going on?!” Marina stood there, clutching the hem of her blouse. “Your mother called me yesterday and told me to disappear from the apartment. Supposedly you’re with Liza now and you two need a place to live.”
“Wait…” He sat up on the bed, still not fully awake. “You talked to Mom?”
“Yes, that’s what I just said,” Marina enunciated. “She laid it all out very convincingly, with details. About how you drove Liza home, and how she suits you better. A fairy tale with an open ending!”
“I see…” Viktor ran a hand over his face and shook himself. “Listen. I did see Liza once at a Sunday lunch at my parents’. Mom invited her, I didn’t know. We just ate and chatted about life, that’s all. And yes, I gave her a ride after—but not home, to the nearest mall. She had an appointment with a stylist there. That’s it.”
“And you think I’m going to believe that?” Marina’s voice trembled. “After everything I heard?”
“You should believe me, not my mother, who lives off her intrigues!” Viktor got to his feet sharply. “If you want, let’s go there right now. We’ll clear it up immediately. Let her repeat all that nonsense to your face.”
Marina looked at him with distrust but nodded silently. They left the house fifteen minutes later. They drove in silence. Viktor gripped the steering wheel as if he might break it, and Marina hugged her purse as if it could protect her.
When they reached his parents’ door, it was opened by Yelena Petrovna herself. Seeing her son with fury in his eyes and tearful Marina on the threshold, she recoiled at first, then frowned.
“Well, what are you…” she began, but Viktor cut her off:
“Explain. Why is my wife in tears? Why are you calling her and spouting nonsense about Liza and divorce? What was that supposed to be?!”
Yelena Petrovna froze. On her face came something between fear and an attempt to save face.
“I… just wanted you to think it over. You yourself said she doesn’t quite suit you. And anyway… and Liza—she…”
“Mom, stop,” Viktor said quietly, steel in his voice. “I never said Marina doesn’t suit me. That’s complete nonsense. Are you ever going to accept my choice?”
He took Marina’s hand.
“We’re leaving. And you… think about the price of your meddling. Because if you call Marina again—you can forget I exist, for good.”
Marina said nothing. She simply looked her mother-in-law in the eye—she had withstood this battle. And already in the car she confessed to her husband, sobbing, that she was expecting a baby. The car braked sharply. Viktor turned:
“Pregnant? Already?”
“Why ‘already’? It’s been about a month… I wanted to tell you, but then your mother… I started worrying how I’d raise a child alone… without a husband.”
And Marina burst into tears again, and Vitya pulled her tightly to him.
“You silly thing! Where would I go? You’re my whole world, and now all the more so. And you’ve been crying and fretting when our baby is growing inside you?”
“Yes…” Marina said shortly.
“Let’s decide everything together. Don’t make up extra worries, all right? I love you and only you.”
After their frank talk, Viktor pulled off the road and stopped at a small café where they’d once had dinner on their first date. He went in and got Marina’s favorites: creamy chicken soup with croutons, an arugula salad, and baked trout with lemon. He grabbed two slices of cheesecake as well—“in case you want something sweet, you’re not alone now.”
At home they ate quietly in the kitchen, but in that silence there was no resentment or tension. Only a feeling of long-awaited peace. In the evening Marina put on her favorite pajamas and curled up with her husband on the couch. They turned on an old series, but their eyes soon began to droop. Vitya rested his hand on her belly.
“That’s our little person,” he whispered. “And I won’t let anyone hurt them.”
They fell asleep right there on the couch, wrapped in the same throw they’d once used by the campfire at the dacha.
Yelena Petrovna didn’t learn of the pregnancy right away. At her husband’s insistence, Marina no longer answered her calls, and Viktor didn’t take her to his parents’ house. He had firmly decided: not a single extra stress for his wife.
In the seventh month, Viktor finally shared the news with his parents.
“Marina and I are having a daughter. My wife’s eight months along.”
Yelena Petrovna shrugged and smirked.
“As if your wife could carry a son—only a girl…”
Pavel Ivanovich turned away without a word. Viktor exhaled and said:
“I’m happy with any child. But we’re not inviting you to the discharge from the hospital, and we’re not counting on your help. First—an apology to my wife, then—meetings with your granddaughter.”
“I’m supposed to apologize to that little pipsqueak?!” Yelena Petrovna exclaimed, but Viktor was already heading for the door.
Years passed. Little Lena turned five. She started kindergarten, could read fairy tales on her own, and loved it when her mother explained the meanings of words in books.
She had a grandma and grandpa only on her mother’s side. From the grandparents on her father’s side—no calls, no postcards, no attempts to see their granddaughter.
Marina never spoke ill of her mother-in-law to her daughter. She simply said:
“There are people who let their happiness slip away.”
And little Lena would look at her dad and mom and ask:
“And we aren’t letting ours slip away, are we?”
And Viktor would answer:
“No, my darling. We hold on to our happiness with both hands. Give me your hand.”
Marina laughed.
For more than five years there had been no calls from Yelena Petrovna. And Marina didn’t miss them—in fact, quite the opposite. Now that she was a mother herself, she couldn’t understand what had motivated her mother-in-law’s behavior. After all, a child is the most important person in your life, and you want only the best for them.