I threw the car keys right onto the table. On purpose. So they would clink. So everyone would hear.
“Guess what,” I said, taking off my sneakers, “congratulate me. I’m officially on wheels now.”
Silence hung in the hallway. From the kitchen drifted the smell of something greasy, suspiciously like “gravy with fried onions,” Valentina Petrovna’s signature dish.
Masha was the first to appear — in pajamas, phone in hand.
“You bought it?” Her eyes lit up. “Mom, you’re amazing! What kind?”
“A Lada Granta. Brand new. Silver. Basic model, but with air conditioning.”
“Cool!” She clapped her hands. “You’re a goddess. Does Dad know?”
I just nodded toward the living room.
As usual, Igor was there. In sweatpants and an old Adidas T-shirt, from back when he still occasionally went to the gym. Remote in hand, wearing the expression of someone facing a cosmic tragedy. As if I hadn’t just bought a car but burned down the archive of his personal victories.
“Hi,” I said dryly.
“You serious?” he muttered without looking at me. “Without me? Without advice? Without discussion?”
“And when do you ever discuss anything with me, Igor? Except maybe how much sour cream to put in the borscht. Or when your mother will visit, though she’s been living here for three years already.”
He turned off the TV and stood up. Slowly. As if gathering strength. Or hoping I’d change my mind at the last second and say, “Just kidding.”
“Yelena,” he said deliberately, “have you completely lost your mind?”
That’s when I realized — there wouldn’t be a second chance for a normal conversation.
“No, Igor. On the contrary — I finally came to my senses.”
From the kitchen came the scrape of a stool. She emerged. Valentina Petrovna. In her beloved leopard-print robe, with a hair clip sticking up like an antenna from an ancient TV.
“You bought a car?” Her voice was like an ice-cold shower. “With what money, I wonder?”
“With my bonus,” I answered calmly. “Want me to show you the paperwork?”
“Might as well show me a certificate from a psychiatrist,” she barked. “A woman your age, with two kids, and with a car! What a circus! And a LADA, no less! Taxis and losers drive those.”
“Well, then I’m a loser in a taxi,” I sneered. “And you, Valentina Petrovna, are just a passenger without the right to speak.”
“Don’t you dare talk to me like that!” she screamed, even stepping closer. “I took you in! I gave you Igor! Thanks to me you even have a family!”
“Benefactress!” I laughed. “What’s next — you’ll say you gave birth to me too?”
And suddenly she shoved me. For real. Hard. Right in the shoulder. I almost fell, bracing myself against the wall.
“Don’t yell at my mother!” Igor shouted, grabbing my arm. “Are you crazy?”
“It was your mother who pushed me!” I yanked my arm free. “Crazy? No. I’ve woken up. Do you know how long I’ve put up with this? From morning till night — spying, reproaches, advice, judgment of my every move. Did you ever once stand up and tell her: ‘Mom, enough’? Even once?”
“Because you provoke her yourself!” he shouted back. “A normal wife would’ve asked her husband’s opinion first!”
“I asked opinions for twenty years!” I screamed. “And what did I get? ‘Too soon,’ ‘too late,’ ‘you don’t cook right,’ ‘you don’t live right!’ I don’t want that anymore. If I want — I drive. If I want — I stay quiet. If I want — I shout. My life. My bonus. My damn LADA!”
Masha stood in the hallway, frightened. Kirill ran out of his room and stepped between us.
“Don’t touch Mom!” he said loudly. “Dad, what’s wrong with you? You don’t help her. Grandma just yells. Mom, let’s leave. Right now. I’m with you.”
I looked at him — and suddenly understood: yes, that’s it. The end. This “family” was a myth. It didn’t exist. There was me. And the kids. And a decision.
“Let’s go,” I said. “We’ll pack a bag. No time to waste.”
“Where?!” Valentina Petrovna howled. “Are you insane?! You’re tearing the family apart! You’re taking the children?!”
“I’m leaving. Alone. The children can choose. But it looks like they don’t feel comfortable here either.”
“You’ve lost your mind, Lena!” Igor repeated, but softer this time, as if he had already lost the fight.
“Maybe. But you know what? It feels good. They say freedom is in your head. I’ll just put mine in the trunk. Next to the phone charger.”
That night, Masha, Kirill, and I stayed at a friend’s place. On the floor, in sleeping bags, eating frozen dumplings from a packet, drinking tea from old glass mugs. And yet — I was happy.
“Mom,” Masha said, “I’m proud of you. I thought you’d never do it.”
“I thought the same,” I whispered. “But then I realized: if not now, then never.”
“So what now?” Kirill asked. “Divorce?”
I only nodded. For the first time — calmly. Without tears. Without fear. I knew: this wasn’t the end. Not even the middle.
“You’re really filing for divorce?” Igor’s voice the next morning sounded like I’d just declared a world war.
I was sitting at the table in my friend’s rented apartment, flipping through the documents the lawyer had sent me yesterday.
“Yes,” I answered calmly. “No ‘maybe,’ no ‘I’ll think about it.’ It’s over.”
Igor looked at me like he was seeing a ghost.
“But why? You promised…”
“Promised?” I leaned back in my chair. “Promised to endure endless reproaches, shouting, humiliation? To live under one roof with your mother, who thinks she’s in charge, while I’m forever a failure? Is that what I promised? No. I didn’t.”
He dropped his eyes.
“I just don’t know how to live without you and the kids,” he said quietly. “Mom is really upset too.”
“Your mom,” I repeated, “is very good at being ‘upset’ and taking it out on everyone around her. If you’d been on my side even once, instead of hers, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”
“I tried,” Igor sighed. “But she’s always smarter.”
“Which means you didn’t try,” I said, holding up the papers. “This is the divorce petition. Signed by me. From today, I’m free.”
In court, it felt like time slowed down. Valentina Petrovna sat in the courtroom in her best coat, looking as if she was headed to a ball, not a hearing. Her face was expressionless, but in her eyes I read pure hatred.
“Yelena,” she began when the judge gave her the floor, “didn’t you think about the children? How can you destroy a family so easily?”
“I think about my children every second,” I replied, “and it’s precisely for them that I’m doing this. So they don’t grow up in an atmosphere of lies, shouting, and constant fear.”
The judge listened carefully, but the decision wasn’t really his — it was ours, each of us by our choice.
After court, my children were waiting for me — and the keys to our new apartment. Small, but ours, where no one would interfere in our lives.
But the game wasn’t over yet.
The next day, Valentina Petrovna showed up at my door — unannounced, without calling. In her hands she held a folder with some papers.
“If you want to keep anything,” she said without stepping inside, “forget about this apartment and car. You know half of it is my inheritance. You signed documents of joint ownership.”
I sighed.
“I checked everything. It’s all in my name. My property. And from now on, you don’t interfere in my life anymore.”
She looked at me with a last glimmer of hope.
“Think about it, Lena. You won’t manage without us.”
“Won’t manage?” I smiled coldly. “No — you won’t manage without me. Now — goodbye.”
A week later, Igor called.
“Yelena,” he said quietly, “I couldn’t stay. Mom insisted… But I want you to know: I’m with you. Not as a husband, but as a father. I’ll take the kids on weekends, and… if you want, I can help with the apartment renovations.”
I thought for a moment.
“Thank you, Igor. That means a lot.”
Three months passed.
I drive my Lada around the city, feeling freedom in every trip, every turn of the wheel. The children are growing up in peace and confidence, and at last we’re starting to live our own lives.
Valentina Petrovna stopped calling. Igor sees the kids, but his voice is still quiet and tired.
I stopped waiting for a miracle from them.
Now I know: a miracle is when you take your life into your own hands and change it.
The end.