Ekaterina was setting the table, trying to make everything look perfect. Today was Dmitry’s thirty-fifth birthday—a milestone—and for the first time in a long while both families were getting together. The crystal glasses her mother had given them for their wedding took pride of place beside the porcelain dinner set.
“Katya, maybe we shouldn’t have invited my folks?” Dmitry fussed with his tie, watching his wife from the doorway.
“Dima, it’s your birthday. Of course your mother and Alena should be here,” Ekaterina answered calmly, arranging the place settings. “And my parents too. We’re a family; we should get together at least occasionally.”
Dmitry snorted but kept quiet. In seven years of marriage, such gatherings had always turned into an ordeal. Lyudmila Ivanovna, Dmitry’s mother, could ruin any celebration with a single remark, and Alena, his younger sister, always backed her up.
Ekaterina’s parents arrived first. Viktor Petrovich and Elena Sergeyevna were the picture of an educated, gentle couple. Her father taught history at the university; her mother worked as a librarian. Quiet, polite people who always tried to avoid conflict.
“Katya, everything is lovely,” Elena Sergeyevna said, hugging her daughter. “How do you manage it all?”
“Mom, the main thing is—no incidents today,” Ekaterina whispered, hugging her back.
Viktor Petrovich shook his son-in-law’s hand and presented a gift—an expensive watch in a leather case.
“Happy birthday, Dmitry. May time work in your favor.”
“Thank you, Viktor Petrovich,” Dmitry said with a sincere smile. He had always had an even, easy relationship with his father-in-law.
Half an hour later, the doorbell rang imperiously. Lyudmila Ivanovna didn’t like to wait.
“At last!” the mother-in-law burst into the apartment without waiting for the door to open all the way. “Dimochka, my boy, happy birthday!”
Alena trotted in behind her—a thirty-year-old copy of Lyudmila Ivanovna, just younger. Both wore bright dresses, draped in gold, their hair piled high.
“Hello, Lyudmila Ivanovna,” Elena Sergeyevna greeted politely.
The mother-in-law gave her an appraising once-over.
“Oh, you’re here too. Well, a holiday is a holiday.”
Ekaterina clenched her teeth. It had begun.
At the table, Lyudmila Ivanovna took the seat at the head, though that place traditionally belonged to the birthday boy. Dmitry didn’t object—he was used to yielding to his mother.
“Well then, let’s drink to my son!” Lyudmila Ivanovna raised her glass. “May his life be easier and happier!”
“That’s a strange toast,” Ekaterina remarked. “Is Dima having a hard time?”
The mother-in-law looked at her daughter-in-law with poorly concealed irritation.
“Well, when a man supports two families, it’s never easy.”
“Two families?” Viktor Petrovich repeated.
“Of course,” Alena chimed in. “Dima supports us and you. He must be exhausted by such a burden.”
Ekaterina felt the blood rush to her face. Her parents exchanged a silent glance. Elena Sergeyevna carefully set her fork on her plate.
“Excuse me, but we have never asked Dmitry for money,” Viktor Petrovich said evenly.
“Oh, come now,” waved off Lyudmila Ivanovna. “Everyone knows how it is. Katya sat home on maternity leave for two years—who fed them? Dimochka! And you come over to visit, bring penny-ante gifts, and eat and drink on Dima’s dime.”
“Mama!” Dmitry tried to intervene, but his voice was uncertain.
“What, ‘Mama’?” she raised her voice. “I’m just telling the truth! Alena and I at least have our pensions; we take care of ourselves. But that lot… the intelligentsia… riding on other people’s backs all their lives!”
Viktor Petrovich paled. He had worked his whole life, earned honestly, raised his daughter, and never asked anyone for anything. Such an insult hit him like a blow.
“Lyudmila Ivanovna—” he began, but his wife laid a hand on his shoulder.
“Don’t, Vitya,” Elena Sergeyevna said softly. “Let’s go.”
Ekaterina’s parents rose from the table. Viktor Petrovich looked at his son-in-law.
“Dmitry, happy birthday once again. All the best.”
“Viktor Petrovich, please wait…” Dmitry began, but his father-in-law was already heading for the door.
“See? They’re offended!” Alena proclaimed triumphantly. “The truth stings!”
“Let them go,” Lyudmila Ivanovna poured herself more wine. “No need to play the aristocrats here. Dima, you’d do better to think about us—your real family—not about outsiders.”
Ekaterina walked her parents to the door. Tears stood in her mother’s eyes; her father was silent, his jaw clenched.
“I’m sorry,” Ekaterina whispered. “I didn’t think they would…”
“It’s not your fault, Katya,” Elena Sergeyevna hugged her. “Take care of yourself. And think about whether you should be putting up with this. We’ll take the grandson to stay with us.”
When her parents had left, Ekaterina returned to the living room. Lyudmila Ivanovna and Alena were animatedly discussing how “stuck-up” and “tedious” the bride’s parents were.
“Are you satisfied?” Ekaterina asked coolly.
“What’s the problem?” the mother-in-law feigned surprise. “I simply told the truth. If they can’t handle it, that’s their problem.”
“You insulted my parents. People who have never done you any harm.”
“Katya, don’t dramatize,” Dmitry interjected. “Mom just expressed her opinion.”
“An opinion?” Ekaterina turned to her husband. “Calling my father—a university professor, a man who has worked honestly all his life—a freeloader is an opinion?”
“Well, they really aren’t very well-off,” Dmitry shrugged. “And Mom is right that I spend a lot on our family.”
“On OUR family, Dima! Not on them! On you and me and our child!”
“Enough shouting!” Lyudmila Ivanovna snapped. “In the end, this is my son’s birthday, not your parents’!”
“Who left because you insulted them,” Ekaterina said, feeling anger roil inside.
“Oh, how delicate!” Alena snorted. “You can tell they’re soft-handed types. Used to everyone tiptoeing around them.”
The evening became a nightmare. Lyudmila Ivanovna and Alena stayed until midnight, listing the “faults” of Ekaterina’s parents, while Dmitry nodded along in silence, not daring to contradict his mother.
When the guests finally left, Ekaterina began clearing the table. Dmitry came up behind her and tried to hug her.
“Katya, don’t sulk. Mom didn’t mean any harm—that’s just her personality.”
Ekaterina pulled away.
“Dima, your mother insulted my parents. Called them freeloaders. Meanwhile she herself lives in the apartment you bought and takes money from you every month.”
“That’s different! She’s my mother!”
“And my parents are—no one?” Ekaterina turned to her husband. “They have never spoken ill of her, though they’ve had plenty of reasons. And in return they got humiliation.”
“Your parents are too proud,” Dmitry muttered. “They could have put up with it for the sake of the celebration. No need for a grand exit.”
Ekaterina couldn’t believe her ears.
“Put up with it? Put up with insults? Dima, do you even hear yourself?”
“I’m saying your parents could be more flexible. Not make a tragedy out of every little thing.”
“A little thing?” Ekaterina’s voice trembled with rage. “Your mother publicly called my father—a distinguished lecturer—a parasite, and that’s a little thing?”
“Well, not a parasite, just…” Dmitry faltered.
“Just what? Go on, say it!”
“Just that they really aren’t very wealthy. Next to us they look… modest.”
Ekaterina looked at her husband and didn’t recognize him. Was this the same Dima who, seven years ago, said he admired her family’s refinement?
“You know what, Dmitry,” Ekaterina said slowly. “My parents won’t get into a power struggle with your mother and sister. They’re above those petty squabbles.”
Dmitry’s face twisted.
“Don’t you dare talk about my mother like that!”
“And she’s allowed to spew nastiness about my parents?” Ekaterina no longer held back. “Your mother is a quarrelsome, envious woman who can’t stand anyone living differently than she does. And your sister is her copy, just younger!”
“Katya!”
“What—Katya? The truth stings?” Ekaterina threw Alena’s phrase back at him. “My parents kept their dignity and left without sinking to your level. Because they’re well-bred people—unlike your little clan!”
“My family…”
“Your family, Dima, is a nest of petty, envious people who do nothing but count other people’s money and look for someone to live off!” Ekaterina felt years of pent-up frustration breaking through. “And the worst part is, you’re on their side!”
“I’m just trying to keep the peace!”
“No—you’re a coward who can’t put his mother in her place!” Ekaterina burst out. “And you’re ready to sacrifice my parents’ dignity for your mommy’s comfort!”
Dmitry was silent, fists clenched, confusion and anger battling in his eyes.
“If you dislike my family so much, maybe you should think about divorce?” he finally forced out.
“Maybe I should,” Ekaterina answered calmly. “Because I won’t let anyone humiliate my parents. No one. Not even you.”
That night, Ekaterina lay in bed turned to the wall. Dmitry stayed in the living room—she could hear him pacing, then turning on the TV.
In the morning, Ekaterina woke with a clear understanding: this couldn’t go on. For seven years she had endured her mother-in-law’s antics, hoping Dmitry would someday take her side. But last night showed—her husband would never change.
Ekaterina picked up the phone and dialed her mother.
“Mom, I’m sorry about yesterday.”
“Katya, dear, we’re not offended,” Elena Sergeyevna’s voice was warm. “We’re worried about you.”
“I’m not going to put up with it anymore, Mom. I promise.”
“What have you decided?”
“I don’t know yet. But I do know this—I won’t let them insult us again. And if Dima can’t learn to defend our family from his mother’s attacks, I’ll leave.”
“We’ll support whatever you decide, sweetheart.”
After the call, Ekaterina went to the kitchen. Dmitry sat at the table with a cup of coffee, rumpled—apparently he’d slept poorly.
“Katya, let’s talk calmly,” he began.
“Let’s,” she said, sitting across from him.
“I understand Mom was wrong yesterday. But you went too far too.”
“In what way exactly?”
“You called my mother and sister… well, you remember.”
“I called them what they are,” Ekaterina said evenly. “Dima, I kept quiet for seven years. I listened to jabs, insinuations, direct insults. My parents kept quiet too. But last night your mother crossed every line.”
“She just…”
“Stop,” Ekaterina raised her hand. “Don’t justify her. Answer one question: will you protect me and my parents from your mother’s attacks?”
Dmitry stared into his cup and said nothing.
“I see,” Ekaterina stood up. “Then we really do need to think about our marriage.”
“Katya, is that an ultimatum?”
“It’s a statement of fact, Dima. I won’t live in a family where I and my loved ones aren’t respected, and where my husband can’t protect his wife from his own mother.”
The next few days passed in heavy silence. Dmitry tried to act as if nothing had happened, but Ekaterina kept her distance. She didn’t answer Lyudmila Ivanovna’s calls.
A week later, the mother-in-law showed up uninvited.
“What’s with these antics? Why isn’t the daughter-in-law picking up the phone?”
“Mom, now’s not a good time,” Dmitry tried to stop her.
“What do you mean, not a good time?” Lyudmila Ivanovna pushed into the apartment. “Katya, come out—we need to talk!”
Ekaterina came out of the room.
“Lyudmila Ivanovna, please leave my apartment.”
“What? This is my son’s apartment!”
“This is mine and Dmitry’s apartment. And I don’t want to see you here after what you did.”
“What did I do?” the mother-in-law bristled. “Told the truth?”
“You insulted my parents—groundlessly and cruelly. And until you apologize, I don’t want to have anything to do with you.”
“Apologize? Me?” Lyudmila Ivanovna laughed. “Not a chance!”
“Then leave.”
“Dima!” she turned to her son. “Are you going to let this woman talk to me like that?”
Dmitry stood silent, his gaze darting between his mother and his wife.
“Got it,” Ekaterina nodded. “Lyudmila Ivanovna, leave. Dmitry, when you decide who your family is—me or your mother—let me know.”
That evening Dmitry tried to talk.
“Katya, you’re putting me in an impossible position.”
“No, Dima. Your mother put you there. And you did, when you didn’t defend your wife.”
“But she’s my mother!”
“And I’m your wife. And my parents are your family too. But you chose your mother’s side.”
“I didn’t choose anyone!”
“Exactly. You didn’t choose. You kept quiet. And silence is a choice too, Dima.”
That night Dmitry slept in the living room again. Ekaterina lay awake, understanding that their marriage was cracking apart. But she wasn’t going to back down. Enough. Seven years of patience was enough. If her husband couldn’t learn to defend their family, then there was no family.
In the morning, her father called.
“Katya, how are you?”
“I’m fine, Dad. Really.”
“We wanted to tell you… We’re proud of you. You’re right not to let yourself be humiliated.”
“Thank you, Dad. That means a lot.”
“And remember—whatever you decide, we’re always on your side.”
After talking to her father, Ekaterina felt a surge of strength. Yes, her parents wouldn’t stoop to squabbles with Lyudmila Ivanovna. They were above that. But that didn’t mean their daughter would allow them to be insulted.
That evening, Ekaterina gave her husband an ultimatum.
“Dima, either you apologize to my parents and demand the same from your mother, or we’re getting a divorce.”
“Katya…”
“This isn’t up for debate. Decide.”
Dmitry dropped his gaze in confusion. He was used to Ekaterina yielding, smoothing things over for the sake of a false peace. But now her voice was so firm that something tightened inside him.
“Are you really ready to destroy our family over one quarrel?” he tried to soften it.
“Not over one,” Ekaterina cut him off sharply. “Over seven years of humiliation. You were there every time your mother let out her barbs. And every time you stayed silent.”
Dmitry rubbed his temple as if he could erase the words from his mind.
“But she’s my mom…”
“And I’m your wife!” Ekaterina stood up. “Or am I just a temporary attachment to your relatives?”
He wanted to argue, but the words stuck in his throat. Ekaterina looked him straight in the eye, with not a trace of doubt.
“I’ll wait until the end of the week. If you haven’t apologized to my parents and demanded an apology from your mother, I’ll file for divorce.”
She left the kitchen and closed the bedroom door behind her. Dmitry sat staring into his cup of cold coffee. For the first time in all their years together, he felt that his wife wasn’t bluffing.
He spent the night sleepless. In the morning, Ekaterina got the child ready for daycare and left for work without even looking at her husband. The apartment was quiet, but the silence was heavier than any shouting.
All day Dmitry paced. He called his mother, but when he heard her mocking “apologize? never!”, he realized he would indeed have to choose.
That evening he waited for Ekaterina in the entryway. He had his phone in his hand.
“Katya, I wrote to Mom that until she apologizes, the doors of our home are closed to her.”
Ekaterina paused, taking off her coat. She looked at her husband for a long time, as if checking whether this was just another empty promise.
“And what did she say?”
“She yelled. But I turned off my phone.”
She took a deep breath. For the first time in a long while, a flicker of hope appeared in her eyes.
“We’ll see, Dima. Now it depends on whether you stick to your word.”
He nodded, understanding there wouldn’t be a second chance.
Six months passed. Life changed—not instantly, but gradually, like spring replacing winter. Lyudmila Ivanovna tried calling and showed up unannounced, but they no longer opened the door. Dmitry kept his word. It wasn’t easy: severing the habitual dependence on his mother hurt more than he expected. But he made his choice.
Ekaterina noticed that her husband was different. He now had what she had missed before—self-reliance and firmness. He stopped being a “mama’s boy” and learned to say “no” where he once lowered his eyes.
Her relationship with her parents only grew stronger. They often came to visit, helped with the child, and—most importantly—never meddled unless asked. Laughter returned to the table instead of cutting remarks.
One day, watching Dmitry play with their son on the carpet, Ekaterina smiled. The pain of past years hadn’t vanished, but now she knew: their family had a chance. A real one—honest, without humiliation or pretense.
She remembered her mother’s words: “Take care of yourself.” And she realized that this had been her main decision. From the moment she refused to endure humiliation, life began to change.