— “Are you kidding me? So I wasted my time on you? Bothered my parents for nothing? Put up with everything for nothing?”
— “Andrey, I…”
— “I needed your apartment, you get it?!” he blurted out, and immediately fell silent, as if frightened by his own words.
Svetlana met Andrey when she was already twenty-six. Her mother, Yelena Petrovna, immediately began instructing her:
— “Hold on to him, Sveta. It’s high time you got married. Let him propose sooner. If you let him slip away, you’ll stay a spinster.”
Every conversation with her mother turned into the same monologue.
— “You’re not a little girl anymore,” Yelena Petrovna would repeat over the phone. “When are you going to have children? Time is passing. You’ll end up alone, mark my words!”
Sveta’s father, Mikhail Ivanovich, never interfered. He always felt those were “women’s matters,” and there was no place for him in such disputes. But he still managed to slip in a reproach at odd moments.
Her mother, though, practically wore Svetlana down. She called every day, spending half an hour hammering in the same points: marriage, children, time, age.
It pained Sveta to listen to those talks. She was proud of herself: by her age she had risen to head of a department at a large firm, handled her responsibilities brilliantly, had her own apartment, and wasn’t struggling. She never asked her parents for anything—if anything, she transferred them money every month. But to Yelena Petrovna, that was simply taken for granted.
And when Yelena Petrovna met with her friends, she never mentioned her daughter’s career or independence—only one thing: “My Sveta still isn’t even married… Ah… the girl is lost.” And, with envy, she would add:
— “And Nina’s Tanyusha has already had two. Sure, she sits at home and her husband supports her, but at least there are grandkids!”
Every time, Svetlana let out a heavy sigh. It turned out that everything she had achieved on her own meant nothing to her mother. As for Andrey… he was a pleasant man, attentive and calm. But Svetlana couldn’t say she was madly in love with him. She enjoyed his company, but her heart didn’t skip a beat when they met.
Her mother, however, saw him as a literal lifesaver:
— “If you lose a man like that, you’ll regret it,” Yelena Petrovna said firmly.
The moment came when Andrey suggested introducing Svetlana to his parents—Pavel Ivanovich and Lyudmila Andreyevna.
Sveta was apparently happy, although her mother was happier still. Yelena Petrovna was already making plans: everything was heading toward a wedding, and soon they could talk about grandchildren.
But Svetlana herself felt uneasy. She caught herself thinking there were things about Andrey that didn’t sit right with her. Sometimes he seemed too stingy—both with emotions and with gifts.
Sveta liked enjoying life and spending money easily—be it on a good restaurant, beautiful clothes, or surprises for loved ones—while Andrey would think a hundred times about whether it was worth splurging on someone. She chalked it up to personality, but each time she felt a faint discomfort.
And then, when she first visited Andrey’s parents, everything fell into place. The apartment of Pavel Ivanovich and Lyudmila Andreyevna seemed frozen in time. Every wall was lined with cabinets; the sideboards were crammed with dishes and crystal; old rugs even hung in the hallway. There were so many things that it was hard to move through the room without bumping something with your elbow.
Sveta immediately understood: their home was a kind of museum of hoarding. Parting with things here seemed impossible—almost a crime.
— “This tea set, Svetochka, I got from my grandmother,” Lyudmila Andreyevna said proudly, showing old dishes with chipped edges and faded patterns. “We keep everything, we don’t throw anything away; everything will come in handy in the household.”
Sveta smiled politely, but inside she felt something strange. Suddenly she clearly saw where Andrey’s excessive thriftiness—and even stinginess—came from.
He had grown up in a family where every item had value, even if it had long since lost any practical use. Where money was put away for a rainy day, and they lived as if every day were that rainy day.
Sveta was invited to sit at the table, which was covered with an old tablecloth with small stains. She frowned slightly and sat on a stool. Andrey beamed as he poured compote from a carafe that was not only very old and hopelessly out-of-date, but also dirty.
— “No, thank you. I’d rather have some water,” Sveta said modestly.
— “That’s good!” waved Pavel Ivanovich. “An economical daughter-in-law is always useful to us.”
Sveta smiled and said nothing. Andrey and his parents were tucking into dinner with pleasure, while Sveta couldn’t shake off her disgust. Earlier, when she’d stepped into the kitchen, she’d seen a dreadful mess and a pile of stacked plates with ingrained grease stains.
— “Dear, why aren’t you eating? Are you dieting?” Lyudmila Andreyevna asked in surprise when she noticed the untouched food on the girl’s plate.
— “No, not at all. My stomach’s just a little off today,” Sveta lied, realizing that if she ate something now, her stomach would really hurt.
Dinner was drawing to a close, and Sveta was already relieved when Lyudmila Andreyevna brought out the cake that the girl had bought in honor of the introduction. At least there would be something edible and safe on the table!
But her joy was short-lived. The woman set a plate before her—and Sveta recognized it immediately. It was the very one with the ingrained grease stains she had noticed earlier in the kitchen. Her appetite vanished. She had to refuse politely once more:
— “Thank you, but I’ll pass.”
Lyudmila Andreyevna arched her brows in puzzlement but kept quiet. Pavel Ivanovich just snorted:
— “Fine by me, more for us.”
Sveta smiled politely, already counting the minutes until she could leave. And then, unexpectedly for everyone—or perhaps only for her—Lyudmila Andreyevna brought up a new topic:
— “Svetochka, you said you have an apartment? How many rooms? Do you live alone? Are you paying a mortgage, or is it all paid off? And where is it located?”
The questions poured out one after another, like an interrogation. Sveta was taken aback, but still answered some of them without going into detail. She saw no reason to hide, but she wasn’t about to bare her soul either.
At that point Andrey, glowing with pride, chimed in:
— “Mom, Dad, you should see it! Sveta’s apartment is just a fairy tale! The windows look out over a park, it’s spacious—eighty square meters. European renovation, expensive furniture.”
Sveta didn’t even have time to stop him before Lyudmila Andreyevna narrowed her eyes and delivered a line that made the girl go cold inside:
— “Well then, perfect! Once you get married, we’ll move in with you. And we’ll sell our little place and put the money in the bank. You know how small pensions are these days? At least we’ll have something in our old age.”
Sveta almost choked. The image immediately flashed before her eyes: her bright, spacious apartment crammed with those endless cabinets, carpets, and boxes of junk. Her light kitchen spattered with frying oil. And strangers around her every day.
Nausea rose to her throat. She hurriedly stood and stretched a tight smile across her face:
— “Excuse me, I’m not feeling well. I’ll go home, take some medicine, and lie down.”
— “What do you mean!” exclaimed Pavel Ivanovich. “I’ve got an herbal tincture! One sip and you’ll be right as rain. You haven’t looked yourself all evening.”
— “No, thank you,” Sveta replied firmly, picking up her bag.
Andrey stood up at once:
— “I’ll walk you.”
But she shook her head sharply:
— “No, stay with your parents. I’ve already called a taxi.”
And without letting anyone object, Svetlana stepped out the door, her heart pounding with emotion.
Sveta knew that Yelena Petrovna was waiting for a call. While she was visiting, her phone had vibrated several times—her mother had already sent: “Well, how did it go?”, “Did he propose?”, “Why aren’t you answering?”
Sveta stubbornly ignored them all. She even placed the phone face down, so she wouldn’t see the notifications. Talking at the table in that state would have been rude, and she wasn’t in the mood.
But as soon as the door closed behind her, she finally dialed her mother.
— “Well?” came Yelena Petrovna’s voice without even a greeting. “Tell me!”
Sveta took a deep breath and began recounting everything in order. About the apartment so crammed with wardrobes, carpets, and furniture there was nowhere to step. About how Lyudmila Andreyevna practically interrogated her about the apartment. And about the final phrase that made her hair stand on end: “Get married, and we’ll move in with you.”
She waited for sympathy, understanding—at least a sigh of indignation from her mother. But what came through the receiver was indifference:
— “So what?” in a tone as if Sveta had complained about the weather. “Do you have a line of suitors waiting for you or something?”
Sveta froze.
— “Mom…” was all she could manage.
— “You have to understand: not everyone gets men like that! And parents are sacred. You’ll just have to put up with it. The main thing is to get married and have children.”
Svetlana’s breath caught. Instead of support, she received another dose of reproach. Tears stung her eyes, but she forced herself to speak calmly:
— “I’m tired. I can’t talk anymore.”
And without waiting for an answer, she hung up.
The apartment was quiet, only the clock ticking steadily. Sveta sat down on the sofa and felt utterly alone.
Andrey texted and called, but Sveta didn’t answer. She read the messages, saw the incoming calls, and each time her heart clenched with guilt. As if she were betraying not only him but also the “good girl” she had been all her life.
She felt like she was offending everyone at once. Her mother—by not rushing to get married. Andrey—by keeping silent. His parents—by leaving dinner so abruptly. Even her father, though he didn’t get involved, surely thought deep down: “Well, the daughter didn’t turn out right.”
Too often, Sveta did not what she wanted, but what others expected of her. Her mother, Andrey, his parents, colleagues, acquaintances… Please everyone. Be liked by everyone. Be convenient for everyone.
Only at work was it different. There, in the head-of-department’s office, she was herself. Confident, strict, even tough at times. Her subordinates respected her, and her superiors valued her. Sveta knew: her strength lay in her profession. In life, though… she felt like a stranger in her own fate.
Three days passed after that ill-fated evening. Her phone still flashed with messages from Andrey, but Sveta already understood it was over. It was all over between them. All that remained was to find the strength to say it.
And at that very moment, fate handed her an unexpected offer. Her boss called her in and offered to head a new branch of the company in another city.
— “Svetlana Mikhailovna, we’re sure you can handle it,” the director said. “It’s a serious project; you’ll be building from scratch. It’s growth, new horizons. And, as you understand, the salary will match.”
Sveta sat wide-eyed. She’d expected scolding over some trifles, another flood of tasks—but not this.
— “Think it over for a couple of days, but we need a decision as soon as possible,” the director added.
When Sveta left his office, her palms were sweaty and her heart was pounding with excitement. This was a real chance that comes once in a lifetime. A chance to break out of her usual circle, out from under her mother’s constant reproaches, and out of these imposed relations with Andrey.
That very evening, she made up her mind.
Andrey was still on pause—he didn’t know it was already over. She needed to tell him. But the harder conversation awaited with her mother. Sveta could already imagine that call and felt her heart ache at the mere thought of it.
Sveta decided to call Andrey first, to settle things. Her voice wasn’t shaky, and she spoke with confidence:
— “Let’s meet tonight after work. At the café by the park.”
Andrey was delighted, as if she’d taken the first step toward reconciliation. When they sat down and ordered coffee, he was beaming. Relief and joy in his eyes. Sveta even felt a stab of guilt: “He suspects nothing…”
But she couldn’t drag it out.
— “Andrey,” she began quietly, “I have news. I’m moving to another city for work. They’re opening a branch there, and I’ll be heading it.”
His smile faded.
— “What do you mean, moving? But… we can still see each other, travel back and forth. I’ll wait for you.”
Sveta took a deep breath:
— “No. I’m selling my apartment here and will live there. It won’t work out between us.”
His face changed. Confusion gave way to anger. His voice broke into a shout:
— “Are you kidding me? So I wasted my time on you? Bothered my parents for nothing? Put up with everything for nothing?”
Sveta faltered:
— “Andrey, I…”
— “I needed your apartment, understand?!” he blurted out, then clamped up, as if scared by his own words.
Silence fell. Sveta stared at him wide-eyed, and he, frowning, snatched up his phone from the table.
— “It’s all your fault,” he muttered and abruptly left the café without even paying for his coffee.
Sveta was left alone. Suddenly a smile spread across her face. “Well then… now everything is perfectly clear.”
She paid, went outside, and sat on a bench in the park. She took out her phone and dialed her mother.
— “Mom, I’m leaving in a month,” she said calmly. “To another city. I’m selling the apartment. I’ll live there.”
An exclamation came immediately from the other end:
— “My God, Sveta!” It sounded like Yelena Petrovna clutched at her heart. “What are you thinking?! How will I live here without you?! You won’t manage there alone either! And what about Andrey? What about marriage? You’ll end up a spinster if you only think about work!”
Sveta listened calmly, without emotion. She hadn’t expected any other reaction.
— “Mom, I’ve already decided,” she said firmly and hung up.
The next month turned into a whirlwind of tasks. Paperwork, apartment showings, buyers, suitcases, boxes, a new rented place in another city, searching for a home to buy. Running around, chores, meetings, calls—and through it all, Sveta suddenly felt truly happy.
Free.
Each day gave her such a surge of strength and joy that she almost forgot about Andrey and her mother’s shouting. A new life lay ahead.
Four years passed.
Sveta got used to the new city, set up a cozy apartment, managed to build the company’s branch literally from scratch, and in that time became one of the most respected managers. There was so much work that she sometimes forgot she used to think of herself as lonely.
During that time her mother tried more than once to pressure her: sometimes crying, sometimes sulking, sometimes prodding Mikhail Ivanovich to “punish” their daughter by not calling. But Sveta had long since stopped reacting. She had too many tasks and plans to waste her energy on her mother’s grievances.
In four years her parents never visited—not once. They didn’t see her apartment, her city, or the woman their daughter had become. They still lived in their old conversations and complaints, while Sveta lived a new life of her own.
And just then, when she turned thirty, she met Yegor. It was nothing like the relationship her mother had once forced on her. No race, no pain, no “have to.” Only warmth, respect, and the certainty that the right person was by her side.
With Yegor, for the first time, Sveta felt like a real woman—not a convenient daughter for her mother, not a strict boss, but simply a loved woman. He didn’t rush her, didn’t reproach her, didn’t demand anything. He knew how to listen and to hear. And when he proposed, she didn’t hesitate.
Sveta looked at the ring on her hand and smiled:
“In your thirties they still ask you to marry. And there’s nothing scary about that.”
Yelena Petrovna never did find out that her daughter had long been engaged and was preparing for a wedding. Ahead of Svetlana lay her own family and a new life.