Lena stood by the window, watching as the January twilight tinted the snow with bluish shades. Behind her came the sound of running water—Andrey was washing the dishes after dinner. They had just finished pasta with chicken, an ordinary weekday meal, nothing fancy. Those were the dinners Lena loved most: quiet, homely, just the two of them.
“Len, my mom called,” Andrey’s voice sounded oddly uncertain.
She turned around. Her husband was drying his hands on a kitchen towel, avoiding her eyes.
“So what?” Lena felt her shoulders tense. Conversations about her mother-in-law rarely ended well.
“About Christmas. They’re getting together at Panorama, like always. January sixth.”
“Got it,” Lena nodded, turning back to the window. “Tell them hello.”
“Lena…”
“What do you mean, ‘Lena’?” She spun around sharply. “Or do you think after what happened in September they’re going to invite me there?”
Andrey clenched the towel in his hands.
“Mom asked… she asked me to come alone.”
Silence fell. Somewhere below, the building’s front door slammed; in the courtyard someone laughed. Normal sounds of a normal evening, but Lena suddenly felt as if the world had shifted slightly off its usual axis.
“Alone,” she repeated slowly. “So officially I’m not invited.”
“That’s not how she put it…”
“And how exactly did she put it, Andrey?” Lena leaned back against the windowsill. “Let’s be honest. Did your mother say, ‘Andryusha, come by yourself, without that wife of yours’?”
“She said maybe we all need a little time. After that conversation. To cool off.”
“It’s been three months!”
“I know.”
Lena closed her eyes. That September birthday party for her mother-in-law surfaced in her memory in sharp detail—the bright restaurant hall, starched tablecloths, waiters in vests. And Galina Petrovna, her mother-in-law, at the head of the table in a new burgundy dress, her hair done at a salon.
Everything had gone more or less smoothly until dessert. As always, Galina Petrovna started handing out advice. To Igor, Andrey’s youngest brother—about how it was time to get married, that at thirty it was improper to live with a girlfriend without making it official. To Maksim, the middle brother—about how his wife Sveta worked too much and didn’t spend enough time with the kids. And Lena got a particularly generous share.
“Lenochka, dear,” Galina Petrovna said, breaking off a piece of cake, “when are you and Andrey going to start thinking about a baby? You’re both already thirty-five. The clock is ticking.”
Under the table Lena squeezed Andrey’s hand, smiling through clenched teeth.
“We’ll talk about it when we’re ready, Galina Petrovna.”
“But when will you be ready?” her mother-in-law pressed on. “You do understand that after thirty-five it’s much harder to have children? I had all three of mine before thirty. And I did the right thing. But young people these days just build careers, careers… And family? And carrying on the line?”
“Mom,” Andrey tried to cut in, but she didn’t even look at him.
“And besides, Andrey told me you’ve been staying late at work again. Why? Andrey already earns well. You could spend more time on the home. Back in my day…”
“Galina Petrovna,” Lena cut her off, and steel rang in her voice, “I earn the same as Andrey. We’re equal partners in this marriage. And decisions about children, work, and everything else are made by the two of us. Without anyone’s help.”
Her mother-in-law went pale.
“How dare you talk to me like that?”
“And how dare you keep meddling in our life?” Lena felt everything inside her boiling over—every grievance of the last five years spilling out at once. “You criticize every choice I make. Where I work, how often I work, what I cook, how I dress, where we go on vacation. You call Andrey three times a day to ask if he’s okay, if he’s hungry, if I’m mistreating him. I’m thirty-five years old, Galina Petrovna. I’m an adult woman. And I am so tired of your control!”
A deathly hush settled over the table. Maksim stared down at his plate. Sveta’s eyes went wide. Igor coughed into his fist. Andrey sat pale, pinned between mother and wife like he was strapped to an electric chair.
“Andrey,” Galina Petrovna whispered, her voice trembling, “do you hear how your wife is talking to me? Are you going to let her insult your mother?”
“Mom, Lena didn’t mean to…”
“Didn’t mean to?!” Galina Petrovna cried. “She just… she…” Her eyes filled with tears.
Lena pushed back her chair.
“Excuse me, I need some air,” she said, grabbing her purse and heading for the exit.
She spent the rest of the evening in the restaurant lobby, staring out at the night city. Andrey came out about twenty minutes later, paid—like always, a third of the bill, while his brothers split the rest evenly—and they drove home in silence.
Three months had passed since then. Three months of strained quiet. Galina Petrovna called Andrey, but never asked about Lena, as if Lena had stopped existing. Deep down, Lena even felt relieved. Better this than endless reproaches and “kind advice.”
And now it was Christmas—a family holiday she’d been officially excluded from.
“You know what?” Lena straightened, stepping away from the window. “Fine. Go alone. I’m not offended. Seriously.”
Andrey looked at her suspiciously.
“Really?”
“Really. It’s even easier for me. I’ll go to the movies with Olya, or to the sauna, or just read at home. I’ve been dreaming of some quiet. And besides,” she tried to smile, “we’ll save money. Panorama isn’t cheap. How much was it last time? Fifteen thousand per brother?”
“Yeah, about that,” Andrey nodded. “This time it’ll probably be the same.”
“So seven and a half thousand stays in the family budget. We can use it for—”
“Len,” Andrey cut her off, “I’ll still pay a third. Like always.”
She froze.
“What?”
“Well, the three of us always split it. Fairly. I can’t leave them hanging and—”
“Wait.” Lena lifted a hand. “Are you serious right now?”
“What’s wrong?”
“Andrey,” she said slowly, pronouncing every word as if forcing herself to stay calm, “you’re going alone. I’m not invited. I’m not eating, not drinking, not even sitting at the table. But you still want to pay as if we’re going together?”
“Well, my brothers aren’t to blame that Mom—”
“Why should I chip in for a restaurant I wasn’t even invited to?” Lena’s voice rose louder than she intended. She hadn’t expected such a flash of anger, but it was too much. “Do you hear how that sounds?!”
“Lena, don’t shout—the neighbors will hear…”
“Let them hear!” She paced the kitchen, clenching and unclenching her fists. “Your mother humiliates me in public. Your family acts like I don’t exist. And you calmly suggest spending fifteen thousand—our shared money!—on a celebration I’m not allowed to attend!”
“It’s a family tradition, Lena. We always—”
“Tradition?!” She stopped short. “So I’m not part of this family anymore? I’ve been your wife for five years, Andrey. Five years! We live in the same apartment, sleep in the same bed, pay the same bills. We earn the same. Fifty-fifty into the budget every month. Or does that not matter either?”
Andrey stood with his head lowered, like a schoolboy in front of the principal.
“I just don’t want to fight with my brothers…”
“But fighting with me is fine?”
“That’s not what I meant…”
“Then what?!” Tears pressed at Lena’s throat, but she wasn’t going to cry. Not now. “Explain it to me—how do you see this? You’ll go to the restaurant, celebrate Christmas with a family that hates me, pay for it with money we earn together, and I’ll sit at home and be glad I didn’t have to listen to another lecture from your mother?”
“Mom doesn’t hate you…”
“She despises me!” Lena shouted. “To her I’m not good enough. I work too much, I’m having kids too late, I’m too sharp, too independent. I’m not the obedient daughter-in-law she dreamed of. And you know what? I don’t care! Let her think whatever she wants. But you, Andrey… you’re my family. Or you’re supposed to be.”
Her last words came out quiet, almost pleading. Andrey lifted his eyes, and she saw confusion there—pain, helplessness, being lost.
“I don’t know what to do,” he muttered. “She’s my mother. I can’t just—”
“You’re an adult man, Andrey. You’re thirty-five. You have your own family. When are you finally going to understand that?”
She turned and went into the bedroom, slamming the door. She leaned her back against it and shut her eyes. Her chest burned. This wasn’t just hurt feelings. It was disappointment built up over years—every time Andrey obeyed his mother’s “advice,” every time he didn’t defend Lena, every time he stayed silent when he should have spoken.
She loved him—truly, deeply. He was kind, generous, smart. But in his mother’s presence he turned into an obedient boy afraid to disobey, and it drove Lena crazy.
She lay down on top of the blanket without undressing. She heard Andrey walking around the apartment, then the sound of the TV in the living room. Probably the news, to distract himself. Typical—hide from the problem and hope it solves itself.
But it wouldn’t. Not this time.
A week passed. They spoke only about household things. “Buy milk.” “I’ll be late at work.” “The internet bill came.” Cold politeness—worse than any fight.
Lena sat in her office, trying to focus on a quarterly report, but her thoughts kept circling back to that conversation. Had she been fair? Maybe she should have stayed quiet, given in. In the end, seven thousand—even fifteen—wasn’t critical for them. They both had good salaries, stable jobs.
But it wasn’t about the money. It was the principle. Why should she pay for her own humiliation?
Her phone buzzed. A message from Andrey: “Can we talk tonight?”
“Yes,” she replied briefly.
That evening Andrey came home earlier than usual. He brought her favorite pastries from the bakery on Tverskaya. He sat across from her, fidgeting with the handle of the bag.
“I’ve been thinking,” he began. “All week. And you’re right.”
Lena raised an eyebrow.
“About what, exactly?”
“About everything,” he sighed. “It’s unfair—the way Mom treats you, the way I stay silent, the fact that I was going to pay for a celebration you weren’t invited to. It’s all… wrong.”
Lena stayed quiet, letting him continue.
“It’s always been hard for me to stand up to Mom,” Andrey went on. “She raised us alone after Dad died. I was nine. Maksim was seven. Igor was five. She worked two jobs to keep us afloat. And I always felt like I owed her—that I had to listen, be a good son.”
“Being a good son doesn’t mean being a bad husband,” Lena said softly.
“I know. I only understood that now.” He looked her in the eyes. “You’re my family, Lena. And if I have to choose, I choose you.”
Lena’s heart jolted.
“What are you trying to say?”
“I called Mom this afternoon,” Andrey said, lacing his fingers together. “I told her I’m not coming for Christmas.”
“Andrey…”
“Let me finish. I told her it was wrong to invite me without my wife. That we’re a family, and if she can’t accept Lena, then I won’t be there either. I said you and I would celebrate Christmas together. And we’d spend the money we save on something we both enjoy. Maybe take a weekend trip. Suzdal, for example. Or Karelia. You’ve wanted to go for ages.”
Lena felt a sting in her eyes.
“What did she say?”
“She was shocked. Then she got angry. Said I was ungrateful, that I was betraying the family. I said it was the opposite—that I was finally taking care of my own family. She hung up.”
“And how do you feel?”
Andrey thought for a moment.
“Strange. And free at the same time. For the first time in years, I feel like I made a decision myself. Not because I have to, not because Mom said so. Because it’s right.”
Lena stood up and hugged him—tight, desperate, as if she was afraid to let go. Andrey hugged her back, burying his face in her hair.
“I’m sorry I made you wait so long,” he whispered.
“The important thing is you understood,” Lena said, pulling back with a smile through tears. “Better late than never.”
They sat on the couch, and for the first time in a week the apartment felt warm and homey again. Andrey talked about how hard it was to dial his mother’s number—how his hands shook, how his voice broke. But he did it. Stepped over fear and guilt.
“Do you think she’ll ever forgive you?” Lena asked.
“I don’t know,” he admitted. “Maybe. Maybe she needs time. Or maybe she’ll stay offended. That’s her choice. I’ve made mine.”
“And your brothers?”
“Maksim texted. Said he understands. He has friction with Mom too, because of Sveta. Igor’s still silent, but he hates conflict. He’ll keep quiet and wait until things calm down.”
Lena leaned back against the couch.
“You know what’s funniest? I’m even glad it happened. If not for this conflict, we would’ve kept living in that strange system where your mother is the boss and we’re obedient children.”
“You’re right,” Andrey nodded. “Sometimes a crisis is the only way to change anything.”
They sat there, holding each other, watching snow fall outside the window. Somewhere far away, a family celebration was being prepared without them. Galina Petrovna was probably still angry and hurt. The brothers were likely exchanging cautious looks, unsure what to say. And here they were—in the warmth and quiet of their own home.
“So, what about Suzdal?” Lena asked.
“I’ll book a hotel tomorrow,” Andrey smiled. “Romance.”
“And no family dinners,” Lena added.
“Just the two of us.”
They laughed, and in that laughter there was relief—freedom from a weight they’d carried for too long. Hard conversations still lay ahead: perhaps long silence from Galina Petrovna, maybe attempts at manipulation through the brothers. But right now it didn’t matter.
Right now they were a team. Finally.
On January fifth they drove to Suzdal. A small hotel in the center of the old town, snow on rooftops, the ringing of bells. Onion domes flashed past outside the window, and inside their room it was warm and cozy.
They walked through the frosty streets, drank hot sbiten, took photos against ancient Kremlin walls. They ate dinner in a snug little restaurant serving Russian dishes. They talked about everything and nothing—work, books, plans for the new year.
“Do you think we’ll ever have kids?” Lena asked one evening, when they were in their room with glasses of mulled wine.
Andrey thought for a moment.
“Do you want them?”
“Maybe. Someday. When we’re both ready. Not because your mother demands it, but because we want it ourselves.”
“Then yes,” he said, lifting his glass. “To us. To our family—whatever it ends up being.”
“To us,” Lena echoed, clinking her glass against his.
And somewhere in Moscow, at Panorama, it was probably loud and festive right then too. Waiters carrying plates, guests congratulating each other. Galina Petrovna at the head of the table—but two seats stood empty.
What was she thinking about? Was she still angry? Or was she beginning to understand she’d gone too far—that controlling adult children is impossible, and sooner or later they choose their own path?
Lena hoped that one day things would get better. Not immediately, not quickly, but gradually—when emotions cooled, when everyone learned to respect each other’s boundaries. Maybe in a year they would sit at the same table again. Or maybe not. Time would tell.
The main thing was that right now, in this moment, she was happy—beside the man who had finally chosen her. Not out of duty, not out of pity, but because it was right.
“You know,” she said, settling in more comfortably on the couch, “this is the best Christmas of my life.”
Andrey wrapped an arm around her shoulders.
“And of mine.”
They looked out the window again. The snow fell harder, blanketing the town in white. Bells rang in the distance, announcing the coming holiday. And in a small room sat two people who had finally understood the most important thing: family isn’t only blood.
It’s a choice.
Choosing each other again and again—every day. Supporting, protecting, staying close.
And they had made their choice.