The key stuck in the lock as if it were fighting her. Anna yanked harder—click—the door finally gave.
In the entryway, the air smelled of someone else’s coffee and something sharp, like the apartment had just been “aired out” after a blowup.
“Mom? Dad?” she called, kicking off her shoes.
Silence.
From the kitchen came the light clink of a spoon against porcelain. Anna walked down the hall and froze in the doorway. At the table, sitting ramrod-straight, was Lyudmila Petrovna. In front of her: a single cup, half-empty. Beside it: an ashtray holding a lipstick-colored cigarette butt.
“Where are my parents?” Anna asked.
Her mother-in-law lifted her eyes as if she’d only just noticed Anna was there.
“They left.”
“Where to?”
“Didn’t ask.”
The frost in Lyudmila Petrovna’s voice stung worse than yelling. Anna scanned the room—the couch cushions sat crooked, like someone had stood up in a rush. On the table there wasn’t even the suggestion of a second cup.
“You kicked them out.”
“I suggested they shouldn’t linger.”
A bedroom door banged—Dmitry, pretending he didn’t exist. Anna tightened her grip on her phone. Her mother’s last message: We arrived safely, thank you. Three hours ago.
“They came for two days. Just two days.”
Lyudmila Petrovna slowly wiped a drop of coffee off the saucer with her fingertip.
“This is my home.”
The words hung in the air—heavy, final. Anna suddenly understood she wasn’t standing on parquet at all, but on thin ice that could crack any second.
“You didn’t even ask where they went…”
Lyudmila Petrovna smiled just enough for it to be an insult.
“Why would I? They’re adults.”
Outside, a minibus screeched to a stop—maybe the very one her parents had taken. Anna turned and walked out without closing the door.
Her phone quivered in her pocket. A new message: Don’t worry. We’re fine.
But something about it sounded like goodbye.
Anna stood at the bedroom window, squeezing the phone until her fingers whitened. Behind her she could hear Dmitry’s heavy breathing—he lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling as if hoping the conflict would dissolve on its own.
“Are you going to say anything?” she snapped, turning around.
He closed his eyes.
“What am I supposed to say?”
“Start with why you let her do it.”
Dmitry sat up. His face looked gray with exhaustion.
“You know what she’s like.”
“I do.” Anna dropped the phone onto the nightstand. “I know your mother has hated my parents from the beginning. Remember our wedding menu? She forced us to take borscht off because it was ‘cheap village food.’”
A memory flashed: her father, smiling quietly in a corner of the reception hall—It’s alright, sweetheart. We love dumplings too.
“She just…” Dmitry began, then stalled.
“Just what?”
“She’s afraid they’ll replace her—for me.”
Anna snorted.
“Your mother is sixty-five, not five.”
“Age has nothing to do with it.”
Anna opened her mouth to answer—then noticed shards of porcelain by the dresser. Blue with gold trim, from the tea set Lyudmila Petrovna brought back from Prague.
“What’s that?”
Dmitry exhaled.
“Mom broke a cup when your parents… were leaving.”
The scene formed in Anna’s mind on its own: her father silently packing a suitcase, her mother tying her scarf with trembling hands, and that woman—deliberately letting a cup fall, just to underline the message: you’re not welcome here.
“She did it on purpose,” Anna whispered.
“I don’t know.”
“You never know anything!”
Anna lunged for the door, but Dmitry jumped up and grabbed her wrist.
“Where are you going?”
“To find them!”
“Anna, wait…”
She tore free. In the hallway she ran straight into Lyudmila Petrovna, who looked as if she’d been waiting for this.
“Calm down,” her mother-in-law said, voice icy. “They’re already far away.”
Anna stared at her and understood in an instant: this woman hadn’t merely thrown her parents out—she’d tested the boundaries. And those boundaries were as fragile as that porcelain.
“You’re going to lose,” Anna said quietly.
“Oh, sweetheart.” Lyudmila Petrovna smiled. “I’ve already won.”
Slamming the door behind her, Anna bolted into the stairwell. Somewhere below, the elevator rattled, carrying someone important away.
Her phone buzzed again—a message from her father:
Don’t look for us. We don’t want to be the apple of discord.
But it wasn’t an apple anymore.
It was a shattered cup.
And you can’t drink from it again.
Anna burst into the hotel room, shoulder-checking the door. Empty. The bed was neatly made; on the table lay a key card and a note. She snatched the paper with shaking fingers.
We left on the first morning train. Don’t worry about us. We love you.
A scream tore out of her before she realized it was coming.
“How could they?!”
Her phone slipped from her hand and thudded onto the carpet. The screen flashed: a new message from Dmitry.
Where are you? Come home.
She kicked the bedside table. Pain shot through her toes—but that physical sting was almost welcome compared to the hurricane raging inside her.
“Wait…” Anna gasped, suddenly realizing. “They left all the gifts for the grandson.”
In the corner stood an untouched bag in bright children’s wrapping. She ripped it open—inside was a wooden toy her father had made himself. Nikolai was always building something with his hands. At the bottom lay an envelope. Cash. The same money she’d quietly slipped into her mother’s purse the day before.
Her ears rang. Anna sank onto the bed, clutching the toy. In the room next door a child laughed—clear, carefree.
Her phone buzzed again. This time it was a call. Dmitry. She watched the screen go dark, then light again. Three missed calls. On the fifth ring she finally answered.
“Where the hell are you?” Dmitry’s voice was sharp, but panic leaked through it.
“They left,” Anna whispered. “Without a word. Without an explanation. Like criminals.”
“Listen, Mom didn’t mean—”
“Shut up!” Her shout echoed off the bare walls. “Your mother meant exactly that! And you—you just stood there and watched!”
Silence on the other end. Then, quietly:
“Come home. We’ll talk.”
Anna ended the call. In the mirror across the room, a stranger stared back—hair a mess, eyes red and swollen. She stepped closer as if trying to recognize herself.
“Who are you?” she whispered to her reflection. “When did you start letting people treat you like this?”
Downstairs the reception phone rang. Footsteps passed in the hallway. Life moved on while her world split cleanly into before and after.
Anna gathered her things slowly. At the last moment she saw a small wooden bear on the nightstand—unfinished work from her father. He always traveled with tools and little blanks of wood. So they’d left in such a rush that Nikolai hadn’t even finished the toy for his grandson.
She closed her fist around the bear, feeling the rough wood bite into her palm. The pain felt real. Honest. Unlike everything that had happened in the last twenty-four hours.
Anna came home after dark. Only a nightlight glowed in the entryway, throwing long shadows across the walls. She slipped off her shoes and froze when she heard voices from the living room.
“…she’ll never accept your terms,” came the low voice of their neighbor Valentina. “You went too far.”
“I’m protecting my family,” Lyudmila Petrovna replied—but for the first time, uncertainty wavered in her tone.
Anna stepped closer without a sound, leaning against the doorframe.
“Your family?” Valentina snorted. “Dmitry left three hours ago to look for his wife, and you’re sitting here with a bottle of cognac. Congratulations—what a perfect little family picture.”
In the silence, a glass clinked loudly against the table.
“They’re not her parents!” Lyudmila Petrovna spat. “They… they show up and fill the whole space with their stupid gifts, their village manners—”
“Oh please,” Valentina laughed without any real humor. “You’re jealous. You’re afraid your daughter-in-law will finally see what a wonderful family she actually has—and stop tolerating your tantrums.”
Anna held her breath. The room fell quiet again, broken only by her mother-in-law’s heavy breathing.
“They took everything from me,” Lyudmila Petrovna suddenly whispered, her voice cracking. “First his father… and now she—”
“What did they take from you, Lyuda?” Valentina asked gently, like she was talking to a sick child. “Specifically.”
“I… I won’t let them do it again…” Lyudmila Petrovna’s voice faltered.
Anna shifted forward without thinking. The floorboard creaked. The conversation stopped instantly.
“Anna?” Valentina called. “Is that you?”
Anna walked in. Lyudmila Petrovna sat slumped in an armchair, a half-finished cognac in her hand. Her eyes were red, but when she saw Anna she straightened, snapping the familiar cold mask back into place.
“Where’s Dmitry?” Anna asked, not even looking at her mother-in-law.
“Searching the whole city for you,” Valentina said. “You should’ve told him—”
“The way my parents should’ve warned me they’d be thrown out?” Anna turned to Lyudmila Petrovna. “Did you say anything to them before you shoved them out the door? Or did you just point to the exit?”
Lyudmila Petrovna rose slowly, bracing herself on the armrest.
“In this house—”
“In THIS APARTMENT,” Anna cut in, slamming her palm on the table so the dishes in the cabinet rattled, “in the apartment Dmitry and I bought with our own money—you don’t get to decide who is welcome!”
Valentina quietly started edging toward the door, but Anna stopped her with a question:
“What did she mean when she said ‘again’?”
The neighbor hesitated, glancing at Lyudmila Petrovna. The older woman jerked her gaze toward the window.
“Your mother-in-law…” Valentina sighed. “When she got married, her husband’s family never accepted her. Especially his mother. In the end, she and her husband lived separately and barely spoke to the relatives.”
Anna felt her legs go weak. She sank onto the couch.
“So she doesn’t hate your parents,” Valentina chose her words carefully. “She’s terrified you’ll choose them instead of her.”
Lyudmila Petrovna spun around.
“Enough! You have no right—”
“I do,” Valentina said firmly. “You built this trap yourself, Lyuda. And now it’s your turn to be the monster.”
At that moment Dmitry appeared in the doorway. His hair was disheveled, sweat on his forehead.
“Anna…” He stepped forward, then stopped, taking in the scene. “What is going on?”
Anna rose from the couch. She looked at her husband, her mother-in-law, Valentina—and a strange clarity settled over her.
“I realized something today,” she said quietly. “We’re all hostages. Your mother is a hostage to her past. You’re a hostage to her fears. And I…” her voice shook, “I’m a hostage to my own weakness.”
Dmitry blinked, confused.
“What are you talking about?”
But Anna was already moving toward the door. On the threshold she turned back.
“Your parents are gone, Lyudmila Petrovna. Congratulations. Now you have everything you were so afraid of losing.”
She slammed the door and stepped into the night. Dmitry called—her phone rang in her pocket. Anna switched it off. For the first time in years, she felt—shockingly—free.
Anna wandered the city for three hours. Her feet carried her to the station—the very one her parents had gone to. She sat on a cold bench under the departures board when she finally turned her phone back on. It vibrated immediately.
Unknown number.
“Hello?” Her voice cracked from silence.
“Sweetheart?” Her mother’s breathing came through the line, broken, like she was walking fast. “Where are you? Are you okay?”
Anna squeezed the phone until it hurt.
“Where are you? Why did you leave? I was in a hotel—you—”
“We didn’t leave,” her mother cut in. “We… moved. To a hostel by the metro. Your father said we couldn’t go until we knew you were safe.”
Anna closed her eyes. Hot tears slid down her cheeks.
“Why would you do that? Why didn’t you call? I thought—”
“We didn’t want to force you to choose,” her mother’s voice trembled. “That woman… she’s your family now. And we… we’re just your parents.”
There was a rustle, like the phone had changed hands.
“Anna,” her father’s low voice filled the line. “Are you listening to me?”
She nodded, forgetting he couldn’t see.
“Your mother and I decided… we’re leaving tomorrow morning. Don’t look for us.”
“Dad, no—”
“You haven’t been our daughter for a long time,” he said softly, but each word landed like a hammer. “You’re trapped in their fears. And as long as you’re there—you’re not free. And we… we don’t want to be a stone around your neck.”
Anna shot up from the bench.
“Where are you now? I’m coming!”
“No,” her father exhaled. “This is our choice. We’ll always love you. But right now… you need to sort out your life. Without us.”
Click. Dial tone.
Anna stood in the middle of the station as if the ground had vanished beneath her. The board flipped to a new time: 04:17. The first commuter train in forty-three minutes.
She lowered herself onto the bench. Her father’s words rang in her head: You haven’t been our daughter for a long time. When did that happen? When was the last time she called just because? Not for holidays. When was the last time she visited home not for a weekend, but simply to be there?
Her phone vibrated again. Dmitry. Eighteen missed calls. This time she answered.
“Where are you?!” he shouted, the speaker crackling. “I drove everywhere—”
“My parents didn’t leave,” Anna interrupted. “They moved to a hostel. So I wouldn’t have to choose.”
Silence.
“And now…” her voice broke, “now they really are leaving. Because they don’t want to be a ‘stone around my neck.’ Do you hear that, Dmitry? My parents are ready to walk out of my life just so I won’t have to choose between them and your mother.”
“Anna, I—”
“And what did your mother do?” Anna suddenly laughed, the sound on the edge of hysteria. “She threw them out of my home. MY HOME, Dmitry. Not hers!”
Noise on the line. Footsteps. Then a new voice—hoarse, cutting:
“Enough,” Lyudmila Petrovna rasped. “Stop the theatrics. Your parents made their own decision.”
Anna slowly stood. The first passengers were already drifting toward the platforms.
“You’re right, Lyudmila Petrovna. They made a decision.” Anna’s voice steadied. “Now it’s my turn.”
She shut the phone off. In her coat pocket her fingers found the small wooden bear—her father’s unfinished carving. The rough cuts scratched her skin, a reminder: this was all she had left.
The attendant unlocked the turnstiles. Anna stepped forward—toward the platform, the early train, the hostel by the metro.
The first independent step she’d taken in years.
The hostel was an old five-story building with peeling paint. Anna climbed the squeaky stairs to the third floor, checking the room number her father had given her. The door was unlocked.
She walked in without knocking.
The room was tiny: two narrow beds, a nightstand between them, suitcases already packed and placed by the door. Her father sat by the window, fixing his glasses; her mother folded the last items into a bag. Both startled when they saw her.
“Annushka…” Her mother rushed to her first, hugging her so tightly Anna could barely breathe.
Her father stood slowly, tired but calm.
“You shouldn’t have come.”
“I couldn’t not come.”
He nodded as if he’d expected that answer. Her mother let go, wiping her eyes with the edge of her scarf.
“We already bought tickets. Morning train.”
“I know.”
Silence settled between them—thick, awkward. Anna looked around: cheap wallpaper stained in places, a worn carpet, but everything was clean and neat. Like them—despite everything, they carried their dignity.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Anna asked. “Why didn’t you just call and say she threw you out?”
Her father exhaled, adjusted his glasses.
“And what would it change? You’d get angry, fight with your husband, fight with your mother-in-law. And then what? We’d leave anyway. Only you’d be left with guilt on top of everything.”
“But it’s not fair!”
“Life rarely is, sweetheart.”
Her mother took Anna’s hand and stroked her palm.
“We don’t want you suffering because of us.”
Anna clenched her teeth to keep from crying.
“What if I say I want to leave with you?”
Her parents exchanged a look. Then her father shook his head.
“No.”
“Why not?!”
“Because that would be running away.” He stepped closer and placed a hand on her shoulder. “You have to decide what you want. Not because of us. Not because of them. For yourself.”
Anna closed her eyes. Dmitry’s face flashed— not the man who stayed silent while his mother threw her parents out, but the man who’d searched for her for three hours.
“I don’t know what to do…”
“You do,” her mother said softly. “You’re just afraid to admit it.”
Outside, dawn was spreading. The first sunlight fell across the suitcases, already prepared for departure.
Anna pulled the wooden bear from her pocket.
“You didn’t finish it.”
Her father took the carving and smiled.
“Because it’s your job now.”
She nodded and squeezed his hand.
“I won’t let you just leave.”
“We’re not asking permission,” he said with a tired little smirk. “We’re your parents.”
Her mother hugged her again and whispered in her ear:
“Be happy. That’s all we want.”
Anna stepped outside once the sun was higher over the rooftops. She turned her phone back on.
Thirty-nine missed calls. All from Dmitry.
One new voice message. She hit play.
“Anna…” Dmitry sounded hoarse, like he hadn’t slept. “I… I don’t know what to say. But I went to your parents. To the hostel. They… they’re not there.”
Anna froze.
“I realized I’m losing you. And… I can’t let that happen.”
A pause. Then, a whisper:
“I’m at Mom’s. We need to talk. The three of us.”
The message ended.
Anna looked at the time. Her parents’ train left in an hour.
She drew a slow breath and called Dmitry.
“I’m coming.”
The apartment greeted Anna with dead silence. Dmitry sat in the kitchen, fingers drumming the table. Lyudmila Petrovna stood at the window, spine stiff, but Anna noticed for the first time how her shoulders trembled.
Anna closed the door behind her. The click sounded like a gunshot.
“Well?” she said, tossing her keys onto the cabinet. “You wanted to talk.”
Dmitry looked up—eyes red, exhausted.
“I was wrong.”
“Be specific.”
“I should’ve stopped Mom. I should’ve protected your parents.” His voice cracked. “I… I’m just used to obeying.”
Lyudmila Petrovna whipped around.
“Enough! You don’t owe her an apology!”
“Mom, shut up!” Dmitry raised his voice at her for the first time in his life. “Either you sit down and keep quiet, or I leave with Anna. Forever.”
Lyudmila Petrovna went pale. Her fingers dug into the windowsill.
Anna walked to the table and sat across from her husband.
“My parents are leaving. Their train is in forty minutes.”
“We can still make it,” Dmitry jumped up instantly. “I’ll call a taxi—”
“No.” Anna shook her head. “They made a choice. And I respect it.”
She turned to Lyudmila Petrovna.
“Now answer me one thing. Why?”
Her mother-in-law stayed silent.
“You were afraid I’d choose them over you?” Anna gave a small, bitter smile. “Too late. I already chose.”
Lyudmila Petrovna lifted her head sharply.
“Myself,” Anna added quietly. “For the first time in seven years.”
The room went still. Then, unexpectedly, her mother-in-law dropped into a chair, as if her legs had given out.
“They… they were so happy,” Lyudmila Petrovna whispered. “Your dad carried that ridiculous pie, your mother was laughing… and I…” her voice shook, “I suddenly realized you had something I never did.”
Dmitry stood frozen.
“My mother-in-law hated me,” Lyudmila Petrovna continued, staring at the table. “She threw us out on our wedding day. Said I wasn’t worthy of her son.” She looked up at Anna. “And yours… your parents looked at you with such love…”
Anna felt her throat tighten.
“And instead of asking to be let into that circle… I destroyed it.”
Silence.
Outside, church bells began to ring for Sunday service.
“The train,” Dmitry said suddenly. “We can still make it.”
Anna looked at Lyudmila Petrovna. She didn’t resemble the iron woman who’d thrown her parents out.
“You’re right,” Anna stood. “We still can.”
Lyudmila Petrovna lifted her eyes.
“I… I’ll come with you.”
Dmitry gasped.
“If they’ll allow it,” she added quickly.
Anna held out her hand.
“Only if you tell them yourself.”
They raced to the station with five minutes to spare.
Anna’s parents were already by the carriage when they saw them. Her father tensed at the sight of Lyudmila Petrovna, but Anna hurried forward and took his hand.
“She wants to say something.”
Lyudmila Petrovna stepped closer. Then another step.
“Forgive me,” she said, barely audible. “I… I was foolish and cruel.”
Anna’s mother started to cry. Her father looked at Lyudmila Petrovna—and then, unexpectedly, smiled.
“Well. And we already bought tickets.”
“Return them,” the mother-in-law muttered. “If… if you even want to stay.”
The conductor was already calling passengers aboard.
Anna hugged her parents.
“Stay. Please.”
Her father looked at Dmitry, at Lyudmila Petrovna, at his daughter.
“Alright. But on one condition.”
“What?” Anna asked, wary.
“You finish carving that bear. I made the paws crooked.”
Anna laughed through tears.
The train horn sounded.
But the suitcases were already being carried back toward the exit.