The apartment reeked of stale laundry and alcohol fumes. Karina stood in the middle of the living room, fists clenched, staring at her husband Ilya, who was sprawled across the couch in nothing but his underwear and a wrinkled T-shirt. Beside him sat his mother, Nina Nikolaevna — a woman in her early sixties with ash-dyed hair and fuchsia-colored nails.
“Why don’t you get the hell out of here, dear husband — and take your mommy with you? I’m not some walking ATM!” Karina snapped, her voice trembling with fury.
Ilya did not even bother turning his head. He only flicked his hand at her as if shooing away an annoying fly.
“Oh, stop it, Karina… Mom, pour me another beer.”
Nina Nikolaevna rose from the couch, adjusted her blouse, and headed toward the refrigerator. She moved with the particular grace of a woman who had spent her whole life being the center of attention in every room she entered.
“Karina, sweetheart,” she said as she pulled out a bottle, “don’t get so worked up. It’s bad for your health. I was at the seaside recently, and one woman there said—”
“At the seaside?!” Karina felt something boil over inside her. “At the seaside with my money!”
She remembered the morning she had discovered thirty thousand rubles missing from her card. The very money she had spent three months saving for a new vacuum cleaner. Back then, Ilya had muttered something about an emergency, and a week later Nina Nikolaevna was sunbathing in Sochi.
“So what?” her mother-in-law said, popping open the bottle with a sharp hiss. “Family is family. I’m not a stranger to you. I’m your husband’s mother.”
“The mother of a drunk and a parasite!” Karina shot back.
Nina Nikolaevna set the bottle down on the table a little harder than necessary. A cold flash of anger crossed her face.
“Watch your mouth, girl.”
“Girl?” Karina stepped forward. “I’m thirty-five years old, and I work two jobs to support both of you! And you… what exactly do you do?”
The past few weeks flashed through her mind like scenes from a terrible film. Nina Nikolaevna ruling her apartment as if it were her own. Rearranging furniture. Throwing away Karina’s favorite flowers. Inviting over her friends, Aunt Dusya and Uncle Vitya, who always left mountains of dirty dishes and cigarette butts behind them.
“I’m raising my son,” Nina Nikolaevna declared with importance. “And you are spoiling him. Turning him into a rag of a man.”
“A rag?” Karina laughed, but it came out shrill and nearly hysterical. “He already is a rag! When was the last time he worked, Ilya? Remind me!”
At last Ilya turned his head toward his wife. His face was puffy, his eyes glazed.
“I’m so sick of your constant nagging. Work, work, work… When is a man supposed to live? A man needs rest.”
“Rest?” Karina felt something tear inside her. “You’ve been resting for two years! On my money!”
“Don’t yell at my son,” Nina Nikolaevna cut in. “Or I’ll throw you out of here. This is our family’s apartment.”
“Our family’s?” Karina slowly turned toward her mother-in-law. “This is my apartment. I bought it. With my own money.”
She remembered renting cramped corners in other people’s homes for a year, saving on food, taking extra shifts just to scrape together the down payment. She remembered taking out the mortgage alone because Ilya had no proof of income. She remembered signing the paperwork with trembling hands.
“The documents are in my name,” she said quietly, though her voice burned with anger. “I’m the owner here. I make the decisions.”
Nina Nikolaevna snorted.
“Oh really, dear? My son is registered here. That means I have rights too—”
“You have no rights!” Karina stepped toward her. “None!”
She remembered coming home a month earlier after a twelve-hour shift and finding Nina Nikolaevna hosting a feast in the living room. Aunt Dusya and Uncle Vitya were seated at the table, which was covered with food taken from Karina’s refrigerator. They were drinking vodka, smoking, laughing loudly. And when Karina had asked them to keep it down, Nina Nikolaevna had snapped, “This is not your house. It’s my son’s house!”
“You know what?” Karina grabbed the keys from the table. “Pack your things. Both of you.”
“What do you mean, where are we going?” Ilya finally sat up.
“To a dormitory. I’ll pay for a room for a month. After that, you can figure out the rest yourselves.”
“Have you lost your mind?” Nina Nikolaevna threw up her hands. “I am not going to some dormitory! I’m used to comfort!”
“Comfort?” Karina gave a bitter laugh. “My comfort. Paid for with my money!”
She remembered telling Nina Nikolaevna about her childhood. About her mother working three jobs to raise her alone. About how she herself had started working at fourteen to help the family. About dreaming of a home of her own, one that would be warm and peaceful. And how that dream had turned into a nightmare.
“Ilya, say something to your wife!” Nina Nikolaevna turned to her son.
Ilya got up from the couch, swaying slightly.
“Karina, stop being ridiculous. We’re not going anywhere. This is our home.”
“Ours?” Karina pulled out the apartment documents from her bag. “See this last name? It’s mine. The apartment is mine too.”
“That’s… that’s not fair,” Ilya muttered.
“Not fair?” Karina laughed. “What’s fair, then? Drinking on my dime? Supporting your mother with my money? Listening to her tell me in my own home that I’m nobody here?”
Nina Nikolaevna sank onto the couch, pretending to be wounded.
“I thought we were family. I thought you loved me like your own mother.”
“A real mother wouldn’t have thrown my flowers in the trash,” Karina said. “A real mother wouldn’t invite people into my home who smoke in the nursery.”
The nursery. The empty nursery Karina had prepared three years earlier. She had bought a crib, teddy-bear wallpaper, toys. And then… then the doctor had told her she would never have children. Ever since, that room had stood as a reminder of a dream that would never come true. And Aunt Dusya had smoked in there, flicking ash onto the floor.
“That’s it,” Karina said, picking up her phone. “I’m calling a taxi. Get ready.”
“We’re not leaving,” Ilya said stubbornly.
“You are. Or I’ll call the police. This is my apartment, and I can remove anyone who is not legally entitled to stay here.”
“But I’m registered here!” Ilya puffed out his chest.
“You’re registered here, yes. And unemployed. And behind on child support for your ex-wife. I wonder what a judge would say about your housing rights then.”
Ilya went pale. He had forgotten that Karina knew about the debts. About the woman he had lived with before her. About the child he had not seen in three years.
“Karina…” he began.
“Too late,” she cut him off. “I gave you chances. A year ago, when your mother moved in ‘for one week.’ Six months ago, when she started spending my money. A month ago, when she turned this place into a dump. And this morning, when she told me I was the outsider here.”
That morning Karina had woken to the sound of dishes shattering. She had gone into the kitchen and found Nina Nikolaevna throwing her favorite cups into the trash.
“Old junk,” her mother-in-law had said. “I saw a much nicer set in a store yesterday.”
That was when something inside Karina had finally snapped.
“The taxi will be here in ten minutes,” she said, lowering the phone. “You’d better not be late.”
“Karina, sweetheart,” Nina Nikolaevna rose from the couch. “Let’s talk calmly, like civilized people. I understand you’re tired…”
“Tired?” Karina turned toward her. “Do you know what I’m tired of? Coming home after twelve hours of work and cleaning up after both of you. Watching my money disappear into your alcohol. Being told in my own home that I don’t belong here.”
She remembered finding her photographs in the trash the day before. The ones of her and her mother at the dacha. Nina Nikolaevna had been “tidying up” and decided those pictures were unnecessary. Karina had cried then for the first time in months.
“I never meant to hurt you,” Nina Nikolaevna suddenly said, and there were tears in her voice.
“But you did. Every day. With every word. With every thing you did.”
Ilya stepped closer to his wife.
“Karina, come on, don’t be childish. My mother is old, it’s hard for her to live alone…”
“Hard?” Karina shoved him away. “And is it easy for me? Is it easy to support three grown adults? Is it easy to listen to your mother tell the neighbors what a terrible wife I am?”
The neighbor, Aunt Klava, had told Karina last week how Nina Nikolaevna had been complaining about her, saying Karina was selfish, wouldn’t give her son money for fun, made him wash dishes. Aunt Klava had believed it at first — until she saw Karina leaving for work at six in the morning while Ilya stood on the balcony smoking.
“That’s it. It’s decided,” Karina said. “In one hour, you are both out.”
“And if we refuse?” Nina Nikolaevna asked brazenly.
“Then tomorrow morning the locksmith changes the locks, and you can stay outside.”
Karina felt something inside her growing firmer. For the first time in a long time, she felt like the owner of her own life. For the first time, she was not yielding, not compromising, not feeling sorry for anyone.
“Karina, what are you doing? We love each other!” Ilya tried to grab her hand.
“Love? Don’t be ridiculous. There’s been no love here for a long time.” She pulled away. “When was the last time you even asked how my day at work went? When was the last time…”
She did not finish. A car horn sounded outside the window.
“The taxi is here,” she said. “Get your things.”
Nina Nikolaevna slowly moved toward the wardrobe. Ilya stood in the middle of the room, confused and helpless.
“Karina,” he said, “what about us? What about our family?”
“What family?” Karina looked at him steadily. “A family is when people care for one another. What do we have? You don’t work, you drink, you hand my money to your mother. Your mother orders me around in my own home and spends my savings on her own pleasures.”
She remembered how she used to dream about family. About children running through the apartment. About a beloved husband. About a mother-in-law who would one day help with grandchildren. Reality had turned out to be something else entirely.
“We can change everything,” Ilya said. “I’ll find a job…”
“How many times have you said that?” Karina shook her head tiredly. “How many times did I believe you?”
Nina Nikolaevna appeared with a bag in her hand.
“Well then,” she said, “if we mean nothing to you, then you mean nothing to us either. We’ll manage.”
“You will,” Karina agreed. “Just not with my money.”
“Karina,” Ilya took a step toward her. “Give me one last chance. I’ll change.”
“One last chance?” She looked at him for a long moment. “I’ve already given you a hundred last chances. Enough.”
The horn sounded again downstairs. The driver was growing impatient.
“Come on,” Karina said. “Don’t keep him waiting.”
They went downstairs in silence. Ilya and Nina Nikolaevna got into the car. Karina stepped up to the driver’s window.
“Take them to the dormitory on Stroiteley Street,” she said. “Here’s the money for the ride.”
The car drove away. Karina stood in the courtyard and watched it disappear.
For the first time in many months, she felt peace. Silence. For the first time, no one in her apartment was shouting, demanding, ordering. For the first time, she was alone in her own home.
The dormitory on Stroiteley Street was a place of mixed company. Students lived there, as well as workers and lonely pensioners.
“The bathroom is at the end of the hall,” the administrator said. “The kitchen is shared. Quiet hours begin at eleven. Alcohol is forbidden on the premises.”
Nina Nikolaevna looked around the room with disgust. Two iron beds. A table. One chair. A wardrobe with one peeling door.
“What kind of dump is this?” she asked.
“This is what you can afford,” the administrator replied. “Otherwise, find somewhere else.”
Ilya sat down silently on the bed. The mattress sagged under him with a mournful squeak.
“Mom,” he said, “what have we done?”
“What have we done?” Nina Nikolaevna turned toward him. “Your wife threw us out! Your wife destroyed the family!”
“But Mom, she’s right… I really don’t work…”
“Don’t work?” Nina Nikolaevna sat down beside him. “Son, work isn’t the most important thing in life. Family is. Family should support one another.”
Ilya remembered how Karina used to leave for work at six every morning. How she came home exhausted and still made dinner. How he would lie on the couch watching TV while she washed the dishes.
“Mom, maybe it really is time I found a job.”
“A job?” Nina Nikolaevna threw up her hands. “What are you talking about? You’re an educated man! You shouldn’t lower yourself to just any work!”
Ilya had graduated from college ten years earlier. He used to work as a programmer in a small company, but then he quit and never seriously looked again. He simply sat at home doing nothing.
“But Mom, we need money…”
“Money?” Nina Nikolaevna waved him off. “What do you have a wife for? Let her work. A woman should provide for the family, and a man should be the head of it.”
Nina Nikolaevna had a peculiar kind of logic. In her world, the man was supposed to be the head of the household without lifting a finger, while the woman was supposed to earn the money and still obey him. The mother-in-law, of course, had the right to rule the daughter-in-law’s home.
“But Karina is exhausted…”
“Exhausted?” Nina Nikolaevna scoffed. “And I’m not? I raised you all by myself! Your father ran off when you were three, and I never complained!”
That was Nina Nikolaevna’s favorite refrain. It was true that she had raised her son alone. What she never mentioned was that his father had left because of her unbearable character. Or that she had spent her entire life looking for a man to support her. Or that she only worked when she had absolutely no other choice.
“Mom, tomorrow I’ll go look for work…”
“Don’t you dare humiliate yourself in front of that upstart!” Nina Nikolaevna sprang up from the bed.
She reached into her bag and took out a bottle of cognac.
“Mom, drinking isn’t allowed here…”
“Allowed?” Nina Nikolaevna twisted off the cap. “Who’s going to stop us? We’re grown adults!”
She poured cognac into a glass she had also produced from her bag.
“To our independence!” she declared, and tossed it back.
Then footsteps sounded in the corridor.
“Open up immediately!” came the stern voice of the administrator.
Ilya opened the door. The administrator stood in the doorway.
“What is going on here?” she asked. “I told you alcohol is prohibited.”
“What alcohol?” Nina Nikolaevna asked innocently, trying to hide the bottle behind her back.
“I can smell it,” the administrator said. “Either put it away, or find another place to stay.”
“Fine, fine,” Ilya forced a smile. “We understand.”
The administrator left. Nina Nikolaevna waited a minute and took the bottle back out.
“Oh, please,” she said. “We’re not children.”
She poured herself another drink.
“Mom, maybe that’s enough?”
“Enough?” Nina Nikolaevna looked at her son. “Son, what else do I have left? Your wife threw us out. We’re living in this hole…”
She started to cry. The tears were real — Nina Nikolaevna truly did feel sorry for herself. Not because she had caused the situation, but because her plans had fallen apart.
“Mom, don’t cry…”
“Don’t cry?” she sobbed. “I wanted a proper old age! I thought you had married a good woman and that we would all live together like one big family…”
In Nina Nikolaevna’s mind, one big family meant Karina earning money for all three of them while she ruled the household and spent someone else’s income as she pleased.
“Mom, maybe I should call Karina. Apologize.”
“Don’t you dare!” Nina Nikolaevna straightened up instantly. “Don’t you dare humiliate yourself in front of her! We’ll show her!”
“Show her what?”
“That we can be happy without her!” Nina Nikolaevna downed the cognac. “Tomorrow I’ll call Aunt Dusya and Uncle Vitya. Let them come. We’ll have a celebration!”
Ilya imagined Aunt Dusya and Uncle Vitya trying to throw a party in their tiny room, and his stomach turned.
“Mom, it’s not allowed to make noise here…”
“Not allowed?” Nina Nikolaevna laughed. “We’ll be quiet. Civilized.”
“Civilized,” in her mind, meant that the music would not be at full blast — only three-quarters.
Someone banged on the wall from the next room.
“Keep it down!” a man’s voice shouted. “People are trying to sleep!”
“Asleep?” Nina Nikolaevna glanced at the clock. “It’s only ten o’clock! What kind of people are these?”
She walked up to the wall and knocked back.
“You be quiet!” she shouted.
“Mom, don’t…”
“Don’t what?” Nina Nikolaevna turned to him. “Son, they already threw us out of one place. Are we supposed to tolerate disrespect here too?”
Her logic was ironclad: if they had been thrown out of one place for bad behavior, then in the next place they should behave even worse.
The pounding came again, harder this time.
“What is this!” Nina Nikolaevna went right up to the wall and banged on it with both hands. “We have a right to live here!”
“Mom, stop!”
“I won’t!” She banged harder. “Let them know we are not pushovers!”
Five minutes later there was another knock at the door. Ilya opened it. On the threshold stood a tired-looking man of about forty.
“Are you out of your minds?” he asked. “People here work. They’re putting their children to bed. And you’re making a circus out of the place!”
“What circus?” Nina Nikolaevna stepped up beside the door. “We’re just talking!”
“Talking?” the man looked at her carefully. “You’re drunk.”
“I am not drunk!” Nina Nikolaevna straightened up. “I’ve only had a little for my health!”
“For your health?” the man shook his head. “Listen, normal people live here. If you can’t behave decently, go somewhere else.”
“Somewhere else?” Nina Nikolaevna flared up. “We paid money! We have rights!”
“Rights to what? To disturb everyone else?”
The man turned and walked away. Nina Nikolaevna slammed the door.
“You see?” she said to her son. “Same thing everywhere. Everyone picks on us. Nobody understands us.”
Ilya was beginning to realize that the problem was not everyone else. The problem was them. But he could not bring himself to say that to his mother.
“Mom, maybe we should keep it down after all?”
“Keep it down?” Nina Nikolaevna sat back on the bed. “Son, what am I supposed to do? I’m used to a decent life. This place… this place is like prison.”
By “a decent life,” she meant living at her daughter-in-law’s expense. Spending somebody else’s money. Ordering people around in somebody else’s house. Throwing parties for her friends.
“Mom, maybe we really should apologize to Karina?”
“Apologize?” Nina Nikolaevna shot to her feet. “For what? For being her family? For the fact that she is supposed to support us?”
“She’s not supposed to—”
“How is she not supposed to?” Nina Nikolaevna waved her arms. “She’s my son’s wife! That makes it her duty!”
Ilya remembered Karina’s face that morning. Tired. Hollowed out. Her eyes full of despair. And her words: “I’m not your walking ATM.”
“Mom, I think we’ve gone too far…”
“Too far?” Nina Nikolaevna poured herself more cognac. “She went too far when she threw us out!”
Now the pounding on the walls came from two sides at once.
“What now!” Nina Nikolaevna stormed toward the wall and pounded back. “Enough already!”
“Mom, don’t!”
“Yes, I will!” she shouted. “Let them know we won’t let ourselves be bullied!”
A minute later there was a heavy rush of footsteps in the corridor. Several people stopped outside their room.
“Open the door!” came the familiar voice of the administrator. “Immediately!”
Ilya opened it. The administrator stood there with three neighbors.
“What is going on here?” she demanded.
“Nothing special,” Nina Nikolaevna tried to smile. “We’re just… getting settled.”
“Getting settled?” The administrator caught the smell of alcohol. “Show me your documents.”
“What documents?”
“Your passport. And your rental agreement.”
Nina Nikolaevna fumbled in her bag. Her hands shook — not from fear, but from drink.
“Here,” she said, handing over her passport.
The administrator opened it and frowned.
“Nina Nikolaevna Petrova,” she read aloud. “Sixty-two years old. And where is the rental agreement?”
“The agreement…” Nina Nikolaevna faltered. “What agreement?”
“The rental contract. Without one, you’re here illegally.”
Karina had paid a month in advance, but there had been no time to formalize the paperwork.
“But we paid!” Nina Nikolaevna cried.
“You paid?” The administrator opened her notebook. “Who exactly paid?”
“Well… the daughter-in-law…”
“The daughter-in-law?” the administrator looked at Ilya. “And where is she?”
“She… stayed home,” Ilya stammered.
“Home?” One of the neighbors — the same man from earlier — stepped forward. “So your own family kicked you out, and now you’re trying to turn this place into a disaster too?”
“What disaster?” Nina Nikolaevna protested. “We’re civilized people!”
“Civilized?” the neighbor pointed at the bottle. “Civilized people don’t drink in a dormitory!”
“Then where are we supposed to drink?” Nina Nikolaevna thrust out her chin. “We have rights!”
“Rights?” The administrator shook her head. “You have the right to find another place. Pack up.”
“Pack up?” Nina Nikolaevna stared in disbelief. “We just got here!”
“And you immediately broke every rule. Alcohol. Noise. Disturbing the peace.” The administrator was unmoved. “You are not staying here any longer.”
“But where are we supposed to go?” Ilya asked, truly panicked for the first time.
“That is not my problem,” she answered. “You have thirty minutes.”
The door slammed shut. Nina Nikolaevna stood in the middle of the room with her mouth hanging open.
“You see?” she said at last. “Same as everywhere else. Everyone’s against us. Nobody understands us.”
“Mom,” Ilya sat down on the bed. “Maybe the problem isn’t them.”
“Not them?” Nina Nikolaevna turned to him. “Then who?”
“Us,” he said softly. “Mom, we really do behave badly.”
“Badly?” Nina Nikolaevna flung up her hands. “We behave normally! It’s everyone else who’s abnormal!”
Ilya looked at his mother — drunk, disheveled, shouting. Then he looked at himself — unshaven, in a crumpled T-shirt, jobless, penniless. And he realized they truly did look awful.
“Mom, maybe we need to change something.”
“Change?” Nina Nikolaevna sat down beside him. “Son, we don’t need to change. We just need to find people who understand us.”
She put an arm around his shoulders.
“Listen,” she said. “I have an idea. Remember Aunt Dusya?”
“Of course.”
“She’s got a dacha. It’s run-down, sure, but it has a roof. We can stay there.”
“At the dacha?” Ilya imagined winter in an unheated house. “Mom, it’s October.”
“So what?” Nina Nikolaevna waved him off. “We’re not made of sugar. We’ll survive until spring.”
She took out her phone and dialed.
“Dusya?” she said into the receiver. “It’s Nina. We need help…”
The conversation lasted ten minutes. Nina Nikolaevna begged, demanded, cried in turns.
“All right,” she said at last. “We’ll come tomorrow morning.”
“And?” Ilya asked.
“Aunt Dusya said we can stay at the dacha. But only until spring. And only if we don’t wreck the place.”
Ilya pictured a freezing winter there — no heat, no conveniences, no internet. But he had no real alternative.
“Mom, maybe we should still call Karina?”
“Don’t you dare!” Nina Nikolaevna snapped, turning sharply toward him. “Don’t you dare feel sorry for her! She threw us out!”
“But Mom, not for no reason…”
“Not for no reason?” Nina Nikolaevna got up and started pacing. “She destroyed our family! She threw an old woman into the street!”
Ilya said nothing. He understood his mother did not want to admit any fault. She had spent her whole life blaming everyone else.
“Pack your things,” she said. “We leave for Aunt Dusya’s at dawn.”
They started stuffing their clothes into bags. Ilya folded his things in silence while Nina Nikolaevna kept ranting.
“You’ll see,” she said. “Karina will regret this. She’ll realize she can’t live without us. She’ll crawl back to us on her knees.”
Ilya said nothing. He was thinking about what it would mean to live at the dacha without basic comforts. About how he would explain to people that a grown man was living with his mother in a half-abandoned house.
“Mom,” he said at last, “what if we tried living independently?”
“Independently?” Nina Nikolaevna stopped. “What do you mean?”
“I could get a job. Rent a room…”
“And I’m supposed to live alone?” she cried. “Son, I’m old! I need help!”
In her mind, “help” meant someone paying for her life.
“But Mom, I can’t stay tied to you forever…”
“Yes, you can!” Nina Nikolaevna sat beside him. “We’re family! We have to stay together!”
Ilya remembered his classmates getting married, having children, buying apartments. Meanwhile, he had remained with a mother who refused to let him go.
“But I should have my own life…”
“My own life?” Nina Nikolaevna was offended. “And what am I, then? A stranger? I gave birth to you, raised you, devoted my whole life to you!”
That was her favorite form of manipulation. Every time Ilya tried to become independent, she reminded him of her sacrifices.
“Mom, I know, but—”
“No buts!” Nina Nikolaevna stood up. “We’re going to the dacha. Together. And we’ll stay together until the day I die!”
Ilya understood there was no point arguing. His mother would never willingly let him go.
There was another knock on the door.
“Time’s up,” said the administrator’s voice. “Out.”
They took their bags and stepped into the corridor. The neighbors were peeking out from their rooms, following them with disapproving eyes.
“Go on,” the administrator said. “And don’t come back.”
Outside, the air was cold. A damp October evening, with rain beginning to fall.
“Where now?” Ilya asked.
“To the train station,” Nina Nikolaevna said. “We’ll spend the night in the waiting hall and leave for Aunt Dusya’s in the morning.”
They walked through the dark streets. Ilya carried two bags, Nina Nikolaevna one.
“Mom,” he said. “What if Karina was right?”
“Right?” Nina Nikolaevna stopped. “About what?”
“That I should work. That we demanded too much from her.”
“Son,” Nina Nikolaevna took his hand, “don’t listen to her. She’s just stingy. She doesn’t want to share.”
Ilya was silent. He was beginning to understand the issue was not Karina’s stinginess. The issue was that he and his mother had grown used to living off someone else.
“Mom, maybe I really should get a job.”
“A job?” Nina Nikolaevna snorted. “You’re an educated man! A programmer! You shouldn’t stoop to just anything!”
“But Mom, we have no money…”
“We’ll find some,” she said confidently. “Karina will come back. You’ll see.”
Ilya was not so sure. He remembered Karina’s face when she had said, “Enough.” There had been no anger in her eyes then — only exhaustion. The exhaustion of someone who had been used for too long.
“Mom, and what if she doesn’t come back?”
“She will,” Nina Nikolaevna said firmly. “Where else would she go? She loves us.”
Loves us. Ilya thought about that. When was the last time he had told his wife he loved her? When was the last time he had shown any interest in her life? When was the last time he had helped her with anything?
They reached the station. The waiting hall was stuffy and smelled of cigarettes. Passengers sat on benches, waiting for late-night trains.
“We’ll sit here,” Nina Nikolaevna said, settling herself on a bench. “We’ll leave in the morning.”
Ilya sat beside her. He looked at the clock — half past eleven. Seven long hours until dawn.
“Mom,” he said. “Do you remember how Karina and I met?”
“I do,” Nina Nikolaevna said with a grimace. “In some café.”
“Not a café. A library. She was reading Dostoevsky, and I went up to ask where the computer section was.”
He remembered that day clearly. Karina had been sitting by the window, sunlight in her hair. She had looked serious, focused — and beautiful.
“I liked her instantly,” he said. “She was smart, thoughtful. We talked until the library closed.”
“So what?” Nina Nikolaevna shrugged.
“She told me about her plans. She wanted to buy an apartment. Build a family. She dreamed of children.”
Children. Ilya remembered how they had once planned the nursery together. How Karina had bought toys, chosen the crib. And then the doctor had told them she would never be able to have children.
“Mom, do you remember when Karina couldn’t get pregnant?”
“I do,” Nina Nikolaevna frowned. “She used to throw hysterics.”
“Not hysterics. She cried. Every month. She wanted a child so badly.”
Ilya remembered holding her while she cried. Promising that they could still be happy without children.
“And now what?” he asked his mother.
“What do you mean, now what?”
“Now she’s alone. In an empty apartment. No husband, no children, no family.”
“And how is that our fault?” Nina Nikolaevna protested. “Did we force her to throw us out?”
“No. But we pushed her there.”
For the first time in a long while, Ilya was seeing things from the outside. Seeing how he and his mother had slowly, steadily destroyed Karina’s life.
“Mom, I want to call her.”
“Don’t you dare!” Nina Nikolaevna grabbed his arm. “Don’t you dare pity her!”
“I don’t pity her. I want to apologize.”
“Apologize?” Nina Nikolaevna stared in disbelief. “For what?”
“For not working. For letting you rule her house. For not protecting her.”
Protecting her. Ilya remembered every time his mother had criticized Karina and he had stayed silent. Every time she had spent Karina’s money and he had done nothing. Every time she had thrown out Karina’s things and he had pretended not to notice.
“Son,” Nina Nikolaevna moved closer, “you understand I did everything for you, don’t you?”
“For me?” Ilya looked at her. “Or for yourself?”
“For myself?” she was offended. “I was taking care of you!”
“Taking care of me?” Ilya gave a bitter smile. “Mom, you made me helpless. I don’t know how to live on my own. I don’t know how to make decisions. I don’t know how to be a husband.”
It was true. At thirty-five, Ilya was still like a grown child. His mother had made every important choice for him.
“Don’t say that!” Nina Nikolaevna flung up her hands. “I love you!”
“Love me?” Ilya stood up from the bench. “If you loved me, you would want me to be happy. Not keep me tied to you forever.”
He started walking toward the exit.
“Where are you going?” Nina Nikolaevna cried in alarm.
“Home. To my wife. To ask for forgiveness.”
“Don’t!” Nina Nikolaevna hurried after him. “She won’t take you back!”
“Maybe not,” he said. “But I have to try.”
He stepped out of the station. Nina Nikolaevna stood in the doorway, shouting after him:
“Son! Come back! Don’t leave me!”
Ilya turned. He saw his mother — disheveled, drunk, lonely. And for the first time in his life, he did not feel sorry for her.
“Mom,” he said, “it’s time both of us learned how to live independently.”
Then he walked through the dark streets toward home. Toward his wife. Toward his last hope.
Karina sat in the kitchen with a cup of tea, listening to the silence for the first time in months. No one was demanding dinner. No one had the television blaring. No one was barking orders. There was only the ticking of the clock and the sound of rain outside.
At half past one in the morning, the doorbell rang. Karina froze. Through the peephole she saw Ilya — wet from the rain, disheveled, alone.
“Karina,” he said when she opened the door, “may I come in?”
“Where is your mother?” she asked, without moving aside.
“She stayed at the station. Tomorrow she’s going to Aunt Dusya’s dacha.”
“And you?”
Ilya lowered his head.
“I want to ask your forgiveness. You were right. About everything. I behaved like a child, not like a husband.”
Karina looked at him for a long moment. Then she stepped away from the doorway.
“Come in. But that does not mean everything goes back to the way it was.”
They sat down at the kitchen table. Ilya told her how he had spent the evening, how he had come to understand that he and his mother had destroyed their family.
“I’ll find a job,” he said. “I’ll start looking tomorrow. And I will never let my mother interfere in our lives again.”
“Ilya,” Karina said, setting down her cup, “you’ve said all this before.”
“I know. But now I understand that I could lose you forever.”
Karina said nothing. Then she got up, took a pillow and a blanket from the closet, and handed them to him.
“You’re sleeping on the couch. We’ll talk in the morning.”
It was not a yes, and it was not a no. It was a chance. A small, fragile, final one.
A week later, Ilya got a job at a small IT company. The salary was modest, but it was money he had earned himself. Nina Nikolaevna called every day, complaining about life at the dacha, demanding that her son come see her. Ilya answered briefly: “Mom, I’m working. I’ll visit on the weekend.”
Karina watched the changes in him, but trust returned slowly. There had been too many disappointments, too many promises broken.
A month passed. Then another. Ilya went to work every day, helped around the house, stopped drinking. Little by little they began talking again — not only about chores, but about life, about plans, about the things that had once connected them.
In spring, Nina Nikolaevna returned from the dacha. But now she lived in a rented room on the edge of the city, surviving on her pension and the occasional transfer from her son. She never truly understood that she had been wrong, but she no longer had the power to control the young couple’s life.
And Ilya and Karina slowly, carefully, but steadily built their life again.
This time, just the two of them.