— Well, what happened, are you frozen? — Antonina Vlagyimirovna pressed the tray closer to me, almost spilling it on my silk dress. — Drink it right away, I got tired making it for you! I stood by the stove all night, preparing the herbal tea just for you.
My eyes ran over her face. Her determined, flushed features were marked with irregular patches, and the heavy gold earrings pulsed with her breath.On the open terrace of the Kazan restaurant, dozens of people strolled, laughing and clinking glasses. It was my husband, Ilja’s, thirty-fifth birthday.
I had organized the entire celebration — from renting the Volga-side club to hiring the invited band. I had managed my interior design studios excellently over the past three years, while Ilja insisted that “everything must be perfect,” so his old classmates and colleagues from the car dealership would be impressed.
I glanced at my husband. He was standing two steps away, spinning an empty glass as if examining the tablecloth pattern.Just ten minutes earlier, Ilja’s sister, Okszana, had pulled me aside in the corridor near the restrooms. Her lips trembled, and she held my hand so tightly it almost hurt.
— So, please, don’t take anything from your mother — she whispered, glancing around. — I just asked for ice in the kitchen. Your mother was there with Kristina, and she poured something into my glass. Kristina giggled: “What if it doesn’t work?” — And your mother said:
“It will work. In ten minutes, this stuck-up girl will start saying nonsense and make an embarrassing scene in front of the guests. We’ll make a show out of it, and Ilja himself will want to get rid of such a shy wife.”
Kristina… the daughter of my mother-in-law’s best friend. Over the past six months, she had been constantly running around our country house: sometimes delivering seedlings, sometimes fixing something Ilja had suddenly “broken.” I had tried to dismiss the uneasy feeling, throwing myself into work.
And now Antonina Vlagyimirovna was standing in front of me with the tray.— Sonya, really — Ilja finally looked at me, a flash of irritation in his eyes. — My mother meant well. Take a sip, don’t make a scene. Everyone’s watching.
Indeed, everyone was watching. The people at the neighboring table had fallen silent, waiting for what would happen next.— What a caring gesture — I said, pulling a face, though an icy chill ran through me inside. — Thank you, Antonina Vlagyimirovna.
I reached for the glass, but at that moment I “accidentally” knocked the heavy pepper shaker. The glass clattered loudly onto the board, scattering black peppercorns everywhere.— Oh, sorry! — I bent down as if trying to catch the lid.
My mother-in-law instinctively looked at the floor. Ilja clicked his tongue irritably and bent down beside me. In that moment, I quietly swapped her glass with the second, identical drink.I lifted my head, holding the glass between my fingers.
— How clumsy I am… But drinking alone to their health is bad luck. Will you join me, mother? — I smiled. — This one’s on me.Tension flickered across her face. She couldn’t say no in front of the crowd — it would have revealed that something was wrong with the glass.
— Fine, fine, Antonina Vlagyimirovna, down with the glasses! — shouted one of Ilja’s cheerful friends.Reluctantly, she reached for her glass. We clinked, and I took a big sip of the bitter drink while my mother-in-law shut her eyes tightly and drank hers.
I sat back down at the table, took a bite of cheese, and waited. Inside me, arrogant anger roared. Six years of marriage, millions spent, house, vacations, gifts to the parents — and in return, constant reproach: “you’re not a proper wife” because we still didn’t have an heir.
Fifteen minutes passed. Antonina Vlagyimirovna panted at the table, throwing occasional strange glances at me, waiting for me to explode. I, however, drank my mineral water calmly.Suddenly, she started hiccupping loudly. Then again. She laughed hoarsely, leaning back in the wicker chair. The musicians were on a break.
She jumped up, threw the chair aside, and approached the microphone stand with a manic smile on her face.She snatched the microphone from the singer. A shrill noise ran through the room.— Everyone, listen for a moment! — she shrieked. Her tongue was tangled.
Ilja moved.— Mom, what’s wrong? Let’s sit down…— Hands behind your back! — she waved him away, and Ilja recoiled. — I am the hostess tonight! I have the right to speak!Her gaze swept over the guests and then stopped at my father-in-law, Mikhail Sergeyevich. An intelligent, restrained man, sitting motionless at the main table.
— You, Misha! — she roared into the microphone. — You sit there, thinking you’re smart. And who are you without me? Nothing! Your whole life you’ve just been stacking papers for pennies. If it weren’t for my competence and my daughter-in-law’s money, we’d still be living in a panel apartment today!
Silence fell on the terrace. Even the sound of the river could be heard. Guests stared, forks in hand. Mikhail Sergeyevich paled, clutching the edge of the tablecloth.The drink had taken effect. Antonina Vlagyimirovna turned to me.
— And you, Sonechka! — she jabbed at me with her chubby finger. — You sit there, playing queen. Bought a house! Renovating! But you’re to blame! Six years and still no children! Why does Ilja need a wife like you?
It hurt to hear, but I sat up straight. I looked at my husband. He offered no protection.— But no problem! — my mother-in-law screamed triumphantly. — We have our Kristina! She’s the real woman. Smart, beautiful. She’s already waiting for Ilja’s child! A normal grandchild! And today, she will take your place!
Kristina, who had been sitting at the last table, blushed, grabbed her purse, and ran out of the restaurant, heels clattering.I looked at Ilja. He froze. He left the family intrigue unfolding in front of my eyes, letting his mother treat me this way.
Mikhail Sergeyevich slowly stood up. With determined steps, he approached the stage, took the microphone from his wife, and turned to the guests.— Dear guests! I apologize on behalf of my wife and my unsuccessful son. The celebration is over.
Then he looked at Ilja. His voice was cold, emotionless.— Take your mother away. And never set foot in my house again. You are disgusting.He stepped down from the stage, came to me, and spoke quietly:
— Forgive me, Sofia. I was a blind old fool. Leave her.That night, I packed, booked a hotel room. In the morning, he filed for divorce, and I closed all the cards Ilja had access to. He tried calling from another number, loitered outside my office, sent kilometer-long messages. I did not respond.
A month passed. I moved into a panoramic apartment downtown, immersed myself in new projects, and finally slept normally.The final twist came on a rainy Tuesday evening. Someone rang the intercom. It was Ilja. On the screen, nothing remained of his glossy, slender appearance: wet, thin coat, stubble, hollow face.
I let him in only to put a full stop to the situation.— Sonya… — he snuffled. — Please, hear me out. I’m at rock bottom.After my father-in-law banned them, Ilja tried to “be independent.” He contacted “reliable guys,” took a large loan secured against his car and his mother’s apartment, and invested it in a pyramid scheme, which collapsed in three weeks.
— They come every day. They say they’ll ruin me — he trembled, looking at me. — My mother has completely fallen apart. Kristina disappeared as soon as she learned about the debt. Sonya, we have joint accounts… Help! I’ll sign over all my assets, just save me from this debt!
I looked at the man I had once intended to grow old with and felt only disgust.— So you’re not asking for forgiveness? — I crossed my arms. — You want money to save your own skin?— Sonya, these people are dangerous! They’ll kill me! — he stepped toward me, trying to take my hand. I stepped back.
I took out the papers prepared with my lawyer: the country house, though officially bought during our marriage, had been entirely funded by me, and I would keep it without any court proceedings.
— Sign — I placed it on the glass table. — You give up the house and my accounts.— And these people? You’ll pay them tomorrow? — he grabbed the pen greedily, barely reading, and signed everywhere.
I carefully took the document, put it in a folder, and opened the door. A cold draft came from the hallway.— No, Ilja. I’m only taking back what’s mine. The debts are your problem. Deal with your mother and your new woman. Goodbye.
He stood there, eyes wide. Slowly, he realized my words. His face twisted.— You… you don’t dare! We’re family!— There’s no family anymore. Take your vitamins, they help with stress — I said calmly, firmly, and ushered him out.
I went to the kitchen, turned on the kettle, and looked out the wet window. For the first time in many years, I didn’t have to adapt to anyone. I didn’t have to save anyone. I was just myself.