My mother-in-law claimed that her ring had disappeared and pointed at me. She didn’t know that I had been watching her for a week.
Lyudmila flipped the sizzling cutlet. Oil splashed onto her finger, leaving a small red burn, but her face didn’t even twitch. Nurses get used to pain.
Behind her, in the kitchen, Nyina Semyonovna materialized, shuffling in her slippers.
The mother-in-law was in the role of a “banished, offended queen.” She pulled her robe tightly to her chest, lips pressed together.
— Lyuda — she said in a dramatic voice, as if in the finale of Hamlet. — Haven’t you seen my blue cardigan? The one with the mother-of-pearl buttons?
— No, Nyina Semyonovna. I don’t touch your things.
— Strange… — the mother-in-law dragged the word, her gaze drilling into her daughter-in-law’s back.
— Very strange. I hung it on the chair, in my room (for a year and a half she had already called the guest room “mine”), and now it’s gone. Didn’t you take it to wash?
— No.
— Then the little elf must have taken it! — Nyina Semyonovna snorted and demonstratively opened the fridge loudly. — And there’s no milk. Lyuda, didn’t you buy it yesterday?
— I did. One liter. Pasa drank a glass; the rest was still there.
— Then you drank it and forgot! — she concluded, slamming the door. — And I’m left here without coffee. Thank you very much.
She stomped off.
Lyudmila turned off the gas.
She set down the spatula.
It had started a month ago, at first with small things: a bag of milk, a pack of good tea (Lyudmila bought it for herself for the shifts). Then 500 rubles disappeared, left on the table by Vitalik for bread.
The mother-in-law, who had previously been a warehouse manager, always said: “In a large family, you don’t rush.” But this was not rushing, it was small, malicious sabotage.
Lyudmila was not paranoid. She was a tired woman with a mortgage, a child, and a truck driver husband. But she could count. And she knew: things don’t disappear by themselves.
“Either she’s demented,” she thought, covering the cutlet, “or she wants to take me down.”
That evening she took out the camera that had long been unused.
The cable was long. Lyudmila ran it along the baseboard into the bedroom. She placed it on top of the dresser, camouflaged with a pile of books. The lens pointed straight at the dresser and the entrance door.
“Officially for the babysitter,” she decided. — “Although we don’t have a babysitter. But if anyone asks, I’ll say I’m watching Pasa so he doesn’t scribble on the wallpaper.”
A week passed quietly.
Vitaliy came home on Friday from his trip. Lyudmila did not wait with romantic excitement but with the hope of finally breathing freely. When her husband was home, the mother-in-law was quieter, playing the loving grandmother.
Friday evening the lock clicked.
— Dad’s home! — shouted five-year-old Pasa, throwing down his cars.
Vitaliy, big and rough, smelling of diesel and the road, stormed into the hallway.
— Hello, warriors! — he grumbled, picking up his son. — Lyuda, hi! What’s up?
He hugged his wife. Lyudmila buried her nose in his rough stubble. For a moment she relaxed.
And then Nyina Semyonovna floated out of the room.
She didn’t smile; her face was tear-streaked, her nose red (apparently rubbed on purpose).
— My son! — she cried, throwing herself on his chest. — There’s trouble! Oh, big trouble!
Vitaliy was stunned.
— Mom, what happened? Is Pasa sick?
— Worse! — sobbed the mother-in-law, casting a quick, hate-filled glance at Lyudmila. — My ring is missing! My grandmother’s! Gold, with a ruby! A keepsake!
— Could it be that you lost it? — he frowned, taking off his coat.
— Lost it?! — the mother-in-law was outraged. — I kept it in the jewelry box! In my room! In the dresser drawer! Today I reached for it, and it’s gone!
She stepped back and dramatically clutched her chest.
— Vitya, I don’t want to accuse anyone… But there are only three adults in the house. You were away, I was at home, and your wife… — she paused — who’s always complaining about the mortgage.
Lyudmila stood in the kitchen doorway. Towel in hand.
She looked at the mother-in-law, feeling not fear but a cold disgust.
— Nyina Semyonovna — she said calmly. — What are you implying?
— I’m not implying! — the mother-in-law screamed.
— I’m just putting the facts together! Milk disappears, money disappears, now the gold! I demand a house search! Vitya, call the police! The local officer! Check her things! Especially her coat!
Vitaliy looked at his mother. Then at his wife.
He wasn’t a classic mama’s boy, just a straightforward man. He wanted peace at home, hot borscht, and the women to handle their “women’s matters.” But now it smelled like gunpowder.
— Mom, are you sure? — he asked hesitantly. — If we call the police, this isn’t a joke anymore, it’s a report.
— I’m sure! — stamped Nyina Semyonovna. — Find them! I won’t tolerate a thief in my house!
— Call, Vityal — Lyudmila spoke evenly. — If mom wants, call. Just tell the officer there’s video surveillance in the apartment.
The mother-in-law froze. Her eyes darted around the hallway walls.
— What kind of surveillance? — she hissed.
— Hidden — Lyudmila smiled with her mouth only.
Forty minutes later, the local officer arrived.
Ivan Petrovich, a burly sergeant, panting and with a face that had seen everything in life, removed his cap.
— So, citizens, what happened?
— Theft! — Nyina Semyonovna declared, stepping forward. She had already changed into black (for dramatic effect) and taken valerian (for the smell). — My family ring was stolen! The ring!
— Who stole it? — the sergeant took out his notebook.
— I suspect… — the mother-in-law pointed at Lyudmila — my daughter-in-law! Only she knew where it was!
— On what basis? Did you see the theft?
— No! But she walks around while I go to the store! And she needs money!
The officer sighed. Lyudmila stood with arms crossed. Vitaliy sat on a pouf, gloomy as a cloud.
— Ma’am — the officer addressed Lyudmila. — Did you take the ring?
— No.
— Should we conduct a house search? Or will you hand it over voluntarily?
— I demand the search! — the mother-in-law cut in. — Look in her coat pockets!
The officer raised his eyebrows.
— Why such certainty about the pocket, ma’am? Are you a clairvoyant?
The mother-in-law fell silent.
— Well… a hunch!
Lyudmila stepped to the table where the laptop sat.
— Officer, before you start the search and take a report, I want to show something.
— Show what?
— A film. A documentary.
She opened the laptop. Vitaliy stepped closer. The mother-in-law froze by the coat rack.
Lyudmila clicked the file. Date:
“Today, 10:30.”
The screen showed Lyudmila and Vitaliy’s bedroom.
The door opened, Nyina Semyonovna entered. She looked around as if on enemy territory.
She went to the dresser. Opened the top drawer and rummaged.
She pulled out the jewelry box (her own, brought from the other room). Opened it, took out the ring.
She twirled it in her hand, examining it.
Then she went to the sliding wardrobe and opened it.
She found Lyudmila’s gray coat.
She slid the ring into the right pocket.
Closed the wardrobe, and walked out of the room satisfied, like an elephant after a bath.
A thick silence settled in the hallway. So thick you could hear the fridge humming in the kitchen.
The officer hummed.
— Yes. Film and Germans.
He turned to the mother-in-law.
— Nyina Semyonovna, citizen. Are you familiar with the article on false reporting?
The mother-in-law was silent. Her face went white as ceiling plaster.
— Deliberate false reporting — he explained, enjoying himself. — Plus evidence tampering. Could mean up to two years in prison or a fine of 120,000 rubles.
— I… I was just joking… — she whispered. — Just a prank… a test… I wanted to see if she was honest…
— Did you see? — Vitaliy asked. —
He remembered her differently: strong, determined, someone who had run the warehouse, the family, his upbringing. Strict, but fair.
When did she turn into this… petty, vile old woman who hides a ring to send her daughter-in-law to jail?
— Mom — said Vitaliy. — Why did you do this?
— Vityenka! — cried the mother-in-law, grabbing his hand. — She doesn’t love you! She’s using you! I wanted to save you! Open your eyes!
— Open my eyes? — Vitaliy pulled his hand away. — You wanted my wife, the mother of my son, arrested? Do you understand Pasa would have seen this?
— I was thinking of my grandson! So he wouldn’t grow up next to a thief!
— A thief? — Vitaliy smiled. — Mom, you’re the thief here. You stole a year and a half of our peaceful life.
He turned to the officer.
— Officer, can we skip the report? This… is a family matter, we’ll handle it ourselves.
The officer looked at Lyudmila.
— What does the victim say? Will she press charges?
Lyudmila looked at the mother-in-law. She didn’t pity her. But she pitied Vitaliy. To drag his mother to court would have been disgusting.
— No — she said. — I won’t.
Let her go in peace. But now.
— Pack — said Vitaliy to his mother.
— Where? — sobbed Nyina Semyonovna. — It’s nighttime!
— Home. To your own apartment.
— It’s dusty! Cold! I haven’t been there for one and a half years!
— No problem. Ventilate, wave a cloth — warm up.
She went into the room, pulled out her bags. Started throwing in her things. Robes, sweaters, slippers.
The mother-in-law ran around her, wailing:
— Vitya! My son! You’re throwing me out?! Your own mother?! Because of her?!
She stopped. In her hand was the blue cardigan that had disappeared a week ago. Her bed had found it in a bag.
— Mom — she said. — I’m not throwing you out. I’m putting you back in reality. For a year and a half you lived with us. We fed you, dressed you, tolerated your whims. And you wanted to make a circus. Enough.
She zipped the bag.
— Come on, I’ll take you.
Lyudmila sat in the kitchen, didn’t go to see her off.
She heard the front door slam and the elevator start to hum.
Then silence.
She poured herself tea.
An hour later Vitaliy returned.
Gloomy. Tired.
Sat across from her.
— I took them — he said. — I took the keys.
— What did she say?
— That I’m a slippers-husband. And that you enchanted me.
— Just don’t let her in here again.
He was quiet for a moment.
— Lyuda… forgive me.
— Why?
— That I didn’t see. I thought it would resolve itself and trusted my mother.
A month passed.
Nyina Semyonovna calls once a week.
Demands money, complains about her health, the neighbors, the weather. Vitaliy responds tersely: “Yes. No. Transferred money. Bye.”
She doesn’t invite herself over, doesn’t come. Once Pasa asked: — Mom, why doesn’t Nina granny live with us anymore? Is she sick?
Lyudmila made dumplings.
— No, son. Everyone needs their own home. And in your own home, you must behave honestly. Granny just… mixed up homes.
Lyudmila didn’t take the camera down.
She moved it to the hallway. Now the “eye” watched the entrance door. Better safe than sorry. Vitaliy didn’t protest; he even helped hide the cable better.
He said: — That’s right, Lyuda. God protects those who watch. And those who don’t, the convoy guards.
And he’s right. Now it’s your turn.
