— No, why are you standing there motionless? — Antonina Vasilyevna stepped closer with the tray, barely managing not to smear my silk dress. — Drink it immediately! I stood in the kitchen all night to make these herbs for you, just for your sake!
My gaze slid across her face. Her usually flushed cheeks were now blotchy, and her heavy gold earrings trembled with every breath. Every movement radiated her usual commanding, controlling force.
On the open veranda of the Kazan restaurant, a crowd of about fifty people bustled around. My husband, Ilya, was turning thirty-five today. The entire celebration—from renting the Volga-side club to hiring the invited band—was at my expense.
Over the past three years, my interior design studios had been bringing in a good profit, and Ilya kept begging, “Make it beautiful, so I can impress my old friends and the colleagues from the car dealership.”
I glanced at them. Ilya stood two steps away, helplessly twirling the empty glass in his hand, pretending to study the pattern on the tablecloth.
Just ten minutes earlier, Oksana, Ilya’s younger sister, had pulled me into the hallway. Her lips were trembling as she clutched my hand, and her grip made even my skin ache.
— So, Sofia, please, don’t accept anything from your mother — she whispered, glancing toward the doors. — I was just at the kitchen getting ice water. Your mother was there with Kristina, took out a small bottle, and dropped it into your glass.
Kristina giggled: “What if it doesn’t work?” — My mother just said, “It will work. Ten minutes, and this pretentious woman will start saying foolish things and bring shame upon herself here, in front of the guests. We’ll turn it into a show, and Ilyushka himself will want to get rid of this shy one.”
Kristina. My mother’s best friend’s daughter. The girl who had been constantly lingering around our country house for the past six months. Sometimes because of seedlings, other times because Ilya suddenly needed to fix a tap.
I had brushed away the uncomfortable thoughts, explaining it as mere urgent work matters.
Now Antonina Vasilyevna was standing in front of me with the tray.
— Sofia, really — Ilya finally raised his voice, a flash of irritation in his eyes. — Your mother meant well. Drink your vitamins, don’t make a scene. The guests are watching.
Indeed, they were watching. People at the neighboring table waited silently for the drama to unfold.
— Such care — I twisted my mouth, though inside a cold frost spread through me. — Thank you, Antonina Vasilyevna.
I reached for the glass, but with my elbow I skillfully knocked over the heavy pepper shaker. The glass clattered loudly onto the wooden floor, black peppercorns scattering everywhere.
— Oh, sorry! — I bent down, pretending to try and pick up the rolling cap.
My daughter-in-law instinctively looked at her feet. Ilya swallowed irritably and crouched beside me. In that fraction of a second, I only moved the glass to the second one — exactly the same, with the same clear amber-colored liquid.
I stood up, glass in hand.
— How clumsy of me! But drinking alone to the health of the birthday boy is bad luck. Join me, mother! — my voice was kind but sharp. — Let’s say I’m offering you a toast.
Her face tensed. In front of ten witnesses, she could not refuse — that would admit that something was wrong with the glass.
— No, no, Antonina Vasilyevna, bottoms up! — shouted a cheerful friend next to Ilya.
He reluctantly reached for the glass. We clinked glasses. I took a big sip of the bitter drink while my mother-in-law, eyes squeezed shut, downed hers.
I returned to the table, placed a slice of cheese on my plate, and waited patiently. Inside, anger roared. Six years of marriage, and I had invested millions into this family.
I bought the house, paid for my husband’s parents’ trips, vacations. And in return, I constantly heard criticism that “I’m not a proper wife” because we still hadn’t had children.
Fifteen minutes passed. Antonina Vasilyevna sat at her place, fanning herself heavily with the menu. Sweat rolled down her forehead, and she threw peculiar glances at me, waiting for me to explode. I calmly sipped my sparkling water.
And then the unexpected happened: my mother-in-law loudly hiccupped. Then again. And suddenly she burst into raucous laughter, hoarse, convulsive, leaning back in the wicker chair. The band was on a break.
Antonina Vasilyevna struggled to stand, flung the chair aside, and stepped toward the microphone stand. An insane, triumphant smile played across her face. She tore the microphone from the soloist. A sharp, unpleasant squeal cut through the room.
— Now, I want some attention! — she roared. Her tongue was clearly twisted.
Ilya flinched.
— Mom, what’s wrong? Come, let’s sit down…
— Hands up! — she waved so forcefully that Ilya stepped back. — I am the hostess tonight! I have the right to speak!
Her confused gaze swept across the guests and caught on my father-in-law. Mikhail Sergeyevich, a former teacher, intelligent and restrained, sat motionless at the head table.
— You, Misha! — she barked into the microphone. — Sitting there, looking smart. And who are you without me? Zero! All your life you’ve sorted papers for pennies. If it weren’t for my capability and my daughter-in-law’s money, we’d still be living in a panel apartment!
Silence fell on the veranda. Everyone froze; even the soft lapping of the Volga waves could be heard. Mikhail Sergeyevich paled, gripping the tablecloth, the fabric taut.
But the drink in the glass had worked. Antonina Vasilyevna turned to me.
— And you, Sofia! — she jabbed a swollen finger at me. — Sitting there like a queen. Bought a house! Renovations done! But you are at fault! Six years, and you couldn’t give birth! Why does Ilyusha need a wife like you?
It was shocking to hear, but I remained calm. I looked at Ilya, who pressed himself against the pillar, not even attempting to stop the insults, not coming closer.
— But it’s fine! — she shouted triumphantly. — We have Kristina! She is the real woman. Smart, beautiful. Already expecting Ilya’s child! She will give us a proper grandchild, and today we’ll get rid of this shy one!
Kristina, sitting at the corner table, flushed red, grabbed her bag, and almost ran out, her heels clicking.
My gaze fell on Ilya. He stared at me, bewildered. He had allowed this intrigue in front of his wife. He permitted his mother to treat me like that.
Mikhail Sergeyevich slowly stood. With determined steps, he approached the stage, silently took the microphone from his wife, and turned to the guests.
— Dear guests! On behalf of this woman and her lazy son, I sincerely apologize. The celebration is over.
Then he looked at Ilya. His voice was calm, emotionless.
— Take your mother home. And I never want to see you in my house again. Both of you are disgusting.
My father-in-law stepped off the stage, came over to me, and whispered:
— Forgive me, Sofia. I am a blind old fool. Leave him.
That evening I packed and booked a hotel room. The next morning, he filed for divorce, and I blocked every card Ilya could access.
He called from unknown numbers, lurked outside my office, sent mile-long messages claiming Kristina made it up and that his mother was just overreacting. I did not respond.
A month passed. I moved into a rented apartment with panoramic windows downtown, immersed myself in new projects, and slept peacefully again.
The final twist came on a rainy Tuesday evening. The intercom rang. I saw Ilya on the screen. No trace of his polished exterior remained. Wet, thin jacket, stubble, sunken face.
I let him in only to bring closure. He stepped into the hallway, leaving dirty marks on the light laminate floor. The smell was unpleasant.
— Sofia… — he snuffled. — Please, listen to me. I’m at rock bottom.
After my father-in-law had driven them away, Ilya had tried to prove his independence. He got involved with “reliable people,” borrowed a large sum against his car and his mother’s apartment share, and put everything into an investment fund that went bankrupt three weeks later.
— They come every day. They threaten me — he trembled, looking at me. — After what happened, your mother completely broke down; she doesn’t even leave the house. Kristina disappeared immediately after finding out about the debt.
Sofia, we have joint accounts… your company’s money. Help. I will sign over all my assets, just fix the debt!
I looked at the man I once wanted to grow old with — and felt only disgust.
— So you didn’t come to apologize? — I crossed my arms. — You want money to save your own skin?
— Sofia, dangerous people! They’re going to kill us! — he stepped toward me, trying to reach my hand. I stepped back.
I took out the document my lawyer had prepared in advance from the dresser. According to it, the country house, which was formally purchased during our marriage but entirely with my money, was now legally mine—no court battles required.
— Sign it — I placed the paper and pen on the glass table. — You’re giving up all claims to the house and my accounts.
— And those people? Will you transfer the money to them tomorrow? — he greedily grabbed the pen, barely reading, scribbling all over every page.
I carefully took the document back, put it in the folder, and opened the door. A draft blew in from the yard.
— No, Ilya. I’m only taking what’s mine. The debt is your problem. Deal with your mother and your new woman yourself. Goodbye.
He froze, eyes wide. Slowly, he began to understand what I had said. His face twisted.
— You… you don’t dare! We’re family!
— There is no family anymore. Take your vitamins—I’ve heard they help with stress — I said gently but firmly, pushing him out the door as the lock clicked shut.
I went to the kitchen, turned on the kettle, and watched the rain-soaked windows. For the first time in many years, I didn’t have to accommodate anyone, didn’t have to save anyone.
