— Len, are you going to stay in there much longer? — Dmitry’s voice drifted in from the hallway. — Your mom called. She said she’s stopping by tonight.
Lena closed her eyes and slowly counted to five.
Valentina Petrovna. The mother-in-law. The woman who, in five years of marriage, had never once called her by her name. Only “dear” or “little girl,” as if Lena were still eighteen, even though thirty was already breathing down her neck.
— Alright, — she answered shortly and stepped out of the bedroom.
Dmitry was sitting on the couch, his laptop balanced on his knees, blond hair tousled, thin-framed glasses slipping down his nose. A programmer. Well-paid. And yet money somehow always vanished.
Sometimes it was his mother’s broken refrigerator. Sometimes a friend in the hospital who needed “just a little help” for medication. Sometimes the leaking roof of a country house Lena had never even seen — but which Valentina Petrovna proudly called Dmitry’s inheritance.
— Dim, we need to talk about something, — Lena sat down beside him, a folder thick with printed pages in her hands.
— Mm? — he murmured, not looking away from the screen.
— It’s important. It’s about my birthday.
He finally lifted his gaze.
— Sure. What did you have in mind? Same as usual? Our parents, Oleg and Masha?
Lena took his hand.
— No. I want it differently this time. I want a real celebration. I’m turning thirty. I got a new position. I want everyone there — people from university I haven’t seen in years, colleagues, friends. Around twenty to thirty people.
Dmitry blinked.
— Thirty people? Lena, our apartment is tiny. Where would we even fit them?
— Not here. I already found a café. — She opened the folder and showed him the photos. — “The Sail,” on the seaside promenade. Big windows, ocean view.
The hall fits forty people. They have their own kitchen, banquet service. I spoke with the manager, calculated everything. If we tighten our belts a bit, we can do it for 120,000.
Dmitry leaned back.
— 120,000? Lena, that’s insane.
— Why? It’s my celebration. My thirtieth birthday. I want to remember it. I’ve spent my whole life cutting corners, giving things up for myself.
Just once, I want a real holiday. No cooking. No washing dishes. No running back and forth to the kitchen all night. I want to be the queen of the evening — not the help.
— But Lena…
— My salary is different now, Dim. We can afford it. We really can.
Dmitry rubbed the bridge of his nose.
— Okay. Let me think about it. I need time to process.
Lena smiled and kissed his cheek. She knew she’d convinced him. Only the final approval remained. Valentina Petrovna arrived exactly at seven, as always, loaded with bags and dissatisfaction.
— Dmitry, help your mother, — she commanded as she walked in, and her son obediently rushed to take the bags.
— Good evening, Valentina Petrovna, — Lena said.
— Oh, dear, you’re home, — her mother-in-law scanned her critically. — New blouse? Must be expensive.
— Just something simple. Come in, I’ll make tea.
Over tea, Valentina Petrovna launched into her usual tragedies — the rude cashier, the awful neighbor, the aching back, the jumping blood pressure. Lena half-listened, nodding automatically in the right places. She’d learned the routine.
— Dmitry, my son, — the older woman placed her hand over his. — I wanted to talk to you. Remember Ludochka? My friend? She went to a health resort in Zheleznovodsk. She came back reborn.
Her back is fine. Her blood pressure is normal. I think I need to go too. I feel terrible. I can barely sleep.
Lena tensed. This was it. The performance had begun.
— Well, Mom… — Dmitry hesitated. — Those places aren’t cheap.
— Eighteen days cost 95,000, — Valentina Petrovna said quickly. — Ludochka says the food is wonderful, treatments every day. I really need it, Dimmy. I can hardly walk.
Lena looked at her closely. Rosy cheeks. Fit figure. Freshly dyed hair. Perfect manicure. At fifty-nine, she could easily outshine many women in their forties.
— You see, Mom, we have big expenses right now, — Dmitry began, but she cut him off.
— What could possibly be more important than a mother’s health? — her voice carried wounded indignation. — I’m not asking for nonsense. Doctors recommend it.
— Which doctors? — Lena burst out. — You said yourself you haven’t seen one in years.
Valentina Petrovna looked at her like an annoying fly.
— Dear, I’m speaking to my son. Dmitry, you won’t leave your mother to suffer, will you?
— No, of course not, Mom. We’ll figure something out.
After she left, Lena stood in silence, stacking dishes. Dmitry sat on the couch, staring at his phone as if salvation might be hiding on the screen.
— She’s manipulating you, — Lena said at last, her voice trembling with restrained fury.
— Please don’t start, — Dmitry sighed.
— I will start. Because this keeps happening. Your mother always finds something she urgently needs money for. And it’s always when we have our own plans.
— Lena, she really doesn’t feel well.
— She feels perfectly fine. — Lena’s voice cut through the room like cold wind. — She looks great. She’s full of energy. Her friend went to a resort, and suddenly she can’t be worse.
Dmitry stood up, confusion and loyalty battling in his eyes.
— Are you saying my mother is lying?
— I’m saying she knows exactly how to pressure you. “A mother’s health.” “You won’t abandon your mother.” Don’t you notice she always uses the same words?
— Enough. I won’t listen to this. She’s my mother. If she needs help, I’ll help her.
Lena set the towel down and looked straight at him.
— Ninety-five thousand. Almost the same amount as my birthday dinner.
Dmitry froze.
— And what are you implying?
— Nothing. Just stating a fact.
The next days passed in heavy silence. Dmitry worked late. Lena organized the celebration — invitations, menus, calls. She felt a storm approaching but tried not to think about it.
On Friday evening, Dmitry came home early. Lena knew immediately — the talk was coming.
— Lena, sit down. We need to talk seriously.
She sat, arms crossed.
— I’m listening.
— I’ve thought about this a lot. We need to find a compromise.
— What kind of compromise?
— Hear me out. Mom really needs the resort. But I understand your birthday matters too. So here’s my idea: cancel the café. Let’s celebrate at home, like always. Invite ten people, just the closest ones. We’ll save money, and there’ll be enough for both — Mom’s resort and your birthday.
Lena stayed silent, icy rage spreading through her chest.
— So I have to give up my birthday to send your mother to a resort? — Her voice shook.
— Not give up. Just make it simpler.
— Dim, I’ve been doing everything “simpler” for five years! — she exploded. — I gave up Italy because your mom needed dental work. I didn’t buy a new coat because she needed a bathroom renovation. I’m constantly sacrificing myself for her. And now, when I finally can do something for myself, you want me to give it up again?
— It’s not giving up. It’s compromise.
— What kind of compromise is that? — Lena shouted. — Why does compromise always mean I lose something? Why can’t your mother wait a few months? Or choose a cheaper place? Or save the money herself? She has a pension. She has savings.
— She has no savings. She spent everything on my education, on our wedding.
— Twenty thousand for our wedding! And she reminds me of it every year!
Dmitry’s face went pale.
— Don’t you dare talk about my mother like that.
— I’m telling the truth! — Lena shot back. — She’s a manipulator. She could wait. She just chose this moment because she knew about my plans.
— How would she know?
— From you. You told her I wanted to “spend money.” And she immediately figured out how to take it.
— You sound paranoid.
— And you sound like a mama’s boy.
The room filled with frozen tension.
— If that’s how you feel, — Dmitry said slowly, — maybe we made a mistake getting married.
Lena stiffened inside but didn’t retreat.
— Maybe we did.
He turned and left. The door closed softly behind him.
The next morning, Dmitry returned after staying at a friend’s. They ate breakfast in silence. Before leaving for work, Lena spoke.
— Dim, we really need to talk.
He nodded and sat back down.
— I don’t want to fight, — Lena said calmly. — But I need to say this. Your mother will always come first. I finally understand that. And I can’t live with it. I won’t spend my life sacrificing my dreams for her whims.
— She’s not greedy…
— Dim, — Lena placed her hand over his. — You still can’t see it. She’s healthy. She doesn’t need a resort. She needs attention. Your attention. And our money. And she’ll always find a reason. And you’ll always give it. Because you can’t say no.
Dmitry stared at his cold coffee.
— I’m done, — Lena continued. — I’m tired of feeling guilty for wanting something for myself. Tired of my wishes being called selfish, while her demands are treated as sacred.
— So what do you suggest? — he asked dully.
Lena took a deep breath.
— We should divorce.
He looked at her, pain and confusion in his eyes — but not surprise.
— Because of a birthday? Some money?
— Not because of the birthday. Because in five years, you never once stood up for me. Not once. When she humiliated me — you were silent. When she hinted I wasn’t good enough — silent. When she demanded money — you gave it. Every time. And I know it won’t change.
— I can change.
— No, — Lena whispered. — To change, you’d have to admit your mother manipulates you. And you can’t. She’s sacred to you. And I won’t compete with the sacred.
— So that’s it?
— Yes.
He left quietly.
Three days later came the last attempt — Dmitry and his mother together. Valentina Petrovna looked at Lena like a queen on her throne.
— See what stubbornness leads to? Ruining a family over a café.
— I’m not leaving because of a café, — Lena said evenly. — I’m leaving because there’s no respect. Because my wishes always come second to your whims.
— Whims? — Valentina Petrovna snapped. — I’m sick!
— You’re not sick. You’re manipulative.
— Dmitry! — she cried. — Are you hearing this?
— Mom, please…
— So you’ll really divorce her over money?
And then came the line Lena had been waiting for.
— You won’t care if I die! I’ve already saved for my funeral!
Lena looked at her, then at Dmitry.
— See? — Lena said quietly. — Predictable. Dim, send your mother to ten resorts if you want. This is no longer my problem. I’m divorcing you. And I’ll celebrate my birthday the way I want.
Silence.
The birthday was magical. Twenty-five people at “The Sail.” Music. Dancing. Laughter. When Lena blew out the candles, she realized — she was happy. Truly happy. For the first time in years.
— Do you regret it? — her friend Ira asked later.
— No. I’m free.
A month later, Lena signed the divorce papers. She bought a plane ticket. Applied for a visa to Italy. On the plane, watching the clouds drift by, she remembered her wish: to be happy.
It was coming true. Not instantly. Not the way she planned. But it was coming true. The best gift she gave herself at thirty wasn’t a party. It wasn’t a café. It was freedom. And that freedom was worth an entire life.
