“Mom, I need to talk to you. It’s important,” Oleg said the moment he stepped into the living room.
Alina Ivanovna didn’t look away from the television.
“What now? You’re so serious, it’s almost frightening.”
“I’ve taken an important step in my life,” he began. “I have a fiancée. Her name is Vika. We’ve already filed the paperwork at the registry office. The wedding is soon.”
Before he could finish, his mother whipped around as if he had just told her something unthinkable. Her eyes widened, lips parted, and the remote in her hand trembled.
“Well, you never stop surprising me,” she snorted, turning off the TV. “This might be the best news I’ll hear all evening. So, who is this mysterious bride?”
“Mom, please—don’t start with the sarcasm,” Oleg winced. “We’ve been together six months. It’s real. We love each other.”
“Six months?!” Alina Ivanovna threw up her hands. “You kept this secret for half a year? And now you expect me to throw open my arms to this… Vika?”
“That’s exactly why I didn’t tell you earlier,” he sighed. “You always measure people by money, by status, by connections. Never by what’s inside.”
“Son, we have a reputation,” she said coldly. “Respect, influence, business ties. I won’t let some nobody ruin all that. You’re almost thirty and still so naïve.”
“Enough.” Oleg’s voice cut through the room. “Yes, Vika is from a village. So what? She’s genuine. She hasn’t asked me for a single thing—not money, not gifts. That’s what matters.”
His mother sat frozen, pale as marble. The cup of tea on the table shook dangerously, almost spilling.
“Are you serious?” she whispered. “A village girl? No education, no career, no prospects… And this is who you choose?”
“You don’t know her,” Oleg replied firmly. “We met by chance last summer, when she worked at a coffee shop. The moment I saw her smile, her eyes—I knew I couldn’t just walk away.”
“Oh, of course,” Alina Ivanovna scoffed. “They’re all like that—kind, honest, smart. Like fairy-tale princesses.”
“Stop it,” Oleg tensed. “You’re being cruel. She’s nothing like what you think. She’s kind. She’s caring. She makes me happy.”
“I bet she’s wonderful at digging potatoes too,” his mother sneered.
Oleg’s fists clenched. That was the last straw.
“This is my choice. I love her. And I’m marrying her—whether you approve or not.”
He turned sharply and walked out. His mother sat still, watching his retreating figure.
“Fine. Do as you wish… But don’t say later I didn’t warn you.”
That evening, Alina Ivanovna’s old friend Katya dropped by.
“I have news,” Alina began slyly as she poured tea.
“What, you finally got rid of that annoying neighbor?” Katya joked.
“Better. Oleg decided to get married!”
“Well, thank God! About time. My Dima already has two kids, and yours is still a bachelor.”
“It’s not that simple,” Alina shook her head. “He picked a girl from the provinces. She worked at a coffee shop while studying—took the bus fifty kilometers every day.”
“So what? You’ll help her, support her,” Katya shrugged.
But Alina frowned, clearly unhappy with such calmness.
“She’s just after his money!” she burst out. “These girls all dream of latching onto city life and never going back.”
“Maybe,” Katya said thoughtfully. “But maybe her place really is in the garden, and Oleg will only suffer because of her.”
“Exactly!” Alina exclaimed. “I’ve got an idea. Remember Svetlana Petrova? She said she got her son away from some schemer by hiring a girl to seduce him—and had photos taken. Within a week, it was over.”
“Seriously?” Katya’s eyes lit up. “Tell me more.”
“We just need the right girl,” Alina mused. “It might work for me too. Svetka promised to give me a contact.”
A few days later, Alina met Angelina—a slim brunette with sharp blue eyes, polished manners, and glasses in an expensive frame.
“Just Oleg’s type,” Alina thought with satisfaction.
“Hello, please sit,” Angelina greeted politely. “Tea? Coffee?”
“No, thank you,” Alina said briskly. “Let’s get straight to business. You’re Angelina, right?”
“Yes. What exactly do you need from me?”
“My son is being misled. He’s fallen for the wrong woman — a simple provincial girl. I fear he’ll ruin his future.”
“I see,” Angelina smirked. “And you want me to distract him?”
“You’re beautiful, magnetic. You’ll catch his attention easily. I’ll pay for your efforts. Are you interested?”
“I’ll need his photos and work address. You’ll have results in a couple of days.”
The scheme unfolded flawlessly. Angelina “accidentally” met Oleg, staging a casual introduction. Soon after, Alina Ivanovna received photos: Oleg and Angelina together, one of them even showing a kiss on the cheek.
The next step was Vika. Alina decided to act the part of a softened mother.
“Hello, Olezhek? It’s me.”
“Hi, Mom. What’s going on?”
“I thought… maybe I should come visit this weekend? It’s time I met Vika. Since you’re serious, I’m ready to accept your choice.”
“Really?” Oleg’s voice trembled with joy. “She’ll be thrilled. I’ll arrange everything. I’ll pick you up from the city.”
“Thank you, son. I’m looking forward to it,” she replied, trying to sound warmer than she felt.
After hanging up, she sat still, staring at an old photo of her late husband. Her lips quivered.
“All for you… for Oleg… as you asked,” she whispered, brushing away a lone tear.
The following weekend, Oleg drove with confident ease. The car glided forward, bouncing over bumps in the road. His face reflected calm excitement — anticipation of something bright ahead. The air in the cabin warmed as mother and son began to talk. At first her words were restrained, almost guarded, but gradually their conversation grew livelier, dotted with laughter and shared memories: school years, summers with grandma, the family photo album.
For the first time in years, Alina felt herself opening up. Oleg smiled as he listened, keeping his eyes on the road, relishing the closeness he hadn’t felt with her in so long.
A fleeting thought passed through her: It’s easier now. But the illusion cracked when Oleg said:
“Mom, we’re almost there. Just a couple more kilometers.”
Her face stiffened again. Doubt crept back in. The road narrowed into a rough village path. To the left stretched the river, to the right sagging wooden stalls and one shabby shop. The car jolted violently, its suspension groaning.
“Don’t tell me this is the main road?” she muttered irritably. “In the twenty-first century — and it feels like the Stone Age!”
The car clattered over potholes. Alina clenched her jaw.
“What a disgrace! Couldn’t they at least lay proper asphalt?”
“There aren’t really other streets,” Oleg laughed. “But the company matters more than the road.”
“The road, son, is the face of a place. And here… everything feels forgotten, uncomfortable. You seriously want to live here?”
“Yes, Mom,” he nodded calmly. “Vika is here. The air is cleaner, life is simpler. And I love this silence. The city drains me.”
She sighed, crossing her arms.
“Alright, I’ll try not to complain. But if the way back is this bad — promise me your next fiancée will be from the city. Somewhere with proper asphalt under the windows.”
Oleg laughed, taking it as a joke. She forced a smile, though inside guilt twisted quietly.
“There’s Vika’s house,” he said, turning into a side street.
“The last time I came to a village,” she mused, peering through the window, “was before I met your father.”
She braced herself to see a shabby shack — a crooked fence, peeling paint. But the sight startled her.
The house stood immaculate. Whitewashed walls, carved window frames, flowers blooming in the sills, a clean, paved path leading to the door. Everything looked so cared for, so harmonious, that Alina involuntarily caught her breath.
“Unexpected…” she murmured. “Maybe her parents help her?”
“Vika has no parents. She’s been on her own since childhood. Please — don’t mention it. It’s painful.”
For the first time in years, Alina felt uneasy, almost intrusive, as if she had stepped into someone else’s carefully built world.
Why did I come here at all? The plan she had clung to suddenly felt flimsy.
“Where is she? Why isn’t she outside to meet us?” Alina asked, scanning the yard.
“In the kitchen,” Oleg smiled. “She’s cooking. She wanted to make sure we’d have a proper dinner.”
She didn’t even have time to sneer — the aroma of baking and fresh herbs reached her first. It was the smell of home. Warmth. Comfort.
Stepping inside, she was overtaken by a strange feeling, as though she had walked straight into a fairy tale. A spacious living room, a soft carpet underfoot, a fireplace crackling with firewood — everything was arranged with such care. Not just pretty. Genuinely warm.
Alina Ivanovna stopped in her tracks. Could this truly be the same Vika she had already written off as nothing more than a “village girl”?
“Mom, how are you? Everything okay?” Oleg asked, taking her hand.
“I just don’t understand…” she muttered. “How can a girl who works summers like this afford to live here?”
“It’s all her own work,” Oleg answered softly. “And she puts her whole soul into it.”
Vika emerged from the kitchen. Her light brown hair was neatly tied back, her eyes kind, her movements graceful. Everything about her was unexpected.
“Hi, love,” Oleg hugged her and kissed her cheek. “Meet my mom.”
“Very pleased to meet you, Alina Ivanovna,” Vika smiled warmly, extending her hand. “Oleg’s told me so much about you. I’m glad you came.”
The older woman nodded briefly, polite but wary. She studied the girl closely: too confident, too well-groomed, not at all what she had imagined.
“Not what I thought,” Alina Ivanovna admitted to herself. “But my goal is different. The main thing is to get her alone.”
“Very nice, Victoria,” she said cautiously. “It’s cozy here… and it smells wonderful.”
“Thank you! Please, come to the kitchen — the table’s already set,” Vika replied, eager to make the evening feel warm.
Dinner lasted long. Cabbage pie, potatoes in sour cream, mint tea — simple homemade dishes that somehow brought them closer. Vika tried to be friendly, asking questions and offering compliments. Alina Ivanovna responded with restraint, her eyes still guarded.
Oleg sensed the tension. He cracked jokes, recalled childhood stories, told about his clumsy first attempts at cooking, hoping the two most important women in his life would find common ground.
But as the evening wound down, Vika realized the ice hadn’t broken. She felt weary, confused, yet still hopeful — there was time ahead to earn trust.
Then came the moment. Oleg stepped outside to “check the car,” leaving only Vika and his mother in the kitchen.
“Tell me, Vika…” Alina Ivanovna broke the silence, leaning closer. “Do you truly love my son?”
“Of course,” Vika replied softly, smiling. “How could I not? He’s caring, attentive, always supportive. With him, I’m genuinely happy. Honestly.”
“Yes, that’s how I raised him,” the woman nodded, slipping her phone out of her bag. “Would you like to see him as a child? I’ve got some adorable photos.”
“Gladly!” Vika’s face lit up, unaware of the trap behind the offer.
Alina Ivanovna began scrolling: little Oleg with a toy, dressed as a bunny for a school play, picking berries at the dacha. Vika laughed, admired, commented with warmth.
And then — the tenth photo. Oleg with a beautiful stranger in his arms. Another shot — the two of them kissing. It was Angelina.
The mother-in-law carefully studied Vika’s face, expecting pain, jealousy, maybe even tears. But Vika only flipped the page calmly.
“Lovely photos,” she remarked indifferently. Then, standing up, added, “I’ll wash the dishes — you relax.”
Alina Ivanovna was left alone, a burning sensation in her chest. Her plan had failed. Where she had expected pain, she saw composure. Where jealousy should have sparked, there was calm.
“Why didn’t she explode? Why didn’t she even ask?” Thoughts raced through her mind.
“And these pictures… with that girl… do you know her?” she finally asked, unable to restrain herself.
“Yes, I do,” Vika replied, drying a plate. “A client who tried to flirt with Oleg. He told me about her. She was clingy, even followed him. Someone snapped photos.”
“Then how did you end up with them?”
“Oleg sent them to me himself,” Vika said shortly, making it clear she didn’t want to discuss it further.
That night, Alina Ivanovna went to her room, lay down without turning on the light, and stared at the ceiling for a long time. “Looks like it’s decided now…” With that thought, she fell asleep.
From then on, wedding preparations moved quickly. Oleg and Vika brimmed with excitement, while Alina Ivanovna returned home with a storm inside her — broken plans, forced acceptance of a reality she didn’t want.
At the wedding itself, she stood among the guests like an actress on stage, wearing a mask of joy. Her smile was forced, her words polite, but inside boiled hurt, resentment, and helpless anger.
When the newlyweds exchanged vows, she felt frozen. A single thought spun in her head like a broken record: How did this happen? How did I let this happen?
Her old friend Katya stood quietly by her side, offering silent support.
“I did everything I could!” Alina Ivanovna hissed through clenched teeth. “I tried to stop this madness. Why didn’t he listen?”
“Don’t—” Katya began, but didn’t manage to finish.
Hurried footsteps echoed behind them. The women turned — and saw Vika. Her face was flushed, her smile radiant, happiness spilling from her every movement.
“Alina Ivanovna, do you like everything? The hall, the music, the food?” she asked, still catching her breath.
“Everything is… quite decent,” the mother-in-law replied coldly, nodding stiffly. “Well done.”
“Wonderful!” Vika beamed. “I’ll run, the cake is about to be served!”
She hurried away, leaving behind only a trace of warmth — and Alina Ivanovna’s growing frost.
“This is absurd. A mistake. A terrible mistake,” the older woman muttered, her face contorted. “I won’t allow my family to be dragged into this.”
“Please, Alina, don’t—” Katya whispered, clutching her hand.
But it was already too late.
Alina Ivanovna strode into the center of the hall. Her voice rang out, sharp as steel:
“Ladies and gentlemen, may I have your attention! I can’t keep silent any longer!”
The music stopped. Conversations died away. All eyes turned to her.
“This so-called wedding is not a union — it’s a disaster,” she declared. “My son has tied his fate to a woman unworthy of him. She has nothing — no education, no prospects. Just a peasant background and a greedy eye on our status.”
Gasps swept through the hall. Guests exchanged bewildered glances, whispering in disbelief.
“You heard me right!” she raised her voice. “This isn’t love, it’s calculation. She took him not with her heart, but with her hunger to escape poverty.”
Vika froze, her fingers gripping Oleg’s hand tightly. Pain clouded her eyes, her voice trembling:
“How can you say that?”
“Why not?” Alina Ivanovna shot back, cold as ice. “Tell me, Victoria — what can you offer my son besides a smile and your shabby little house in the village?”
Oleg stepped forward, his expression hard, his voice ringing with anger:
“Enough, Mom! This is our day. There’s no room for this here. You’ve crossed the line.”
But she refused to stop. Her fury poured out — aimed as much at her son as at his bride.
“You chose her? Fine! But don’t expect my blessing. I cannot and will not approve this marriage.”
Every word cut into Vika like a knife. Her chest tightened with unbearable pain. Yet she found the strength to speak, her voice quiet but steady, though tears shimmered in her eyes:
“I’m sorry if my presence offends anyone. But I love Oleg. Not for money, not for advantage — simply because he is my life. All I ask is respect. As for love… you don’t seem to understand what it truly is.”
“You don’t know what real love is!” Alina Ivanovna spat, her fists trembling. “Love is responsibility, care, equality. And you—”
“Stop!” Oleg thundered, stepping between them. “She is my wife. And you will never insult her again. Not today. Not ever.”
The hall fell into a suffocating silence. Guests stood frozen, eyes darting, not knowing where to look.
Alina Ivanovna’s face went pale. In that moment, she realized she hadn’t just lost an argument — she had lost her son. His words struck her like a verdict. Her body seemed to age before everyone’s eyes. Confusion flickered across her stern face, followed by the weight of regret settling like stone in her chest. Slowly, she stepped back, lowering her gaze.
Then, suddenly, new voices broke the silence. From the corridor came the sound of footsteps. At the doorway stood an elegant elderly couple, dressed with refinement, carrying themselves with quiet dignity.
“Vika, darling, are you all right?” the woman called, her voice laced with concern.
Alina Ivanovna’s head snapped up in shock. “Who… who are you?”
“We,” the man said firmly, “are her parents.”
Oleg froze, unable to process what he had just heard. His Vika — the modest girl from the village — was suddenly revealed to be the daughter of wealthy parents?
His eyes shifted from her to her parents, and inside him a storm raged — doubts, resentment, pain. Everything he thought he knew was crumbling before his eyes.
“Explain,” he said quietly, though his voice carried a deep wound. “Vika… what does this mean?”
“Let’s talk somewhere private,” she whispered, gently taking his hand.
But Alina Ivanovna trailed behind, unwilling to miss a single word of the unfolding drama.
In the shadow of the columns, Vika finally spoke:
“Oleg, I’m ashamed. I was afraid the truth would ruin everything. Yes, my parents are well-off. Since childhood I’ve had every opportunity — the best schools, travel, everything. But I wanted to be loved for myself, not for my name or my family’s money. Working summers at the café was my choice. I wanted to know how it feels to be ordinary, to live without that mask of an heiress.”
“So you lied to me?” Oleg’s voice trembled. “You deliberately hid who you really are?”
“No,” she shook her head. “I wasn’t pretending. I truly feel at home in simplicity. In the village, I can breathe. I chose you because you looked at me as a person, not a fortune. You’re the first man who ever saw me — not the account behind me.”
“And what else haven’t you told me?” he asked bitterly. “We were about to build a life together. Why didn’t you trust me?”
“There’s nothing else,” she said firmly. “I chose you not for appearances but for who you are inside. You are the first who has ever mattered to me.”
Alina Ivanovna, listening, felt the ground give way beneath her. She had dismissed this girl as a nobody, yet here she stood — more worthy than she had ever imagined.
Oleg looked around the house, which he had once thought so simple. “Now it all makes sense. I wondered how you managed to create such comfort. Now I see.”
“Yes, my father and I built it. Not to impress anyone, but because I wanted a place of my own. And I never asked anything from you — except love.”
“Did you think I’d take advantage of you?” he asked, his eyes fixed on her.
“I was afraid to lose you,” she admitted softly. “But now you know the truth.”
Alina Ivanovna could no longer bear it. She turned abruptly and left, her chest tightening under the weight of realization. Today she had not only humiliated Vika — she had lost her son’s respect. Maybe forever.
“Forgive me…” was all she managed before the door closed behind her.
Oleg remained still, holding Vika’s hand. Inside him churned a storm — hurt, disappointment, but also a love too strong to erase. He left soon after, following his mother, needing time alone to face and accept it all.
Weeks passed. Then months. Slowly, Oleg learned to forgive Vika. Not for the secret she had kept, but for the love that proved stronger than deception. Together they decided to stay in the village. He refused the apartment her parents had offered; he wanted their bond to stand on nothing but themselves.
His relationship with his mother healed gradually. Alina Ivanovna understood, at last, that her words and actions had driven a wedge between them. That guilt weighed heavier than any reproach.
Only a year later, thanks to Vika’s quiet patience, did Oleg finally begin speaking warmly to his mother again. They would never be quite the same, but they found new, gentler notes in their bond.
Soon Alina Ivanovna began visiting often. Then she stayed, helping with the children. And when tiny hands first wrapped around her, she realized: happiness is not in wealth, nor pride, nor control. True happiness is in family, love, and forgiveness.
