When I heard Maxim say that my family heirloom should be sold to satisfy his mother’s whims, something clicked in my head. Five years of life together, five years of patience and compromise turned to dust in just a few minutes. But let me start from the beginning.
It all began that fateful evening when we were getting ready to go to a restaurant. Maxim came home from work looking gloomier than a storm cloud.
“Valentina Petrovna made a comment about your outfit, Lada,” he blurted out without even greeting me. “She didn’t like it.”
“And do you care about her opinion?” My voice carried a note of defiance, and my husband immediately began to justify himself.
“I don’t know anything about women’s fashion. Looks fine to me.”
The story of my relationship with my husband was inextricably linked with endless conflicts with my mother-in-law. Valentina Petrovna was the embodiment of capriciousness and authority. In her eyes, I was never good enough for her adored, irreplaceable Maxim. I don’t think any woman could have won her approval, but since there were no alternatives, all the complaints fell on me.
After the wedding, we rented our own place. When we first met, Maxim was still living in his parents’ house, but I firmly declared that living with his mother was out of the question, so he agreed to rent an apartment. My career as a sales manager was thriving – a steady stream of customers and decent income proved that. Maxim, on the other hand, devoted himself to teaching karate to kids at a municipal center. The pay was modest, but he enjoyed the work, and I never reproached him for the small figures on his paychecks. Incidentally, it was Valentina Petrovna who arranged for him to go into teaching. She had spent her whole life as an educator and wore that as a badge of honor – she considered herself part of the cultural elite. Both mother and son could recite ancient Greek authors in classic translations, quote great poets and writers by heart, read endlessly, and wielded cutlery with the refinement of aristocrats.
I never shared their snobbery. Coming from a remote taiga village, I had managed to move to a big city, graduate with honors, and now earned three times more than my husband. True, I couldn’t recite classics, nor did I speak three foreign languages like Maxim and his mother – but was that really so important? I sincerely cared for Maxim – kept his sportswear in order, prepared diverse meals. And even that became a reason for quarrels with Valentina Petrovna.
“You don’t understand the principles of healthy eating, Lada! What are those rustic pies with greens and eggs, and fried in vegetable oil! You should only fry in butter, or better yet, bake. And you of all people shouldn’t indulge in pastries!”
This lecture came from a woman weighing over ninety kilos, while I weighed sixty at one meter seventy. Usually, I just smiled to myself and stayed silent – an elderly person can’t be changed. She was who she was. Thankfully, Valentina Petrovna didn’t visit us often, but whenever she did, it came with a mandatory lecture on household management.
“A woman must always remain a woman! Just look at how you’ve let yourself go!” she scolded when I appeared with messy hair and a nose red from a cold.
I’d been unwell for four days and looked miserable. But judging by her reaction, I was supposed to greet her in a festive gown, with a hairstyle, and a loaf of bread and salt on an embroidered towel.
“What kind of petty manners are these – darning socks? You earn enough to buy Maxim new ones!” she complained another time.
“They wear out quickly, and I don’t see anything shameful in sewing up a little hole at the heel.”
“You may have changed your address, but you remain a country girl! You graduated from who-knows-what university, work at who-knows-what job, and frankly… I don’t understand what my son saw in you. Such a talented young man, a born teacher, with such a fine education.”
I would sigh deeply, not bothering to defend my education, my profession, or my housekeeping. The strategy of patience worked – conflicts with Valentina Petrovna were rare. But the bitterness inside me toward that woman kept growing. Especially since Maxim usually took his mother’s side, and at times I felt I would always remain secondary in his life.
He was her only child. Maxim’s father had refused to marry her, which in those days was a scandal. As a single mother, she struggled greatly, especially since the baby was born with health problems. She spent Maxim’s entire childhood in hospitals and sleepless nights. Naturally, the bond between mother and son was incredibly strong, and there was little I could do to draw his attention away from her.
My mother-in-law had a spacious house in a private neighborhood. Her father had once been a well-known scientist with a solid income back in Soviet times. After his death, and then her mother’s, she inherited several apartments and two dachas. Selling them all, she bought herself a grand mansion. But now, living off small investments and a teacher’s pension, she couldn’t afford major renovations. Still, she was determined to do them.
“Maybe we should help Mom with the renovations…” Maxim cautiously brought up one day.
“Maxim, we’re planning to get a mortgage, it’s time to think about children. If your mother can’t afford to maintain her mansion, she should move into something smaller. It would be better for everyone. She’s lonely in that palace, has nothing to do, and meddles in our lives.”
“Yes, logically you’re right, but she’s attached to her house. And you have a dacha…”
“The dacha came to me from my grandfather. That’s not even up for discussion!” I cut him off sharply.
It was true – I had a dacha, though with an old house. My grandfather had moved there after my grandmother passed. In his youth, he was skilled at woodworking, and the spacious two-story house was still strong, adorned with beautiful carvings. Fruit trees and berry bushes planted by my grandmother had long gone wild. But I wasn’t in a hurry to part with it – sometimes I rented it out to neighbors so the land wouldn’t be abandoned. For me, that dacha was priceless. I had spent my entire childhood there, helping my grandparents and resting. It was a place of strength and cherished memories.
“Are you hinting at selling it?” I asked Maxim over dinner.
Avoiding my gaze, he shrugged:
“Well, it would be enough to cover the renovations for Mom’s hallway and bedroom. Not more, of course.”
“I’ll say it again: let her move into an apartment and stop standing at our door with her hand out!”
It seemed the matter was closed, and for a while Maxim didn’t bring it up again. At that time, work became especially intense for me. Our office sold stationery, and August was always hectic. Calls came even late at night, which annoyed my husband.
“It’s already half past eleven!”
“Maxim, the head office is in Moscow, you know that! Don’t be angry, I’ll get a great bonus in September for all this effort,” I explained.
He grumbled and went to bed, while I worked until exhaustion. I even planned to take two weeks off in October to rest.
At the end of summer, we decided to spend a weekend in the forest together. But an unpleasant surprise awaited me. On Friday evening, my mother-in-law arrived, exchanging loaded glances with her son.
“Lada, we thought that with the money from selling your property we could renovate Mom’s house,” my husband announced.
Valentina Petrovna looked approvingly and sweetly at Maxim.
“I’ve already explained to him – I’m not selling anything.”
“Oh, Lada, the dacha is just sitting there. Why cling to this ‘grandfather’s memory’? You still have photos of him. The dacha is just a burden. Selling it would be the most sensible and profitable decision. Mom needs that renovation badly.”
“She needs new wallpaper in her bedroom, and the kitchen completely redone. Your old dacha would cover it perfectly…”
“My dacha is mine alone. I’m not selling it, Valentina Petrovna, just to satisfy your whims. I’ve told your son already, now I’ll repeat it to you – move to a smaller place where repairs aren’t such a costly luxury.”
“Listen, Maxim, this woman is even being rude to me!” my mother-in-law flared, hands on her hips, eyes blazing. “She hasn’t even given you children yet, and she’s already running the show here. She must respect her husband – and me all the more!”
“And I deserve respect too. I pay the rent for this apartment, because your son, whom you’re so proud of, earns far less. And now you want to take away the dacha I inherited? Absolutely not.”
“Mom is completely right, Lada. But since you’re being stubborn, choose right now – either you sell that shack you haven’t needed for years, or I’m leaving you!” my husband suddenly blurted out.
I couldn’t believe my ears – I’d been married nearly five years to this man? A spoiled mama’s boy. How dare he demand I sell something for his mother’s repairs! She had belittled me from the first day of our marriage, and now he sided with her.
I looked at my husband as if he were a stranger. A child with him? A mortgage with him? Thank heavens the mask slipped before we took such steps. With a baby and a loan, everything would have been so much harder.
“Pack your things, darling. Take your mother, and both of you get out!” I exploded.
My husband tried to calm me down, while his mother hurled insults. I threatened to call the police, and they vanished like the wind. An hour later, I received a message from Maxim: “When can I pick up the rest of my things?” I replied: “Tomorrow morning.”
I left early the next day and went to the forest as planned. Just because my marriage ended didn’t mean I had to give up small joys, right?
When I came home, I couldn’t believe my eyes. It was obvious Maxim and his mother had been there – she had dropped a button from a sweater I’d given her three years ago. They had taken everything – even the pretty blue cups she’d once gifted me for my birthday. They took darned socks, a sewing kit, some dishes, and even… salt! That last one made me laugh. I could just picture her scooping half a packet of salt into a bag, carefully wrapping the “precious contents.” Their pettiness disgusted me, but in a way, I felt relief. At least we parted like this, and I would never see her again.
In October, after the busy work season, I took my two-week vacation and went to my grandfather’s dacha. The carved house looked like a fairy-tale cottage. The October weather was surprisingly warm, golden leaves covering the paths. I walked through the forest, slept in the house full of memories, and even visited my elderly neighbor Aunt Klava, who had been friends with my grandmother. We chatted until late into the night.
Valentina Petrovna called me a few times, but I didn’t answer. Maxim never called at all – and I didn’t regret it. It was good that it ended exactly the way it did. Had we not separated, I would never have met Igor. My future husband turned out to be a wonderful man. I even got lucky with my new mother-in-law – she considered me a gift for her son.
Soon Igor and I had a beautiful baby boy, Semyon. I long ago forgot about Maxim and Valentina Petrovna, happy with my new husband and adoring my little son. As people rightly say: “Every cloud has a silver lining.”
