Catherine was setting the table, trying to make everything look perfect. Today was Dmitry’s thirty-fifth birthday—a milestone—and for the first time in a long while, both families were getting together. The crystal glasses her mother had given them for the wedding took pride of place beside the porcelain dinner set.
“Katya, maybe we shouldn’t have invited mine?” Dmitry nervously tugged at his tie, watching his wife from the doorway.
“Dima, it’s your birthday. Of course your mother and Alena should be here,” Catherine replied calmly, arranging the place settings. “And my parents too. We’re a family; we should get together at least sometimes.”
Dmitry snorted but kept quiet. In seven years of marriage, such gatherings had always turned into a trial. Lyudmila Ivanovna, his mother, could ruin any celebration with a single remark, and Alena, his younger sister, always backed her up.
Catherine’s parents arrived first. Viktor Petrovich and Elena Sergeevna were a typical intellectual couple. Her father taught history at the university, her mother worked as a librarian. Quiet, polite, they always tried to avoid conflict.
“Katya, everything is wonderful,” said Elena Sergeevna, hugging her daughter. “How well you’ve managed.”
“Mama, the main thing is no incidents today,” Catherine whispered back, returning the hug.
Viktor Petrovich shook his son-in-law’s hand and presented a gift—an expensive watch in a leather case.
“Happy birthday, Dmitry. May time work in your favor.”
“Thank you, Viktor Petrovich,” Dmitry smiled sincerely. He had always had steady relations with his father-in-law.
Half an hour later, the doorbell rang—imperious and insistent. Lyudmila Ivanovna did not like to wait.
“At last!” The mother-in-law burst into the apartment without waiting for the door to open fully. “Dimochka, my son, happy birthday!”
Trailing behind her was Alena—a thirty-year-old copy of Lyudmila Ivanovna, just younger. Both wore bright dresses, draped in gold, their hair piled high.
“Good afternoon, Lyudmila Ivanovna,” said Elena Sergeevna politely.
The mother-in-law gave her an appraising once-over.
“Oh, you’re here too. Well, a holiday is a holiday.”
Catherine clenched her teeth. It had begun.
At the table, Lyudmila Ivanovna took the seat at the head, though that spot traditionally belonged to the birthday boy. Dmitry didn’t object—he was used to yielding to his mother.
“Well then, let’s drink to my son!” Lyudmila Ivanovna raised her glass. “To his life becoming easier and happier!”
“That’s a strange toast,” Catherine remarked. “Is Dima having a hard time right now?”
The mother-in-law looked at her daughter-in-law with poorly concealed irritation.
“Well, when a man has to carry two families on his back, it’s never easy.”
“Two families?” repeated Viktor Petrovich.
“Of course,” Alena chimed in. “Dima supports us and you. He must be tired of such a burden by now.”
Catherine felt the blood rush to her face. Her parents exchanged a silent glance. Elena Sergeevna carefully set her fork on her plate.
“Excuse me, but we have never asked Dmitry for money,” said Viktor Petrovich calmly.
“Oh, come on,” waved off Lyudmila Ivanovna. “Everyone understands everything. Katya sat on maternity leave for two years—who fed them? Dimochka! And you come over as guests, bring little token gifts, and eat and drink on Dima’s money.”
“Mama!” Dmitry tried to intervene, but his voice lacked confidence.
“What, ‘Mama’?” Lyudmila Ivanovna raised her voice. “I’m telling the truth! Alenka and I at least have our pensions—we support ourselves. But those… intellectuals… they’ve spent their whole lives riding on other people’s backs!”
Viktor Petrovich paled. He had worked all his life, earned an honest living, raised a daughter, and never asked anything from anyone. Such an insult struck him hard.
“Lyudmila Ivanovna—” he began, but his wife set a hand on his shoulder.
“Don’t, Vitya,” said Elena Sergeevna softly. “Let’s go.”
Catherine’s parents rose from the table. Viktor Petrovich looked at his son-in-law.
“Dmitry, happy birthday again. All the best.”
“Viktor Petrovich, wait…” Dmitry began, but his father-in-law was already heading for the door.
“See, they’re offended!” Alena exclaimed triumphantly. “The truth stings!”
“Let them go,” said Lyudmila Ivanovna, pouring herself more wine. “No need to play at being counts around here. Dima, you’d better think about us, your real family, not about strangers.”
Catherine saw her parents to the door. Tears stood in her mother’s eyes; her father was silent, his jaw clenched.
“I’m sorry,” Catherine whispered. “I didn’t think they would…”
“Katya, it’s not your fault,” said Elena Sergeevna, hugging her daughter. “Take care of yourself. And think about whether you should keep putting up with this. We’ll take our grandson to stay with us.”
When her parents left, Catherine returned to the living room. Lyudmila Ivanovna and Alena were animatedly discussing how the bride’s parents were “stuck-up” and “dreary.”
“Are you satisfied?” Catherine asked coldly.
“What’s the problem?” the mother-in-law feigned surprise. “I simply told the truth. If they can’t handle it, that’s their problem.”
“You insulted my parents—people who have never done you any harm.”
“Katya, don’t dramatize,” Dmitry interjected. “Mama just expressed her opinion.”
Catherine turned to her husband.
“An opinion? Calling my father, a university professor who has worked honestly all his life, a freeloader—that’s an opinion?”
“Well, they’re not exactly wealthy,” Dmitry shrugged. “And Mama is right that I spend a lot on our family.”
“On OUR family, Dima! Not on them! On us and the child!”
“Enough shouting!” barked Lyudmila Ivanovna. “It’s my son’s birthday, not your parents’!”
“Who left because you insulted them,” Catherine felt rage boiling inside.
“Oh, how sensitive!” Alena snorted. “Typical softies. Used to everyone tiptoeing around them.”
The evening turned into a nightmare. Until midnight, Lyudmila Ivanovna and Alena sat there listing the “shortcomings” of Catherine’s parents, and Dmitry nodded silently, not daring to contradict his mother.
When the guests finally left, Catherine began clearing the table. Dmitry came up behind her, tried to hug her.
“Katya, don’t sulk. Mama didn’t mean anything by it; that’s just her character.”
Catherine pulled away.
“Dima, your mother insulted my parents. Called them freeloaders. Meanwhile, she lives in the apartment you bought and takes money from you every month.”
“That’s different! She’s my mother!”
“And my parents are nobody?” Catherine turned to her husband. “They’ve never spoken ill of your family, although they’ve had plenty of reason. And in return they got humiliation.”
“Your parents are too proud,” Dmitry muttered. “They could have endured it for the sake of the celebration. Not staged a demonstrative exit.”
Catherine couldn’t believe her ears.
“Endure it? Endure insults? Dima, do you hear yourself?”
“I’m saying your parents could be more flexible. You don’t have to turn every little thing into a tragedy.”
“A little thing?” Catherine’s voice trembled with anger. “Your mother publicly called my father—a distinguished lecturer—a loafer, and that’s a little thing?”
“Well, not a loafer exactly, just…” Dmitry trailed off.
“Just what? Go on!”
“Just that they really aren’t very well-off. And next to us they look… modest.”
Catherine looked at her husband and didn’t recognize him. Was this the same Dima who, seven years ago, said he admired her family’s refinement?
“You know what, Dmitry,” Catherine said slowly. “My parents won’t compete with your mother and sister. They’re above this cheap bickering.”
Dmitry’s face contorted.
“Don’t you dare talk about my mother like that!”
“And she’s allowed to spew nastiness about my parents?” Catherine no longer held back. “Your mother is a quarrelsome, envious woman who can’t stand anyone living differently from her. And your sister is her copy, just younger!”
“Katya!”
“What, Katya? Does the truth sting?” Catherine threw Alena’s phrase back at him. “My parents kept their dignity and left without stooping to your level. Because they’re well-bred people—unlike your little clan!”
“My family…”
“Your family, Dima, is a bunch of envious people who do nothing but count other people’s money and look for who’s riding on whom!” Catherine felt years of pent-up frustration breaking free. “And the worst part is—you’re with them!”
“I’m just trying to keep the peace!”
“No, you’re just a coward who can’t put his mother in her place!” Catherine shot back. “And you’re ready to sacrifice my parents’ dignity for the sake of your mommy’s comfort!”
Dmitry was silent, fists clenched. Confusion mixed with anger flickered in his eyes.
“If you dislike my family so much, maybe you should think about divorce?” he finally forced out.
“Maybe I should,” Catherine replied calmly. “Because I won’t allow anyone to humiliate my parents. No one. Not even you.”
In the bedroom, Catherine lay down facing the wall. Dmitry stayed in the living room—she could hear him pacing, then the TV came on.
In the morning Catherine woke with a clear understanding: this couldn’t go on. For seven years she had endured her mother-in-law’s antics, hoping Dmitry would one day take her side. But last night showed—her husband would never change.
Catherine picked up her phone and dialed her mother.
“Mama, I’m sorry about yesterday.”
“Katya, sweetie, we’re not offended,” Elena Sergeevna’s voice was warm. “We’re worried about you.”
“I’m not going to put up with it anymore, Mama. I promise.”
“What have you decided?”
“I don’t know yet. But I know this—no more insults. And if Dima can’t learn to defend our family from his mother’s attacks, I’m leaving.”
“We’ll support any decision you make, dear.”
After the call, Catherine went into the kitchen. Dmitry sat at the table with a cup of coffee, looking rumpled—clearly he’d slept badly.
“Katya, let’s talk calmly,” he began.
“Let’s,” Catherine sat opposite him.
“I understand Mama was out of line yesterday. But you crossed a line too.”
“In what way exactly?”
“You called my mother and sister… well, you remember.”
“I called them what they are,” Catherine answered evenly. “Dima, I kept quiet for seven years. For seven years I listened to barbs, hints, and outright insults. My parents endured it too. But yesterday your mother went too far.”
“She just…”
“Stop,” Catherine raised her hand. “Don’t justify her. Answer one question: will you protect me and my parents from your mother’s attacks?”
Dmitry kept silent, staring into his cup.
“I see,” Catherine stood. “Then we really do need to think about the future of our marriage.”
“Katya, is this an ultimatum?”
“It’s a statement of fact, Dima. I won’t live in a family where I and my loved ones aren’t respected. And where my husband can’t protect his wife from his own mother.”
The next few days passed in heavy silence. Dmitry tried to act as if nothing had happened, but Catherine kept her distance. She didn’t answer calls from Lyudmila Ivanovna.
A week later, the mother-in-law showed up uninvited.
“What are these tricks? Why isn’t the daughter-in-law picking up the phone?”
“Mama, now’s not a good time,” Dmitry tried to stop her.
“What do you mean, not a good time?” Lyudmila Ivanovna marched into the apartment. “Katka, come out—we need to talk!”
Catherine came out of the room.
“Lyudmila Ivanovna, please leave my apartment.”
“What? This is my son’s apartment!”
“This is mine and Dmitry’s apartment. And I don’t want to see you here after what you did.”
“What did I do?” the mother-in-law protested. “Told the truth?”
“You insulted my parents—groundlessly and cruelly. And until you apologize, I want nothing to do with you.”
“Apologize? Me?” Lyudmila Ivanovna burst out laughing. “Not a chance!”
“Then leave.”
“Dima!” she turned to her son. “Are you going to let this woman talk to me like that?”
Dmitry stood mute, darting his gaze between his mother and his wife.
“I see,” Catherine nodded. “Lyudmila Ivanovna, please go. Dmitry, when you decide who your family is—me or your mother—let me know.”
That evening Dmitry tried to talk.
“Katya, you’re putting me in an impossible position.”
“No, Dima. Your mother put you in that position. And you did too—when you didn’t defend your wife.”
“But she’s my mother!”
“And I’m your wife. And my parents are your family. But you chose your mother’s side.”
“I didn’t choose anyone!”
“Exactly. You didn’t choose. You kept silent. And silence is a choice too, Dima.”
That night Dmitry again slept in the living room. Catherine lay awake, realizing her marriage was falling apart. But she wasn’t going to back down. Enough. Seven years of patience was enough. If her husband couldn’t learn to protect their family, then that family no longer existed.
In the morning, Viktor Petrovich called.
“Katya, how are you?”
“I’m fine, Dad. Really.”
“Your mother and I wanted to say… We’re proud of you. You’re right not to let yourself be humiliated.”
“Thank you, Dad. That means a lot to me.”
“And remember—whatever you decide, we’re always on your side.”
After talking to her father, Catherine felt a surge of strength. Yes, her parents wouldn’t stoop to squabbling with Lyudmila Ivanovna. They were above that. But that didn’t mean their daughter would allow them to be insulted.
That evening Catherine gave her husband an ultimatum.
“Dima, either you apologize to my parents and demand the same from your mother, or we’re getting a divorce.”
“Katya…”
“This is not up for discussion. Decide.”
Dmitry dropped his eyes in confusion. He was used to Catherine giving in, smoothing things over for the sake of a false peace. But now her voice sounded so firm that everything inside him clenched.
“Are you really ready to destroy our family over one quarrel?” he tried to soften it.
“Not over one,” Catherine cut him off sharply. “Over seven years of humiliation. You were there every time your mother made her snide remarks. And every time you kept silent.”
Dmitry rubbed his temple, as if trying to wipe her words from his mind.
“But she’s my mother…”
“And I’m your wife!” Catherine stood. “Or am I just a temporary attachment to your relatives?”
He wanted to argue, but the words stuck in his throat. Catherine looked him straight in the eye, and there wasn’t a hint of doubt in her gaze.
“I’ll wait until the end of the week. If you don’t apologize to my parents and demand an apology from your mother, I’ll file for divorce.”
She left the kitchen and closed the bedroom door behind her. Dmitry remained seated, staring into a cup of cold coffee. For the first time in all their years of marriage, he felt his wife wasn’t bluffing.
He spent the night sleepless. In the morning, Catherine got their child ready for daycare and left for work without even looking at her husband. The apartment was silent, but the silence was heavier than any shouting.
All day Dmitry was in turmoil. He called his mother, but when he heard her mocking “apologize? never!”, he realized he truly would have to choose.
That evening he waited for Catherine in the hallway. He had his phone in his hand.
“Katya, I wrote to my mother that until she apologizes, our door is closed to her.”
Catherine stopped, taking off her coat. She looked at her husband for a long time, as if checking whether this was just another empty promise.
“And what did she say?”
“She yelled. But I turned off my phone.”
Catherine took a deep breath. For the first time in a long while, hope flickered in her eyes.
“We’ll see, Dima. Now it depends on whether you keep your word.”
He nodded, understanding: he wouldn’t get a second chance.
Six months passed. Life changed—not at once, but gradually, like spring replacing winter. Lyudmila Ivanovna tried to call, showed up without warning, but the door was no longer opened to her. Dmitry kept his word. It wasn’t easy: breaking the habitual dependence on his mother hurt more than he had expected. But he made his choice.
Catherine noticed that her husband had changed. He had acquired something she had missed before—independence and firmness. He stopped being “mama’s boy,” learned to say “no” where he used to lower his eyes.
Her relationship with her parents only grew stronger. They often came to visit, helped with the child, but most importantly—never interfered unless asked. The table rang with laughter again, not with cutting remarks.
One day, watching Dmitry play with their son on the carpet, Catherine smiled. The pain of past years hadn’t vanished, but now she knew: their family had a chance. A real one—honest, without humiliation or pretense.
She remembered her mother’s words: “Take care of yourself.” And she realized that this had become her guiding decision. From the moment she refused to tolerate humiliation, life had begun to change.
