— Three hundred thousand rubles for some nonsense! — Galina Mikhailovna’s voice trembled with outrage as she burst into the apartment without knocking. — I just ran into the neighbor—she told me everything!
Larisa froze, a cup of tea in her hands. A Saturday morning that had started so peacefully turned into a battlefield in a single second. She slowly set the cup on the table and turned to her mother-in-law, who stood in the kitchen doorway, flushed with indignation.
Anton—Larisa’s husband—hovered beside Galina Mikhailovna. He clearly hadn’t expected the weekend to begin like this. He shifted from foot to foot, not knowing what to do with his hands.
Three weeks earlier, Larisa’s grandmother had died—the only person who truly understood her and supported her. In her will she left her granddaughter her savings: the very three hundred thousand Galina Mikhailovna was now screaming about.
— Galina Mikhailovna, that’s my personal money, — Larisa said calmly, though everything inside her was boiling. — Inheritance from my grandmother.
— Personal? — her mother-in-law snorted so loudly a pigeon on the windowsill startled and fluttered away. — There’s nothing personal in a family! Anton, tell her!
Anton looked at his wife, then at his mother. In his gaze was the confusion of someone who wants to please everyone—and understands it’s impossible.
— Mom, maybe we can talk calmly? — he began uncertainly.
— Calmly? — Galina Mikhailovna threw up her hands. — Your wife signed up for some pastry-chef courses! Throwing away three hundred thousand on stupidity when you could have put it into renovations!
Larisa felt blood rush to her face. Courses at the city’s best culinary school had been her childhood dream. Her grandmother knew that, and in their last conversation she had said, “Live for yourself, darling. Stop living for everyone else.”
— It’s professional training, — Larisa said firmly. — I’m going to be a pastry chef.
— A pastry chef! — her mother-in-law laughed, but there wasn’t a trace of joy in it. — You have a degree in economics! You work as a chief accountant! And suddenly—pastry chef! Anton, your wife has lost her mind!
Larisa looked at her husband. He stood with his head lowered, silent. As always. Like the time his mother rearranged all the furniture in their bedroom without asking. Like when she threw away Larisa’s favorite flowers because “they make too much mess.” Like in every situation where he had to choose between his wife and his mother.
— Anton, — Larisa addressed him directly. — What do you think?
He raised his head, and in his eyes she saw that familiar helplessness.
— Well… Mom’s right that three hundred thousand is a lot of money. Maybe you should think of something more practical?
The blow was precise and painful. Larisa felt something inside her finally crack. Five years of marriage—and not once, not a single time, had he taken her side in an argument with his mother.
— Practical? — she repeated, steel entering her voice. — Like that time your mother decided my vacation pay was better spent on new windows in her apartment?
— That was a sensible investment! — Galina Mikhailovna cut in. — The old windows were drafty; I could have gotten sick!
— You could have gotten sick, — Larisa nodded. — And I could have gone without a vacation for the third year in a row. But that’s nothing, right?
She stood up from the table and went to the window. Outside was an ordinary residential district—gray buildings, a few trees. But somewhere out there, in the city center, was that culinary school. The place where she could become who she had always dreamed of being.
— Do you know what my grandmother told me before she died? — Larisa spoke without turning around. — She said, “I lived my whole life for others—for my husband, for my children, for my grandchildren. And only at the end did I realize no one valued that sacrifice. Don’t repeat my mistakes.”
— What melodrama! — her mother-in-law snorted. — Anton, talk to your wife! Explain to her that family is not a place for selfishness!
Larisa spun around. Fire blazed in her eyes—fire that hadn’t been there in a long time.
— Selfishness? For five years I’ve put your family’s interests above my own! I agreed to live in this neighborhood because it’s convenient for you, Galina Mikhailovna, to drop by every day! I put up with your constant advice, criticism, and interference in our lives! I kept quiet when you called my mother “a country simpleton”! But starting today—enough.
— Anton! — her mother-in-law clutched her heart in a theatrical gesture. — Do you hear how she’s talking to me?
Anton took a step toward his wife, then stopped halfway. He looked like a man caught between two fires.
— Larisa, don’t talk to Mom like that…
— How should I talk? — Larisa looked straight at him. — Swallow everything in silence? Like you do?
The words hit their mark. Anton flushed and clenched his fists.
— I just respect my mother!
— No. You’re just afraid of upsetting her. And you’re willing to sacrifice me—my feelings, my dreams—to avoid that.
Galina Mikhailovna seized the pause and went on the offensive.
— If you’re so unhappy in our family, maybe you should think about a divorce, — her voice turned poison-sweet. — Anton will easily find a wife who appreciates what she has. Who won’t waste family money on nonsense!
— It’s not family money! — Larisa shouted. — It’s my grandmother’s inheritance!
— In marriage everything is shared! — her mother-in-law fired back. — Anton has a right to a say!
Larisa looked at her husband. He stood there, lips pressed tight, eyes on the floor. She waited. One second, two, three… the silence became unbearable.
— Anton, — she called softly. — Say something. For once in your life, choose me.
He lifted his head. There was anguish in his eyes. But when he opened his mouth, the words that came out decided everything.
— Mom’s right. Three hundred thousand is too much for some courses. You can find something cheaper.
The silence after that was deafening. Larisa stared at her husband as if seeing him for the first time. And maybe she really was—seeing the real him, without the rose-colored glasses of love.
— Wonderful! — Galina Mikhailovna chirped happily. — Now let’s decide how to spend that money wisely. I think we should renovate the big room. And buy new furniture—the kind I saw in a catalog.
She went on and on, laying out plans for someone else’s money. Anton nodded, occasionally adding, “Yes, Mom,” and “Good idea.” And Larisa stood there feeling something inside her die. But at the same time, something new was being born: determination.
Without a word, she left the kitchen, leaving them to discuss how to divide up her inheritance. In the bedroom she took out her phone and dialed.
— Hello, Marina? — her voice was calm and firm. — Remember you mentioned a spare room in your apartment? Is it still available?
On the other end, her friend burst into happy chatter.
— Yes, I’m ready to move even today. And also, Marin… do you know a good family lawyer?
When she returned to the kitchen with a large gym bag in her hand, Galina Mikhailovna was still lecturing about the advantages of Italian furniture. Seeing the bag, she faltered.
— Are you going somewhere? — Anton asked, bewildered.
— Yes. To a friend’s. For good.
It hit like a bomb. Galina Mikhailovna opened her mouth but made no sound. Anton went pale and stepped toward his wife.
— Larisa, are you serious? Because of some courses?
— No, not because of the courses. Because in this family I don’t exist. There’s only your mother and what she wants. And I’m just a function: cook, clean, earn money, and keep quiet.
— But… but you love me! — Anton cried, and for the first time real panic entered his voice.
— I did. But love doesn’t survive long without respect. You killed it today.
Galina Mikhailovna recovered and attacked again.
— Who needs you anyway! Thirty years old, no kids, unbearable character! Anton will find someone younger and more compliant!
Larisa smirked.
— Let him try. Preferably an orphan. Otherwise she might have a family with opinions too.
She headed for the exit, but Anton blocked her path.
— Larisa, let’s talk! Without Mom—just you and me!
— For five years we’ve been talking “just the two of us.” And every time after those talks you run to your mother and tell her everything I said. And then she uses it against me.
— I won’t anymore! I promise!
Larisa looked into his eyes. There was panic, fear—maybe even something like love. But there was no main thing: the resolve to actually change.
— Anton, answer honestly. If right now you had to choose—your mother moves to another city, or I leave—what would you choose?
He opened his mouth, then closed it. The answer was written on his face in huge letters.
— See? — Larisa smiled sadly. — You didn’t hesitate for even a second.
— That’s right! — Galina Mikhailovna snapped. — A mother is only one! Wives—you can have as many as you want!
That phrase was the final drop. Larisa laughed—clear, sincere, for the first time in a long while.
— You know what? You were made for each other. Live together, make plans, divide up money that doesn’t exist. And I’m going to live my life.
She went around the frozen Anton and walked to the door. At the threshold she turned.
— And yes, Galina Mikhailovna. About the inheritance. Yesterday I transferred all the money to the culinary school’s account. Full payment for the year-long course. So you can stop planning renovations.
The door clicked softly shut, leaving mother and son in complete silence.
Six months passed.
Larisa stood in her tiny pastry shop, which she’d opened after finishing the courses. The space was small—just three tables—but bright and cozy. In the display case were cakes she had learned to make, each one a little work of art.
The bell above the door jingled, and a customer walked in. Larisa looked up—and froze.
Galina Mikhailovna.
Her former mother-in-law looked older. The familiar combativeness was gone; her shoulders slumped, fatigue in her eyes.
— Hello, Larisa.
— Hello, Galina Mikhailovna. What brings you here?
Galina Mikhailovna looked around, taking in the interior, the display case, the photos of happy customers on the wall.
— Anton doesn’t know I’m here, — she finally said.
— And?
— He… he changed after you left. He became angry, irritable. He takes it out on me.
Larisa said nothing, continuing to wipe an already spotless display.
— I came… — Galina Mikhailovna faltered, as if the words were painfully hard. — I came to apologize.
Larisa raised an eyebrow. In five years of knowing her, she’d never once heard her mother-in-law apologize to anyone.
— Would you like some coffee?
Galina Mikhailovna nodded. Larisa made two cups of her signature cappuccino and sat across from her former mother-in-law.
— You know, I don’t hold a grudge against you, — Larisa said. — Because of you I understood what I want from life—and what I don’t want.
— Anton asked me to tell you… he wants to meet.
— No.
— He says he loves you.
— Maybe. But he loves you more. And that’s his right. I just don’t want to be second place in my own husband’s life anymore.
Galina Mikhailovna finished her coffee and stood up.
— Your cakes… they really are beautiful. You’re talented.
— Thank you.
— And one more thing… — she paused by the door. — Your grandmother was right. You have to live for yourself. I understood that too late. I lived my whole life for my son, and in the end I was left alone. He didn’t forgive me for you leaving. He says it’s all my fault. And you know what? He’s right.
She left, and Larisa stood thoughtful. Outside, snow was falling; a few passersby hurried along. And inside the little pastry shop, it smelled of vanilla and cinnamon—the scents of a new, real life.
Her phone chimed with a message. Marina wrote: “So, ready for tomorrow’s wedding expo? They say there’ll be three hundred participants!”
Larisa smiled and typed back: “Ready. My cakes are going to steal the show!”
She glanced at a photo of her grandmother on the shelf by the register. The elderly woman in the picture was smiling, as if approving everything that was happening.
— Thank you, Grandma, — Larisa whispered. — For the money, for the advice, for believing in me.
The doorbell jingled again. A young couple came in to choose a wedding cake. The bride’s eyes sparkled; the groom held her hand and looked at her with adoration.
— Hello! We came to you for a miracle! — the bride said cheerfully.
— Miracles are my specialty, — Larisa smiled. — Let’s create the cake of your dreams.
And as she showed them the catalog, talked about fillings and decorations, somewhere else in the city Anton sat at a kitchen table with his mother. They were silent, each lost in their thoughts. A store-bought cake sat on the table—tasteless, overly sweet, grabbed in a hurry.
— You know, — Galina Mikhailovna suddenly said, — I saw her cakes today. Real works of art.
Anton flinched but said nothing.
— She’s talented. Always was. And we… we didn’t notice. We only saw a function—wife, daughter-in-law, future mother. We didn’t see the person.
— Mom, stop, — Anton muttered dully.
— No, I won’t stop. I ruined your family with my egoism. I called her selfish, but I only thought about myself—my comfort, my control.
— She left on her own!
— Because you betrayed her. That day you chose me instead of her. A woman can forgive many things, but not betrayal.
Anton got up and left the kitchen. Galina Mikhailovna remained alone. She stared at the cheap cake and thought about how much she had missed in life by trying to control everything. Her son was close, but a wall of alienation had grown between them. And the daughter-in-law she had pushed out of the family had blossomed and become successful.
Fate’s irony.
Meanwhile, Larisa wrapped up her last order of the day—a box of cupcakes for a children’s party. Tomorrow would bring a new day, new orders, new challenges. But she was ready—because for the first time in her life, she was living for herself.
And it was wonderful
