The Earrings!” the mother-in-law snapped. “The ones I gave you for the wedding. Take them off. Right now.”
“Lyudmila Borisovna, I… I don’t understand,” Kristina began. “Why are you—”
“Just take them off,” the woman cut her short. “They’re my earrings. I changed my mind about giving them to you. And I want them back.”
Kristina stood in the middle of the boutique, holding two dresses—one modest, cream-colored, and the other emerald green, off the shoulders, with a thin belt at the waist. Mirrors on both sides impartially reflected her confused face, her tired eyes, and the faint shadow of irritation hiding in the corners of her lips.
Her mother-in-law’s anniversary was coming up—exactly fifty years. Lyudmila Borisovna planned to celebrate in grand style: a restaurant downtown, live music, a photographer, a host—everything you’d expect for an influential woman.
A school vice principal, the wife of a respected man, the mother of a promising son. And, of course, a mother-in-law who knew how to make even an innocent “How are you, Kristina?” sound like an interrogation.
Kristina had long since learned to read her tone, her look, her judgment. Especially the judgment. Appearance, manners, hairstyle, even what you ordered at the festive table—everything was under Lyudmila Borisovna’s watchful control.
And even though Stas, her husband, never said outright, “You have to look perfect,” his silence in his mother’s presence—when she tossed out her barbed remarks—spoke for itself.
“Can I help you choose?” the saleswoman’s gentle voice pulled Kristina from her thoughts.
“Thank you, I’m just looking for now,” Kristina replied, and turned her gaze back to the dresses.
The emerald one looked luxurious. In it, she would feel like a queen—but it cost almost half her salary. The cream one was more modest, and far cheaper. If she showed up in the cream dress, Lyudmila Borisovna would say her daughter-in-law was embarrassing her; if she came in the emerald one, her mother-in-law would say Kristina was trying to stand out.
She remembered the last family holiday—New Year’s. Back then, she’d dared to come to her in-laws’ house in a fitted scarlet dress. Not revealing, not provocative—just bright and attention-grabbing. Lyudmila Borisovna had looked her up and down and made a couple of cutting jokes:
“Kristina, you do understand that red isn’t for everyone. And besides, your figure has to be perfect for that.”
That evening, Kristina had spent the whole dinner feeling as if she were under a spotlight, every gesture scored on a ten-point scale. She was even embarrassed to eat.
Kristina took a deep breath and looked into the mirror again. For once, she wanted not to adjust herself. Not to think about what her mother-in-law would say. Not to be afraid of other people’s opinions. Just to choose what she liked.
“I’ll take this,” she said unexpectedly, handing the emerald dress to the saleswoman.
The day of the celebration was loud and bustling. The restaurant glittered with lights, waiters flashed by with trays, guests laughed and congratulated the birthday woman. Lyudmila Borisovna, dressed in an outfit covered in gold sequins, accepted gifts and compliments like an actress on stage.
When Kristina walked in, the conversations at nearby tables fell silent for a second. She was wearing that very dress—simple in cut, but elegant, bringing out the color of her eyes and her sun-kissed skin. She smiled, even though inside everything tightened with nerves.
“Kristina, dear!” her mother-in-law turned, sweeping her gaze from head to toe. “Well, would you look at that… how dressed up you are. Did you decide to outshine me?” A light mockery rang in her voice—something the people around them took as a joke.
Kristina smiled back.
“What are you saying, Lyudmila Borisovna. I just wanted to make you happy. It’s a special day.”
Her mother-in-law narrowed her eyes slightly, not expecting such confidence. Stas, standing beside his mother, nodded.
“It suits you. Very beautiful.”
And that “very beautiful” felt to Kristina like a small victory. All evening she held herself with dignity. She danced, smiled, chatted with guests—and tried to push away the thought that she had to be liked by everyone, including her mother-in-law. She was simply being herself.
Everything was going surprisingly smoothly. Too smoothly. Kristina had already started to believe the evening would pass without the unpleasant surprises her mother-in-law loved to throw in. Lyudmila Borisovna accepted congratulations, laughed, delivered her sharp comments—yet they seemed, for once, almost harmless. Guests ate and danced, and the waiters darted between tables.
Kristina was sitting next to Stas, quietly talking with his cousin Anya, when her mother-in-law approached. A strained smile froze on Lyudmila Borisovna’s face, but something ominous flashed in her eyes.
“Kristina,” she said softly, but loud enough that those nearby involuntarily turned around. “Take off your earrings.”
Kristina blinked, thinking she must have misheard.
“I’m sorry—what?”
“Your earrings,” her mother-in-law repeated, enunciating each word a little louder. “The ones I gave you for your wedding. Take them off. Right now.”
A few people at the table froze. Someone even giggled, assuming it was a joke. But Lyudmila Borisovna wasn’t joking. Her lips were pressed tight, and her chin trembled with tension.
“Lyudmila Borisovna, I… I don’t understand,” Kristina began, feeling a cold wave of strain rise in her chest. “Why are you—”
“Just take them off,” the woman cut her short. “They’re my earrings. I changed my mind about giving them to you. And I want them back.”
Stas, who had been silently drinking wine until then, set his glass down hard on the table.
“Mom, what are you doing?” irritation broke through his voice. “This is too much.”
“Too much is when a daughter-in-law comes to her mother-in-law’s anniversary in an expensive dress with bare shoulders and draws attention to herself like it’s her celebration!” Lyudmila Borisovna flared. “I’m looking at you and it feels like you decided to outshine me on purpose. You little wretch!”
Silence fell. Somewhere in the distance, the music kept playing, but at their table the air turned thick and sticky. Kristina went pale. She didn’t know what to say—the words simply stuck in her throat.
“Mom, stop,” Stas said, rising. He leaned toward his wife and murmured, “Let me.”
Carefully, he removed the gold earrings from Kristina’s ears and placed them in his mother’s hand.
“Are you happy now?” he asked.
Lyudmila Borisovna—acting as though she hadn’t even noticed the stunned guests—straightened her shoulders and suddenly smiled.
“Happy,” she said coldly. “That’s what you deserve, Kristina. Let there be less joy in your eyes.”
Kristina felt everything inside her drop into emptiness. She wanted to simply disappear. Disappear from that restaurant, from that family, from that absurd scene.
Stas kept standing, watching his mother with a look of pure confusion.
“We’re leaving,” he said quietly.
They were already heading toward the exit when the host cheerfully exclaimed into the microphone:
“And now—the most touching moment of the evening! The mother-and-son dance!”
Guests applauded. Lyudmila Borisovna, as if the previous scene had never happened, came alive at once. She grabbed her son’s hand.
“Stasik, come on. Don’t you dare embarrass me in front of everyone.”
He started to say something, but her grip was iron. She practically dragged him to the center of the hall under the music. Kristina stood by the exit, feeling dozens of eyes on her. Calmly, she turned and walked out.
Outside, the air was very cool—sobering. Even her warm coat couldn’t warm Kristina. She decided not to wait for her husband and called a taxi immediately to get home.
The taxi glided through the evening city. Outside the window flashed storefront lights, a few passersby, traffic signals—everything blended into one long bright smear. Kristina stared through the glass without blinking. It felt as if she wasn’t even breathing.
She simply couldn’t believe an adult, respected person could do that. Make her take off her earrings—in front of everyone, at her own anniversary. Her phone vibrated in her handbag. It was her husband.
Kristina looked at the screen but didn’t pick up. Then it rang again. And again. She hit “decline,” pulled her bag closer, and whispered:
“Just let me have a little time to come to myself…”
Meanwhile, Stas stood outside the restaurant, watching the taillights vanish, furious with himself. He knew he’d missed the moment. He should have left with his wife, instead of dancing to his mother’s tune—literally and figuratively. But he’d been thrown off, unable to break out of her grip, out of that look that—just like in childhood—made him do “what’s best for everyone.”
“Idiot,” he muttered, opening a taxi app.
While the car was on its way, he called Kristina several more times.
“Kris, please… pick up…”
When she finally answered, her voice was quiet and even.
“I’m home. Don’t worry, everything’s fine. I just want to be alone.”
“No,” Stas said firmly. “I’m coming. And please—don’t lock the door from the inside.”
On the way, he stopped at a 24-hour flower shop. The saleswoman, seeing his disheveled look, didn’t even ask what he needed—she just handed him a lush bouquet of red roses.
“Looks like someone messed up big,” she smiled.
Stas nodded.
“More than you know.”
When he entered the apartment, the hallway was quiet. A soft floor lamp glowed in the living room. Kristina sat on the couch in a terry robe, her phone in her hand.
Seeing her husband, she lifted her eyes—calm, a little sad.
“I didn’t want to outshine anyone,” she said, not waiting for him to speak. “I just wanted to look beautiful. It was a celebration. And I’m young—I’m only twenty-six. Is there something wrong with that?”
Stas handed her the bouquet and sat down beside her.
“Of course not. And you looked amazing. Mom… she just went too far. I’m shocked by what happened myself. Usually she controls herself in public. But apparently today she got worked up.”
He spoke gently, trying not to rush, afraid he’d snap.
“I’m so ashamed of her, Kris. Truly. I don’t know what came over her.”
Kristina nodded.
“I don’t know either,” she replied softly. “But I think I finally understand why she doesn’t like me. Simply because I’m young and pretty.”
Stas exhaled, carefully took her hand.
“Listen… I’ll fix it. I promise. It won’t happen again.”
“I hope so,” Kristina said. “Because today I felt like I didn’t belong at that feast of life.”
He lowered his eyes, unable to find the right words. And then he noticed—small gold earrings with stones were glinting in her ears. The ones he’d given her for her last birthday.
“You put them on?” he asked, surprised, smiling.
Kristina touched her earlobe.
“Yes. I shouldn’t have switched to the ones your mother gave me. Then maybe none of this would have happened. But I thought, on the contrary, Lyudmila Borisovna would like it if I came wearing them. And it turned out…”
Stas hugged his wife and said softly:
“You’re my best gift.”
At home after the anniversary, Lyudmila Borisovna couldn’t calm down for a long time.
She took off her evening dress, hung it neatly on a hanger, and—without even fully changing—walked into the bedroom. On the dresser lay those very earrings—small but expensive, with diamonds and a sparkle that irritated her now more than ever.
“Honestly…” she muttered, pinching them between two fingers as if they were something unpleasant. “She put them on and flashed them around like an actress—right at my anniversary. The nerve!”
With that, she opened the wardrobe, reached for the top shelf, and tossed the earrings somewhere behind a stack of old boxes.
“That’s where they belong.”
Her husband, Stepan Leonidovich, came out of the bathroom in a house robe and glasses, looking tired.
“Lyuda, you still can’t let it go? It’s already night, the celebration’s over. Everyone left happy—except you.”
She spun around sharply.
“And you didn’t see how your daughter-in-law showed up? In a dress like she stepped off a magazine cover! She curled her hair, did her makeup—on purpose. I saw how men were looking at her. Even my colleagues! And I’m standing next to her like… like a backdrop!”
Stepan sighed.
“So what? They’re young. You’re still the most beautiful to me. But honestly, Kristina didn’t do anything wrong. She just came dressed up—it was a celebration.”
“Just came dressed up?” Lyudmila Borisovna scoffed. “She planned it all in advance! Those earrings, that smile, those eyes… She knew she’d look better than me!”
“Lyuda!” her husband said sternly, looking at her over his glasses. “Stop looking for enemies where there aren’t any. She’s a good girl, kind. And she loves our son. You’ve seen the way he looks at her.”
“Loves!” she mimicked. “We’ll see how much she loves him. She’s just waiting to grab all his money. I’m his mother, and I want one thing—so my son doesn’t get ruined by a woman like that—”
“Like what, Lyuda?” Stepan Leonidovich raised his gaze. “A beautiful, independent woman? Maybe you’re just jealous?”
Lyudmila Borisovna froze and pressed her lips together.
“What nonsense!” she said coldly and turned away. “I just don’t want to see her anymore. Not at holidays, not at our table. I’ll never invite her again.”
A few weeks passed.
Winter confidently took over—the city wrapped itself in snow, shop windows began to glow with garlands. New Year’s was coming soon, and in Lyudmila Borisovna’s home the preparations for the family dinner traditionally began. She liked to do everything ahead of time, so at the beginning of December she called everyone and invited them to her New Year’s dinner.
“Sonny,” she began briskly, “so what about New Year’s? Like always—at our place. I’ve planned everything: duck with apples, salads, champagne.”
“Great, Mom. Kristina and I will be happy to come.”
“Stasik,” her voice grew quieter but firm, “I’m waiting only for you—without her. No need to ruin everyone’s mood.”
He fell silent for a second, not believing what he’d heard.
“Mom… are you serious right now?”
“Absolutely. I want to meet the New Year only with the people closest to me.”
“Mom, you can’t do that. Kristina is my wife…”
“Enough, Stas!” Lyudmila Borisovna snapped. “If you want to come—come. But alone.”
He hung up and sat for a long time, squeezing the phone in his hand. Kristina, noticing the tension on his face, asked:
“Did something happen?”
Stas sighed.
“Mom invited me for New Year’s… only me. Without you.”
Kristina gave a bitter little smile.
“Well, that was to be expected. Honestly, I wasn’t going to go anywhere anyway.”
He looked at her closely.
“It still hurts.”
“Yes,” she said. “But maybe it’s for the best. Let New Year’s go by without the showy fun. Just the two of us.”
Two more weeks passed. In early December, Kristina took a test and saw two lines. She stared at them for a long time, then sat on the edge of the bed and cried—from happiness, fear, and surprise.
When she told Stas that evening, he hugged her and said:
“Kris… this is the best thing that could have happened to us.”
And a couple of days later his mother called again:
“So, sonny—have you thought about New Year’s?”
“I have,” he answered firmly. “We’re staying home. Kristina is pregnant. She needs rest.”
Silence hung on the other end of the line. Then Lyudmila Borisovna suddenly said, with some strange relief:
“Pregnant, is she? Well, wonderful. Let her sit at home—she shouldn’t get upset.”
And after a brief pause, she added with a clear smirk:
“Soon the poor thing will swell up like a barrel. Then we’ll see…”
She hung up with a satisfied smile and went to the kitchen to make coffee—in a good mood. And Stas remained sitting there in bewilderment. He couldn’t understand what was happening with his mother, or where so much hatred had come from.
But to Lyudmila Borisovna, it felt as if life had finally returned to its proper order.
Nine months passed. Kristina gave birth to a boy—strong, rosy-cheeked, with soft hair the color of wheat.
On the day she was discharged from the maternity hospital, everyone gathered outside—Stas, her mother Anna Viktorovna, her friend Lena with a bouquet of white roses… and even her in-laws. Lyudmila Borisovna, of course, couldn’t miss such an event in her son’s life.
Kristina noticed her from the window. Her mother-in-law stood a little apart, in a strict suit, holding a bouquet of roses, staring at the hospital doors with an expression that mixed curiosity and dislike.
When Kristina came out—radiant, the baby in her arms—everyone gasped. She looked as if she were glowing. A blush in her cheeks, soft waves of hair, eyes full of love. Even the doctors escorting her smiled.
Stas carefully took the baby, pressed his lips to his wife’s cheek, and whispered:
“You’re a miracle.”
At that moment, Lyudmila Borisovna approached. A strained smile on her face, but her eyes… her eyes said everything.
“Congratulations,” she said dryly. “A boy is good.”
And as if remembering something, she added:
“I hope you’ll have less time to dress up now.”
No one reacted. Everyone was looking at the baby. Only Stepan Leonidovich shook his head and led his wife aside, trying to smooth things over.
And Kristina stood there, holding her son, and suddenly felt a strange calm. She no longer wanted to justify herself, to try to please, to prove anything.
She looked at Lyudmila Borisovna—and for the first time in her life she felt neither resentment, nor fear, nor pain. Only pity.
“Lyudmila Borisovna,” she said quietly, “all I want is for our son to grow up in love. You can be part of that love… or stay on the sidelines. Decide for yourself.”
Her mother-in-law flinched as if slapped, but said nothing. She simply turned away.
A week later, Kristina sat at home by the window, rocking the cradle. Rain rustled outside, reminding her that summer was ending. Stas came up behind her, hugged her, and kissed her temple.
“Thank you for enduring all of that,” he whispered.
Kristina smiled.
“And I just understood that you don’t need to fight for the love of people who don’t deserve it. Better to put your strength where there’s warmth in return.”
She looked at her sleeping son and felt true happiness.
Lyudmila Borisovna, of course, never called. And Kristina didn’t need her to. Anna Viktorovna, Stas, and little Petenka were always there
