Elena stood in front of the hallway mirror, adjusting her hair for the third time. No matter what she did, the strands refused to fall the way she wanted, and that irritated her. But if she was honest with herself, it was not her hair that was really bothering her. It was the meeting ahead. For a week, Mikhail had been saying it was time for her to meet his mother, and today it was finally happening.
“Lena, are you ready?” his voice came from the other room. “We need to leave now or we’ll be late.”
“Yes, I’m ready,” Elena replied, giving herself one last look before stepping into the corridor.
Mikhail was already waiting by the door, holding a box of chocolates and a bouquet of chrysanthemums. He looked slightly tense, which was unusual for him. He usually carried himself with easy confidence, almost with a touch of smugness, but tonight there was something cautious in his eyes.
“Are you nervous?” Elena asked as she slipped on her shoes and picked up her bag.
“No, it’s just… my mother is strict,” Mikhail said with a shrug. “But she’ll like you. I’m sure of it.”
The drive to Natalya Petrovna’s apartment took almost an hour. She lived on the outskirts of the city, in an aging concrete high-rise in a neighborhood that had clearly seen better days. The entrance smelled damp, and the elevator creaked and trembled at every floor.
The door was opened by a heavyset woman in her mid-fifties with carefully styled hair and bright makeup. Natalya Petrovna smiled, but her dark eyes were cold and calculating, as if she were silently estimating the value of everything in front of her.
“Mishenka!” she exclaimed, throwing her arms around her son. “Come in, come in. Why are you standing at the door?”
“Mom, this is Lena,” Mikhail said, nudging Elena slightly forward. “Lena, this is my mother.”
“It’s very nice to meet you,” Elena said, holding out her hand.
Natalya Petrovna ignored it and nodded toward the living room instead.
“Come in. I’ve made tea and baked a pie. Mishenka has loved my apple pie since he was little.”
The apartment was cramped and cluttered. Figurines filled every shelf, rugs hung on the walls, and in one corner stood an old cabinet packed with crystal dishes. Elena sat down on a faded sofa and immediately felt the springs poking into her back.
Natalya Petrovna returned from the kitchen carrying a tray with teacups, a teapot, and a pie that smelled genuinely delicious. She poured the tea slowly, clearly in no rush to begin the real conversation.
“So then, young people, tell me how things are going,” she finally said, taking a sip. “Mishenka told me you’ve been together for six months already. Time flies so fast.”
“Yes, six months already,” Elena said with a polite smile. “We get along well. We have a lot in common.”
“That’s wonderful,” the woman said, cutting a slice of pie and placing it on a plate in front of Elena. “Now tell me about yourself, Lenochka. What do you do? Where do you work?”
The question sounded harmless enough, but Elena caught something unsettling in it. Natalya Petrovna was looking at her like someone examining an item before deciding whether to buy it.
“I work as a manager in a large company,” Elena answered. “I handle logistics. The salary is good and stable. I live in my own apartment, and I bought a car recently.”
“Oh, your own apartment!” Natalya Petrovna’s eyes lit up with an odd kind of excitement. “That’s wonderful. And where is it, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“In a new development on Solnechnaya Street,” Elena said, suddenly uncomfortable under the woman’s sharp attention. “It’s a two-bedroom in a nice area.”
“A two-bedroom,” Natalya Petrovna repeated with a thoughtful nod. “And what kind of car do you drive?”
“A Toyota Camry,” Elena said, lifting her teacup and trying to appear calm. “I bought it last year.”
The woman clicked her tongue approvingly and glanced at her son. Mikhail was sitting there with his arms folded, and for some reason he looked pleased. Elena had no idea what was happening, but the strange feeling inside her deepened by the minute.
“Well then, Mishenka,” Natalya Petrovna said, pouring herself more tea, “you’re very lucky. She’s a good girl, and secure too. That matters these days, doesn’t it? Financial stability is the foundation of a strong relationship.”
Elena froze, her fork suspended in the air with a piece of pie on it. The words sounded less like she was describing a person and more like she was evaluating an investment. Elena looked at Mikhail, expecting him to object, to say something in her defense, but he only nodded.
“I’ve always said stability matters in a relationship,” he said. “Lena understands that.”
“Of course she does,” Natalya Petrovna replied with a smile. “She’s a smart girl. I can see that.”
The rest of the visit dragged on in a heavy, suffocating mood. Natalya Petrovna kept asking Elena questions about every practical detail of her life: the cost of the apartment, her salary, whether she had savings. Elena answered mechanically, feeling more uncomfortable with each passing minute. When they finally said goodbye and stepped outside, she let out a breath of relief.
“Well?” Mikhail asked as they got into the car. “Did you like my mom?”
“Misha, was it just me, or was your mother only interested in my property?” Elena asked as she started the engine and pulled out of the yard.
“You’re overthinking it,” he said with a dismissive wave. “She just wanted to get to know you better. That’s normal.”
“Normal is asking about hobbies, interests, personality,” Elena replied. “Not the price of my apartment and the make of my car.”
“Come on, don’t dwell on it,” Mikhail said, turning on the radio as if the matter were closed.
Elena said nothing, but the unease stayed with her. She tried to convince herself it was simply Natalya Petrovna’s personality, that she should not make too much of it. But over the next few days, it became clear that the first meeting had only been the beginning.
Mikhail started to change.
Not all at once. Not dramatically. Slowly, almost invisibly, like someone was turning a hidden switch inside him. At first it was just small comments tossed into conversation.
“You know, a man should be the provider, and a woman should keep the home,” he said one evening while they were watching a movie.
“What?” Elena lifted her head from the cushion she had been resting on. “Are you serious?”
“Of course I’m serious,” Mikhail said, turning toward her. “That’s the natural division of roles. A woman should take care of the house, the family, the children.”
“Misha, we live in the twenty-first century,” Elena said, sitting up straight. “Those views are outdated.”
“Outdated?” he said with a smirk. “Traditions don’t go out of date. They’re eternal.”
Elena wanted to argue, but he had already turned his attention back to the movie, ignoring her entirely. She frowned but let it go. Maybe he was tired. Maybe he’d had a bad day. It happened.
But the next morning, the subject came up again.
“So, have you thought about children?” he asked over breakfast, spreading butter on a slice of bread.
“Of course I have,” Elena said, pouring herself coffee. “But not now. I want to build my career first, travel, live for myself a little.”
“For yourself?” Mikhail raised an eyebrow. “And what about family? What about an heir? Your biological clock is ticking, you know.”
“I’m twenty-six,” Elena said, setting her cup down harder than she meant to. “What biological clock? I have plenty of time.”
“Less than you think,” he replied, chewing slowly and looking at her with a serious expression. “Motherhood is a woman’s duty. Continuing the family line is her real purpose.”
“Your real purpose?” Elena laughed, thinking he had to be joking. “Misha, are you serious right now?”
“Completely,” he said, draining his tea and standing up. “Think about it.”
Elena stayed where she was, staring out the window. These conversations were becoming stranger and more disturbing. She kept asking herself what had happened to Mikhail, where these old-fashioned ideas had come from. Before this, he had seemed modern, sensible, never once expressing anything like this.
That same evening, Elena told him about her plans. She spoke about wanting a second degree in project management, about her dream of visiting Japan and Italy, about the English courses she planned to start in the fall.
“That’s all great,” Mikhail cut in, scrolling through something on his phone. “But you need to think about more important things.”
“Like what?” Elena asked, already irritated.
“Family. Children. A home,” he said, finally glancing up. “That’s what matters. English and Japan can wait.”
“Why should they wait?” Elena crossed her arms. “Those are my plans. My life.”
“Our life,” he corrected. “We’re a couple. In a relationship, people compromise.”
“A compromise means both people give something up,” Elena said. “This sounds like I’m the only one expected to sacrifice anything.”
“You’re exaggerating,” he replied, returning to his phone. “I just want a normal family. Is that so terrible?”
Elena did not answer. She got up and walked into the kitchen, feeling the anxiety growing stronger inside her. Something was wrong. Something was changing, and the change frightened her.
A few days later, Mikhail brought up something new.
“You know, I’ve been thinking,” he said over dinner. “Your apartment is nice, but it’s too small. A two-bedroom isn’t enough for a family with children.”
“We don’t have children,” Elena said, putting down her fork. “And we won’t anytime soon.”
“But we will eventually,” he replied. “So we need to think ahead. I think you should sell your apartment and buy a house.”
“A house?” Elena said in disbelief. “What kind of house?”
“A proper one, with land,” he said, suddenly animated. “There are some good options not far from where Mom lives. Three rooms, a garage, a garden. About the same price as your apartment.”
“Wait, wait,” Elena said, raising a hand. “You’re suggesting I sell my apartment and buy a house near your mother?”
“Well, yes,” Mikhail said, as if he saw nothing strange about that. “It’s practical. Mom can help with the children when they come. And the area is quiet, clean, much better for a family.”
“Misha, do you even hear yourself?” Elena leaned back in her chair. “You didn’t even ask if I wanted that. You just announced that I should sell my apartment.”
“Our apartment,” he corrected. “We live there together.”
“The apartment is in my name,” Elena said firmly. “And I bought it with my own money. Money I earned myself.”
“So what?” he frowned. “In a family, there shouldn’t be yours and mine. Everything should be shared.”
“We are not a family,” Elena shot back. “We don’t even have an engagement ring, let alone a wedding.”
“That’s just formalities,” Mikhail said with a shrug. “What matters is our feelings and our plans.”
“Whose plans?” Elena felt anger starting to rise inside her. “Yours? Or your mother’s?”
“What does Mom have to do with this?” he asked warily.
“Everything,” Elena said, standing up. “Because all these ideas started after we visited her. Before that, you acted like a normal person.”
“I am normal,” Mikhail snapped, standing as well. “I’m just thinking about our future. You’re the one who only thinks about yourself.”
“What?” Elena’s voice rose. “I only think about myself because I refuse to sell my apartment and move next to your mother?”
“Not with my mother,” he said sharply. “Near my mother. That’s not the same thing.”
“It is to me!” Elena cried, grabbing her head in frustration. “Do you even hear what you’re saying?”
He stared at her with a blank, unreadable expression. And suddenly Elena understood that the man standing in front of her was a stranger. The Mikhail she thought she had known over the past six months was gone. Or maybe he had never existed at all.
The next few days passed in tense silence. Mikhail did not bring up the move again, but the air inside the apartment turned unbearable. Elena kept trying to sort through her feelings and decide what to do. On one hand, six months was not nothing. On the other hand, maybe it was better to end things now, before it was too late.
The answer came on its own one evening when Mikhail started again.
“Lena, I’m serious. We need to change where we live,” he said, walking into the room. “I already looked at a few houses. I want to show you one.”
He held out his phone. On the screen was a picture of an old wooden house with a crooked fence and an overgrown yard.
“What is that?” Elena asked.
“A house in the village of Sosnovka,” Mikhail said, sitting down beside her. “Five minutes from Mom’s place. Three rooms, wood stove heating, a well in the yard. The price is excellent.”
“Wood stove heating?” Elena actually laughed. “Misha, are you joking?”
“No. I’m serious,” he said, pulling the phone back. “It’s perfect for a family. Fresh air, peace and quiet, you could even grow vegetables.”
“I’m not going to grow vegetables,” Elena said, getting up from the couch. “I’m not going to heat a house with a stove. And I am definitely not going to live near your mother.”
“You just don’t understand the advantages,” he said, standing too. “Mom would help us with everything. The children, the housework, the garden.”
“What children?” Elena exploded. “We don’t have children! And we never will, because I’m not going to give you some heir!”
“Sooner or later you’ll realize that it’s a woman’s true purpose,” Mikhail said calmly. “Motherhood is happiness.”
“My happiness is my career, my travel plans, my freedom,” Elena said, stepping closer to him. “And my apartment, which I am not going to sell.”
“Our apartment,” he repeated stubbornly. “In a relationship, there is no yours and mine.”
“There’s no ring, no wedding, but you’ve already got the appetite of a legal owner!” Elena shouted.
Mikhail froze, staring at her with wide eyes. Even Elena was startled by the sharpness of her own words, but there was no taking them back now.
“What did you say?” he asked slowly.
“I said what I should have said a long time ago,” Elena answered, folding her arms across her chest. “You act like this apartment already belongs to you. Like I’m already your wife. But we have no obligations to each other, Misha. None.”
“We’ve lived together for six months!” he shouted. “Does that mean nothing to you?”
“It means something,” Elena said. “But it does not give you the right to control my life or my property. It does not give you the right to pressure me into having children. And it definitely does not give you the right to decide where I should live.”
“I’m not pressuring you,” Mikhail said, taking a step back. “I’m thinking about our future. About what’s best for us.”
“No,” Elena said, shaking her head. “You’re thinking about yourself. And your mother. The two of you already discussed all this, didn’t you? How we would live, how many children I’d have, what kind of house we’d buy?”
“Mom just wants to help me,” he said weakly. “She cares about me.”
“And did it occur to you to ask whether I want any of that?” Elena said. “Or am I supposed to forget everything I want and turn into some obedient housewife?”
“You’re twisting everything,” Mikhail said, rubbing his face. “I want what’s best for us. Is that such a terrible thing?”
“What’s terrible is that you never ask what I want,” Elena said, walking to the window and looking out over the evening city. “You decided I would give up my career. You decided I would have children. You decided I would sell my apartment. My opinion never mattered to you.”
“It does matter,” he muttered. “You just refuse to listen to reason.”
“Reason?” Elena turned back toward him. “You call moving into a stove-heated house next to your mother reasonable?”
“There are a lot of advantages—”
“Stop,” Elena said, raising her hand. “I don’t want to hear another word about it. Not one. Misha, I think we need to break up.”
Silence fell between them. Mikhail stared at her as if he could not believe what he had heard.
“You… what?” he finally managed.
“I think we should break up,” Elena repeated, calmer now. “We want different things. We have different values. Different views of life.”
“Because of a house?” Mikhail stepped toward her. “Fine. Forget the house. We’ll stay in the apartment.”
“This is not about the house,” Elena said, shaking her head. “It’s about the way you see me. You don’t see me as a partner. You see me as a resource. An apartment. A car. The future mother of your children. But not me as a person.”
“That’s not true!” he protested. “I love you!”
“No,” Elena said, meeting his eyes. “You love what I can give you. That’s not the same thing.”
“You’ve lost your mind,” Mikhail said, clutching his head. “I don’t understand what’s happening. We were fine. We were making plans.”
“You were making plans,” Elena corrected him. “And your mother was. No one ever asked me.”
“My mother has nothing to do with this!” he shouted. “You’re selfish! All you think about is yourself, your career, your travel!”
“Yes,” Elena said evenly. “I do think about myself. Because if I don’t, no one else will. You certainly won’t.”
“I was thinking about us!” Mikhail began pacing around the room. “I wanted to build a family, give our children a home, secure a future! And you… you’re not capable of a serious relationship! You don’t know how to compromise!”
“A compromise means both sides give something,” Elena said calmly. “With you, I’m the only one expected to give anything up. That’s not compromise, Misha. That’s submission.”
“Oh, is that how it is?” he snapped, stopping and pointing at her. “Fine then! I’ll tell everyone what you’re really like. A selfish woman who’s incapable of building a family!”
“Go ahead,” Elena said. “I don’t care. Pack your things and leave.”
She walked to the hallway and opened the front door.
“This is my apartment, and I decide who lives in it.”
“You’ll regret this!” Mikhail grabbed his jacket. “You’ll come crawling back to me someday!”
“No, I won’t,” Elena said, holding the door open. “Goodbye, Misha.”
He looked like he wanted to say more, but Elena simply pointed toward the stairwell. With a final glare, he stormed out and slammed the door behind him.
Elena locked it from the inside. The feeling that settled over her was strange: part relief, part exhaustion. She took out her phone, blocked his number, and removed him from every social media account she had. Clean. Fast. Final.
She went into the living room, lay down on the couch, and stared at the ceiling. Six months of a relationship had ended in one evening. But better now than a year later. Better before a wedding than after. Better before children than with them.
The next few days passed in a strange emptiness. Elena went to work, met up with friends, kept busy. Mikhail tried calling from other numbers and sent messages through different apps, but she blocked every attempt to reach her.
A week later, she got a long, dramatic message from Natalya Petrovna. It was full of accusations, telling Elena how foolish she was to let such a wonderful man go and how she would regret it for the rest of her life. Elena read it, smirked, and blocked that number too.
A month passed. Elena enrolled in English classes and started planning a trip to Japan for the spring. At work, she was offered a promotion to senior manager, along with a raise. Life moved forward, and with each passing day, her memories of Mikhail faded further.
One day, a friend asked if she regretted ending things.
“No,” Elena answered without hesitation. “If anything, I’m grateful everything came out so quickly. Imagine if we had gotten married, had children, and only then I realized I was living someone else’s life.”
“That’s terrifying,” her friend said.
“Exactly,” Elena replied, taking a sip of coffee. “I avoided a huge mistake. That’s worth a lot.”
In the spring, she really did fly to Japan. For two weeks she wandered through Tokyo and Kyoto, taking pictures of temples and gardens, tasting real sushi and ramen. In one of Kyoto’s gardens, she met an elderly man who told her how, when he was young, he had almost married a woman because his parents wanted him to. At the last moment, he changed his mind, and it became the best decision of his life.
“Sometimes you have to listen to yourself, not to others,” the old man said, watching the cherry blossoms drift down. “Even when they insist. Even when it seems like you’re making a mistake. Only you know what is right for you.”
Elena nodded as pink petals floated gently to the ground. He was right. She had made the right choice. A hard one, a painful one, but the right one.
When she returned home, she threw herself into work and study with fresh energy. She accepted the promotion, took on a major project, and signed up for business management courses. Her apartment remained her own private space, where no one dictated rules and no one made plans for her without her consent.
Sometimes Elena thought about what might have happened if she had stayed with Mikhail. She pictured herself in that old house with its wood stove, living next to Natalya Petrovna, a child in her arms and her dreams left behind. And every time the image came to her, it filled her with nothing but dread.
No, she had made the right choice.
And not for a single second did she regret it.
