Marina sat on the sofa with her legs tucked beneath her, rereading the messages on her phone. Artyom was asleep in the next room, and his quiet breathing could be heard even through the half-open door. Alexey came in, placed two glasses of juice on the table, and sat beside her.
“Did she write again?” he asked, glancing over his wife’s shoulder.
“No.” Marina shook her head. “It’s Nina Sergeyevna. This is the third message she’s sent today. She says your mother supposedly doesn’t sleep at night, cries constantly, and barely eats.”
“And you believe her?”
“I want to believe that at least some of it is true. Because if she really is suffering, then it means she cares. And if she cares, maybe we can try talking.”
Alexey rubbed his palms together as though he were cold. Then he gave his wife a long look. Marina noticed that the crease between his eyebrows had grown deeper over the past two months.
“I’m not against talking,” he finally said. “But only if Mom comes here herself. Personally. No messengers. And she needs to say something normal and sincere. Not through Nina Sergeyevna, not through Aunt Valya.”
“Maybe taking the first step is difficult for her.”
“Marina, she had no difficulty calling you a freeloader in front of twenty guests and accusing you of marrying me for my apartment. She took the first step toward that scandal without hesitation.”
Marina said nothing.
She remembered that birthday celebration down to the smallest detail. She remembered Galina Pavlovna standing up from the table with a glass in her hand, her voice growing louder with every sentence, while the guests lowered their eyes in embarrassment. She remembered the word “parasite” being thrown directly into her face.
“I still have hope,” Marina said quietly. “I hope time heals things.”
“Time doesn’t heal anything, Marina. It gives people a break. Actions are what heal wounds.”
Author: Anna Soyka ©
A week passed.
On Saturday morning, the intercom rang. Marina picked up the receiver and heard a woman’s unfamiliar voice.
“This is Kristina. Please let me in. I need to speak with Alyosha.”
Marina buzzed her in.
Kristina entered the apartment, looked around with obvious curiosity, and walked straight into the kitchen without even asking permission. Alexey came out of the bedroom carrying Artyom in his arms.
“Kristina. Haven’t seen you in a while,” he said evenly. “What brings you here?”
“Alyosha, Aunt Galya sent me. She wanted me to give you something.”
Kristina pulled an envelope from her handbag and placed it on the table.
“There’s a letter inside. She can’t talk about any of this without crying, so she wrote everything down.”
Alexey handed Artyom to Marina, opened the envelope, and began reading.
He remained silent for nearly three minutes. Then he carefully folded the pages and put them back inside.
“What does it say?” Marina asked.
“Four pages about how she sacrificed her entire life for me. How she raised me alone. How she always gave me her last penny. And not one word of apology. Not a single one, Marina.”
Kristina flinched.
“Alyosha, she’s your mother! She has a right to be emotional!”
“She does. And Marina has a right to be treated with respect. My wife is mentioned twice in this entire letter, and both times she’s described as the cause of every problem. That isn’t an attempt at reconciliation, Kristina. It’s an accusation written from a different angle.”
“You’re going too far.”
“No. Mom went too far when she told my friends, neighbors, and relatives that my wife was worthless and had latched onto me because of my apartment. You were there. You heard every word.”
Kristina looked away.
“She’d been drinking, Alyosha.”
“Drunk people often say what they’re afraid to say sober. Tell Mom that when she’s ready to apologize to Marina personally, we’ll talk. Until then, there’s nothing to discuss.”
Kristina left.
Marina stood there with Artyom in her arms, feeling the hope she had carefully nurtured throughout the week shrivel like paper thrown into a flame.
“Don’t let it upset you,” Alexey said. “We’re doing the right thing.”
“I know. I’m just tired of feeling like we’re under siege.”
Damned Paradise — Vladimir Leonidovich Shorokhov | LitRes
Three days later, Marina returned from the clinic, where doctors had confirmed her second pregnancy.
Two women were waiting for her on the landing: Nina Sergeyevna and Valentina. Both stood beside the apartment door with grim expressions.
“Marina, we need to talk,” Nina Sergeyevna said, stepping forward. “Without Alyosha. Woman to woman.”
“I don’t keep secrets from my husband.” Marina took out her keys. “If you want to come inside, you can. But Alexey is home.”
They entered.
Alexey was sitting at the table with his laptop. He looked up and silently gestured toward the chairs.
Nina Sergeyevna sat down first, straightening her shoulders as if preparing to deliver a speech. Valentina took the chair beside her, nervously twisting the handle of her handbag between her fingers.
“Alyosha, I’m your godmother,” Nina Sergeyevna began. “I’ve known you since you were in diapers. I never imagined I’d live to see the day when you abandoned your own mother.”
“I didn’t abandon her. I gave her one condition: apologize to my wife.”
“What does she have to apologize for? Telling the truth?”
Marina felt the blood pounding in her temples.
Slowly, she turned toward Nina Sergeyevna.
“What truth? That I’m a freeloader? That I’m living off my husband? I spent four years saving money—four years without vacations, without buying myself a new coat, without restaurants—and those savings went into this apartment. My share of this home wasn’t given to me as charity. I paid for it.”
“Oh, please. Money!” Nina Sergeyevna scoffed. “The apartment belonged to Alyosha. You only added some money to it.”
“I added exactly as much as his old one-bedroom apartment was worth. Exactly the same amount. We invested equally.”
Valentina finally spoke.
“Marina, try to understand Galina. She’s worried. She’s afraid that if you two ever divorce, her son will be left with nothing.”
“I’m thirty-one years old,” Marina said slowly, emphasizing every word. “I’m pregnant with our second child. I’m still on maternity leave with our first. And in front of an entire table full of people, I was publicly called things I refuse to repeat in front of my son. If your version of ‘truth’ means humiliation, then I want nothing to do with it.”
Nina Sergeyevna snorted.
“You young people are unbelievable. Nobody can say a single word to you without causing a scandal. In the old days, daughters-in-law knew how to endure things and keep quiet.”
“There used to be serfdom in the old days too,” Alexey replied. “Nina Sergeyevna, I respect you. But if you came here to pressure us instead of helping resolve this, the door is right there.”
“That’s how you speak to your godmother?”
“That’s how I speak to anyone who comes into my home and insults my wife.”
Nina Sergeyevna’s face turned crimson.
Valentina hurried to interfere.
“Alyosha, let’s handle this peacefully. Your mother is sick. She’s doing terribly…”
“Aunt Valya, I checked. On Monday, Mom posted pictures from the shopping mall. New hairstyle, new blouse, huge smile. On Tuesday, she posted a status saying, ‘My son abandoned me because his wife poisoned him against me.’ That isn’t illness. It’s a performance.”
Valentina fell silent.
Nina Sergeyevna stood up.
“Well, remember this, Alyosha. You only get one mother in your lifetime. Wives can come and go.”
Marina rose to her feet.
Her legs were slightly unsteady, but her voice remained calm.
“Nina Sergeyevna, leave our home. Now.”
“Oh, so you’re giving me orders now, sweetheart?”
Marina walked directly up to her, took her firmly—but not violently—by the elbow, and turned her toward the hallway.
Nina Sergeyevna was stunned. In her sixty years of life, no one had ever treated her this way.
Marina walked her to the door and opened it.
“Goodbye. And please tell Galina Pavlovna that we are waiting for an apology. Not complaints. Not messengers. An apology.”
Valentina hurried after her, muttering something about heartless people.
The door closed.
“You did well,” Alexey said.
“I’m angry,” Marina replied. “I’m so angry that it scares me.”
That same evening, Alexey sent three messages—to Nina Sergeyevna, Valentina, and Kristina.
Each message said essentially the same thing: a calm and clear explanation of his position, followed by a request that they stop interfering.
Their responses were different.
Kristina replied briefly:
“Understood. I won’t get involved.”
Valentina sent a seven-minute voice message, crying and accusing Alexey of tearing the family apart.
Nina Sergeyevna didn’t reply at all.
Two days later, Marina opened her mother-in-law’s social media page.
All the cheerful shopping mall photos had disappeared. In their place was a black background with white text:
“When your only son chooses a strange woman over his own mother and closes the door in your face, sometimes you simply don’t want to breathe anymore.”
There were 123 comments beneath it—messages of sympathy, curses aimed at the unnamed daughter-in-law, and suggestions that Galina Pavlovna should “find a way to put her in her place.”
“Lyosha, look at this.”
Marina handed him the phone.
Alexey read the post.
His expression hardened.
He remained silent for twenty seconds before saying:
“All right. So that’s how she wants to do this.”
He sat down and spent the next half hour writing a long post of his own.
There were no hysterics and no insults. Only facts: how much each spouse had invested in the apartment, exactly what his mother had said during the birthday celebration, and what conditions had been set for reconciliation.
At the end, Alexey attached screenshots of the messages sent through her intermediaries, along with dated photos showing his mother happily shopping at the mall.
“Are you sure about this?” Marina asked.
“She started a public information war. I have the right to respond. I’m not lying or exaggerating anything. People can see both sides and make up their own minds.”
His post received four hundred views overnight.
The next morning, Galina Pavlovna called him.
For the first time in more than two months, she called personally.
“Alyosha, delete that immediately!”
“Hello, Mom. No.”
“You’re humiliating me!”
“You humiliated yourself. At my birthday party, in front of my friends. I stayed silent for two months, and you decided my silence meant weakness. You were wrong.”
“I am your mother!”
“Yes. And that’s exactly why this hurts so much. But I will not let you destroy my family. Not publicly and not behind closed doors.”
“Delete the post, and then we’ll talk.”
“No. First, you apologize to Marina. Then we talk. After that, I’ll remove the post. That’s the order.”
Galina Pavlovna hung up.
Another four days passed.
On the fifth day, the doorbell rang.
Marina opened the door and saw Galina Pavlovna standing outside. She was holding a shopping bag with baby clothes visible inside. Her eyes were red, and her lips were pressed tightly together.
“May I come in?” she asked hoarsely.
“Come in.”
Galina Pavlovna entered the living room.
Alexey stood near the wall holding Artyom.
The little boy reached his hands toward his grandmother.
“Grandma!”
Galina Pavlovna flinched.
“Marina,” she began. “I… this is difficult for me to say.”
“I’m listening.”
“I was wrong. At the birthday party. The things I said were… cruel. And unfair. You didn’t deserve any of it.”
Marina stared at her silently.
She waited.
“I was afraid,” her mother-in-law continued. “Afraid of losing my son. Afraid that the apartment… that everything would be lost. It was foolish. I know that now. But fear can make people stop thinking clearly.”
“Fear doesn’t give you the right to humiliate someone,” Marina said. “You called me horrible things in front of other people. I couldn’t sleep properly for a week afterward. I was carrying your grandchild. I had invested my own money into our home, and you made me sound like a thief.”
“I understand.”
“No, you don’t. Not completely. But I accept your apology. Because Artyom needs his grandmother. And because your son loves you despite everything.”
Galina Pavlovna turned toward Alexey.
“Son…”
“Mom.”
He walked over and placed Artyom in her arms.
“Never again. Do you understand? Not another word against Marina. Not in public, not behind her back, not online. She is my wife. She is the mother of my children. If you can’t accept that, I’ll close the door again. And next time, I won’t open it.”
“I understand,” Galina Pavlovna whispered.
A month passed.
Galina Pavlovna began visiting twice a week. She was quiet, careful, and clearly trying to behave differently.
She no longer commented on their purchases, counted other people’s money, or pursed her lips whenever she noticed something new in the apartment.
Marina did not immediately warm to her.
Trust that has been shattered publicly takes longer to heal than a broken bone.
One evening, Alexey called Nina Sergeyevna.
He wasn’t calling to make peace. He simply wanted the truth.
“Nina Sergeyevna, tell me honestly. When you said Mom had called an ambulance, was that true?”
“Alyosha, I…”
“Was it true or not?”
“No. She asked me to say it. She said you wouldn’t open the door otherwise.”
“Thank you for being honest. Don’t call us again.”
He hung up and looked at Marina.
“Just like we thought. It was staged.”
“I feel sorry for Nina Sergeyevna,” Marina said. “She probably thought she was helping.”
“She wanted to feel useful. Instead, she let herself become a tool.”
Alexey deleted his public post.
Not because his mother had asked him to, but because the conflict seemed to be over.
The facts had already done their job. The people who had written hateful comments beneath Galina Pavlovna’s post suddenly became quiet. Some even deleted what they had written.
Publicity cuts both ways.
But the biggest shock was still ahead.
A week later, Marina accidentally discovered messages from the family group chat. She had been removed from it long ago, but Alexey still had access.
Kristina had written to Valentina:
“Aunt Valya, maybe we should file paperwork for a share of the apartment too? Alyoshka was little when his father’s inheritance was processed. Maybe we’re entitled to something as well?”
Valentina had replied:
“Quiet, quiet. Not now. Let them reconcile first. Then Galya can raise the issue. She’s his mother. Surely she has some right to her son’s living space.”
Marina read the exchange three times.
Then, without saying a word, she showed it to Alexey.
He read it slowly.
For a long time afterward, he simply sat staring into space.
“So that’s what all the tears were about,” he finally said quietly. “Not love. Square meters.”
The next day, Alexey invited his mother over for tea.
Just the two of them.
Marina had suggested it herself.
Galina Pavlovna arrived smiling.
“Mom,” Alexey said once she was seated. “I saw Kristina and Aunt Valya’s messages.”
The smile slipped from Galina Pavlovna’s face like peeling paint from an old wall.
“What messages?”
“The ones where they discuss taking part of our apartment. The same conversation where you’re supposed to ‘raise the issue’ after we reconcile.”
“Alyosha, I didn’t know…”
“Mom. Don’t lie to me. You were in that chat. You saw those messages. And you never objected.”
His mother remained silent.
Eventually, she looked up.
“I just didn’t want to argue with them.”
“You didn’t want to argue with them. But you had no problem fighting with me. Or Marina. Because we were safe targets. We love you, so you assumed we wouldn’t fight back. Convenient, wasn’t it?”
Alexey stood, walked to a cabinet, and took out a folder of documents.
“These are the ownership papers for the apartment. My share and Marina’s share are officially registered. The mortgage is ours. You, Aunt Valya, and Kristina have absolutely nothing to do with this property. Legally, your claim is zero.”
“I never wanted to take anything…”
“Then why did you stay silent while they were planning it?”
Galina Pavlovna lowered her head.
“I have nothing to say.”
“Exactly. Mom, I love you. But I’m not ignoring things anymore. I’ll message Kristina and Aunt Valya today. If either of them mentions our apartment again, I’ll publish that entire conversation. Names, dates, screenshots—everything.”
Galina Pavlovna left quietly that day.
No shouting.
No tears.
No slamming doors.
For the first time in her life, she had no argument left.
Alexey kept his word.
He sent identical messages to Kristina and Valentina:
“I know about your plans. I have screenshots. If I hear anything like this again, they’ll become public knowledge throughout the family—and beyond it.”
Kristina didn’t respond.
Valentina wrote:
“You misunderstood everything.”
Alexey didn’t bother replying.
Some battles are won through silence.
Six months later, Marina and Alexey welcomed a baby girl.
Galina Pavlovna came to the maternity hospital carrying flowers.
She stood in the corridor, hesitant to enter, until Alexey came out and took her by the hand.
“Come in, Mom. Just remember—you’re here as a grandmother. Not a judge, not an inspector, and not a victim. A grandmother.”
Galina Pavlovna nodded.
And for the first time in a very long while, her smile was genuine.
Kristina and Valentina were never invited to the baby’s homecoming or her first birthday.
They remained on the other side of the closed door—not because anyone wanted revenge, but because sometimes distance is necessary.
Because some people enter your life not to love you, but to calculate what they can take from you.
