A morning mist slowly spread over the village, hiding the tops of the birch trees as if someone had gently covered them with an airy veil. Dew sparkled on the grass like scattered diamonds, and the air was cool, moist, and filled with the scents of autumn. A light breeze barely stirred the yellowing leaves, heralding a clear but no longer warm day. The sun cautiously pierced through the gray clouds, casting a golden light on the treetops. In the small town surrounded by fields and groves, preparations were underway to celebrate an important event — the birthday of Valeria Timofeevna, Evelina’s mother-in-law.
“Evelinushka, you remember that Elizaveta Arkadyevna is coming, right? She used to work at a restaurant,” the mother-in-law’s voice sounded worried, even though there were still ten whole days before the celebration.
“I remember, Mom. Everything will be just as it should.”
“And don’t forget: Arkady Stepanovich can’t handle spicy food, and Tamara is on a diet… Can you manage?”
Evelina nodded, knowing that no one could hear that over the phone. In fifteen years of marriage, she had learned to recognize every intonation of Valeria Timofeevna — when she was truly worried and when she just wanted to keep everything under control.
To Valeria Timofeevna, Evelina still seemed too simple, too quiet, too “ordinary” for their family, which considered itself special. Not as refined as the mother-in-law had been in her youth, not as a striking hostess. Even years of marriage to her son Alexey, caring for her grandson, and household chores could not change her attitude toward her daughter-in-law.
And finally, the long-awaited day arrived. The sky was clear, the sun gilded the trees, bathing the house in soft light. Evelina had been up since early morning: baking, mixing, decorating dishes. Salads lined up in the refrigerator, and the pie smelled of apples and cinnamon.
“Already done with the salads?” Alexey peeked into the kitchen, adjusting his tie. “Mom just called — they’re already on their way.”
“Of course, they’ll come early to check that everything is perfect,” Evelina said with a restrained smile, trying not to let irritation slip into her voice.
“She’s just worried,” Alexey kissed his wife on the crown of her head. “She wants everything to be beautiful for Mom.”
“And if something isn’t perfect, then it’s my fault,” Evelina said with a slight smile, hiding her fatigue behind practiced politeness.
Just as the doorbell rang, she was finishing whipping the cream for the cake. She took off her apron, fixed her hair, and went to open the door.
“Happy birthday, Mom!” Evelina warmly hugged her mother-in-law, who was carrying two large bags — with gifts and, most likely, something tasty for the table.
“Let me help?”
“No need, I’ll manage,” said Stepan Grigoryevich, Valeria’s husband, taking the bags. “Hello, Evelina.”
The mother-in-law carefully appraised her daughter-in-law, as if judging her appearance, behavior, mood.
“Again in the same dress? I thought you’d wear something new for the celebration.”
Evelina’s cheeks flushed slightly. The dress was new and neat — she had chosen it carefully, spending nearly the entire bonus on it.
“Mom, everything is ready,” Alexey intervened. “Evelina has been working all day.”
“We’ll see, we’ll see…” Valeria said doubtfully and confidently headed to the kitchen.
Evelina took a deep breath. The first round had begun. The evening promised to be difficult.
By six o’clock, the house was filled with voices, laughter, clinking dishes, and the aromas of festive food. Evelina kept coming out of the kitchen — serving, clearing, offering treats, smiling.
“Who made this salad?” loudly asked Elizaveta Arkadyevna, a friend of Valeria.
“Evelina, of course,” Alexey answered proudly.
“What’s there to do — it’s all semi-prepared,” Valeria Timofeevna couldn’t resist. “We used to even make mayonnaise ourselves.”
Evelina’s heart tightened. She was the one who had made the mayonnaise by hand — the old-fashioned way, with a whisk, patiently.
“Remember, Lera, what kind of cake you baked for my anniversary?” Arkady Stepanovich recalled. “You worked on it for three whole days!”
“That’s when women knew what it meant to care for their family,” added Valeria. “And now everything is from the microwave or delivered.”
“Mom, Evelina tried very hard,” Alexey spoke up.
“I’m not saying anything bad, just comparing,” Valeria shrugged.
Evelina silently retreated to the kitchen to bring the hot dishes. Her hands trembled. One thought kept spinning in her head: “Endure. Hold on. Just hold on.”
“Need help?” Tamara, Alexey’s cousin’s wife, peeked in soon after.
“Thanks, I’ll manage,” Evelina replied quietly, trying to stay calm.
At the table, a conversation about raising children began.
“Kids are spoiled nowadays,” Valeria Timofeevna shook her head, glancing at Vanya, her ten-year-old grandson. “At his age, Alyosha was reading books, and he just sits on his phone.”
“He reads every evening,” Evelina answered calmly. “Today is a holiday; we allowed him a little distraction.”
“Well, well. No wonder he has a C in literature.”
“He has an A,” Evelina said firmly, feeling her voice tremble.
“Alexey told me…”
“I didn’t say that,” her husband sharply interrupted.
An awkward silence fell. Someone coughed nervously; someone pretended to be very interested in their plate.
“Let’s toast the birthday girl!” Stepan Grigoryevich declared cheerfully, lightening the mood.
Later, when the conversation turned to family matters, Valeria again did not miss the chance:
“Some endure, stay silent… and then get offended. Right, Evelina?”
At that moment, Evelina realized: now or never. She slowly stood, took a glass, and took a deep breath.
“I want to make a toast.”
The guests fell silent. Valeria Timofeevna smiled — with a slight note of self-satisfaction, as if sure she was about to hear praise.
“To Valeria Timofeevna. To the woman who has taught me a lot. First and foremost — patience.”
At the table, people exchanged glances. Alexey tensed — he didn’t know where this was going.
“When I joined the family, I did many things wrong. But I had a mentor who always pointed out my mistakes. And, it turned out, not without reason.”
Valeria blinked, clearly not expecting such words.
“This salad was made according to your recipe, Valeria Timofeevna. Only I added my own spices. The mayonnaise is homemade, as you taught me. The casserole is also by your recipe.”
“And the books Vanya reads are the collection of fairy tales you gave us. We read them together every night.”
Evelina hesitated a little but continued:
“I realized one thing: behind criticism often hides love. It’s just not always easy to express.”
The atmosphere at the table began to change. Someone smiled; someone nodded thoughtfully. Stepan Grigoryevich looked at his wife attentively.
“And you criticized my dress because you wanted me to look better. After all, I am your son’s wife.”
Valeria’s face softened. She stood up.
“Thank you, Evelina. I didn’t think you felt all this so deeply.”
After these words, the house seemed to warm up. Conversations became livelier, laughter — more sincere, food — tastier.
“And you, Lera, the mother-in-law criticized you more than once!” Stepan chuckled.
“That happened…” Valeria nodded. “I baked a cake, and she said it was dry. I cried right there at the table.”
“Everyone goes through that,” sighed Tamara. “My mother-in-law even tried to teach me how to make the bed.”
A general laugh broke out at the table. For the first time in many years, Evelina felt not just like the mistress of the house — but a full part of this big, complicated, but dear family.
For dessert, she served a cake with berries and airy cream. She guarded its recipe like the apple of her eye — specially for important occasions.
“Simply delightful!” Arkady exclaimed. “Lera, is this your masterpiece again?”
“No, it’s Evelina’s. Her cakes are even tastier than mine now,” Valeria unexpectedly admitted.
Evelina almost dropped the knife. It was the first compliment from her mother-in-law in fifteen years.
“Thank you, Mom.”
In their eyes met not only respect but also a new feeling — recognition, long-awaited and warm.
When the guests left, Valeria lingered in the hallway.
“Evelina, today you have completely changed my mind.”
“I don’t think so…”
“No, really. I often go too far. It’s just how I was raised — criticism ‘hardens.’ But sometimes you just need to say a kind word.”
“It really helps,” Evelina answered softly.
“You are a wise woman. I’m glad you became my son’s wife.”
After the door closed behind Valeria, Alexey approached his wife and hugged her tightly.
“What was that?”
“Fifteen years of silence. Everything piled up.”
“Aren’t you angry with her?”
“No. Now I understand: behind the nagging hides care. It’s her own, not the easiest, but real.”
“Why didn’t you say that before?”
“I think I just wasn’t ready. Now I understand: responding with kindness is not weakness but strength.”
“You’re incredible,” Alexey whispered, looking into his wife’s eyes.
The very next morning, the phone rang. This time — from Valeria. No remarks, no advice, no pressure.
“Thank you,” she simply said. “Let’s choose a gift for Vanya together.”
