“Be careful, baby! That’s our wedding china!” Artyom caught the box that was slipping from my hands.
I couldn’t help but smile. It had only been a couple of weeks since our wedding, and already we were like newlyweds migrating to his parents’ place while our own house was being renovated.
The house greeted us with a chill and a faint trail of expensive perfume. Elena Pavlovna, though not physically present, was felt everywhere — her taste showed in every detail of the interior.
“Mom, the last boxes have arrived!” Artyom shouted as he entered the mansion.
His mother came out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron. Her gaze slid over me — as if through empty space.
“Son, you must be tired? I baked your favorite cherry pie.”
“Great! Lisa likes it too, right, dear?” my husband hugged me by the shoulders.
Elena Pavlovna barely frowned.
“Of course. I’ll go check if the tea hasn’t burned.”
Before she could disappear, Artyom got a call. Problems with the project — urgent blueprints needed. He apologized and went to his office.
While unpacking our wedding photo, I heard footsteps. Elena Pavlovna stood in the doorway. This time her expression was very different — harsh, almost hostile.
“Settling in already?” she asked, her voice icy.
“I’m doing my best. Thank you for letting us in.”
She took a half step forward. I instinctively stepped back.
“Don’t play the innocent. I know how it goes: an ordinary girl suddenly marries a promising groom. How convenient!”
“We love each other, Elena Pavlovna…”
“Love!” she snorted. “You should be grateful you’re even here. Now you’re just a guest in this house!”
My cheeks burned, and I felt hurt rising inside.
“I am your daughter-in-law.”
“For now. Artyom will come to his senses and find a woman of his level. You’re just a youthful mistake. Remember your place.”
A voice came from upstairs:
“Mom, Lisa! Come have some tea!”
Instantly, Elena Pavlovna’s face transformed — blooming into a motherly smile, her hand resting on my shoulder.
“Come, dear! Let’s sit and chat.”
I stood stunned. What would happen next?
Those days were like walking on a minefield. In front of her son, my mother-in-law was the embodiment of kindness. But once he left — the trials began.
“Lisa, terrible!” she burst into the room. “I was bringing you coffee and slipped… Did you have a dress in your closet?”
I ran to the wardrobe. On the pristine silk — a huge stain. The dress was hopelessly ruined.
“Don’t be upset,” she said with saccharine concern. “People usually don’t marry a second time. Though Artyom can always choose one of ‘his own.’”
At dinner, the story repeated itself: supposedly I spilled the cup myself, and Mom heroically tried to save the fabric. Artyom sympathetically stroked my hand. He didn’t suspect the truth.
Then some antique earrings disappeared — the only memory from my grandmother.
“How strange,” Elena Pavlovna said. “Nothing ever went missing here before. Your relatives haven’t been snooping around, have they?”
The hint was too blatant. But I stayed silent — not wanting to spoil the relationship between son and mother.
Then my mother came. She brought jars of homemade preserves — to introduce herself, to offer a treat.
“What a charming exotic touch,” Elena Pavlovna shook her head. “Artyom, of course, is used to more refined cuisine, but we’ll try your… snacks.”
Mom flared up but held back. And when my husband left, my mother-in-law hissed:
“An apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. Both trying to settle themselves well.”
“How can you?!” Mom exclaimed and left.
I couldn’t take it anymore. Things flew into my bag — better to return to the house under construction.
“Running away?” Elena Pavlovna’s voice at the door.
“Home. Where the renovation is. Where you aren’t.”
“Run. Let Artyom see you’re a weakling, can’t stand up for yourself. Does a successful man need that?”
The door slammed. But it wasn’t Artyom.
“What’s going on here?” Viktor Semyonovich stood in the hallway. His voice was stern.
He entered, walking heavily. His usually kind face turned stone-cold. Elena Pavlovna tried to smile — it looked more like a grimace.
“Vitenka, you’re early… Lisa and I were just…”
“Enough. I stood outside the door for ten minutes. Heard everything.”
She deflated like a balloon without air.
“This is a misunderstanding… I was just testing her, to see if she’s worthy…”
“Testing?” He shook his head. “Lena, wake up. Lisa, sit down. We need to talk.”
The tension filled the living room. The air felt heavy.
“When Artyom brought Lisa home, you were happy,” my father-in-law began. “But after the wedding, it’s like you changed. I know why.”
“Vitya, don’t…”
“It’s necessary. You’re afraid to lose your son. Worried the wife will become more important than the mother. But it’s normal, Lena. It should be that way.”
Elena Pavlovna hid her face in her hands. Her shoulders shook.
“He’s my only one… We went through everything together. And now he comes home and only talks about her. Lisa said, Lisa did. As if I don’t exist.”
“All my life I raised and loved him, and now a stranger woman became the most important in six months,” her voice trembled. “Where is the justice?”
I looked at her differently. Not as an enemy — but as a woman tormented by fear and loneliness.
“Elena Pavlovna,” I said softly. “I’m not trying to take Artyom away. He adores you, remembers you constantly. There’s just room in his heart for both of us.”
“Remember how my mother tormented you?” Viktor Semyonovich added. “You cried at night. Do you want to repeat her mistakes?”
My mother-in-law shuddered. Tears streamed down her cheeks.
“Oh God… I’ve become the same. What have I done…”
“Let’s start over,” I moved closer. “Artyom will be happy if we get along. Right?”
She lifted her eyes — wet, confused.
“The dress… Forgive me. And the earrings in my jewelry box. I… I really behaved terribly.”
“Everything can be fixed,” Viktor Semyonovich smiled cautiously. “While it’s not too late.”
The door suddenly flew open — it was Artyom. He froze in the doorway, stunned by the sight of three crying women.
“What happened?”
“Nothing serious,” Elena Pavlovna was the first to compose herself and approached her son. “Just your mother finally realized what a blessing she has in such a daughter-in-law.”
“How could it be otherwise? We are family.”
“Mom,” I called. “Artyom and I have decided, if you don’t mind… She will be Elena. In your honor.”
My mother-in-law froze. Large tears flowed down her cheeks.
“You… really?”
“Absolutely.”
She gently touched her granddaughter’s cheek with her finger.
“Hello, little Elena. I am your grandmother Lena. And I will be the most loving grandmother in the world. I promise.”
The month after the birth, my parents stayed with us. Elena Pavlovna taught me how to swaddle, bathe, recognize different cries. Viktor Semyonovich built shelves, fixed furniture, warmed bottles.
“Look, this is how you should feed her,” she showed. “See? She calmed right away.”
“You have magical hands.”
“Experience, dear. Just experience. And a desire to share it.”
One night our baby suffered from colic. We took turns rocking her, warming swaddles, dropping dill water, singing lullabies. By morning, we all gathered in the living room — exhausted but happy.
“Remember, Lena, how Artyom screamed?” Viktor Semyonovich hugged his wife. “Neighbors threatened to call the police.”
“No kidding! Three months nonstop. I thought I’d go crazy.”
“But look how he turned out,” I looked at my husband who was dozing, holding our daughter. “The best in the world.”
“Now it’s your turn,” Elena Pavlovna smiled. “To raise the best. And we’ll help. If you let us.”
“Let us? We’d be lost without you!”
At that very moment our little Lena smiled for the first time. Toothlessly, a bit crookedly, but sincerely and brightly. We all melted.
“To grandma!” my mother-in-law exclaimed, tearfully holding the granddaughter. “Recognized her own!”
I watched them and thought: how strange fate is. It all started with coldness and reproaches, but now — a real family. Where there is room for mistakes, reconciliations, care, laughter… and love. Endless, unconditional.
“You know what?” I said. “Let’s make a deal. Whatever happens — we will always be there. Together.”
“Always,” Elena Pavlovna nodded and kissed her granddaughter’s forehead. “Now and forever.”
