The gray sky had been pressing down on the city for the third week already. Elizaveta Andreevna stood by the window, watching as ragged clouds clung to the roofs of the high-rises. In the courtyard, among puddles, children were playing, oblivious to the damp chill. Their ringing voices reached the seventh floor in muted echoes.
“I wonder how much more time it will take?” she thought, absentmindedly adjusting a light strand that had escaped the tight knot at the back of her head.
The doorbell rang sharply and insistently, as if intruding on her thoughts. Liza jumped. She wasn’t expecting visitors.
Nina Petrovna Kravtsova stood on the threshold, as straight as a rod, dressed in a strict dark blue coat with her constant brooch on the lapel — a silver bird with outstretched wings. For as long as Liza could remember, she had never parted with that ornament.
“Good afternoon, Elizaveta,” said the voice of her former mother-in-law, as even and steady as always, as if no months of silence and estrangement had passed between them. “I hope I’m not disturbing you?”
Without waiting for an invitation, Nina Petrovna stepped inside and slowly took off her gloves, finger by finger. Her movements revealed a woman used to her presence being accepted as a matter of course.
“Please come in,” Liza stepped aside, letting the unexpected guest pass.
In the living room, Nina Petrovna glanced around the new setting. Much had changed since the last time she had been here. The heavy drapes were gone, the massive wall unit, the paintings in dark frames. The room was filled with light and air.
“I see you’ve thoroughly… updated the interior,” she remarked, sitting down in an armchair. “Anton wouldn’t approve.”
“Anton doesn’t live here anymore,” Liza replied calmly, “not for two years now.”
“That doesn’t mean you had to throw away things bought with his money,” Nina Petrovna pursed her lips. “But I didn’t come for that.”
Liza waited silently by the window for her to continue.
“I need your help,” Nina Petrovna finally said, and those words seemed to cost her effort. “The thing is, I’m going to have surgery. Nothing serious, but I’ll need care for a week, maybe two. Anton is on a business trip abroad. You know I have no one else.”
Liza looked at the woman she had lived under one roof with for seven years. Nina Petrovna had aged. Deep wrinkles had settled in the corners of her eyes, and the once impeccably dyed hair now showed strands of silver.
“You understand that I’m no longer your son’s wife, so I’m not obligated to help you,” Liza said quietly, without challenge, but firmly.
Nina Petrovna raised her head:
“I thought you weren’t the type to refuse help to those in need.”
“I’m not refusing,” Liza went to the table and poured water into a glass. “I just want to understand why you came to me.”
Long ago, before she met Anton, Liza dreamed of becoming a journalist. She wrote articles for the university newspaper, interviewed professors and students, did reports from city events. “You have a light pen and a sharp eye,” the editor said.
But then Anton Kravtsov appeared — a tall, confident graduate student from the economics faculty. He recited poetry at student evenings, played guitar, and girls looked at him admiringly. When he noticed Liza, she couldn’t believe her luck.
Their romance developed rapidly. After six months, they were already living together, and three months later Anton proposed. The wedding was modest but tasteful. Nina Petrovna insisted that the young couple move in with her — “Why rent an apartment when I have a three-room one and live alone?”
So began their family journey, which from the start was under the close watch of the mother-in-law.
Nina Petrovna, a colonel’s widow who had spent her life as head of a laboratory at a research institute, had her own ideas of how family life should look. She didn’t yell, didn’t cause scandals or scenes. But she knew how to look, how to purse her lips, so that Liza felt like a schoolgirl who hadn’t learned her lesson.
“Elizaveta, you don’t iron Anton’s shirts right,” “Dear, this soup is too spicy for him,” “Anton is used to having dinner at exactly seven, not whenever you decide to come home from work.”
Gradually, Liza began to forget her ambitions. The position at a major newspaper where she was hired right after university was replaced by a proofreader job with a flexible schedule. “It’ll be easier for you to manage the house this way,” Anton said, and she agreed because she loved him and believed he wished her well.
When Kirill was born, Liza went on maternity leave. Nina Petrovna took on the role of chief expert in raising the grandson. “Don’t rock him to sleep, you’ll spoil him,” “Don’t feed on demand; the child needs a routine,” “Why don’t you harden the boy? At his age, Anton was already dousing himself with cold water.”
Liza resisted as best she could, but her voice was drowned in a stream of confident instructions from her mother-in-law, and her husband increasingly sided with his mother.
“Mom knows better, she raised me, and as you see, I turned out fine,” he said, kissing Liza on the crown of her head as if she were a child.
Years passed. Kirill grew from a chubby toddler into a curious boy. Liza returned to work, but now at a small publishing house where they paid little but didn’t require late hours. Anton made a successful career at a bank, often going on business trips. When he was away, Liza felt relief — she didn’t have to watch every step or listen to her mother-in-law’s remarks about not being a good enough wife or mother.
Then something happened that no one expected. Nina Petrovna broke her hip slipping on the wet bathroom floor. She needed serious surgery and a long recovery period. Anton was in Singapore closing an important contract, and all responsibility fell on Liza’s shoulders.
She cared for her mother-in-law day and night — changing bandages, cooking food, helping with hygiene, taking her to doctors. Kirill had to stay with a neighbor or be taken along to the hospital, where he quietly sat in the hallway, drawing or reading books.
“Give me some water, but not from the tap, from a bottle. And warm it a bit, I don’t drink cold,” Nina Petrovna would command.
“This pillow is too soft; it hurts my neck. Bring another one, the one in the closet, on the top shelf.”
“Why so long? I called five minutes ago. Didn’t you hear?”
Liza did everything without complaint, swallowing her resentment and fatigue. She did it not for gratitude, but because she believed it was right to help someone in trouble, even if that person was not always kind to her.
When Anton finally returned, Nina Petrovna could already move with a walker and partially take care of herself. Seeing her son, she cried:
“Antosha, how I suffered! Liza tried, of course, but you know she’s always been clumsy. I had to explain everything ten times.”
Liza listened, standing in the doorway, and something inside her broke. Eight sleepless weeks, running to pharmacies, fighting bureaucracy, cooking special meals — and all without a single “thank you,” and now with this ending.
That evening, when Kirill was already asleep and Nina Petrovna was watching TV in her room, Liza said to her husband:
“I can’t do this anymore, Anton. I want us to move out. Just you, me, and Kirill.”
Anton looked at her in surprise:
“Move out? Why? We have great conditions here.”
“I’m suffocating,” Liza replied quietly. “Your mother controls my every step, criticizes every decision. I’ve stopped being myself, I’ve become a shadow. I need space where I can breathe deeply.”
“You’re exaggerating,” Anton waved it off. “Mom only wants the best. Besides, she’s not young anymore; she needs our support.”
“And who will support me?” Tears rang in Liza’s voice. “When was the last time you told me I’m a good wife? When did you last care about my wishes, my dreams?”
“Stop with this female stuff,” Anton grimaced. “You have everything — a home, family, child. What else do you want?”
“Myself. I miss myself,” Liza answered and left the room.
The next day she applied for a job at a large publishing house. The interview went well — she was hired as an editor for the city news department. The salary was twice what it had been, but the responsibility was greater and the schedule stricter.
Nina Petrovna, upon learning this, only shook her head:
“And who will take care of Kirill? Who will cook dinner for Anton?”
“We’ll hire a nanny,” Liza replied. “And we can take turns cooking or order delivery. After all, Anton earns enough.”
“In my day, wives didn’t shift their duties onto strangers,” said the mother-in-law.
“In your day, women had fewer opportunities,” Liza retorted.
That was the beginning of the end. The job demanded a lot of time and effort, but Liza felt alive again. She was writing, meeting interesting people, making decisions. She came home tired but happy, her eyes shining.
Anton drifted away more and more. He was annoyed that she came home late, didn’t always have dinner ready, preferred to go to the park with Kirill on weekends instead of doing a thorough cleaning.
“You’ve completely neglected the house,” he said. “Mom’s right, you’ve changed.”
“Yes, I’ve changed,” Liza agreed. “I’ve become myself.”
The conclusion came suddenly. One evening Anton didn’t come home. Nor the next day. On the third day he appeared with a suitcase and said he was moving out.
“I met another woman,” he said, looking past Liza. “She understands that for a man, family is a rear, not a battlefield.”
Liza listened silently. Inside, it was empty and cold, as if someone had opened a door to the winter chill. But strangely, she felt neither surprise nor particular pain. As if a part of her had long expected this moment.
“And what about Kirill?” was all she asked.
“I’ll visit him, of course. And pay alimony, don’t worry.”
So Liza was left alone with her eight-year-old son in an apartment owned by the mother-in-law. Nina Petrovna, upon learning of her son’s decision, called Liza:
“I hope you understand it’s your fault. If you were a real wife, Anton would never have left.”
“Maybe,” Liza answered. “But then I wouldn’t be myself.”
Two weeks later Nina Petrovna announced that the apartment where Liza and Kirill lived had to be vacated.
“I can’t allow a stranger woman to live in my property,” she declared.
Liza didn’t argue. She rented a small two-room apartment near Kirill’s school and her work. The move was hard — she had to leave most things behind, but she didn’t regret it. It seemed that with the old furniture and dishes, she was leaving behind years lived not as herself.
They furnished the new place together. To Liza’s surprise, Kirill took the changes easily.
“I like it here better,” he said, placing his books on the shelf. “Grandma always scolded me when I scattered my building blocks.”
A year passed. Liza got a promotion and became deputy chief editor. Her articles were recognized in city contests, and one piece about corruption in housing and utilities even caused a stir at the federal level.
Anton occasionally visited his son, but the meetings became more formal and brief. His new woman, Marina, was pregnant, and Anton’s thoughts were all about impending fatherhood.
“Dad said I’m going to have a brother,” Kirill told Liza once after visiting his father. “Marina says I can come to visit them anytime I want.”
Liza smiled and hugged her son:
“That’s great. Brothers are wonderful.”
She felt no jealousy or resentment. Something important had changed inside her during that year. Like a wound had healed that she didn’t even know existed.
Then the unexpected happened. Liza was offered the position of chief editor at a new publishing project — a glossy magazine about city life. The salary was three times her current one, and the conditions were fantastic.
But there was one problem — the office was in another city, four hours away. The move meant Kirill would have to change schools, say goodbye to friends, and most importantly, see his father even less.
Liza wavered between wanting to accept the offer and fearing to disturb the fragile balance in their lives. She decided to talk honestly with her son.
“Kirill, I was offered a new job, a very good one. But we’ll have to move to another city. What do you think?”
The boy thought, fiddling with his sweater sleeve:
“Do they have a soccer club there?”
“Surely,” Liza smiled. “It’s a big city with lots of interesting things.”
“And how will we go to see Dad?”
“Less often than now. Maybe on holidays or vacations.”
Kirill was silent, then looked up at his mother:
“You know, Mom, Dad hardly ever comes now. He’s always busy with Marina and work. Last time we just went to the movies, and then he was on the phone all the time.” The boy sighed. “Let’s move if it’ll be better for you. You’ll be happier, right?”
Liza hugged her son, feeling a lump rise in her throat:
“I’m already happy because I have you. But yes, this job is what I’ve always dreamed of.”
“Then let’s go,” Kirill said simply. “I want you to be happy.”
So they found themselves in a new city, in a new apartment, with a new life. Liza threw herself into the magazine work; Kirill went to a new school. The first months were tough — the boy missed his friends, Liza was exhausted by endless deadlines and responsibility. But gradually, everything settled.
The magazine became popular, Kirill made new friends and found new hobbies. Anton, as Liza expected, became even more distant — at first calling once a week, then once a month, and then only sending greetings on holidays.
Nina Petrovna didn’t make herself known for almost two years. Liza sometimes thought of her, but without bitterness or resentment — just as someone who played a certain role in her life.
And now she sat opposite, straight and proud as ever, but with new wrinkles on her face and something pleading in her eyes.
“Why did I come to you?” Nina Petrovna asked again. “Because there’s no one else. Marina is busy with the baby, she has no time. And Anton…” she faltered, “Anton is going through a difficult time in life right now.”
“What happened?” Liza asked, not out of idle curiosity, but because she saw her mother-in-law was truly worried.
“He was fired from the bank. Staff reduction, that’s what they called it. But really, they just found someone younger with fresher ideas.” Nina Petrovna gave a bitter smile. “Anton can’t cope. Marina works two jobs, the baby often gets sick… In short, they don’t have time for me now.”
Liza was silent, digesting what she’d heard. Anton, always so confident, always knowing what’s right — suddenly out of work. Strange, but she felt no schadenfreude, only mild sadness.
“I’ll think about it,” she finally said. “When is the hospital visit?”
“In a week,” Nina Petrovna straightened even more, as if preparing for refusal. “But you don’t have to agree. I’ll find some other way.”
“I said I’ll think about it,” Liza repeated. “Leave your phone number; I’ll call in a couple of days.”
When the door closed behind Nina Petrovna, Liza returned to the window. The rain intensified, turning the yard into one big mirror reflecting the gray sky. The children had already run home; only a solitary figure in a bright raincoat crossed the puddles, hopping from island to island.
In the evening, after putting Kirill to bed, Liza called a friend.
“Guess who came to see me,” she said instead of greeting. “My ex-mother-in-law. She’s asking for help after surgery.”
“And what did you say?” Marina asked.
“I said I’d think about it.”
“What’s there to think? Just say ‘no’ and that’s it. That woman poisoned your life for seven years, and when you and Anton split, she kicked you out of the apartment. You owe her nothing.”
“I know,” Liza sighed. “But she’s alone. Anton isn’t in the best shape right now, and the new wife is busy with the baby.”
“So what? That’s their problem, not yours.”
“Maybe you’re right,” Liza agreed, but something inside resisted that logic.
She couldn’t sleep that night. Tossing and turning, she recalled the years spent in Nina Petrovna’s house. Yes, there was much pain, much injustice. But there was also something else — quiet evenings when the three of them played board games; holidays Nina Petrovna organized with special flair; care for Kirill, though excessive, but sincere.
In the morning, Liza made a decision. She called Nina Petrovna and said:
“I will help you. But on one condition.”
“What condition?” the older woman asked warily.
“You will live with us until you recover. And you must respect my rules in my house.”
There was a pause, then Nina Petrovna quietly replied:
“Okay, Elizaveta. I agree.”
The week flew by. Liza prepared the guest room, explained the situation to Kirill, arranged with her boss to work remotely a few days a week. The mother-in-law arrived the day before surgery, with a small suitcase and the same brooch on her chest.
“Thank you for agreeing to help,” she said stepping into the apartment. “I know you didn’t have to.”
“You didn’t have to,” Liza agreed. “But I do it not out of duty.”
“Then why?”
“Probably out of humanity.” Liza shrugged. “Come in, I’ll show you your room.”
The operation went well, but recovery was longer than expected. Nina Petrovna tried to be unobtrusive and not a bother, but habits formed over years showed themselves.
“Elizaveta, you cut vegetables wrong,” she said watching Liza prepare dinner. “They should be thinner.”
“Nina Petrovna, in my house, vegetables are cut as I like,” Liza replied calmly. “If you don’t like it, you can cook yourself when you get better.”
The mother-in-law was silent but after a while couldn’t help but add:
“Kirill spends too much time on the computer. It’s bad for his eyes at his age.”
“Kirill has special glasses for computer work,” Liza shot back. “And he has a mother who monitors his daily routine. Your help is not needed.”
Gradually Nina Petrovna interfered less and watched more. She saw how skillfully Liza combined work and caring for her son, how she and Kirill discussed his school affairs, solved problems together. She also saw how the boy reached out to his mother, trusted her secrets, and how he lit up when she praised him.
One evening, when Kirill was asleep and Liza was working on an article for the magazine, Nina Petrovna came to her with a cup of tea.
“May I sit?” she asked, and there was no usual commanding tone in her voice.
Liza nodded, setting aside her laptop.
“I have something to tell you,” Nina Petrovna began, carefully sitting down. “All these years I was sure I knew what was right. How to live right, how to raise children right, how to build a family right.” She paused. “I thought I was doing it all for Anton’s happiness. But actually… I ruined his life.”
Liza raised her eyebrows in surprise:
“Why do you think so?”
“Because I didn’t teach him independence. I always decided for him, always told him what to do. And when he met a strong woman — you — I got scared of losing control over him. And did everything to destroy your marriage.”
“I don’t think it was that simple,” Liza said quietly. “Anton made his own choice.”
“Choice?” Nina Petrovna smiled bitterly. “What choice can a person make who is used to living by orders? I whispered in his ear that you weren’t good enough, that you didn’t care about the family, that a real wife shouldn’t behave like that.” She shook her head. “And here’s the result: my son lost his job, can barely handle the roles of father and husband, and I… I’m left alone, realizing I was going the wrong way all my life.”
Liza was silent, unsure what to say to such a confession.
“Do you know what’s the worst?” Nina Petrovna continued. “Watching you handle everything without my advice and orders. How Kirill grows up a happy boy, free from the ‘right behavior’ constraints. It… it destroys everything I believed in.”
Her voice trembled, and Liza suddenly saw not a formidable mother-in-law, but just an elderly woman tired of her own convictions.
“I’m not asking for forgiveness,” Nina Petrovna said, straightening up. “I just want you to know: I see who you really are. And I… I respect you for that.”
Those words, spoken with such difficulty, hung heavily in the air. Liza felt something inside her loosen — as if a fist she had held tightly for years had unclenched.
“Thank you,” she simply replied. “That means a lot to me.”
Three weeks after the surgery, Nina Petrovna was strong enough to return home. On the morning of her departure, she came to breakfast dressed in her usual strict dress, hair neatly done, and the bird brooch on her chest.
“I ordered a taxi for ten o’clock,” she said sitting down. “I don’t want to overstay my welcome.”
Kirill, devouring pancakes, looked up:
“Grandma, will you come see us again? I wanted to show you my new biology project.”
Nina Petrovna froze, not knowing what to say.
“Of course, I will,” Liza said pouring tea. “If she wants to.”
Their eyes met across the table — Liza’s calm, confident gaze and Nina Petrovna’s confused one.
“I… I would be glad,” the mother-in-law finally said.
After breakfast, when Kirill left for school and the taxi waited at the door, Nina Petrovna stopped in the doorway.
“Elizaveta, I want you to know: the apartment I kicked you out of two years ago… I transferred it to Kirill. He will be able to manage it when he comes of age.”
Liza froze with the keys in her hand:
“Why?”
“Because it’s right,” Nina Petrovna simply replied. “Anton wouldn’t manage it anyway, and Marina… this isn’t her home.”
“Thank you,” Liza said quietly. “Kirill will be grateful when he finds out.”
“Don’t tell him yet,” Nina Petrovna shook her head. “Let it just be between us.”
She turned to leave, but Liza suddenly asked:
“What about your bird?”
Nina Petrovna looked at her puzzled:
“What bird?”
“Your brooch. You never parted with it.”
The elderly woman touched the silver bird on her chest:
“Oh, that… It’s a phoenix. Do you know the legend? A bird that rises from the ashes.” She smiled sadly. “Your father-in-law gave it to me before he died. He said I was strong like a phoenix and could always rise no matter what happened.”
She paused, then unexpectedly unclasped the brooch and held it out to Liza:
“Take it. It should be yours.”
“No, no,” Liza stepped back. “It’s your memory, your story.”
“Now let it be yours,” Nina Petrovna insisted. “You earned it more than anyone. You managed to rise from the ashes I created.”
Liza slowly took the brooch, feeling its weight in her palm.
“Goodbye, Elizaveta,” Nina Petrovna said and, turning around, headed for the elevator.
“Goodbye, Nina Petrovna,” Liza replied. “We’ll be waiting for you to visit.”
The woman nodded without looking back and entered the elevator. The doors closed, separating her from Liza.
Back in the apartment, Liza went to the window. Below, near the entrance, Nina Petrovna was getting into the taxi. For a moment she looked up, as if knowing Liza was watching. Their eyes met through the glass and distance. Nina Petrovna nodded slightly, then disappeared into the car.
The taxi drove off, taking a part of Liza’s past with it. She watched it go, clutching the silver bird — the symbol of rebirth that now belonged to her.
The doorbell rang. Liza jumped and went to open it, wondering who it could be. A courier stood at the threshold with a large envelope.
“Elizaveta Andreevna? You have a letter from the ‘Capital’ publishing house.”
Liza signed and closed the door, opening the envelope. Inside was an official invitation to the position of chief editor of a new magazine in Moscow — the largest project of the publishing house.
“We were impressed by your work and believe you are the one who can bring our new project to the federal level…”
Liza slowly sank into a chair, rereading the letter. Moscow. New opportunities. New horizons. And new challenges — moving, Kirill’s adaptation, even greater distance from his father…
She looked at the phoenix brooch lying on the table, reflecting sunlight with its silver wings. Rising from the ashes. Again and again.
Liza smiled and reached for the phone. She needed to call her son and tell him their life was preparing to take flight once more.
