Galina Petrovna had always believed she possessed a special gift—she could see right through people. In twenty years as the factory’s chief accountant, she had learned to read faces, catch intonations, and notice what others missed. That talent made her indispensable on the job, but at times it turned into a curse—especially when it came to her son’s personal life.
When Andrey brought Lena home, Galina Petrovna immediately sensed something off. The girl was too beautiful, too self-assured. There were notes in her laughter that put an experienced woman on guard. Lena behaved naturally, answered questions without hesitation, even helped with dinner, yet something about her was wrong. A mother’s heart doesn’t lie.
“Mom, we’ve decided to get married,” Andrey announced at a family dinner a month after they met. He looked at Lena with love in his eyes, while she modestly lowered her gaze, turning the engagement ring on her finger.
Galina Petrovna set down her fork slowly. She had known this moment would come, just not so soon.
“Andryusha, darling, aren’t you rushing it? Maybe you should take a little more time to get to know each other?” She tried to keep her tone gentle, but a strained note crept in. “There are plenty of good girls around—why hurry such a serious decision?”
Lena raised her eyes—there was a flash of cold light in them that Andrey missed, but his mother caught instantly.
“Galina Petrovna, I understand your concern,” Lena said evenly. “But Andrey and I truly love each other.”
“Of course, of course,” Galina Petrovna agreed quickly, while thinking to herself, “We’ll see what you’re really like, my dear.”
They set the wedding for autumn. For the time being the young couple would live in Galina Petrovna’s apartment—rent was too expensive and they didn’t have a place of their own yet. Galina Petrovna agreed through gritted teeth, consoling herself that this way it would be easier to keep an eye on things.
Life together began with minor frictions. Lena rearranged the furniture, changed the usual order in the kitchen, turned on music when Galina Petrovna was resting after work. Each little thing irritated her more and more, but there was no direct cause for a quarrel—the girl was polite and considerate.
Galina Petrovna began to influence her son subtly. At breakfast, when Lena wasn’t around, she would sigh:
“Andryusha, remember how quiet our mornings used to be? Not like now—music from the crack of dawn…”
Or in the evening, getting ready for bed:
“Son, maybe you should postpone the wedding? What if you don’t fully know each other yet?”
Andrey just brushed it off, but seeds of doubt were slowly taking root.
The turning point came in mid-summer. Galina Petrovna was coming home from work when she saw Lena by the entrance with an unfamiliar young man. They were arguing heatedly; the guy was waving his arms, and Lena was shaking her head. It was clearly an unpleasant conversation.
When Lena came upstairs, her face was tense.
“Who was that with you outside?” Galina Petrovna asked casually as she sliced bread for dinner.
“My ex,” Lena answered shortly, without looking up. “He was demanding his share of the apartment rent. We shared a place until we broke up.”
“Oh, so that’s it,” drawled Galina Petrovna, a note of satisfaction slipping into her voice. “And when did you two split?”
“Six months ago,” Lena poured herself tea. “But he still has financial claims. Even though we settled everything a long time ago.”
Galina Petrovna nodded and asked no more, but the information lodged in her memory. She had a habit of remembering anything that might come in handy later. At work everyone knew: if you wanted the latest news, ask the chief accountant. Galina Petrovna was always up to date on office romances, family dramas, and workplace intrigues. She didn’t consider it gossip—other people’s business was simply her hobby.
The wedding took place in October, in a small restaurant. Galina Petrovna put on her best suit and smiled at the guests, though inside she was seething with impatience to disgrace the bride. Andrey glowed with happiness; Lena, in her white dress, was irresistible. It seemed nothing could cloud the day.
When it was the mother-in-law’s turn to give a toast, Galina Petrovna rose with a glass of champagne. The hall fell silent—everyone awaited the customary well-wishes to the newlyweds.
“My dears,” began Galina Petrovna, looking at her son and daughter-in-law. “I am, of course, happy for you, even if my daughter-in-law has such a… turbulent past.” She paused to let the words sink in. “But what can you do—young people today have different morals. In our day, a girl had to save her innocence for her groom.”
The room sank into dead silence. Lena went pale, then flushed scarlet. Andrey lowered his eyes; his face burned with shame. The guests glanced at one another, not knowing where to look.
“Well then, let’s drink to the young couple!” cried Galina Petrovna with forced cheer, raising her glass.
The rest of the wedding passed under a cloud. Lena spoke barely a word; Andrey looked crushed. The guests slipped away earlier than usual.
At home the newlyweds didn’t speak to Galina Petrovna for a long time. The atmosphere in the apartment turned icy, but she felt she had done the right thing—she’d told the truth, however bitter.
Time went on. Family relations gradually improved—at least on the surface. Lena was pointedly polite with her mother-in-law, Andrey tried not to bring up the wedding incident. Galina Petrovna acted restrained as well, though she sometimes couldn’t resist a barbed remark.
She was turning fifty that year and decided to celebrate in grand style. She invited all her colleagues, including the factory director, Marina Vladimirovna, and her husband. Their relationship was complicated—formally respectful, but behind her back, Galina Petrovna often discussed the director’s private life with other employees.
Marina Vladimirovna was a striking woman, but she had a reputation. Rumor had it her husband, Viktor Semyonovich, had been carrying on an affair for years with a secretary from a neighboring department. Galina Petrovna knew about it from colleagues and more than once had allowed herself comments about the boss’s marriage.
“It’s strange, isn’t it,” she would say to her friends at lunch, “how you can fail to notice your husband is cheating on you? The whole plant knows, and she pretends nothing’s happening.”
Or:
“Did you see Viktor Semyonovich buying flowers today? I wonder who they’re for—his wife or his mistress?”
About thirty people gathered for the birthday banquet. The restaurant was decorated with balloons and flowers; music played. Galina Petrovna felt like the queen of the evening—accepting congratulations, dancing, laughing. Marina Vladimirovna and her husband sat at the head table, politely smiling and making conversation.
When it was the family’s turn to toast, Lena stood up. Elegant in a black dress, she carried herself with confidence. Galina Petrovna expected the standard wishes—health, happiness, long life.
“Dear Galina Petrovna,” Lena began, honeyed notes in her voice. “I want to say how much I admire you. You are such an open, sincere person. You never hide your feelings or your thoughts.”
Galina Petrovna smiled, pleased—at last her daughter-in-law appreciated her properly.
“What especially amazes me,” Lena continued, “is how nobly you invited to this celebration even people you don’t much like and about whom you… well, sometimes say not the most flattering things.” She paused, letting the words hit their mark. “After everything you’ve told me about the lovers of Marina Vladimirovna’s husband, it was very magnanimous of you to invite the two of them to your jubilee.”
The silence was deafening. Marina Vladimirovna turned as white as chalk; her husband clenched his napkin in a spasm. Galina Petrovna froze with her glass in hand, her face burning with shame and fury.
“So let’s drink to our dear birthday girl and her remarkable ability to notice every nuance in other people’s lives!” Lena concluded, raising her glass with unruffled calm.
The hall remained dead quiet. A few guests awkwardly lifted their glasses, but most just sat in shock. Marina Vladimirovna stood, gave the celebrant a cold nod, and headed for the exit. Her husband hurried after her.
“Marina Vladimirovna, wait, it’s a misunderstanding!” Galina Petrovna rushed after them, but the director didn’t even turn around.
The party collapsed. Guests began to leave on various pretexts. An hour later only the closest remained—a few colleagues and relatives. Galina Petrovna sat crimson with humiliation, at a loss for words.
Lena, meanwhile, chatted sweetly with those who stayed, as if nothing had happened.
The next day at work, a chill greeted Galina Petrovna. Marina Vladimirovna ignored her greeting; colleagues avoided conversation; in the cafeteria no one sat at her table. It became clear that after the previous night’s scandal her reputation had taken serious damage.
A week later, Galina Petrovna submitted her resignation. Staying on after what had happened was unbearable. Andrey and Lena tried to dissuade her, but her decision was final.
“I need a change of scene,” she told her son. “I have the dacha out in the region; I can settle in there. It’ll be difficult to stay in the city now…”
The dacha was a hundred kilometers from the city, in a small provincial town. The house was modest but cozy—she and her late husband had built it for weekends, but after his death she had hardly gone there. Now she had to make it a home in earnest.
The first months were hard. Used to urban comfort and an active social life, Galina Petrovna felt exiled. The neighbors on their plots were taciturn summer people; conversation didn’t come easily. In winter almost no one stayed in the settlement; the days dragged on, monotonous and bleak.
Andrey and Lena visited regularly—bringing groceries, helping around the place. Lena was pointedly attentive and caring, which only intensified in Galina Petrovna a mix of guilt and irritation.
In spring, when the snow melted and the garden plots came to life, she perked up a little. She planted a vegetable patch, began chatting with the neighbors, even considered finding a job in the district center. But the memory of that birthday wouldn’t let her go.
In May, Andrey and Lena came for the May holidays. After dinner Andrey went next door to help a neighbor fix a fence, and the women stayed behind to wash the dishes.
“Lena,” said Galina Petrovna at last, not raising her eyes from the plate, “I need to ask you something.”
“Of course, Galina Petrovna.”
“Why did you say all that at the party, in front of the guests?” Her voice trembled with pent-up emotion. “We could have avoided the scandal…”
Lena set down the towel and turned to her mother-in-law. There was neither malice nor triumph in her eyes—only cold resolve.
“That was for humiliating me at the wedding,” she said calmly.
Galina Petrovna flinched as if struck.
“You ruined the most important day of my life,” Lena went on. “You shamed not only me, but your own son. In front of all our relatives and friends. Did you think I would forget? Forgive?—” She tilted her head. “I couldn’t forgive that. So you paid for your tongue.”
“But I… I meant well,” Galina Petrovna stammered. “I was worried about Andrey…”
“You wanted to put me in my place,” Lena cut in. “And you did. And now you’re surprised you got an answer?” She picked up the towel and resumed drying the dishes. “I waited for the right moment. And I waited it out.”
Galina Petrovna stood, at a loss for words. A heavy ache spread through her chest—not only from shame, but from the realization that she was both right and wrong at the same time.
“So what now?” she asked quietly. “Are we going to go on living with this enmity between us?”
Lena shrugged.
“That depends on you, Galina Petrovna. I don’t hold a grudge—the account is settled. But I want you to understand: you have to be more careful with people. Words have consequences.”
“I understand,” Galina Petrovna nodded. “I understand now.”
They washed the rest of the dishes in silence. When Andrey returned, both women were sitting at the table drinking tea, deliberately polite as they discussed garden and vegetable-patch plans. Outwardly everything looked peaceful, but something in their relationship had changed forever.
That evening, when the young couple settled into the guest room, Galina Petrovna sat on the veranda for a long time, gazing at the stars. She thought about how strangely life is arranged—how words flung out in a rush of emotion can change everything. She thought about her own character, her habit of judging people and handing out verdicts. About how every action breeds a reaction.
Somewhere deep down she even felt a measure of respect for her daughter-in-law. Lena turned out to be stronger than she had thought. She knew how to wait, plan, and get what she wanted. In a sense they were alike—neither forgave an offense, both could find the vulnerable spot. Only Lena was the better strategist.
In the morning, breakfast had an unusually warm air. Lena brought tomato seedlings she had grown on the windowsill; Andrey promised to come next weekend to help plant potatoes. They spoke of summer plans and discussed repairing the veranda.
When the young couple were getting ready to leave, Lena unexpectedly hugged her mother-in-law.
“Galina Petrovna,” she said softly, “let’s start over. For Andrey.”
“Let’s,” agreed Galina Petrovna. “Only… forgive me for the wedding. I didn’t think about what I was saying.”
“Already forgiven,” Lena smiled. “Yesterday, when we talked.”
They waved goodbye, and Galina Petrovna was left alone with her thoughts. Ahead lay a new life in this quiet place, far from the city bustle and intrigues. Perhaps that was for the best—here she would have a chance to become different, to learn to hold her tongue.
That evening, watering the seedlings on the windowsill, she realized that for the first time in a long while she felt something like peace. The lesson had been harsh, but it was worth it.
And still, she thought, looking at the tender tomato shoots, her daughter-in-law turned out to be just the right sort. She had backbone. She’d underestimated her.
A woman like that might raise fine grandchildren.
The thought struck her as almost comforting.
