Polina was trudging home from work reluctantly. The autumn wind tugged at the hem of her coat, and the leaden clouds seemed to press down on her shoulders. But it wasn’t the weather that weighed on the young woman. An unexpected guest had appeared at their home today.
In the afternoon, during an important meeting with a client, Andrey had called her:
“Polina, don’t be mad, but I picked Mom up from the station. She missed the grandkids. She’s come to stay for a couple of days.”
Those words sent a chill through Polina. Her mother-in-law, Valentina Petrovna, was a real thorn in her side. In ten years of marriage, Polina had never managed to find common ground with her.
“Andrey, we agreed,” she said, keeping her irritation in check. “You were supposed to warn me in advance.”
“Sorry, darling. She called out of the blue and said she needed some tests at the regional hospital. And she’d visit us too. I couldn’t refuse her.”
Polina sighed heavily. Of course he couldn’t. Andrey had always been too soft with his mother, despite all her antics.
“Fine, I’ll stay late at work. I have to finish the project by tomorrow.”
“Don’t worry, Mom will watch the kids. She brought them gifts, and I’ve got to go to the client urgently—there’s a software issue.”
So Polina put off going home as long as she could. Ahead of her lay the unbearable prospect of spending the evening with the woman who had once thrown her and little Kirill out into the rain, blaming her for every sin under the sun.
Her phone vibrated in her coat pocket. A message from Andrey:
“Still with the client. I’ll be late. How are you?”
Polina sighed and typed back:
“Almost at the house. I’ll manage.”
Memories of the first years of their marriage flashed through her mind. Back then they had lived in her mother-in-law’s house—big, but as cold as its mistress’s heart.
Six years earlier.
Young Polina was at the stove, stirring soup. Somewhere upstairs, little Kirill—barely five months old—was crying. She wiped her hands on her apron, about to go up to her son, when Valentina Petrovna walked into the kitchen.
“Don’t you hear the child crying?” the mother-in-law snapped.
“I was just going to him,” Polina answered calmly.
“You’re always ‘just going,’” Valentina snorted. “And nothing ever gets done. My Andryusha slept like an angel at his age. Must be your genes showing.”
Polina bit her lip. She heard remarks like that almost every day.
Valentina peered into the pot.
“And what is this swill? Andrey doesn’t eat that.”
“It’s his favorite soup,” Polina objected. “He asked me to make it.”
“Nonsense. I’m his mother. I know better what he likes!”
Valentina grabbed the pot and poured its contents into the sink. Tears sprang to Polina’s eyes.
“Why did you do that? I spent two hours cooking!”
“Don’t be dramatic. Go to the baby, and I’ll make a proper dinner for my son myself.”
When Andrey came home that evening, his mother met him in the hall:
“Son, can you believe it—your wife did nothing all day! The baby cried and she didn’t even go to him. Good thing I was here.”
Andrey looked at his mother wearily.
“Mom, I’m sure Polina takes care of Kirill.”
“Of course you defend her!” Valentina threw up her hands. “She’s wrapped you around her finger and you’re happy about it. And I’m nothing to you now!”
She let out a theatrical sob and went to her room. Andrey looked at his wife apologetically.
“Sorry, she’s just worried…”
“Andrey, she pours out the food I cook,” Polina said quietly. “She tells Kirill I’m a bad mother. It’s unbearable.”
“Just hold on a little longer,” he pleaded. “We’ll move out soon, I promise.”
But the weeks turned into months, and things only got worse.
A passing car yanked her out of her reverie. Polina came to and quickened her pace. She was almost home.
Without noticing how she’d reached the entrance, she darted into the elevator and pressed her forehead to the cold wall.
“Everything will be fine,” she whispered. “Just a couple of days…”
When the elevator doors opened, Polina heard something that froze her blood—desperate child’s crying. It was Sveta’s voice.
She ran to the apartment. Her hands shook as she tried to fit the key. At last the door gave way.
What she saw made her go numb.
In the living room stood Valentina Petrovna. In her hand—a belt, which she was using to lash little Sveta. The girl, cowering, was sobbing in the corner. Kirill was trying to shield his sister, tears streaming down his face.
“I’ll teach you not to touch Grandma’s things!” the mother-in-law shouted, raising her hand for another strike.
Polina felt her face flush hot.
“What are you doing?!” she screamed, rushing to the children.
Valentina turned, unashamed:
“Oh, you finally showed up! Your daughter spilled tea on my new handbag—an expensive one, mind you!—and then she talked back!”
Polina hugged her sobbing children.
“You’re beating my child?! Are you out of your mind?!”
“Don’t tell me how to handle kids!” she snapped. “I raised my son alone! I could make a proper person out of you too if you’d listen!”
Looking over her daughter, Polina saw red stripes from the belt. Something snapped inside her.
She gently set the children aside and straightened up.
“Get out of my house.”
Valentina stared in genuine surprise:
“I’m not going anywhere! I came to see my son and to raise my grandkids!”
“Mom,” Kirill said in a trembling voice, “Grandma hit Sveta because she accidentally spilled tea. And then Sveta said it was bad to hit children, and Grandma got even angrier…”
“Silence!” Valentina barked at him, but Polina stepped between them.
“Don’t you dare yell at my son! You hit my daughter. You would have hit him too if he hadn’t jumped away in time!”
At that moment the front door opened. Andrey walked in.
“What’s going on here? Why are the children crying?”
Valentina’s expression changed instantly. Her eyes filled with tears.
“Sonny, Polina shouted at me! I merely scolded Sveta, and she caused a scene!”
Andrey’s gaze shifted to the belt in her hand.
“Mom, what’s that?”
“I just took it out of your old briefcase… I wanted to polish the buckle…”
“Dad!” Sveta sobbed. “Grandma hit me with that belt because I spilled tea by accident!”
Andrey went to his daughter and stroked her back.
“Show me where it hurts, sweetheart…”
Seeing the marks on the child’s legs, he slowly straightened. His usually kind eyes turned hard.
“Mom, you’re beating my children?”
He went to the cabinet, opened it—inside was a security camera.
“We have a system set up to keep an eye on the kids when we’re out. I just watched the recording.”
Valentina turned pale.
“Andryusha, come on now! You know how much I love my grandkids! It was just a little disciplinary action… In our day everyone was raised like that—and we turned out fine!”
“In our day,” he repeated in an icy tone, “children shouldn’t be afraid of their grandmothers. In our day adults learn to talk to children, not beat them.”
“That’s what this modern parenting leads to! Kids walk all over you! And you, Andrey, are under your wife’s thumb! I came to help you, I’ll have you know! I have surgery in a week—I thought maybe you’d stay with me…”
“What surgery?” he frowned.
“A serious one,” she sighed meaningfully. “The doctors say something has to be removed…”
“What exactly, Mom?”
“It’s not important! What matters is I need support! I thought… maybe you could move in with me for a while? The house is big… And Polina can stay here if she wants.”
Andrey shook his head:
“Mom, is that why you came? To try again to break up my family?”
The doorbell rang. In stepped a gray-haired man with kind eyes—Nikolai Stepanovich, Polina’s father.
“Hello,” he said, looking around. “I thought I’d check on the grandkids… What’s going on here?”
The children ran to their grandpa.
“Grandpa! Grandma Valya hit me with a belt!” Sveta sobbed.
“Don’t interfere!” Valentina snapped. “This is our family matter!”
“When someone hurts my grandchildren,” Nikolai Stepanovich said firmly, “it’s my matter too.”
He suggested everyone sit down.
“Let’s talk like adults. Valentina Petrovna, please take a seat.”
Something in his tone made the woman obey.
“You know,” he began, “when my Polina got married, I wasn’t thrilled either. I thought Andrey was too much of a city boy for our village girl… But I gave them a chance and saw how much they love each other.”
He turned to the mother-in-law:
“And you’re trying to control your son’s life, to keep him to yourself—and you’re only pushing him away. And now you’re turning the grandkids against you.”
“What do you know?!” she flared. “I raised my son alone! My husband died early—everything fell on my shoulders!”
“And you’re afraid of ending up alone,” he said gently. “That’s why you made up the surgery story…”
Valentina’s shoulders sagged.
“Just a small examination… But I really am scared…”
“Mom,” Andrey came over. “If you need help, you could have just asked. Why lie? Why try to destroy what’s dear to me?”
“I didn’t want to…” she faltered. “It’s just… when I see you happy without me, it feels like you don’t need me anymore…”
“You’re my mother,” he said firmly. “Of course I need you. But not like this—angry, trying to run my life. I need you as my mom, who respects my choice and loves my children.”
“I don’t know how to be otherwise…” she whispered.
“Try,” suggested Nikolai Stepanovich. “Start by apologizing to the grandkids. Children know how to forgive when they see sincerity.”
With difficulty, Valentina lifted her eyes:
“Forgive your grandma… I… I was wrong.”
Unexpectedly, Sveta nodded:
“Okay… but don’t do it again. It hurts.”
“I won’t,” she promised.
Nikolai Stepanovich took a bottle of homemade compote out of his bag.
“Now let’s all have dinner together. I’ve got an apple pie in the car—baked it just for the grandkids.”
Later, when everyone gathered at the table, the atmosphere was still tense, but no longer hostile. Valentina silently watched Polina gently slice the pie, and Andrey joke with the children.
After dinner, Nikolai Stepanovich suggested:
“Valentina Petrovna, I think it’s best if you come with me tonight. I’ve got plenty of space at my place. Until things settle, there’s no need to rush it.”
She agreed, unexpectedly.
As they were leaving, Sveta tugged her grandmother’s sleeve:
“Will you really not fight anymore?”
“Really.”
“Then… will you come to my performance? I’m going to be a snowflake in kindergarten…”
Something flickered in Valentina’s eyes.
“Thank you… If your parents allow it, I’d like to come.”
A month passed. The first winter frosts bound the ground.
Today was an important meeting—the first since the incident. At Nikolai Stepanovich’s suggestion, they gathered at his house. Valentina had agreed to the conditions: no unsolicited advice, no manipulation, and no criticism of Polina.
“Are you ready?” Andrey put his arm around his wife’s shoulders.
“I don’t know… but I’ll try.”
When they arrived, the mother-in-law was already there. She wore a simple blue dress—not the showy outfit she used to use to outshine her daughter-in-law.
Over lunch they spoke about neutral topics. Afterward, Nikolai took the children off to show them his coin collection, leaving the adults alone.
“I’ve been seeing a psychologist,” Valentina said suddenly. “On Nikolai Stepanovich’s advice… It’s helped me understand a lot.”
She looked at Polina:
“I behaved horribly all these years… And what I did to Sveta… there’s no excuse for it. I just… thought I was losing everything that mattered to me. And instead of figuring out why, I started destroying even more.”
For the first time Polina saw not an overbearing woman, but a lonely person afraid of being left entirely alone.
“Valentina Petrovna,” she said slowly. “I can’t say everything’s forgotten… but I’m willing to try to start over. For Andrey’s sake. For the children.”
“Thank you…” tears glimmered in the mother-in-law’s eyes. “That’s more than I deserve.”
Sveta ran into the room with a little box:
“Grandpa gave me a lucky coin! Want to see?”
Valentina carefully took it, as if afraid the girl might change her mind.
“It’s very pretty… Thank you for showing me.”
When the family was getting ready to leave, the mother-in-law approached Polina:
“You know… I always thought Andrey chose the wrong woman. But now I see—I was wrong. He chose a strong one. The kind I wanted to be myself.”
“You’re strong too,” Polina replied. “Just in a different way.”
That night, after putting the children to bed, Polina stood for a long time at the window, watching the snow fall. She didn’t know how their relationship with her mother-in-law would unfold from here. But for the first time in a long while, she felt hope.
And Valentina, returning home, took out an old photo album. In a yellowed picture, little Andrey smiled, sitting on her lap.
“I’ll try to be better…” she promised herself. “For my son. For my grandchildren. And… maybe even for myself.”
The road to reconciliation was only beginning. But the first—and hardest—step had been taken.
