Olya sat at the table, trying to keep her hands from shaking. The plate of salad had gone cold, but she hadn’t taken a single bite. Across from her sat Irina Petrovna—imposing, perfectly styled hair, a stern gaze. Andrey was silent, nervously twisting his fork.
“Olénka, tell me about yourself,” his mother said in the tone of a teacher examining a student.
“I… work in accounting. I finished technical college. I like reading,” Olya faltered. God, how stupid that sounded.
“I see. And what do your parents do?”
“Mom’s a saleswoman, Dad’s a mechanic at a factory.”
Irina Petrovna nodded in a way that made it look like she’d just received long-awaited confirmation of a diagnosis. Andrey jerked:
“Mom, what does that have to do with—”
“Be quiet. I’m talking to the girl.”
Olya clenched her napkin. Was it really that bad? She’d tried so hard! Bought a new dress, spent three hours on her hair, rehearsed lines in front of the mirror.
“Any hobbies? Do you know any languages?”
“English, a little… I studied it at school.”
“Do you do any sports?”
“No, not really…”
Each answer sounded more and more pitiful. Olya could feel herself blushing. And Irina Petrovna was looking at her with a kind of pity that was worse than any contempt.
“Andryusha, see our guest out. I need to talk to you.”
“Mom!”
“No discussion.”
Olya got up, her legs weak. In the hallway, Andrey was whispering some kind of apology, but the words didn’t reach her. She was pulling on her jacket and thinking only of one thing—if only she could get home as soon as possible.
“I’ll call you,” he promised.
But Olya already knew there would be no call.
It was drizzling outside. She walked along the sidewalk, replaying the entire dinner in her head. Maybe she should’ve told them about her computer courses? Or lied about university? No, she would have seen through that anyway.
Her phone stayed silent for three days. Olya paced around the apartment, inventing excuses for him. Maybe he was sick? Or overwhelmed with work? But deep down she knew the truth.
On the fourth day Andrey sent a message:
“Sorry. Mom thinks we’re not a good match. I can’t upset her.”
Olya reread the text ten times. Not a good match.
So she wasn’t good enough. Not smart enough, pretty enough, educated enough. Just… not enough.
She lay down on the couch and cried the whole evening. And in the morning she got up and looked at herself in the mirror. An ordinary face, an ordinary figure, an ordinary life. A gray mouse from a gray family with a gray job.
“You’re too ordinary for my son”—that phrase had never been spoken aloud, but Olya heard it clearly. And she realized that Irina Petrovna was right.
“Well then,” she said to her reflection. “Let’s see just how ordinary I am.”
Olya took out a notebook and started making a list. English—actually learn it properly. Sports—join a gym. Job—find a better one. Appearance—figure out her style. Education—maybe go to university after all?
The list took up two full pages. Olya looked at it and smirked. Thank you, Irina Petrovna. Without you I would’ve stayed a gray mouse forever.
Six months passed. Olya stood in front of the mirror at the gym and didn’t recognize herself. Where had those muscles on her arms come from? And was her waist always this slim?
“Olya, you look amazing today!” shouted Nastya, her trainer. “Minus twelve kilos—that’s insane!”
“Oh, come on.”
“I’m serious! And how’s your English going?”
“Pretty good, I think. I’ve already finished Elementary.”
At home, Olya turned on her laptop and opened the next lesson. The teacher on the screen smiled:
“Today we will learn about job interviews…”
Interviews. Yes, it was time to change jobs. At the accounting office, her boss whined every day about salaries and the crisis. And Olya had already outgrown that swamp.
She opened a job site. Sales manager, office manager, receptionist… Wait. “Executive assistant in an IT company. English required. Salary from 80,000.”
Eighty! She was earning thirty-five now.
“Well, shall we try?” she asked the cat.
Barsik meowed. Apparently, he approved.
A week later Olya was sitting in an office across from a young director. New suit, fresh hairstyle, flawless manicure.
“So, tell me about yourself,” he said in English.
Olya didn’t flinch:
“I graduated from college and worked as an accountant, and now I want to grow into a new role.”
“Excellent! You know, I need someone who isn’t afraid of challenges.”
“I’m not afraid.”
And it was true. The old Olya was afraid of everything—her boss, her future mother-in-law, even salespeople in stores. The new Olya had learned to say “no” and stand up for herself.
She got the job. On her first day, her colleagues looked at her with curiosity:
“So what field are you from?”
“Accounting.”
“Wow. And why did you decide to switch?”
Olya shrugged:
“I wanted something more.”
More. Before, she had dreamed of stability and a quiet family life. Now she wanted to conquer the world.
In the evenings she studied Spanish, read psychology books, went to exhibitions. On weekends—theater, movies, meeting new friends.
“Olya, you’ve become a completely different person,” her mother said on the phone. “You used to stay at home all the time.”
“Before I didn’t have time to live.”
“And that guy, Andrey… Maybe you could try to make up?”
Olya laughed:
“Mom, why would I go backwards?”
She really didn’t understand what she had seen in him. A spineless mama’s boy who couldn’t stand up for the woman he supposedly loved. Gross.
A year later Olya bought an apartment in the city center. Just a one-bedroom, but her own. She renovated it, arranged stylish furniture, hung paintings.
At work she was promoted to project manager. Her salary had grown to 120,000.
“Success looks good on you,” her colleague Dmitry said at the corporate party.
“Thank you.”
“Want to go out sometime this weekend?”
Olya studied him carefully. Handsome, smart, independent. Definitely not the type to ask his mother for permission.
“Why not.”
Life was coming together. But sometimes in the evenings Olya thought of Irina Petrovna and smiled. She wondered what the woman would say if she saw her now.
Olya straightened her blazer and walked into the hotel conference hall. The badge on her chest read: “Olga Morozova, Project Manager.” People in business suits bustled around—the city’s IT conference had gathered everyone who mattered in the industry.
“Olya!” a familiar voice called out. Dima from the neighboring department waved. “How’s the presentation?”
“Good. I’m on in an hour.”
“See you after. Good luck!”
She nodded and headed to her seat. In two years everything had changed completely. Dream job, new apartment, car, a vacation in Italy last summer. And most importantly—she finally liked herself.
“Excuse me, do you know where registration is?” a woman’s voice asked from the right.
Olya turned and froze. Irina Petrovna. The same strict hairstyle, the same arrogant look, only with more wrinkles now.
“Over there, by the desk,” Olya pointed.
Irina Petrovna looked at her more closely and frowned:
“Excuse me, don’t we know each other?”
“Possibly.”
“You look very much like… No, that can’t be.”
Olya stayed silent. It was interesting to watch her former almost-mother-in-law trying to figure out who she was.
“Oh my God!” Irina Petrovna threw up her hands. “It’s you! Olya! But how… I mean…”
“Hello, Irina Petrovna.”
“I didn’t recognize you at all! You’ve changed so much!”
Well yes, there was something to be shocked about. Instead of a gray mouse in a cheap dress, there stood a confident woman in an expensive suit. Slim figure, professional makeup, perfect posture.
“And what are you doing here?” Irina Petrovna asked, failing to hide her surprise.
“Working. And you?”
“I… my son is in IT now, he asked me to come, have a look. But you… in what capacity are you here?”
“As a project manager at TechSolutions. I’m giving a talk today.”
Irina Petrovna blinked a few times:
“A talk? You?”
“What’s so surprising about that?”
The pause stretched. Olya could almost see the gears turning in the woman’s head. Clearly, this new information did not fit into her picture of the world.
“It’s just that… two years ago you were…”
“Different. Yes, I was.”
“And how did you… I mean, when did you manage to…”
“There’s time for everything when you know what you want.”
A murmur went through the hall—the first session was starting. Olya glanced at her watch:
“Excuse me, I have to get ready.”
“Wait!” Irina Petrovna grabbed her sleeve. “And Andrey… are you two in touch?”
“No. Why would we be?”
“He’s still single, you know. He can’t seem to find the right girl.”
Olya smirked:
“Maybe the bar is too high?”
Irina Petrovna flushed. The hit landed perfectly.
“I might have… jumped to conclusions back then.”
“Maybe.”
“You’ve changed so much! It’s unbelievable! You’re a completely different person.”
“The same person. I just unfolded.”
The conference organizer approached Olya:
“Olga Viktorovna, your talk is in ten minutes. Are you ready?”
“Of course.”
He left. Irina Petrovna stared, mouth slightly open:
“Olga Viktorovna? They address you formally?”
“Feels strange, right?” Olya smiled. “I have to go, they’re waiting for me.”
She turned and walked toward the stage. She could feel her former almost-mother-in-law’s stunned gaze on her back and inwardly reveled in it.
Olya finished her talk to applause. It went perfectly—several people came up to exchange contacts and offer potential collaborations. She was glowing with satisfaction.
“Bravo!” Dima patted her on the shoulder. “You were on fire!”
“Thanks. You going to the buffet?”
“Of course. You?”
“Yeah, I just need to grab a bite first.”
In the lobby, Irina Petrovna was waiting for her. She stood by a column, nervously fiddling with her purse.
“May I talk to you?” she asked, walking up.
“I’m listening.”
“I watched your talk. To be honest, I didn’t understand half of it, but everyone was impressed.”
“Thank you.”
“Tell me… are you happy?”
What a strange question. Olya thought for a second:
“Yes. Very.”
“Do you have someone?”
“Yes.”
“A serious relationship?”
“I don’t know yet. We’ll see.”
Irina Petrovna nodded and suddenly said:
“I was wrong. Two years ago. Very wrong.”
“About what exactly?”
“About you. I thought you… well, that you weren’t right for my son. And now I realize—it’s he who wasn’t right for you.”
Olya stayed quiet. What was there to say?
“Can you forgive me?”
“What for? You helped me.”
“Helped?” Irina Petrovna was taken aback.
“Of course. If it weren’t for your words, I would’ve stayed a gray mouse. Thank you.”
“But I meant to hurt you!”
“You did. And it worked out in my favor.”
Irina Petrovna blinked in confusion:
“I don’t understand…”
“Sometimes people need a kick to wake up. You gave me that.”
“So you’re not angry?”
“Why? Anger is wasted energy. Better to direct it into change.”
A tall man in an expensive suit walked up to them:
“Olya, will you come meet the investor from Moscow?”
“Of course.” Olya turned back to Irina Petrovna: “Excuse me, work calls.”
“Wait! And Andrey… maybe you could meet up?”
Olya shook her head:
“Why go back to the past? I have a different life now.”
“But he’s changed! He’s become more independent!”
“I’m glad for him. But I’m not interested anymore.”
Irina Petrovna sighed:
“I understand. It’s just such a pity. To lose a woman like you…”
“Then it wasn’t meant to be.” Olya smiled. “Goodbye, Irina Petrovna.”
She went off to meet the investor. New opportunities, new horizons, new challenges—that’s what interested her now.
And Irina Petrovna stood there watching her go. Probably for the first time in her life she realized that money and status aren’t the most important things. What matters most is inner strength and confidence.
Olya didn’t look back. Why would she? The past was in the past. And ahead of her lay an exciting life, full of new achievements and victories.
And all of it because of one phrase: “You’re too ordinary for my son.” How wonderful that Irina Petrovna had said it back then. Otherwise, Olya would never have found out what she was capable of.
Sometimes the most painful blows become the beginning of the most beautiful transformations. And for that, it’s worth being grateful even to your enemies.
