May sunshine flooded the Volkonsky family’s living room with a golden glow. Around a large table covered with a snow-white tablecloth sat relatives and close friends. The occasion was special—Alevtina Sergeyevna, Taras’s mother, was turning sixty.
Irina smoothed a fold in her emerald dress and glanced at her husband. Taras sat beside his mother, periodically checking his watch. His face wore that familiar look of submission that appeared whenever Alevtina Sergeyevna was around.
“My dears!” Alevtina Sergeyevna rose from her seat, a champagne flute in her hand. “How happy I am to see you all here! Especially my only son, Taras, and…” She paused, letting her gaze slide over Irina, “…his wife.”
The word wife sounded as though Alevtina Sergeyevna had just named some unpleasant disease. The guests exchanged looks. Everyone knew about the difficult relationship between the mother-in-law and the daughter-in-law.
“To you, Alevtina Sergeyevna!” Miron, Taras’s cousin, raised his glass. “To your health and long life!”
Everyone echoed the toast. Irina sipped her champagne, never taking her eyes off her mother-in-law. Three years of marriage had taught her a lot. Most importantly: don’t react to provocations, don’t show weakness, and don’t expect fairness.
After the main courses, it was time for presents. One by one, the guests gave the birthday woman their gifts: expensive jewelry, spa certificates, antique vases. Alevtina Sergeyevna accepted everything with regal condescension, occasionally granting the giver a patronizing smile.
“And now—a gift from my son and his wife,” Alevtina Sergeyevna announced, and icy notes rang in her voice.
Taras stood up holding a large box wrapped in silver paper. He looked nervous; his hands even trembled slightly.
“Mom, this is from Irina and me. We took a long time choosing—”
“A long time?” Alevtina Sergeyevna cut him off. “I hope it’s at least something worthy. Last year you gave me some absurd embroidery kit—as if I’m a provincial retiree!”
Irina clenched her fists under the table, but her face stayed calm. She rose and stepped up to her husband.
“Let me give your mom the present myself,” she said gently, taking the box from Taras.
Alevtina Sergeyevna lifted an eyebrow as she watched her daughter-in-law place the box in front of her on the table.
“Open it, Alevtina Sergeyevna. I’m sure you’ll like it.”
The mother-in-law slowly untied the ribbon, removed the lid, and looked inside. Her face instantly twisted with anger. She sprang to her feet, knocking over her champagne glass.
“What did you give me?” she screamed so loudly the guests flinched.
Irina smiled in response—calmly, almost serenely. But Taras turned pale, as if he’d seen a ghost. He gripped the edge of the table, trying to understand what was happening.
“What is it?” Zlata, Alevtina Sergeyevna’s friend, asked, craning her neck.
With trembling hands, Alevtina Sergeyevna pulled from the box… an old photo album in a worn leather cover.
“This? An old album? Are you mocking me?”
“Open it,” Irina said evenly.
“Don’t you DARE tell me what to do in my own home!” the mother-in-law shrieked—yet she still opened the album.
On the first page was a photograph of a young woman holding a child. The woman looked strikingly like Alevtina Sergeyevna—only about thirty years younger.
“Where… where did you get this?” the mother-in-law’s voice suddenly dropped to a whisper.
“That is your sister, Veronika,” Irina said. “The very one you prefer not to remember. And her son, Artyom.”
A dead silence fell over the room. The guests exchanged bewildered glances. No one had ever heard of any sister of Alevtina Sergeyevna.
“GET OUT of my house!” the hostess exploded. “Now! And take this… this…”
“Mom, what’s going on?” Taras finally found his voice. “What sister? You don’t have a sister!”
Alevtina Sergeyevna turned to her son. Her face was warped with fury.
“Your wife stuck her nose where it doesn’t belong! She—”
“I only wanted to reunite the family,” Irina interrupted. “Veronika Sergeyevna is alive. She’s seventy-two, and she lives in a nursing home in Kaluga. Alone. Because her own sister abandoned her forty years ago over an inheritance.”
“Shut up!” Alevtina Sergeyevna shouted. “You don’t know anything!”
“I know enough.” Irina turned to the guests. “Alevtina Sergeyevna and her older sister Veronika were meant to receive equal shares of their father’s inheritance—he was a successful businessman. But Alevtina forged the papers and left her sister with nothing. Worse, she spread rumors that Veronika was mentally ill so she wouldn’t be able to challenge the will.”
“That’s a LIE!” Alevtina Sergeyevna snatched the album and hurled it to the floor. “It’s all a LIE!”
“I have copies of the documents,” Irina continued, unruffled. “And witness testimony. The notary, Borislav Ignatyevich, who certified the forged will, is still alive. True, he’s ninety-one, but his memory is excellent—especially when it comes to how a young, beautiful woman offered him a large sum for a small ‘favor.’”
Taras stared from his mother to his wife, unable to say a word. Guests began to rise from the table, uncomfortable.
“You’re all… all traitors!” Alevtina Sergeyevna paced the room. “Miron! You’re my nephew! Tell them it’s not true!”
Miron looked away.
“Aunt Alevtina… I… I remember Aunt Veronika. I was five when she disappeared. Mom said she left, but…”
“And you too!” Alevtina Sergeyevna spun on Irina. “What do you want? Money? You think you can BLACKMAIL me?”
“I want justice,” Irina replied. “For three years you humiliated me, called me unworthy of your son, said I’m from a simple family, that I have no connections, no status. And you? You built your comfort on betraying your own sister.”
“Mom, is it true?” Taras’s voice shook. “Did you really—”
“DON’T YOU DARE!” Alevtina Sergeyevna jabbed a finger at him. “I’m your mother! I raised you, gave you an education, an apartment—everything! And this is your gratitude?”
“An apartment bought with the money you stole from your sister,” Irina added. “An education paid for with an inheritance that belonged to two people.”
Zlata, who had been silent, suddenly spoke:
“Alevtina, I remember Veronika. We were in parallel classes at school. She was so kind—always helping everyone. Then she vanished. You told us she was in a psychiatric hospital…”
“EVERYONE OUT!” Alevtina Sergeyevna roared. “Out of my house!”
The guests hurried to leave. Miron lingered at the door, giving his aunt a regretful look. Zlata left without even saying goodbye.
When only Alevtina Sergeyevna, Taras, and Irina remained, the mother-in-law sank onto the couch. All her arrogance had evaporated. She looked old and pitiful.
“Why did you do this?” she whispered, staring at Irina.
“Because I was tired of enduring your arrogance built on lies. Every day you reproached me for not being good enough for your son—said I didn’t have the right background. And you? You robbed your own sister and threw her out of your life like an unwanted thing.”
Taras sat beside his mother but didn’t dare touch her.
“Mom… how could you? Aunt Veronika… is she really in a nursing home?”
Alevtina Sergeyevna covered her face with her hands.
“She brought it on herself! Father always loved her more! She was older—the favorite! And me? I was always in the shadows! And when I got the chance…”
“You took it,” Irina finished. “But you know what? Veronika Sergeyevna doesn’t hold it against you. She’s ready to forgive you. I’ve met with her several times. She really wants to see you and meet Taras.”
“No!” Alevtina Sergeyevna jumped up. “I won’t allow it! This is my life, and I’m not going to dig up the past!”
“I’m afraid you won’t have a choice.” Irina pulled an envelope from her purse. “This is a summons. With my legal support, Veronika Sergeyevna is filing a claim to restore her inheritance rights. With interest over forty years, it’s a substantial amount.”
Alevtina Sergeyevna snatched the envelope with shaking hands. After reading it, she swayed.
“This… this will ruin me! I can’t pay that kind of money!”
“You’ll have to sell the apartment,” Irina shrugged. “And the dacha. And the car. Even then, it may not be enough.”
“Taras!” the mother-in-law lunged toward her son. “Son, help me! Stop her!”
Taras rose slowly. He looked at his mother as if seeing her for the first time.
“All my life you taught me honesty,” he said dully. “You said the main thing is conscience and dignity. And you…”
“I did everything for you! For our family!”
“No, Mom. You did everything for yourself. For your status, your place in society. And I… I was part of that performance. The perfect son of a successful woman.”
He turned to Irina.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because I wanted your mother to confess herself. To give her a chance. But she chose to keep living in lies—and humiliating me whenever it suited her.”
“Traitor!” Alevtina Sergeyevna hissed. “A snake in the grass! I took you into my home, and you—”
“You didn’t take me in,” Irina cut her off. “You tolerated me, and constantly made it clear I was an outsider. Well—now we’re even.”
The doorbell rang. Alevtina Sergeyevna flinched.
“Who is it now?”
Irina went to open the door. A tall elderly woman stood there in a modest gray coat. Despite her age, she carried herself with dignity. Her gray hair was neatly arranged, and kindness shone in her blue eyes.
“Veronika Sergeyevna!” Irina smiled warmly. “Please, come in.”
Alevtina Sergeyevna froze in the middle of the room. The sisters hadn’t seen each other in forty years, but they recognized each other instantly.
“Hello, Alya,” Veronika said softly.
“Wh… what are you doing here?” Alevtina Sergeyevna forced out.
“Irina invited me. She said it’s your birthday today. I thought… maybe it’s time to talk?”
“I have nothing to say to you!”
Veronika smiled sadly.
“I don’t hold a grudge, Alya. Truly. Yes, you took the money, the house—everything Father left. But you know what? I survived. I married a good man and had a son. My Artyom is a doctor now—he has his own clinic. Three grandchildren. I lived an honest, if modest, life.”
“Then why this lawsuit? Why stir up the past?”
“Because the truth must prevail,” Veronika answered. “And because I want to leave an inheritance to my grandchildren—the inheritance that is mine by right.”
“Aunt Veronika?” Taras stepped closer to the elderly woman. “I… I’m Taras. Your nephew.”
Veronika studied his face and smiled.
“How you resemble our father! The same eyes, the same chin. He would have been happy to see such a grandson.”
“Don’t you dare!” Alevtina Sergeyevna screamed. “Don’t you dare talk about my son!”
“Our father wanted us to live in harmony,” Veronika went on, ignoring her sister’s outburst. “He dreamed of a big family where everyone supports each other. You destroyed his dream, Alya.”
“I’m not listening to this!” Alevtina Sergeyevna rushed toward the exit, but Irina blocked her path.
“You will listen. At least out of respect for your sister’s age.”
“Respect? You dare talk to me about respect?”
“And do you know what respect is?” Irina shot back. “You demand it, but you respect no one—neither me, nor your son, nor your sister whom you robbed.”
Veronika sat on the couch and took a yellowed photograph from her bag.
“Do you remember this picture, Alya? We’re eight and ten here. At Grandma’s dacha, picking raspberries. You stained your whole dress with juice, and I tried to scrub the spots so Mom wouldn’t scold you.”
Alevtina Sergeyevna, against her will, glanced at the photo. Two little girls were laughing, arms around each other. The older one held the younger by the shoulders in a protective gesture.
“I always protected you,” Veronika said quietly. “From the bullies in the yard, from our parents’ strictness, from every trouble. And you…”
“Enough!” Alevtina Sergeyevna clapped her hands over her ears. “Stop!”
“Mom,” Taras approached her. “Maybe you should talk. Ask for forgiveness?”
“Forgiveness? From her? Never!”
“Pride, Alya, was always your greatest sin,” Veronika sighed. “And it will destroy you.”
At that moment, the doorbell rang again—insistently, demanding.
“Who now?” Alevtina Sergeyevna snapped.
Irina opened the door. Two men in strict suits stood on the threshold.
“Alevtina Sergeyevna Volkonskaya?” one asked, showing an ID. “We’re from the tax inspectorate. We have questions about your income declarations for the last five years.”
Alevtina Sergeyevna went pale.
“What… what questions? My taxes are in order!”
“We received information that you concealed income from renting out commercial property,” the second man continued. “Three premises on Arbat that have not been officially declared.”
“This… this is a misunderstanding!”
“Perhaps. But we need to review the documents. You must come with us to give a statement.”
Veronika rose from the couch.
“It seems I’d better go. Alya, think about my offer. We can settle everything peacefully. But if you refuse, the trial will happen. And given your new… problems, it’s unlikely the decision will go in your favor.”
She headed for the door, then paused.
“You know, Alya… before he died, Father told me: ‘Look after Alyechka—she’s so proud, so stubborn. Without you, she’ll be lost.’ I couldn’t fulfill his request. You didn’t let me. But maybe it’s not too late?”
With that, Veronika left. The tax officers waited patiently.
“Alevtina Sergeyevna,” one reminded her. “We need to go.”
“Taras!” she pleaded. “Son, do something!”
Taras shook his head.
“Mom, I can’t interfere with government work. You need a lawyer.”
“Speaking of a lawyer,” Irina interjected, “the best attorneys in the city already know about your story with your sister. I doubt anyone will want to defend someone who cheated her own sister and dodged taxes for decades.”
“You! It’s all your fault!” Alevtina Sergeyevna lunged at Irina, but the officers held her back.
“Mrs. Volkonskaya, don’t worsen your situation. Come voluntarily.”
When the door closed behind Alevtina Sergeyevna and the tax officers, silence settled over the apartment. Taras dropped onto the couch, clutching his head.
“Irina… was it you? Did you report her to the tax office?”
“No,” she sat down beside her husband. “That was Borislav Ignatyevich—the notary. When I came to him with questions about the will, he panicked. He decided that if he confessed himself, his punishment might be softened. And he remembered other ‘services’ he provided your mother too—including fictitious rental contracts.”
“My God… what she turned our life into…”
“Taras,” Irina took his hand, “I know it’s hard. But the truth had to come out. Your mother lived in lies for years and forced us to play by her rules.”
“And what now? What will happen to us?”
“We’ll start over. Honestly. Without lies and claims. Your Aunt Veronika is an amazing woman. She’s ready to forgive and accept us into her family. You have a cousin, Artyom—nieces and nephews. A real family, not toxic relationships built on fear and manipulation.”
Taras lifted his head and looked at his wife.
“Why didn’t you leave? After everything you had to endure from my mother?”
“Because I love you. And I believed that one day you’d be able to break free from her influence. You just needed… a push.”
“And you decided to set off an earthquake,” Taras said with a sad half-smile.
“Sometimes only an earthquake can bring down the walls we built around ourselves.”
The half-eaten birthday cake still stood on the table. The candles shaped like “60” drooped sadly to one side. Irina got up and began clearing the dishes.
“You know,” she said, gathering plates, “your aunt invited us to dinner next Friday. To meet Artyom and his family.”
“You already planned everything, didn’t you?”
“Not everything. But some things—yes. Taras, you have a chance to find a real family. Not one that controls and manipulates you, but one that loves you and accepts you as you are.”
Taras stood and hugged her.
“I’m sorry. For not protecting you. For letting my mother humiliate you.”
“It’s all in the past. Now we only look forward.”
Evening twilight painted the room in soft violet tones. Somewhere in the distance, the city murmured—car horns, passersby’s voices, music from neighboring apartments. Life went on.
“And what about Mom?” Taras asked.
“That depends on her. If she admits guilt, she may get off with a fine and a suspended sentence. If she keeps insisting… But you know what? Your Aunt Veronika is willing to drop the lawsuit if Alevtina Sergeyevna apologizes and acknowledges her right to part of the inheritance.”
“She’ll never apologize. Pride won’t let her.”
“Then it’s her choice. And her consequences.”
The next day, news of the scandal in the Volkonsky family spread throughout their social circle. Alevtina Sergeyevna, who had always taken pride in her reputation, became an outcast overnight. Society ladies who had sought her favor only yesterday now whispered behind her back. The doors of elite clubs closed to her.
Alevtina Sergeyevna refused to admit guilt or apologize to her sister to the very end, and the court case went ahead. Ninety-year-old notary Borislav Ignatyevich confessed to forging the documents and received a suspended sentence, while Veronika Sergeyevna’s claim was fully granted. Alevtina Sergeyevna lost everything—her apartment, dacha, car, accounts—only by Veronika’s mercy was she left a small sum to buy a modest one-room flat. Now the former social lioness lives alone; even Taras doesn’t answer her calls. Every day she curses her daughter-in-law Irina, convinced that Irina destroyed her life—never realizing that she herself built it on lies. Meanwhile, on Fridays Irina and Taras have dinner in the warm home of Aunt Veronika, grateful that she managed to save her husband from toxic influence and give him a true family—one built on love, honesty, and forgiveness, the values Alevtina Sergeyevna never managed to understand
