A Concert for the Mother-in-Law
“Have you lost your mind?!” Kirill burst into the apartment without even taking off his jacket. In his hands were a bright brochure and a receipt. His eyes were bulging. “I’m busting my back from morning till night, and you’re blowing my money on nonsense! ‘Awakening female energy’… What is that even supposed to be?!”
His briefcase crashed onto the floor. Kirill stood in the middle of the entryway, red with rage, waving the brochure like a flag.
Lera calmly turned off the stove. She stepped out of the kitchen—neat as always, hair twisted into a bun, no makeup. She stopped in the doorway and looked at him. Silent.
That calm only made Kirill angrier. He was used to it—say something sharp and she’d immediately blush, start apologizing. But now… she was just standing there, looking at him.
“First,” her voice was even, like she was talking about the weather, “I work too, in case you forgot. Second, it’s an investment in myself. You don’t have to understand it.”
“An investment?!” Kirill almost choked. “In that scam for bored idiots? That’s it, Lera! Enough! My mother is coming tomorrow. She’ll put you in your place fast! We’ll see how you sing then!”
He expected her to be scared. To cry. To beg for forgiveness. A mother-in-law—now that was terrifying; all daughters-in-law feared them.
But Lera didn’t even blink. She looked at him like… like she was seeing him for the first time. Not her husband, but some petty little troublemaker.
“Are you going to beat it out of me?” she asked in a tone that sent goosebumps down Kirill’s spine. “You think because I’m small and fragile I can’t fight back? Remember this once and for all: one more threat, or your mommy tries to ‘educate’ me here—and I’ll put on such a concert for you that you won’t know what hit you. Understand?”
Kirill froze. His mouth opened and closed like a fish on shore. Where was his quiet little Lerochka? The one who always looked up at him, afraid to say an extra word? A different woman stood in front of him now. And she frightened him.
“You… what are you even saying?” he finally managed. He wanted it to sound menacing, but it came out pathetic. “Who do you think you’re talking to?”
Lera smirked—meanly.
“To you, sweetheart. And to your mommy, if she sticks her nose in. You think I don’t know how she buzzes in your ear? How I’m a bad wife, how I run the household wrong? I put up with it. For years. But everything has a limit. So tell Galina Sergeyevna she’d better stay home and knit socks. Otherwise I might not hold back. After all, I’m ‘small and fragile.’”
She turned and went back to the kitchen. Calmly, unhurriedly. And Kirill stayed standing in the middle of the apartment—alone, with brochures scattered around and his authority in ruins.
The evening passed in silence. Lera cooked dinner, ate, and paid Kirill zero attention—as if he didn’t exist. He paced around the apartment, sat down, jumped up again. He wanted to say something, bark, threaten—but the words got stuck in his throat. All he could see was Lera’s frightening, steel-cold gaze.
He tried to convince himself it was just a female tantrum—she’d cry and calm down. But a worm of doubt gnawed at him from the inside: something had broken. Irreversibly. And his mother’s visit, which that morning had seemed like salvation, now felt like a catastrophe.
Closer to night, Lera picked up a book and settled on the living-room couch. Like the bedroom was hers tonight.
“How long are you going to sulk?” Kirill asked. He wanted to sound firm, but it came out plaintive.
“I’m not sulking,” she replied without looking up from the book. “I’m living the way I see fit. Get used to it. And as for the circus… the real show is still ahead. If you don’t cancel the tour of the lead actress.”
And she buried herself in the book again. That was it—conversation over.
Kirill barely restrained himself from screaming. He wanted to slam a door—then quietly closed it instead. Like he was afraid of waking a sleeping beast. He spent the whole night sprawled on the office couch, staring at the ceiling. And the thought kept spinning in his head: “I’ll tear you both apart like a hot-water bottle.” For some reason it felt like she wasn’t joking. Not at all.
In the morning—an insistent, demanding ring at the door. Kirill jumped up and rushed to open it. On the threshold stood his mother. Galina Sergeyevna in person. A large woman with a towering hairstyle, lips pressed into a thin line. In her hands—a huge bag, a plaid blanket sticking out.
“Well, hello,” she said in an icy voice. “What’s going on here? The things you told me yesterday! Where’s your… wife? Still sleeping like some lady of the manor?”
“Come in, Mom,” Kirill mumbled. “She’s probably not asleep… She’s been kind of not herself lately.”
Galina Sergeyevna marched into the living room like a tank. Looked everything over—noticed every speck of dust. The brochure from yesterday lay on the floor; she grimaced in disgust.
“Not herself?” her eyebrows shot up. “What, sick in the head? From your stories she’s completely gotten out of hand. I knew this marriage wouldn’t end well. She was pretending to be too quiet.”
Then Lera came out—calm, neat. She nodded.
“Hello, Galina Sergeyevna.”
“And you too,” the mother-in-law snapped. “Thought you’d lie around while we discuss your problems? Well? Tell me—what kind of ‘investments in yourself’ are you making with my son’s money?”
Lera took her book and sat down in an armchair, getting comfortable.
“My personal expenses are not up for discussion. Especially since it’s my money. Kirill forgot to mention I work.”
“She works!” Galina Sergeyevna snorted. “Kiryu-sha, do you hear that? She’s snapping! I come with an open heart, I come to help—and she starts with ‘personal expenses’! What personal expenses can you have when your husband brings everything into the house?”
Kirill started sweating. He was caught between two fires. He wanted to say something in support of his mother, but Lera got there first.
“Let’s put the dots over the i’s right away. I don’t need your advice. Especially when you’re trying to ‘teach me’ and ‘knock the nonsense out of me.’ I’m an adult; I decide how I live. If you don’t like it—that’s your problem.”
Galina Sergeyevna practically choked. Her face turned crimson.
“You… how dare you?!” she sputtered. “How dare you talk to your husband’s mother like that?! I devoted my life to him!”
“And how else am I supposed to talk to people who came here to ‘knock my stubbornness out of me’?” Lera shot back. “Offer tea and sweet buns? Sorry, but that format doesn’t work for me. If you came in peace—fine. If you came for war—then deal with the consequences. I warned Kirill.”
“So—war?” the mother-in-law hissed. “We’ll see who wins! Kiryu-sha, are you just going to stand there while this woman insults your mother?”
Kirill was completely lost. He wanted to say something threatening, but Lera’s calm paralyzed him.
“Mom… what can I even—”
“What can you?!” His mother threw him a look that made him shrink. “I’ll cut this upstart’s tongue out myself! You think I’m going to put up with your antics? My son brought you into this home, and how do you repay him? I gave my life for him so he’d grow into a man!”
Spurred on by his mother’s rage, Kirill finally found his voice. He stood beside her.
“Yes, Lera! Mom’s right! You’ve crossed the line! You used to be quiet, modest. And now? You waste money, you snap back! I gave you everything! Everything!”
Lera rose slowly. A contemptuous half-smile on her face.
“Everything? Seriously? Wasn’t it me who carried both of us when you were left broke after yet another ‘brilliant’ project? Wasn’t it me who listened to your late-night whining about being an unrecognized genius?”
Kirill recoiled. His face fell.
“You… you’re lying!”
“Lying? And you, Galina Sergeyevna,” she turned to the mother-in-law, “you ‘devoted your life’? Should I remind you how you controlled him? How you bullied every girl he ever dated? Even now he hides behind mommy’s skirt! You didn’t raise a man—you raised an infantile egoist!”
“Why, you filthy snake!” Galina Sergeyevna screeched. She tried to lunge forward, but Lera stood so steady and unshakable that the mother-in-law stopped short.
“What do you mean, ‘you’ll show me’?” Lera asked calmly. “Complain to Kirill? He’s already here, trembling behind your back. Try to hit me? I wouldn’t. I may be small, but I’ve learned self-defense. You wanted to ‘beat the stubbornness out of me’? Go on. But I warned you—I’ll tear you both apart in here. And that’s not a figure of speech.”
Silence hung in the air—so thick you could cut it with a knife. Galina Sergeyevna breathed heavily. Kirill stood pale, terror on his face. He understood: that was it. The end.
The mother-in-law spun around, grabbed her bag.
“I won’t spend a minute in this den! You,” she jabbed a finger at Kirill, “it’s your own fault! You brought this creature in! You’re no son of mine anymore! And you,” she glared at Lera with pure hatred, “you’ll pay for this! You’ll rot alone!”
And she stormed out of the apartment. The door didn’t slam, but it felt like a bomb had gone off.
Kirill collapsed onto the couch, head in his hands. Not crying—just sitting there, crushed. Lera stood in the middle of the room, straight-backed. There was no triumph on her face, no regret. Only exhaustion.
“Well, Kirill. The concert is over. You can consider that they’ve ‘beaten out of me’ everything they could. And everything they couldn’t.”
She turned and went into the bedroom. Without looking back.
Between them now there wasn’t a wall—there was scorched desert. Where nothing would ever grow again. Never
