Nadezhda was sitting in the kitchen, looking out the window and watching the neighbor’s dog wander around the courtyard. Behind her came the clinking of dishes—she was washing cups after dinner. Sergey appeared in the doorway with his phone in his hand.
“Mom’s coming tomorrow,” he announced.
Nadezhda flinched and turned around.
“Again?”
“Oh come on—what’s with that tone? She’s my mother. She wants to see her son.”
“To see her son… or to criticize me?”
Sergey grimaced.
“Please, don’t start.”
Nadezhda dried her hands on a towel and leaned against the countertop. Her relationship with Elena Petrovna hadn’t worked out from their very first meeting. Her mother-in-law had greeted her coldly, as if appraising goods at a market. And then the questions began.
“Nadya, where did you and Seryozha meet?”
“At work.”
“And where did you study?”
“At college.”
“At college?” Elena Petrovna’s eyebrows crept upward. “Not university?”
“No, college. After school I went into graphic design.”
Her mother-in-law nodded as though she’d understood everything. And that “understanding” in her eyes read like a verdict: not good enough for my son.
Three years had passed since then. Nadezhda and Sergey got married and moved into an apartment that Nadezhda herself had bought with her savings. But Elena Petrovna still hadn’t accepted her son’s choice.
Every visit turned into an interrogation or a lecture about the importance of higher education.
“Sergey, why doesn’t Nadya enroll in university?” his mother would say over tea. “At her age, it’s not too late to get a proper education.”
“Mom, Nadya has a good job. Why would she need university?”
“A job is a job, but education is the foundation! Alinochka—remember her? She’s already got two degrees!”
Nadezhda would clench her teeth and stay silent. Alinochka. That Alinochka had been haunting her for years.
Alinochka was the daughter of Elena Petrovna’s friend. Smart, beautiful, two degrees, a brilliant career—an ideal Nadezhda could never live up to in her mother-in-law’s eyes.
“Alinochka is defending her dissertation now,” Elena Petrovna would say during yet another visit. “Can you imagine? At her age she’ll already be a PhD candidate!”
“Good for Alinochka,” Nadezhda replied dryly.
“You should learn from her! Maybe then you’d amount to something.”
Nadezhda would turn away so her mother-in-law wouldn’t see her face. It hurt. It hurt a lot. Because for all her “love of education,” Elena Petrovna didn’t even know how much her daughter-in-law earned.
And Nadezhda earned well. She worked as a lead designer at a large company and took freelance orders in the evenings and on weekends. Her income was one and a half times Sergey’s—he worked as a mid-level manager.
It was with her money that Nadezhda saved up for the apartment: a three-bedroom in a new building—bright, spacious, with a good renovation. She saved for four years, setting aside every spare kopeck. Sergey helped symbolically—contributing ten percent of the total.
When it was time to sign the paperwork, Nadezhda didn’t hesitate to put her own name in the owner’s line. Sergey didn’t object. He understood it was fair.
Or so she thought.
After they got their own place, Elena Petrovna’s visits became more frequent. She started showing up without warning, as if checking how the young couple was living.
“Nadya, why are your plates stacked like that?” she would begin, opening the kitchen cabinet. “They should be arranged by size!”
“It’s more convenient for me, Elena Petrovna.”
“Convenient! Kids these days—everything has to be ‘convenient.’ And you don’t want to keep order.”
Nadezhda endured it. She tried to be polite and friendly. She cooked her mother-in-law’s favorite dishes, set the table, smiled. But none of it worked. Elena Petrovna always found new reasons to criticize.
“Your flowers on the windowsill have wilted. You need to take care of them!”
“They haven’t wilted—they’ve just finished blooming. I watered them today.”
“Well, I don’t know. Seems to me you don’t take good care of the house. Alinochka always keeps perfect order at home.”
Alinochka, Alinochka, Alinochka. Nadezhda already hated that name.
Sergey behaved oddly too. When his mother started criticizing his wife, he stayed silent. He didn’t defend Nadezhda or take her side—he just looked away or left the room.
“Seryozha, why can’t you tell your mother to stop meddling in our life?” Nadezhda asked after yet another fight.
“What am I supposed to tell her? She doesn’t mean any harm. That’s just how she is.”
“‘How she is’? She humiliates me nonstop!”
“Don’t exaggerate. Just ignore it.”
Ignore it. Easy to say.
Nadezhda tried to befriend her mother-in-law. She invited her to holidays, called on weekends, asked about her health—she tried as hard as she could.
For Elena Petrovna’s birthday, Nadezhda baked a cake herself—layered, with buttercream, decorated with fruit. She spent her whole day off cooking it.
“Oh, a cake,” her mother-in-law said indifferently. “Thanks. I hope it’s at least edible.”
Nadezhda swallowed the sting.
“I tried.”
“Well, we’ll see. Alinochka baked a cake last week too, but hers was from a recipe in a French cookbook. She speaks French fluently, you know.”
The cake was delicious. Guests praised it. But Elena Petrovna said nothing—she just ate a slice and kept quiet.
For New Year’s, Nadezhda bought her an expensive cashmere scarf. She chose it carefully, wanting to please her. Elena Petrovna unwrapped the gift and nodded.
“Not bad. The color isn’t mine, though. But it’s fine—I can give it to someone.”
Nadezhda felt her cheeks burn with shame. She’d spent half her bonus on that scarf, and her mother-in-law couldn’t even say thank you properly.
“Mom, why are you like this?” Sergey protested. “Nadya tried!”
“Oh, Seryozhenka, I’m not saying it’s a bad gift! The color just doesn’t suit me. Alinochka gave me a shawl for March 8 last year—perfectly matched to my eyes. She has taste. She studied art history.”
Nadezhda got up from the table and went into the kitchen. Tears stung her eyes, but she held them back. She wasn’t going to cry in front of her mother-in-law.
One Saturday, Nadezhda was working from home at her computer—an urgent job due in two days. She sat in headphones, immersed in work, when she heard the doorbell.
Sergey opened the door. A minute later Elena Petrovna walked in with a large bag.
“Hi, Mom!” Sergey brightened. “We weren’t expecting you today!”
“I was passing by and decided to drop in. How are you?”
“Good. Come in, sit down.”
Nadezhda took off her headphones and came to the hallway.
“Hello, Elena Petrovna.”
“Oh, Nadya. Hello. Are you sitting in pajamas till noon?” her mother-in-law swept her with a critical gaze.
“I’m working from home today. This is home clothes, not pajamas.”
“Well, I don’t know. Seems indecent to walk around like that. Alinochka always—”
“Mom, come to the kitchen, I’ll put the kettle on,” Sergey cut in.
Elena Petrovna went into the living room and plopped onto the sofa. From her bag she pulled out a thick photo album.
“Look what I brought! Photos of Alinochka! She showed me yesterday—I asked her to print them.”
Nadezhda rolled her eyes. Alinochka again. More photos.
“Mom, maybe not now? Nadya’s working,” Sergey tried to intervene.
“Oh come on, she’ll find five minutes! Let her see how people live!”
Nadezhda clenched her teeth and sat in the armchair opposite. Elena Petrovna opened the album and began flipping through.
“Here’s Alinochka defending her diploma—see what a smart girl? Here she is speaking at a conference. And this is her new car—her parents gave it to her. And here are her diplomas—first and second. With honors, by the way!”
Elena Petrovna got carried away. Her eyes shone, her cheeks flushed. She talked quickly, almost choking on the words.
“You see, education is the most important thing in life! Without education you’re nobody! Alinochka worked hard, studied, didn’t slack off. And now what? Prestigious job, good salary, respect from colleagues!”
Nadezhda stared out the window in silence. Sergey sat beside his mother and leafed through the album, nodding at the right moments.
“And you know what else matters?” Elena Petrovna went on. “Smart children! If Seryozha had married Alinochka, imagine what kids they’d have! Smart, talented!”
Nadezhda snapped her head around.
“What did you say?”
“I’m talking about children. Genetics matters! If both parents are educated, the kids will be the same.”
“So you’re implying my children would be stupid?”
Elena Petrovna snorted.
“I’m not exactly implying… I’m just stating facts. You’re just some backwoods girl with no prospects. Where would smart kids come from?”
Silence hung over the room. Nadezhda felt anger boil inside her. Her hands clenched into fists.
“Mom, what are you saying?!” Sergey finally protested.
“I’m telling the truth! Nadya, don’t be offended, but it’s a fact. You have no education, no real career. You’re just a designer drawing little pictures!”
“Elena Petrovna…”
“What ‘Elena Petrovna’?! I can see it! My son supports you, gave you a roof over your head, feeds you!”
Nadezhda froze. Slowly she turned to her husband, who sat with his head lowered.
“Sergey, what does that mean?”
He stayed silent.
“Seryozha told me he bought this apartment himself,” Elena Petrovna continued, not noticing the tension. “That you, Nadya, just live off his money. That he fully provides for you and you just spend!”
Nadezhda felt the ground slip from under her feet. She stared at her husband, unable to believe what she was hearing.
“Sergey. Look at me.”
He raised his eyes—pale, guilty.
“Did you really tell her that?”
“Nadya, I… I can explain…”
“Explain. I’m listening.”
Elena Petrovna watched them, confused.
“What’s wrong? Seryozha earns money, supports you—”
“Shut up!” Nadezhda barked.
Her mother-in-law flinched.
“How dare you talk to my mother like that?!” Sergey shouted.
“The same way she talks to me! Or worse—because I’m out of patience!”
Nadezhda stood, went to her desk, opened a drawer, and pulled out a thick folder of documents. She returned to the living room and threw the folder onto the coffee table.
“Let your mom look at the papers before she opens her mouth,” Nadezhda said coldly. “This apartment is in my name.”
Elena Petrovna stopped mid-sentence. She stared at the folder, then at Nadezhda, then at her son.
“What?”
“I’m saying the apartment is registered to me. I bought it. With my money.”
“That must be a mistake,” her mother-in-law gave a nervous laugh. “Seryozha told me himself—”
“Seryozha lied.”
“Nadya, wait!” Sergey jumped up. “Let’s not make a scene!”
“Why not? You made a scene out of my life when you lied to your mother! You told her you support me, that I’m hanging around your neck!”
“I didn’t say it like that!”
“Then how did you say it?! Tell me!”
Elena Petrovna took the folder with trembling hands, opened it, and began flipping through.
“Seryozha, what is this?” her voice shook.
“Mom, I can explain…”
“What is there to explain?!” she read the sales contract. “It says the apartment belongs to Nadezhda Sergeyevna Ivanova!”
“Because it does,” Nadezhda answered. “I bought it. With money I earned myself.”
“But… but Seryozha said…”
“Seryozha lied. He lied that he bought the apartment. Lied that he supports me. Lied that I’m living off him.”
Elena Petrovna raised her eyes to her son. Her face was white.
“Is it true?”
Sergey said nothing.
“Seryozha! I’m asking you!”
“It’s true,” he forced out quietly.
His mother grabbed her chest and sank back against the sofa.
“I don’t understand… Why did you lie to me?”
“Because I wanted to look better in your eyes!” Sergey shouted. “Because you constantly compare me to others! Because I wanted you to be proud of me for once!”
“I am proud of you!”
“No! You’re proud of Alinochka! For three years you’ve been telling me about her—how smart she is, how successful, how well she lives!”
Elena Petrovna blinked, bewildered.
“But I just… I wanted you to strive for something…”
“You wanted me to marry her!” Sergey cut in. “You never said it outright, but you hinted at it all the time!”
Nadezhda listened and felt everything inside her go cold. So it was even worse than she’d thought—Sergey wasn’t just lying; he was trying to compensate for his mother’s pressure with lies.
“And do you know, Elena Petrovna, how much I earn?” Nadezhda asked calmly.
Her mother-in-law looked at her.
“Well… Seryozha said not much…”
“I earn one and a half times what your son earns. Without a university degree. Just a simple designer drawing little pictures.”
Elena Petrovna opened her mouth but couldn’t speak.
“And with that money I bought the apartment. Myself. Seryozha paid only ten percent. Ten percent. The rest was mine.”
Elena Petrovna slowly lowered the folder onto her knees.
“I… I didn’t know…”
“Of course you didn’t. Because your son lied to you. He told you fairy tales about what a hero he is, supporting his wife. When in reality, it’s his wife who supported him.”
“Nadya, enough!” Sergey roared.
“No, not enough! I’ve endured your mother’s humiliation for three years! For three years I’ve listened about Alinochka and her diplomas! For three years I’ve been told I’m not good enough!”
“Nadya, I didn’t mean to hurt you,” Elena Petrovna mumbled.
“You didn’t mean to? You hurt me every single time! Every visit turned into a lecture about how worthless I am! And your son stayed silent! Not once did he stand up for me!”
Sergey lowered his head.
“I just… didn’t want to fight with Mom…”
“But you weren’t afraid to fight with me! After every visit we’d argue—because I couldn’t take it anymore!”
Nadezhda went to the window and wrapped her arms around herself. Inside, everything trembled from years of piled-up hurt.
“Three years, Sergey. Three years I tried to make friends with your mother. I cooked what she liked, bought gifts, called her, asked about her health. And she called me a backwoods nobody with no future.”
“Nadya, forgive me—I got carried away,” the mother-in-law started.
“No. You didn’t get carried away. You always thought that of me. From the beginning.”
Nadezhda turned to Elena Petrovna. Her face was calm, but her eyes burned.
“You know what? I may not have a university degree, but I know how to earn money. Unlike your son, who lives in his wife’s apartment and lies to his mother that he bought everything.”
“Nadya!” Sergey stepped toward her.
“Don’t come any closer. I’m not finished.”
He stopped.
“For three years you’ve been telling me about Alinochka—how smart and successful and educated she is. Do you want your son to be with her?”
Elena Petrovna was silent.
“I’m asking—do you want him to be with her?!”
“I… well… Alinochka really is a good girl…”
“Great. Then let him go to her.”
“What?!” Sergey couldn’t believe his ears.
“Let him go to your Alinochka. If she’s so wonderful, let him live with her. I don’t want to live under the same roof with him anymore.”
“Nadya, what are you talking about?!”
“I’m talking about divorce. I’m tired. Tired of the constant humiliations, of a husband who doesn’t defend me, of being treated like I’m nothing.”
Elena Petrovna jumped up from the sofa.
“Nadya, wait! Maybe you shouldn’t be so drastic?”
“It’s not drastic. I’ve decided. You can take your son today. This apartment is mine, and I’m done sharing it with someone who doesn’t respect me.”
Sergey stood in the middle of the room—pale, lost.
“Nadya, let’s talk calmly…”
“There’s nothing to talk about. Pack your things.”
“You’re serious?”
“Completely. Preferably today. Right now.”
“But… where will I go?”
“To your mother. She loves you so much—go live together. And then you’ll find your Alinochka and marry her. You’ll have your smart children together.”
Elena Petrovna grabbed her head.
“My God… what have we done…”
“You? You humiliated me for three years. And your son allowed it. That’s what you did.”
Nadezhda went into the bedroom, pulled a large suitcase from the closet, and tossed it onto the bed.
“Seryozha, pack.”
Sergey came into the bedroom and stopped in the doorway.
“Nadya… can’t we—”
“No. I need time to think. And for that, you need to leave.”
“For how long?”
“Forever.”
Sergey swallowed.
“You really want a divorce?”
“I do. I’ll file tomorrow.”
“Because of Mom?”
“Because of you. Because you let her humiliate me. Because you lied to her about me. Because you never once stood up for me.”
Sergey lowered his head and began putting his things into the suitcase.
An hour later Sergey and Elena Petrovna stood in the hallway with the suitcase. The mother-in-law was pale, eyes red from tears.
“Nadya, maybe you’ll reconsider?” she tried one last time.
“I’ve already thought it through. Goodbye, Elena Petrovna.”
“Nadya…” Sergey began.
“Goodbye.”
She opened the door. They left. Nadezhda closed the door and leaned against it with her back.
Silence. Finally, silence.
Her hands were shaking, tears stood in her eyes, but inside she felt a strange relief—as if a weight had slid off her shoulders.
She walked into the living room. The folder with the documents was still on the coffee table. She picked it up and put it back in her desk drawer.
It was her apartment. Only hers. And now no one would tell her how to live.
The next morning Nadezhda took a day off and went to a lawyer. She’d made an appointment in advance by phone.
“I want to file for divorce,” she said immediately.
The lawyer—a woman in her fifties with a perceptive gaze—nodded.
“Any children?”
“No.”
“Any jointly acquired property?”
“An apartment. But it’s registered to me and bought with my money.”
“Do you have the documents?”
Nadezhda handed over the folder. The lawyer carefully studied the purchase agreement.
“Everything is in order. Your husband won’t be able to claim the apartment, since it was bought with your personal funds. We’ll file for divorce through the registry office.”
The divorce process turned out to be surprisingly simple. A month after filing, the marriage was dissolved. Sergey tried calling a few times, but Nadezhda didn’t pick up.
Once he texted: “Nadya, let’s meet. Let’s talk.”
She replied: “There’s nothing to talk about. Goodbye.”
After that he stopped writing.
Elena Petrovna tried calling too. Nadezhda blocked her number.
The first weeks after the divorce felt strange. The apartment seemed too big and too quiet. Nadezhda wandered from room to room, getting used to the new reality.
But gradually she began returning to herself—work, meeting friends, hobbies—life settled.
One day her friend Sveta called.
“Nadya, how are you? I heard you and Seryoga got divorced.”
“Yes, we did.”
“And how are you? Is it hard?”
“No. The opposite—it’s easier.”
“Seriously?”
“Seriously. I realized that for the last three years I was just surviving. Not living.”
Sveta was quiet for a moment.
“I get it. You know, I always saw it was hard for you. I just didn’t want to interfere.”
“You should have. Maybe I would’ve come to my senses earlier.”
“The main thing is you did. So what now?”
“Now I live. Finally, I really live.”
Six months after the divorce, Nadezhda got a promotion—she was appointed art director of the department. Her salary nearly doubled.
“Congratulations,” the director said, shaking her hand. “You earned it. You’re one of our best specialists.”
Nadezhda smiled. Without a university degree. Just a “simple designer.” And yet—art director.
On the weekend she invited friends over for a housewarming. Not because the apartment was new—it was the same one—but because it was a housewarming into a new life.
“To Nadya!” Sveta proclaimed, raising a glass. “To her strength and courage!”
Everyone clinked glasses.
“You know, I’m proud of you,” another friend, Katya, said. “Not every woman can end a toxic relationship so decisively.”
“I just got tired of enduring it,” Nadezhda replied. “I realized life is short—and wasting it on people who don’t value you is stupid.”
“Wise words,” Sveta nodded.
That evening, when the guests left, Nadezhda sat by the window with a cup of tea. She looked at the night city and thought about the past.
Three years of marriage. Three years of humiliation. Three years trying to prove she was good enough.
And then she understood—there was no need to prove anything. You just have to leave those who don’t appreciate you.
So she left. And she didn’t regret a single second.
Once, Nadezhda ran into an acquaintance of Sergey’s on the street. The woman stopped, clearly wanting to talk.
“Nadya! Hi! How are you?”
“Hi, Lena. I’m fine, thanks.”
“I heard you and Seryoga got divorced?”
“Yes.”
“Such a shame. You seemed like a good couple.”
Nadezhda smirked.
“Not everything that glitters is gold.”
“And how is he? Seryoga?”
“I don’t know. We don’t talk.”
“I see. Okay, I won’t keep you. All the best!”
“You too.”
Nadezhda went on her way. She truly didn’t care how Sergey was doing anymore. That chapter was closed.
Work was going great. The new position opened new opportunities. Nadezhda led major projects, met interesting people, grew professionally.
One day at a conference a man approached her.
“Hello. Maksim Volkov. I watched your talk—very interesting approach to design.”
“Thank you. Nadezhda Ivanova.”
They talked. It turned out Maksim also worked in design, in a related field. They exchanged contacts and agreed to meet to discuss possible collaboration.
A week later they met at a café. They talked about work, projects, plans. Maksim was an interesting conversationalist—well-read, witty, attentive.
“Do you have a university degree?” he asked at one point.
“No. Only college.”
“So what? It doesn’t stop you from being an excellent specialist.”
Nadezhda smiled. For the first time in a long while, someone wasn’t making an issue of her education.
A year after the divorce, Nadezhda sat in a café with her friends and talked about her life.
“So how are you?” Sveta asked.
“Great. Work is going well, the projects are interesting. Last week we won a tender for a major client.”
“Good for you! And your personal life?”
“I’ve been seeing Maksim. Remember I told you about him?”
“That designer?”
“Yeah. We’ve been dating for a couple of months.”
“And how is he?”
“Good. Attentive, smart. He treats me with respect.”
“That’s the main thing,” Katya nodded. “After Seryoga, you deserve normal treatment.”
Nadezhda smiled.
“You know, I understood a lot this year. The key is: when you choose a partner, you need to look not only at him, but at his family too—because relatives can destroy a marriage.”
“You mean your mother-in-law?”
“Her. Elena Petrovna poisoned our life with constant visits and criticism. And Seryoga allowed it—he didn’t protect me.”
“And you were right to leave him.”
“Yes. I don’t regret it for a second. The only thing I regret is not doing it sooner.”
Sveta put an arm around her shoulders.
“The main thing is you did it. And now you live the way you want.”
Half a year later, Nadezhda sat in her apartment drinking morning coffee. Outside, the spring sun shone; birds chirped in the trees.
She glanced at the clock—an hour before work. No need to rush.
Her phone vibrated. A message from Maksim: “Good morning! How did you sleep?”
Nadezhda smiled and replied: “Great. See you tonight?”
“Of course. I booked a table at that restaurant you like.”
She set her phone down and thought. A year and a half had passed since the divorce—a year and a half of freedom, calm, a normal life.
She no longer felt not good enough. She didn’t listen to jabs about not having a diploma. She didn’t endure humiliation.
She simply lived—worked, met friends, developed, built a relationship with someone who valued her.
And that was happiness. Real happiness.
Nadezhda stood up and went to the window. She looked at the city, at people hurrying about their business. Life went on—her life. And it was good.
She learned an important lesson: you can’t let others define your worth. You can’t live with people who don’t respect you. You can’t endure toxic relationships hoping everything will change.
You have to have the courage to leave. The courage to start over. The courage to be happy.
And she found that courage—even if not right away. But she found it.
Nadezhda finished her coffee, got dressed, and left the apartment. A new day lay ahead. A new life.
And she was ready for it
