“I’m the mistress here! Viktor, why are you silent? Your woman is throwing your mother out of the apartment!”
“Careful, Vitya, don’t shake her, her head is there,” Svetlana said quietly, holding the swaddled bundle with their newborn daughter.
Viktor only nodded, watching his step with concentration. He opened the entrance door, letting his wife go first. Nadezhda Petrovna was waiting for them in the apartment. The woman stood by the window, demonstratively crossing her arms over her chest, and did not even think of taking a step toward them.
“So you finally came,” she said instead of greeting them, scanning Svetlana with her eyes. “Took you long enough.”
“Traffic, Mom,” Viktor sighed, putting the bags on the floor. “Look how beautiful our Dasha is.”
Svetlana smiled, hoping the sight of her granddaughter would melt the ice. She stepped toward her mother-in-law, slightly opening the edge of the blanket.
“An ordinary baby,” her mother-in-law said dryly, barely glancing at the wrinkled little face. “She’s rather red. Ira always said children shouldn’t be wrapped up like that, they’ll get heat rash.”
The smile slid off Svetlana’s face. That name again. Irina, Viktor’s ex-wife, existed in their life like an invisible shadow that his mother constantly made real.
“The doctor told us to keep her warm,” Sveta calmly objected, walking into the nursery.
“Doctors buy their diplomas nowadays,” Nadezhda Petrovna shouted after her. “And Irochka, by the way, raised three nephews. She knows what she’s talking about. And her borscht was always rich, not like your diet water.”
Viktor looked guiltily at his mother.
“Come on, stop it. It’s a celebration, our first day home.”
“A celebration,” the woman snorted, heading to the kitchen. “It’ll be a celebration when you pay off the mortgage, not when you start multiplying children in my apartment. Though… that can’t be changed now.”
As Svetlana placed Dasha in the crib, she gripped the side so hard that the wood creaked. She made a promise to herself: for her husband, for peace in the family, she would endure it. She would be the most polite and gentle daughter-in-law in the world. Maybe, with time, the ice would crack.
Two months passed. Viktor was urgently called to a construction site in another city. His packing was chaotic; he was nervous and kept forgetting things. Already on the road, from the train, he called his wife.
“Sveta, forgive me, it completely slipped my mind,” her husband said guiltily. “Mom’s birthday is the day after tomorrow. Almost a milestone — fifty-five.”
“I remember, Vitya. I was planning to call.”
“Calling isn’t enough. Listen, do me a favor. She said she wasn’t going to celebrate, that she had a hard shift and was in a terrible mood. Buy her a nice gift and flowers from us. Stop by her workplace and congratulate her in person. She’ll be pleased. Maybe she’ll understand that you care about her. Please, for my sake.”
Svetlana sighed, shifting the phone to her other ear. Dasha was quietly snuffling in her arms.
“All right. I’ll do everything. What should I buy?”
“She wanted a gold pendant, shaped like a carved leaf. I’ll transfer you the money now. Sveta, you’re the best!”
The next day, Svetlana left her daughter with her mother and went to the jewelry store. She spent a long time choosing a piece, trying to find the most elegant one to satisfy her mother-in-law’s demanding taste. Then she stopped by for a huge bouquet of roses.
At the security desk of the company where Nadezhda Petrovna worked, she was let in surprisingly easily.
“You’re here for Nadezhda in the banquet room?” the guard asked. “Straight down the corridor and to the right, in the small hall of the company cafeteria.”
“In the banquet room?” Svetlana repeated, sensing something was wrong. “She said she was working.”
“Working? Not at all! She has the day off. They’ve been celebrating since lunch.”
Svetlana walked down the long corridor, and with every step the bouquet seemed heavier. Her hope for reconciliation melted away, replaced by a sticky premonition. Behind the oak doors came the clinking of glasses and loud laughter.
She pushed the door open. In the small hall, about fifteen people were sitting at a laid table. Svetlana recognized Viktor’s aunt, his cousin, and a couple of neighbors. And at the birthday woman’s right hand, serving her salad, sat Irina. Cheerful, familiar, at home.
The conversations did not fall silent right away. Someone was still continuing a toast, but gradually the guests’ gazes fixed on the doorway. Nadezhda Petrovna froze with a fork near her mouth. Her face showed neither embarrassment nor joy — only annoyance, as if a stray dog had wandered in.
“Hello,” Svetlana said firmly.
She walked to the table. When Irina saw her, she demonstratively fixed her hair and leaned back in her chair with a faint smirk.
“I thought you were on shift, Nadezhda Petrovna,” Svetlana said, placing the flowers on the edge of the table. There were no free vases — everything was already filled with bouquets.
“Plans changed,” her mother-in-law answered dryly, not getting up. “And why did you come? Vitya left.”
“Vitya asked me to congratulate you. From us. From the family.”
She took out a velvet box and handed it to the birthday woman. Nadezhda Petrovna took the gift, opened it, snorted, and carelessly tossed it beside her plate.
“Thank you, of course. But you could have sent a courier. Why drag yourself here? As you can see, it’s a close circle here. Our own people.”
Viktor’s aunt began fussing, trying to smooth things over.
“Svetochka, maybe you’ll sit down? There’s a free chair here…”
“No need, Valya,” Nadezhda Petrovna cut her off sharply. “She probably needs to feed the baby. And we don’t really have anything to talk about. We’re remembering things here, old conversations. She’ll be bored. Right, Irochka?”
Irina laughed — loudly, theatrically.
“Of course, Nadya. Especially since we were remembering our trip to the seaside last year. Sveta wasn’t there.”
Svetlana looked at these people. At their chewing mouths, at their indifferent eyes. She understood: they were not simply not expecting her here. They despised her. And they were enjoying it.
“You’re right,” she said, looking straight into her mother-in-law’s eyes. “There really is nothing for me to do here. Have a nice celebration.”
She turned and left. Her back was straight as a string. No one tried to stop her. All she heard behind her was, “Well, she ruined the mood just by showing up.”
That evening, when her husband called, Svetlana did not shout or cry. She told him everything in a dry, official tone. About the banquet hall. About the guests. About Irina sitting in the place of honor. About how she had been shown the door.
Viktor was silent for a long time.
“Sveta, maybe she just… well, old people are like that…” he mumbled pitifully.
“No,” she interrupted him. “That isn’t old age. That’s meanness. I won’t try anymore. And I won’t give her Dasha.”
“But she’s her grandmother…”
“A grandmother is someone who loves. This is a stranger who loves your ex-wife. That’s all. The topic is closed. In a year, Dasha will have her first birthday. Your mother will not be there. That’s my condition.”
Viktor, feeling the ground under his feet becoming unstable, agreed.
A year passed. The apartment was decorated with balloons. Svetlana laid a lavish table. Her parents came — loud, cheerful, with a mountain of gifts. Friends came too. Dasha, dressed up in a fluffy dress, toddled from guest to guest.
The doorbell rang in the middle of the celebration. Viktor went to open it and returned pale. Behind him, pushing her son aside with her shoulder as if she owned the place, his mother entered the room.
“Well, hello, relatives!” she announced loudly. “Did you think you could hide a celebration from Grandma? Not a chance.”
The room fell silent. Svetlana’s parents exchanged glances.
“We weren’t hiding it,” Svetlana said loudly, rising from the table. “We simply didn’t invite you.”
“Just look at her,” Nadezhda Petrovna smirked, walking toward the table and looking over the appetizers. “Ordering people around in someone else’s home. I came to see my son and my granddaughter. Not you.”
She approached Dasha, who fearfully pressed herself against her father’s leg.
“Come to Grandma,” the woman commanded, stretching out her arms. “Why are you so wild? Just like your mother, looking like a little wolf cub. Ira’s children are affectionate and well-behaved…”
“Don’t you dare touch my child,” Svetlana stepped forward, cutting her mother-in-law off from her daughter.
“Don’t you shut me up!” the mother-in-law shrieked. “I’m the mistress here! Viktor, why are you silent? Your woman is throwing your mother out of the house!”
Viktor stood with his head lowered.
“Mom, please leave,” he whispered.
“What?!” she turned crimson. “I gave my life for you! I…” She grabbed a plate of cake from the table, the one meant for the birthday girl. “Eat your own slop yourselves, you ungrateful beasts!”
She hurled the plate onto the floor. Cream splattered across the parquet. Dasha burst into tears.
At that second, something switched inside Svetlana. Months of patience, polite smiles, and swallowed insults burned away in an instant. She did not look for a napkin. She stepped over the cake and came right up to her mother-in-law.
“OUT,” she said quietly, but terribly.
“And who do you think you are…” Nadezhda Petrovna began, swinging her handbag.
Svetlana caught her hand in midair. The jerk was sharp and hard. She did not merely hold it — she squeezed her mother-in-law’s wrist so tightly that the woman gasped and dropped her purse.
“I said — get OUT of here!” Svetlana barked.
She was no longer a sweet girl. She grabbed the stout woman by the elbow with her other hand and forcibly turned her toward the exit. Nadezhda Petrovna tried to dig her feet in, but her daughter-in-law’s fury was stronger than any resistance. Svetlana pushed her toward the hallway, advancing like a tank.
“Vitya! Get this psycho away from me!” the mother-in-law screamed, trying to break free.
Viktor lifted his head. He looked at his crying daughter, at his frightened father-in-law and mother-in-law, and at his wife, who was now defending their world with her fists.
“No, Mom,” his voice grew stronger. “GET OUT. By yourself.”
Svetlana dragged her mother-in-law to the front door. Nadezhda Petrovna clung to the doorframe, showering curses on everything alive.
“Wait,” Svetlana suddenly said, noticing a glint on the woman’s chest.
She stopped sharply and pinned her mother-in-law against the wall with her shoulder. On the lapel of Nadezhda Petrovna’s jacket hung that very same gold leaf pendant.
“Beautiful thing,” Svetlana smiled ominously. “Bought with money from our family budget. A budget where there is no place for you.”
Svetlana did not bother with the clasp. She yanked the jewelry hard. The chain may have been somewhere under the clothing, but the pendant itself remained in her hand, together with a piece of fabric ripped away “with the flesh.”
“This is moral compensation for the ruined cake,” Svetlana breathed straight into the stunned woman’s face.
One more strong shove — and Nadezhda Petrovna flew out onto the stair landing, barely keeping her balance.
“And don’t you ever set foot here again!” Svetlana shouted. “If I see you near my husband or daughter one more time, I’ll throw you down the stairs for real. I’m not Ira, I won’t stand on ceremony!”
The door slammed with such force that it seemed the whole building trembled. Svetlana turned the lock twice. Then she turned back to the silent guests, threw the little gold trinket into the corner of the hallway, and, fixing her hair, said in a perfectly calm voice:
“Dad, open the champagne. We have a second cake.”
Viktor stood there looking at his wife with a new, unfamiliar mixture of fear and admiration. He walked over to her and hugged her tightly, feeling for the first time in a long while that it had become easy to breathe.
