The phone vibrated in her pocket, and Marina knew without looking—it was her mom. She always called at the same time, around seven in the evening, when she finished bustling in the kitchen and sat down to rest in front of the TV.
— Honey, you haven’t forgotten, have you? It’s Dad’s anniversary on Sunday. Sixty years, after all, — her mom’s voice sounded both excited and happy. — Will you come?
“Will you come.” Plural. That meant her and Oleg. And where there was Oleg, there was always the shadow of his mother, Tamara Nikolaevna. A woman at the mere mention of whom Marina’s fists clenched involuntarily.
— Of course, Mom. We’ll definitely come.
— That’s wonderful. I’ve already planned everything. Dad loves it when the whole family gets together. You know he’s not a fan of noisy crowds, but his own people are a different story.
“His own people.” Marina hung up and looked out the window. Outside, the September sunset was burning out, painting the sky in crimson tones. Beautiful. But for some reason, this beauty brought a sense of anxiety, as if foreboding something bad.
Eight years. She had been married to Oleg for eight long years. And all those years, his mother had been present in their marriage like a shadow. Not just present—interfering, controlling, poisoning.
Marina wasn’t the kind of woman who meekly endured humiliation. She grew up in a simple but strong family, where she was taught the most important thing: respect yourself, and others will respect you. Her father, Stepan Vasilyevich, worked as a foreman at a factory his whole life. Her mother, Valentina Mikhailovna, was a nurse at the local clinic. People without great ambitions, but with firm principles and a big heart.
“Marinochka,” her father used to say when she was a teenager, “remember: no one has the right to humiliate you. Not a boss, not a husband. No one. You are a human being, and that says it all.”
She remembered and always followed this rule. At work, she could put a rude client in their place. With friends, she never allowed herself to be manipulated. But with her mother-in-law… With her mother-in-law, everything was more complicated. Because between them stood Oleg, the man she loved. The man for whom she was ready to do a lot, but not everything.
Their story began nine years ago, on a very ordinary Tuesday. Marina was working as a senior administrator at a private dental clinic, “Dental Plus.” The job wasn’t physically demanding, but it was stressful: constantly dissatisfied patients, capricious doctors, endless calls and appointments. But it offered a stable salary and a convenient schedule.
Oleg came in with severe pain. A wisdom tooth decided to make itself known at the most inconvenient moment, right before an important business trip. As Marina was filling out his chart, she noticed how he winced, pressing his palm to his cheek.
— Does it hurt a lot? — she asked, trying to make her voice sound professional, not sympathetic.
— It’s bearable, — he tried to smile, but it came out as a grimace. — Actually, I’m lying. It’s unbearable.
— Dr. Semenov is an excellent specialist. He’ll do it quickly and almost painlessly.
— Almost? — he raised an eyebrow.
— Well, there’s no such thing as completely without ‘almost’ in physiology, — Marina allowed herself a slight smile.
He left an hour later, no longer in pain, but with her phone number. She didn’t even understand how it happened. He just asked, she answered, and it all happened on its own.
The first months of their relationship were like a fairy tale. Oleg courted her beautifully: flowers, restaurants, romantic walks through the evening capital. He worked as a department head at a large IT company, earned well, drove a new Camry, and rented an apartment in a good neighborhood. By Marina’s standards—an enviable groom.
“Does he love you?” she asked herself every day. He says he loves me. But words are just words. Look at his actions.
Oleg’s actions were also in order. He was caring, helpful, and supportive. When Marina was down with a bad flu, he came every day after work, bringing medicine and chicken broth. When she had problems with her boss, he patiently listened to her complaints and gave advice. When she admitted she dreamed of getting a higher education, he immediately offered to pay for full-time studies.
A perfect man? Almost. If it weren’t for one “but.” His mother.
Marina learned of Tamara Nikolaevna’s existence in the third month of their relationship. Oleg had mentioned his mother before, but only in passing: “Mom called,” “I’ll stop by Mom’s,” “Mom asked me to pass this on.” Marina didn’t pay it any mind. A mom is a mom. Everyone has parents.
But then Oleg said:
— I want to introduce you to my mother. She’s been asking.
— Asking? — Marina was surprised. — Does she know about me?
— Of course. I’ve told her everything.
— And what does she say?…
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