“And speaking of gifts, I didn’t come empty-handed either.” She nodded toward the hallway. “There’s a box by the door. It’s a set of fine china. The one you once said you dreamed of. Consider it my farewell present.”
Her mother-in-law was momentarily stunned. The china. She had indeed said she wanted a set like that once. But now, the gift felt like a mockery, a handout.
“I don’t need your charity,” she hissed. “Take your junk and get out of my house!”
“With pleasure,” Susan nodded. “As soon as I collect my things from your other property. And my husband. Mike, we’re leaving.” She turned to him. Her voice held no request, only a command.
Mike hesitated. He looked from his mother’s face, contorted with rage, to his wife’s, cold and resolute. He didn’t know what to do.
“You’re not going anywhere with her!” Eleanor declared imperiously. “You’re staying here. With your mother.”
“Mom, stop it,” Mike mumbled. “I…”
“I said you’re staying!” She grabbed his arm. “If you walk out that door with this tramp, you can forget you have a mother!”
It was her signature move. Blackmail. An ultimatum. It always worked. But tonight, something was different. Maybe it was the dozens of pairs of eyes fixed on him. Maybe it was the humiliation he’d felt half an hour ago. Or maybe it was the look in Susan’s eyes, where for the first time he saw not love and forgiveness, but cold contempt.
“Mom, let go!” He gently freed his arm. “Susan and I really need to talk.”
“Oh, talk!” Eleanor shrieked. “Fine, go! Run to your little wife! But remember this: you’re both banned from my house, and her foot will never step inside the condo I gave you again!”
“Actually,” Susan interjected, “that condo was bought with a mortgage that isn’t paid off yet. And I’m the one making the payments. So legally, it belongs to me just as much as it does to Mike. Maybe even more so.”
It was a blow below the belt. Eleanor had always considered the condo hers, merely on loan to her son. The thought that this upstart could lay claim to it was unbearable.
“Out!” she screamed, losing the last shred of her composure. “Both of you, out!”
She suddenly grabbed a bowl of potato salad from the table and hurled it in Susan’s direction. Susan jumped back just in time. The bowl shattered against the wall, leaving a greasy yellow stain on the wallpaper. The guests gasped. The birthday party had officially devolved into a circus.
Just then, an elderly, distinguished-looking woman who had been sitting quietly in the corner approached Susan. It was Eleanor’s cousin, Jean, whom Susan had only met a couple of times.
“Dear,” she said softly, taking Susan’s hand. “Don’t pay her any mind. She’s always been… dramatic. You did the right thing.”
Susan looked at her in surprise. Hearing words of support from a relative of her mother-in-law was completely unexpected.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
“Let’s go.” Jean gently led her toward the exit. “There’s no reason to stay here any longer.”
They stepped into the hallway. Mike, pale and bewildered, followed them.
“Susan, wait.”
She stopped at the door without turning around.
“What is it, Mike?”
“I… I don’t know what to say. I’m sorry about my mom.”
“This isn’t about your mom, Mike.” She finally turned to face him. Her face was calm, but her eyes were as cold as ice. “This is about you. About the fact that you were never on my side. You were never my husband. You were always just your mother’s son.”
She opened the door and stepped out onto the landing. Jean followed her.
“Listen, dear,” she said, adjusting her shawl. “Let me give you some advice. Run from them. Run and don’t look back. That boy will never change. And you only get one life.”
She patted Susan’s hand and went back into the apartment, from which the muffled sobs of Eleanor could be heard.
Susan was alone. She pressed the elevator button. Mike never came out after her. He stayed there—with his mother, his ruined party, his shattered life. When the elevator doors opened, Susan stepped inside. She didn’t know what she would do next, but she knew one thing for sure—she would never return to that condo, to that man. Never.
The elevator descended slowly, and in its dim light, Susan saw her reflection on the metal wall. A pale face, dark circles under her eyes… And her gaze. The gaze of a grown woman who had just made the hardest decision of her life. She wasn’t crying. The tears had dried up back on the wet asphalt. Inside, there was a ringing emptiness mixed with a bitter sense of liberation. As if a heavy, years-long burden had been lifted from her shoulders.
Exiting the building, she took a deep breath of the cool, damp air. The rain had almost stopped, leaving behind only wet sidewalks and the fresh smell of ozone. She hailed a cab and gave her own address. Her own. How strange and unfamiliar it felt to think that. The condo she had considered their shared home for seven years now seemed alien and hostile. A place she never wanted to return to.
As the car drove through the city, she thought about Jean’s words: “Run and don’t look back.” That simple phrase, spoken by a near-stranger, had somehow affected her more than all the advice from her parents and friends. Maybe because it was an outsider’s perspective, from someone in the “enemy camp” who saw the whole situation without any illusions.
She took out her phone. A dozen missed calls from Mike. She didn’t call back. Instead, she wrote a short message: “I’m going to my parents’. I’ll be back for my things tomorrow. I’ll leave the keys in the mailbox.”
She knew this wasn’t the end. There would be a divorce, a division of assets. The mortgaged condo, bought during the marriage, was a complicated issue. But she didn’t want to think about that now. Right now, she just needed to be home, in her old room, where everything was familiar and safe.
When she walked into her parents’ apartment, her father and mother were sitting in the kitchen, silently drinking tea. They were waiting for her.
“Well?” her father asked curtly.
“It’s over,” Susan replied just as curtly, taking off her coat. “It’s the end.”
Her mother stood up without a word, walked over, and hugged her. Tightly. And Susan, burying her face in her mother’s shoulder, finally allowed herself to relax. She stood there, holding her mother, and felt the tension slowly drain away.
“You did the right thing,” her father said from the table. “It was long overdue.”
“I’m not staying long,” Susan said, pulling away from her mother. “I need to pack my things. I’m going to the condo tomorrow.”
“Dad, can you come with me?”
“Of course,” Victor answered without hesitation. “What time?”
“Around noon. I don’t think they’ll be there. I don’t want to see him or her again.”
But she was wrong. The next day, when she and her father pulled up to her building, Mike’s old Taurus was in the parking lot.
“Damn it,” Susan muttered. “He’s home.”
“So what?” her father shrugged. “It’s your home too. For now, at least. Let’s go.”
They went up to the apartment. With a heavy heart, Susan put the key in the lock. The door opened. It was quiet inside. Mike’s clothes were scattered in the hallway. The kitchen sink was piled high with dirty dishes—apparently, no one had bothered to clean up after yesterday’s party. The sound of a TV came from the living room. They went in.
Mike was sitting on the couch in an old bathrobe, watching some TV show. A bottle of brandy and a half-empty glass sat on the coffee table in front of him. He looked terrible: a puffy face, red eyes, and several days’ worth of stubble.
“Susan…”
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