Or quit her job altogether and take care of the house, like a normal wife?
Constant dripping wears away a stone. And these drops were slowly but surely eroding their marriage.
In her third year, Marina enrolled in the correspondence department of the Faculty of Economics. She studied in the evenings and on weekends, balancing it with work. It was hard, but she managed. Tamara Nikolaevna, upon learning this, grimaced:
— Why do you need an education? You’d be better off having a child.
— A child will come when we’re ready, — Marina replied calmly. — And an education is for a career.
— A career? For a woman? How selfish!
— It’s not selfishness. It’s common sense.
In the fourth year of marriage, Marina graduated with honors and got a job as a financial analyst at a large company. Her salary doubled, and she was proud of herself. Oleg… Oleg reacted strangely. He wasn’t happy, he didn’t congratulate her, he only said:
— Mom thinks a woman shouldn’t earn more than her husband.
— Mom thinks a lot of things, — Marina replied. — But we live our own life, not hers.
— I understand, it’s just…
— What?
— Nothing, forget it.
But she couldn’t forget. With each passing year, Oleg became more and more like his mother. The same intonations, the same phrases, the same looks. Tamara Nikolaevna was slowly but surely remolding him in her own image.
In the fifth year of their marriage, Oleg’s stepfather, the man who had raised him since he was five, passed away. Tamara Nikolaevna was widowed and became even more unbearable. She demanded constant attention, got offended at every little thing, and manipulated with guilt.
— I’m all alone now, — she would cry on the phone. — Completely alone. Even my own son has abandoned me.
— Mom, I haven’t abandoned you. I have a family.
— A family? That woman is not family. She’s using you.
Marina heard these conversations and gritted her teeth. But she stayed silent. For Oleg’s sake.
In the sixth year, Tamara Nikolaevna tried to move in with them. “Temporarily, until I recover from my grief.”
— No way, — Marina said firmly.
— But she’s my mother!
— Oleg, if she moves in, I’m moving out.
— Are you threatening me?
— I’m telling you the truth. I will not live with your mother under the same roof.
— It’s not up for discussion.
Oleg chose his wife. With difficulty, with arguments, but he chose her. Tamara Nikolaevna stayed in her apartment. It was another victory. But the war continued.
In the seventh year, the mother-in-law began a new campaign. She hinted to Oleg that he needed a proper wife. A domestic one. An obedient one. That Marina worked too much. Did too little around the house. Was too independent.
— She doesn’t love you, son. She’s using you for money and status.
— Mom, that’s not true.
— It is true, Oleg. You just don’t want to see it.
Oleg told Marina about this conversation. Not to complain. More in a burst of honesty. But Marina took it as a warning sign.
— She’s suggesting you find another woman? — she asked. — And you just listen to that?
— I told her I wouldn’t.
— But you didn’t tell her to shut up. You didn’t demand she stop meddling in our lives.
— Marina, she’s my mother.
— Oleg, — she came right up to him. — I’m your wife. For seven years. For seven years I have tolerated her antics, her hints, her attempts to drive us apart. I’m not asking you to stop talking to her. But I am asking you to protect me. To take my side, just once in your life.
— I’ll talk to her.
— You’ve talked to her a hundred times. Nothing changes.
— So what do you suggest?
— Set boundaries. Clear, firm ones. And if she crosses them, limit contact.
— Limit contact with my own mother?
— Yes. Until she learns to respect our family.
— That’s impossible.
— Then our future is impossible too.
It was an ultimatum. Marina understood the risk, but she saw no other way out. Oleg chose a compromise. He talked to his mother, said he would no longer tolerate insults towards his wife. Tamara Nikolaevna quieted down. For a while. But Marina knew it was the calm before the storm. Her mother-in-law was plotting something. Something that would rid her of her hated daughter-in-law once and for all.
And now, in the eighth year of their marriage, they were heading to her parents’ for her father’s anniversary. 60 years is a serious milestone. Her parents would be happy to see their daughter and her husband. But Tamara Nikolaevna was coming too. Oleg insisted. “She wants to get to know your parents better,” he explained.
Better? They met at the wedding. Your mother was in black. That was eight years ago. People change. Your mother doesn’t change. And she never will.
But Marina couldn’t refuse. It would look strange: her father’s anniversary, a family celebration, why shouldn’t her mother-in-law come? She didn’t know that this trip would be a turning point. That the events of the next few days would turn everything upside down. That she would finally see the true face of the person she had lived with for eight years.
But for now… for now, she was just packing her suitcase and thinking about how strange life was. Sometimes it takes years to understand the obvious. And sometimes, a single moment is enough. A single glance. A single act. Her moment of truth was ahead.
Marina arrived in Dnipro two days before the anniversary. She wanted to help her parents with the preparations and just spend time alone with them, without Oleg and his mother. Her parents’ house greeted her with familiar smells. Her mother’s baking, her father’s tobacco, geraniums on the windowsills. Everything here was the same as in her childhood. The same floral wallpaper, the same frilly curtains, the same creaky parquet floor in the hallway.
— Honey! — her mom ran out onto the porch, wiping her hands on her apron. — Finally!
They hugged. Her mom smelled of vanilla and cinnamon. She must have been baking something delicious.
— How was the trip? Are you tired?
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