“That’s different.”
“No, it’s the same thing. He let you down, and you got offended. He let me down, and I also got offended. The difference is only that I didn’t scream at him in front of all the relatives.”
Tamara Ignatyevna turned pale. Stood up.
“You… How dare you speak to me like that?”
“I speak the truth,” answered Lida calmly. “You wanted Andrey to impress you. He couldn’t. You disgraced him. Now you came here and are trying to convince me to forgive him. But have you forgiven him yourself?”
The mother-in-law opened her mouth, closed it.
“I am his mother. I have the right to raise him.”
“He is thirty-two years old. Too late to raise.”
“Lida…” Andrey stood up. “Don’t dare talk to my mother like that.”
“Why?” Lida looked at him. “She came into my house uninvited. Trying to teach me how to live. I have the right to answer.”
Tamara Ignatyevna grabbed her bag.
“That’s it. I understood.” Her voice trembled. “You’re just a bad wife. Selfish, callous, ungrateful. Andryusha got mixed up with you—that’s his misfortune.”
“Possibly,” nodded Lida. “Then let him unmix himself.”
The mother-in-law stood breathing heavily. Then turned to Andrey.
“You heard? She herself proposes divorce. Well then divorce. Why do you need such a wife?”
Andrey was silent. Looked at the floor.
“Andrey…” Mother raised her voice. “I’m talking to you.”
“I don’t want to divorce,” he mumbled.
“Why?”
“Because I have nowhere to go,” he said quietly. “And because I don’t want to be a loser twice. Disgraced myself once in front of you, second time—in front of the whole city if I divorce.”
Tamara Ignatyevna froze. Looked at her son with a long gaze. Then slowly turned to Lida.
“So, you keep him here only because the apartment is yours? Blackmailing him?”
“No,” answered Lida. “I’m not keeping him. He stays himself because he’s afraid of responsibility.”
The mother-in-law pursed her lips. Nodded.
“I see. Well then, live as you know.” She walked to the door.
Andrey rushed after her.
“Mom, wait!”
Tamara Ignatyevna stopped on the threshold, turned around.
“I won’t help you anymore,” she said coldly. “Since you chose this… woman, be kind enough to deal with it yourself.”
“I didn’t choose her! I just don’t want to leave my apartment!”
“She’s right. This isn’t your apartment. You are a guest in it. And, it seems, unwelcome.”
Tamara Ignatyevna left. The door slammed.
Andrey stood in the corridor, looking at the closed door. Then slowly turned to Lida.
“Happy?” he asked quietly. “You separated me from my mother?”
“No,” said Lida. “You did that yourself when you lied to her on New Year’s.”
She walked past him into the bedroom, closed the door, lay on the bed. Behind the door—silence. Then Andrey went into the office. The door slammed.
Lida closed her eyes. Tired. Very tired. From these conversations, from this tension, from Andrey, from the mother-in-law, from everything. She took out her phone, opened notes. Wrote: “Move out, find a room for a month” or “To Alya’s.” Then closed notes. No. Too early. This is her apartment. This is her home. She isn’t going anywhere. He will leave.
On the evening of January 8th, Lida sat in the kitchen drinking tea. Andrey came out of the office, sat opposite.
“Lid, I found an option,” he said.
Lida raised her eyes.
“What kind?”
“A colleague offers me to stay with him. He has a large apartment, there is a spare room. I can move there for a while.”
“For what while?”
“Well, until we reconcile.”
Lida sipped tea.
“We won’t reconcile.”
“Why are you so sure?..”
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