— You know, Olya dear, I understand everything. You just don’t feel a family connection. You haven’t given birth, so you can’t understand a mother’s heart.
That cut deep. Olya had indeed wanted a child once. But not in this marriage, not in this chaos of codependency. She felt less like a wife and more like a source of funding for someone else’s family idyll.
Months went by. The situation didn’t change. Olya transferred the money, cooked Sunday lunches, listened to reproaches and lectures. Something heavy and bitter was building up inside her. She started to think about divorce, but she always stopped herself: “What if it can be fixed? What if he understands?”
Everything changed in mid-November. Olya accidentally saw a conversation between Kirill and his mother. He had left his laptop open when he went to the store. She wasn’t planning on spying, she just wanted to close the extra tabs. But a messenger window was glowing on the screen:
“Mom, don’t worry. I’ll talk to her about the apartment. We’ll transfer it to my name, and then we’ll decide.”
Olya went cold. The apartment was hers. She had bought it before the marriage with her own money, saving for three years. Kirill had moved in with her right after the wedding. She scrolled up through the conversation. There was a whole strategy. Tamara Lvovna had written:
“Kirillushka, you have to insist. If she loves you, she won’t refuse. Say it’s for our family. And then, once everything is transferred, I’ll sell my apartment and buy you a studio in the city center. You’ll be able to work in peace, without her control.”
Olya read and couldn’t believe it. So, all this time, the two of them had been planning how to fleece her. All the tears, all the complaints, all this show of love — it was just an act…
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