— Do I not have a voice? Then not a single penny will you receive! — Elena Mihailovna was taken aback by the force of my hand striking the table.
Anna was perched at the very edge of the sofa, as if it were a taut string. Beneath her was an expensive upholstery, a gift to herself, which Elena Mihailovna had been calling ‘the taste of a market’ for the third month. Vasily, on the other hand, lounged in an armchair, legs crossed, casually cracking sunflower seeds, despite being far beyond the age where one could do so without repercussions — a father of two at 38 years, yet acting like a schoolboy in ninth grade.
— Well, Annushka, — Elena Mihailovna began with a mocking tone, slamming a pot of borscht onto the table, — we’ve talked it over with Vasya and decided: let’s sell your car. You work nearby anyway, but Marina needs a way to get to the clinic. It’s not like she can travel on a crowded bus with a baby bump, right?
“We’ve talked it over,” — Ann thought mockingly. — “So, it appears I’m merely a puppet on a string, just tugged along wherever they dictate.”
— Did you even consider asking me? — she calmly queried, fixing her gaze on her mother-in-law.
— What was there to ask? — she scoffed while pouring herself some borscht. — In our family, when someone is in need, everyone pitches in. That’s normal. By the way, I raised my son under that principle. But you, all you do is think of yourself…
Without lifting his eyes from his phone, Vasily muttered:
— Anna, you know Marina is pregnant and struggling right now… We are not asking forever. As soon as she’s back on her feet, we’ll return it.
— Return it? — Anna chuckled suddenly. — Are you going to jot it down in writing? Or will it be like that loan for the kitchen? Which your mom has been holding onto for five years as a ‘mere matter of storage’?
— What kind of person are you? — Elena Mihailovna exploded. — I’m not your enemy! I’m her mother! You should offer help yourself instead of sitting there like the princess of despair! Everything is always wrong for you, and you think it’s unfair!
Anna stood up. No shouting, no drama. She was simply weary of being patient. Long had she turned a blind eye to how ‘tenderly’ this family clipped her wings. Silently, she retreated to the bedroom. And then it began:
— Did she take offense? — her mother-in-law loudly whispered, as if Anna were deaf.
— Anna, are you serious? — came Vasily’s voice. — Don’t be so hard. Mom, you probably didn’t say it right…
— I spoke as a mother! If she doesn’t get it, then she doesn’t belong to our family. She doesn’t fit.
Anna returned after a few minutes, holding the car documents. She placed them on the table.
— Here’s the deal. The car is mine, registered in my name. By the way, I received the apartment from my grandmother, and neither of you has any claim to it. Here lies my entire contribution to your ‘family unity.’
— Are you really willing to ruin everything because of some piece of metal?! — Elena Mihailovna shouted.
— No, it’s because of you, — Anna nodded. — Because of your endless control and your cowardly submission, Vasya.
— Anna, wait, — Vasily put his head in his hands. — We just wanted to help Marina…
— Then sell your garage with that 2003 Lada, — Anna smirked. — You can definitely take a taxi; you wouldn’t fall apart.
Elena banged her spoon against the edge of her plate.
— Well, Anna, you are not a wife; you’re a businesswoman. Everything is about property, about documents. Neither heart nor conscience do you possess.
— And you claim to be full of love and compassion? — she retorted sharply. — Yet somehow it’s always at my expense. What wonderfully merciful people you are.
She went to the bathroom, closing the door behind her to exhale. Inside, everything was trembling. Not from fear — but from rage.
A couple of hours later, Vasily entered her room. No longer munching on seeds. No phone, and stripped of pride.
— Anna… let’s talk.
— It’s too late, Vasya. It’s too late to drink Borjomi when your mother has sold the kidneys. You didn’t even make a peep when she discussed what to do with my car. How is that even okay?
— Well, I didn’t want to start a fight…
— You want nothing at all, except tranquility. But this ‘peace’ always means your silence while I forfeit my rights, my property, and my sanity.
Vasily exhaled heavily.
— Let’s discuss everything tomorrow. Like adults. We can sit down and sort it through. Don’t flare up.
Anna stared intently at him.
— Are you sure you’re still my man, Vasya? Or have you long been your mother’s again?
He stayed silent.
The apartment was quiet. Even the pot of borscht had cooled.
The following morning, Anna woke up earlier than usual. The sun crept through the window, almost brazenly, as if it knew today would be a ‘turning point’. Vasily was snoring on the kitchen sofa, as though nothing had ever occurred. As though they had merely debated over curtain colors, not betrayed her by offering her to his mother.
Anna rose, making herself coffee, trying not to clatter the mugs. Not out of respect — but principle. Clattering represents emotion, and she decided that today would be about steel.
Enough. That’s it. Not another inch of my life will I relinquish to them.
Elena Mihailovna burst into the kitchen. She did not just enter — she barged in. Wearing a bathrobe, with a net on her head and a face full of accusations.
— Well, what’s up, apartment owner, — she began with a sarcastic smile, — slept well on your legal grounds?
Anna silently turned to her, her look so piercing that if Elena Mihailovna had a shred of sense, she would’ve exited immediately. But no. The brave stupidity is the most destructive.
— I was thinking, — the mother-in-law continued, taking a seat at the table and reaching for Anna’s cup. — Perhaps you simply don’t understand how families work. In my time, when someone was struggling, the wife stood by her husband like a rock. And you — you’re like a notary at a cemetery, calculating who is entitled to what.
— That’s a beautiful analogy, — Anna replied calmly, reclaiming her mug. — Only I’m not at a cemetery but in a marriage. Or I used to be.
— Oh, how pompous, — her mother-in-law scoffed. — Like a scene from a soap opera. Aren’t you pushing it, Annushka?
At that moment, Vasily walked into the kitchen, scratching his head and in sweats that Anna wanted to discard two years ago.
— Mom, are you starting again? — he mumbled.
— And you are silent again? — Anna snapped, turning to him. — No, Vasya, right now. You choose. Right now.
— Don’t exaggerate everything, — he grumbled, trying to appear wise. — Everything can be resolved. We are grown-ups.
— Then act like an adult. I asked: who are you? A husband or an extension of your mother’s kitchen?
Elena Mihailovna stood up.
— Son, — her voice turned cold, — tell me straight: is she more important to you than your mother? I raised you. I fed you. I married you… to her. And this is how it is?
Vasily stood there, like a donkey at a crossroads. As if someone had told him to choose between two supermarkets with only one coupon in hand.
Anna stepped close to him.
— You know what’s the most hurtful? It’s not just that you don’t defend me. It’s that you defend them. And all the while remain silent as if you are not part of it; as if this marriage were a show, not your life.
— I didn’t want a war… — he mumbled.
— This is not a war. It’s an escape. I’m leaving. To be exact, you are leaving.
— We?
Anna opened the hallway cupboard. She retrieved his bag. Zipped it open and stuffed his shirts inside.
— Five minutes. Or I’ll start tossing things out myself. Which do you prefer — your mother or the apartment? Leave the keys on the table. And take the pot of borscht too. That one’s your mother’s; you can taste it.
Vasily gazed at her with the same look that cats make at a closed refrigerator. Hoping someone might return and let them in.
— Anna…
— Enough, Vasily. I no longer believe you will ever grow up. At forty years old, you are still under your mother’s skirt. I need neither such a son nor such a husband.
Elena Mihailovna banged the bedroom door and returned with their bag. Her own bag containing ‘personal items’: blood pressure monitor, control, advice, and the eternal phrase: ‘That’s not how we did it in our house.’
Fifteen minutes later, they left. Anna stood by the door like someone after a fire. The smell of borscht lingered, but she craved a cigarette.
She went to the kitchen, retrieved her glass, poured herself some wine, and looked out the window. It was raining outside. Just as it should be in such scenes.
And then it suddenly struck her as amusing. She smirked, first with the corner of her mouth, then aloud.
— Indeed, I am not a notary at the cemetery. I am the mistress of my own life. Finally.