“If you don’t like my motherleave!” the husband declared, never imagining his wife would take him at his word.
The evening was winding down, and the flat where Nina, her husband Anthony, and his mother, Vera Pavlovna, lived was usually quiet by now. But today had been wrong from the start. Two-year-old Simon had been fussy, Vera Pavlovna found endless reasons to complain, and Nina felt utterly drained. She tried her bestcooking Veras favorite meals, cleaning the flat, tending to Simon. But pleasing Vera was impossible.
“Nina, you folded the towels wrong again,” Vera muttered, passing the bathroom. “How many times must I say? Corners toward you, not away!”
Or:
“You dressed the child wrong, Nina! Its chilly out, and you put him in a thin jumper! Hell catch cold!”
Nina sighed each time. She didnt argue. She endured, hoping Vera would eventually adjustto her, to Simon, to their life together. When it became unbearable, Anthony usually stayed silent. If Nina dared complain, hed say flatly:
“Just ignore her. Mums elderlyshes on edge.”
Nina had planned a surprise for their wedding anniversary. Shed ordered a small cake, bought Anthony the leather belt hed wanted for ages. She pictured a cosy eveningjust the three of them (Simon included, of course).
On the day, as dinner neared completion and Simonthankfullyslept, Vera launched another tirade. This time, over the soup being “too salty.” (It wasnt.)
“This is inedible!” Vera snapped, banging her spoon on the table. “Trying to poison us, are you? You cant cook at all!”
Nina stood by the stove, grip tight on the ladle. The anniversary, the cake, the surpriseall ruined. She turned to Anthony, sitting at the table, staring at his plate. She waited for him to speak, to defend her, to stop this absurdity. He said nothing.
“Anthony,” she said quietly. “Arent you going to say anything?”
He stood, walked slowly into the hall. Nina followed.
“Mums right,” he said, not looking at her. “You always do things wrong.”
Tears pricked Ninas eyes. This was the last straw. She stared at him; he stared at the wall.
“Do you even hear yourself?” Her voice wavered. “Its our anniversary! II cooked, I tried! And your mother”
Anthony turned sharply. His eyes held no angerjust exhaustion, indifference.
“If you dont like my motherleave.”
The words were so casual, so everyday, Nina barely registered their weight. Hed said it like advice, not a verdict. Then he walked away. Dinner was ruined. The celebration was ruined. Everything.
Nina sat on their bed, holding sleeping Simon. Her tears had dried, leaving salty trails. She was stunned. Hed said, “Leave.” Was he serious? This was their home. Their family. Was he really ready to discard her, their son, so easily? She didnt pack. She couldnt believe it was real. It felt like a nightmare that would end by morning.
A day passed. Then another. Anthony didnt apologise. He was cold, distant. Came home from work, ate in silence, vanished into his study or sat at his computer. Barely spoke to her. Played with Simon mechanically, without joy.
When Nina tried to talk, he brushed her off.
“Mums very upset. She says you insulted her.”
“I insulted her?” Nina couldnt believe her ears. “She screamed at me over soup!”
“It doesnt matter,” Anthony cut in. “Its up to you. Apologise first. Then maybe shell forgive.”
No reconciliationjust an ultimatum. And Nina understood. This wasnt her home. She was temporary here. Tolerated as long as she was convenient. The moment she stopped being perfect, she could be tossed aside like rubbish. The fear shed felt that first night hardened into a dull, suffocating certainty. This wasnt a family. It was a game of one-sided loyalty. She owed Anthony and his mother everything. They owed her nothing.
She looked at Simon, asleep. He didnt belong here. Neither did she. This house, this airit was killing her. Slowly. And Anthony, her husband, just watched. And, as it turned out, pushed her toward the edge himself.
Anthony sat in a café with his mate Andrew. He spoke slowly, weighing each word.
“Listen, mate, its its Nina. Its all gone pear-shaped.”
Andrew sipped his tea.
“Your mum again?”
Anthony nodded.
“Yeah. Shes old, nerves shot. Ninas youngshe should adapt. But she wont. Always some grievance, some complaint.”
He was tired of the endless tension. His mums nitpicking, Ninas resentment. He just wanted peace.
“Im sick of the drama,” he went on, spreading his hands. “Honestly? Maybe were better off apart. Tired of living like this. Mum on one side, her on the other. And me stuck in the middle. Whats the point?”
Andrew listened silently.
“I told her straight: Dont like my mum? Leave. What else could I say? Mums sacred. She raised me. Shes shes alone. And Ninas never happy.”
No regretjust righteous anger, a desire to be rid of the problem. He wouldnt take responsibility. He wanted Nina to decide. To leave on her own. Then his conscience would stay clean. He wouldnt be the one who “kicked her out.” Shed have “chosen” to go.
“Let her decide,” he repeated, as if convincing himself. “Im done with it. I want a quiet life. Come home to silence. No complaints.”
He saw no fault in himself. Nina was the problemshe couldnt get along with his mum. He refused to see that his inaction, his refusal to stand by his wife, was the issue. He just wanted the problem gone. And in his mind, the only way was for Nina to leave.
The next day, Nina rented a small one-bed flat nearby. She found it quickly through friends. She moved out quietlyno scenes. Anthony was at work. A driver came with a small van, and in a few trips, they took only the essentials: her and Simons things, some toys, a few books. Nothing extra. No shouting. No arguments. No tears.
When Anthony came home, the flat felt oddly empty. He checked the bedroom. Her things were gone. No trace of her. The kitchen held his half-eaten dinner. On the table, a note. Short. Unemotional.
“You said to leave. So I did. For your sake.”
At the bottom, in small letters: “Simons with me.”
Anthony read it again and again. He couldnt believe it. Had she really gone? Hed assumed shed stay with her mum a few days, “cool off,” then return, apologetic. He waited for her call. A day. Two. Three. Nothing.
The next week, he came home to no childish laughter. Simon didnt run to him yelling, “Daddy!” The flat was silent. Too silent.
He called Nina.
“Hi. How are you?”
“Fine,” she said. Her voice was even. No bitterness, no warmth. “Simons asleep.”
“When when are you coming back?” His voice shook.
“Why? You said, Dont like it? Leave. I left.”
“But I didnt think youd”
“I did,” she interrupted. “So youd have peace. And so would I. And Simon.”
She hung up. Anthony sat on the sofa, staring at nothing. Hed done this. Not by accident. Not by mistake. Hed driven her away.
Months passed. Anthony lived with his mother now. The flat, which hed wanted free of “drama,” was indeed quiet. Too quiet.
Vera, his mother, was never satisfied. Now all her criticisms were aimed at him.
“Anthony, dont slouch at the table!”
“Anthony, why didnt you put the tea on the coaster? I told you to!”
“Anthony, why are you eating so slowly? Ive already cleared up!”
All the things that had once irritated Nina were now his reality. Endless lectures, senseless grudges, complaints over nothing. No one argued. No one resisted. Just silence, broken only by his mothers voice. And her suffocating control.
He woke to her voice. Came home to it. Hed trapped himself. Hed wanted Nina gone for peace. And hed gotten itdead silence and perpetual dissatisfaction.
Sometimes, from afar, he saw Nina in the park with Simon. She looked calm. Free. No shouting, no fighting, no tension. Shed left, just as hed told her to. And taken everything that
