Evening was winding down, and in the flat where Nina, her husband Anton, and her mother-in-law Vera Pavlovna lived, it was usually quiet. But today had been off from the start. Their two-year-old, Semyon, had been fussy, Vera Pavlovna found endless reasons to complain, and Nina felt completely drained. She tried her bestcooking Vera Pavlovnas favourite meals, cleaning the flat, looking after Semyonbut nothing ever pleased her.
“Nina, you folded the towels wrong *again*,” Vera Pavlovna grumbled, passing the bathroom. “How many times do I have to tell youcorners facing in, not out!”
Or:
“Youve dressed the boy all wrong, Nina! Its chilly out, and youve got him in just a thin jumper! Hell catch his death!”
Nina sighed every time. She never argued, just bit her tongue, hoping things would settle eventuallythat Vera Pavlovna would adjust to her, to Semyon, to their life together. Anton, when things got unbearable, usually kept quiet. If Nina tried to complain, hed just shrug it off.
“Just ignore her, Nina. Shes getting on, nerves are frayed.”
Nina had been planning a surprise for their wedding anniversary. Shed ordered a small cake, bought Anton the leather belt hed wanted for ages. She imagined a cosy eveningjust the three of them (well, four, counting Semyon).
On the day, as dinner was nearly ready and Semyon, mercifully, had fallen asleep, Vera Pavlovna launched into another tiradethis time because Nina had, apparently, “over-salted the soup.” (Even though it tasted perfectly fine.)
“This is inedible!” Vera Pavlovna shrieked, banging her spoon on the table. “Are you trying to poison us? Nina, you cant cook to save your life!”
Nina stood by the stove, gripping the ladle. The anniversary, the cake, the surpriseall ruined. She turned to Anton, sitting at the table, eyes down. She waitedjust once, for him to *say* something, to defend her, to stop this nonsense. But he stayed silent.
“Anton,” Nina said quietly. “Arent you going to say anything?”
He got up, walked slowly into the hall. Nina followed.
“Mums right,” Anton muttered, not looking at her. “You always get things wrong.”
Ninas eyes welled up. That was the last straw. She stared at himhe was staring at the wall.
“Do you even *hear* yourself?” Her voice shook. “Its our anniversary! II cooked, I *tried*! And your mum”
Anton turned sharply. No anger in his eyesjust exhaustion, indifference.
“If you dont like my mother, leave.”
He said it so casually, so *normally*, it took a second for the weight of it to hit. Like he was giving her advice, not ending their marriage. Then he walked away. Dinner was ruined. The night was ruined. *Everything* was ruined.
Nina sat on their bed, holding a sleeping Semyon. The tears had dried, leaving salt tracks on her face. She was stunned. *Leave?* Was he serious? This was *their* home. *Their* family. Was he really willing to throw that awayher, their son? She didnt pack a bag. She couldnt believe it was real. It felt like a nightmare shed wake up from.
A day passed. Then another. Anton didnt apologise. He was cold, distant. Came home from work, ate in silence, disappeared into his study or glued himself to his computer. Barely spoke to her. Played with Semyon mechanically.
When Nina tried to talk to him, he brushed her off.
“Mums really upset. She said you insulted her.”
“*I* insulted *her*?” Nina couldnt believe her ears. “She screamed at me over *soup*!”
“Doesnt matter,” Anton cut in. “Its on you. Apologise first. Maybe then shell forgive you.”
No reconciliationjust an ultimatum. And Nina finally understood. This wasnt her home. She was just tolerateduseful as long as she played her part. The second she wasnt perfect, she could be tossed aside. The fear shed felt that first night hardened into something heavier. This wasnt a family. It was a one-way loyalty game. She owed them everything. They owed her nothing.
She looked at Semyon, asleep in her arms. He didnt belong here. *She* didnt belong here. This place, this atmosphereit was eroding her. Slowly, steadily. And Anton, her *husband*, just watched. Worsehed pushed her to the edge himself.
Anton sat in a café with his mate Andrew, speaking slowly, weighing his words.
“Listen, mate, things with Nina its a mess.”
Andrew sipped his coffee. “Your mum again?”
Anton nodded.
“Yeah. Shes getting on, nerves shot. Ninas youngshe should adjust. But she wont. Always some grievance, some drama.”
He was *tired* of it. The bickering, his mums nitpicking, Ninas sulking. He just wanted peace.
“Im sick of the constant rows,” he went on, spreading his hands. “Honestly? Maybe were better off apart. Im done living like thismum on one side, her on the other, me stuck in the middle. Whats the point?”
Andrew stayed quiet, listening.
“I told her straight: if you dont like my mum, leave. What else could I say? Mums family. She raised me. Shes shes *alone*. But Ninas never happy.”
No regret in his voicejust righteous frustration. He didnt want responsibility. He wanted *her* to decide. To walk away. Then his conscience would be clean. He wouldnt be the one “kicking her out.” Shed “choose” to go.
“Let her decide,” he repeated, like he was convincing himself. “Im done with it. I just want a quiet life. Come home to *silence*. No more complaints.”
He didnt see his own fault. Nina was the problemshe couldnt get along with his mum. He wouldnt admit that *he* was the issuehis refusal to stand up for her. 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 nearbyfound it quickly through friends. She moved out silently, no scene. Anton was at work. A mate with a van helped shift the essentials: her and Semyons things, a few toys, some books. No fuss. No shouting. No tears.
When Anton got home, the flat felt strangely empty. He checked the bedroomher things were gone. The kitchenhis half-eaten dinner waited. A note on the table. Short. Cold.
*You said it. I did it. Makes it easier for you.*
At the bottom, in small writing: *Semyons with me.*
Anton read it twice. He couldnt believe it. Shed actually *left*? Hed assumed shed stay at her mums a few days, “cool off,” then come crawling back. He waited for her call. A day. Two. Three. Nothing.
The next week, he came home to no little feet running to him shouting, “Daddy!” The flat was quiet. *Too* quiet.
He rang Nina.
“Hey. How are you?”
“Fine,” she said, voice flat. No anger. No warmth. “Semyons asleep.”
“When when are you coming back?” His voice cracked.
“Why? You said it yourself: If you dont like it, leave. I left.”
“But I didnt think youd”
“I did,” she cut in. “Makes it easier. For you. For me. For Semyon.”
She hung up. Anton sat on the sofa, staring at nothing. Hed done this. Not by accident. Not by mistake. Hed pushed her out.
Months passed. Anton lived with his mum. The flat, once so full of “tension,” was now silent. *Eerily* silent.
Vera Pavlovnas complaints, once aimed at Nina, now turned on him.
“Anton, sit properly at the table! Youre slouching!”
“Anton, whys the tea *there*? I said *on the coaster*!”
“Anton, why are you eating so slowly? Ive already cleared up!”
Everything that had driven Nina mad was now his reality. Endless lectures, random sulks, criticism over nothing. No one argued. No one fought back. Just silence, broken only by his mothers voice. Her suffocating control
