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Letting It All Go: When Mother-in-Law Expectations Collide with Real Life – A Modern Mum Stands Her Ground in Her Own Home

Completely Out of Hand Emily, have you just stopped hoovering altogether? My eyes are streaming from

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Born Son “Len, you won’t believe it! Matvey and I have decided to fly to Turkey again next year!” My stepdad was glowing with happiness. “He says he has to stay at that hotel with the sea view again. What can I do—he’s my own son, after all!” He made sure to clarify—his “own” son. “I’m happy for you,” she replied, remembering how good life had been before Matvey entered the picture, “Your own son… You always told me we were a family. That it didn’t matter whether I was your biological daughter or not.” He did say that. That she was his daughter, whether or not she was blood. “There you go again, Len! Of course you’re my daughter, no question! You know I love you just like my own. But Matvey…” He didn’t even realize he was proving her point. “Matvey’s a son. And I’m just an acquaintance, I guess.” “Len, come on! You are like family to me!” “Like family… Did you ever take me to the seaside? In all these fifteen years you’ve called yourself my father?” He hadn’t. Arthur used to say there was no difference between her and Matvey, but Lena could hear in everything he did for his son that the difference was enormous. “It just never worked out, Len. You know money was tighter back then. You’re not a child, you know how much two weeks in a five-star resort costs… It’s expensive.” “I understand,” Lena nodded. “It’s costly to bring me. Yet Matvey, whom you met just six months ago, you want to buy a flat for with a mortgage, so he’ll have a place for his wife. Am I right in thinking those expenses are less concerning when it’s your son?” “I’m not buying any flat. Who told you that?” “People who care.” “Tell your sources not to spread rumours.” A flicker of hope lit in Lena. “Really, you’re not?” “Of course not. Oh, guess what! Can you guess where we’re going Saturday?—Actually, let me just say it—go-karting! He used to take part in races at uni, and I thought I’d join in for the fun.” “Go-karting,” Lena repeated. “Sounds exciting.” “It sure does!” “Can I join you?” The question slipped out before she could think. Arthur, clearly unwilling, started to stammer: “Uh, Len… Honestly, you’d be bored. It’s a lads’ thing, really. Matvey and I, you know, we’ve got to talk about our father-son stuff.” It hurt. “So you’d find it fun, but not me?” “It’s not like that…” Arthur fidgeted nervously. “We’ve never even met until recently. We’re trying to catch up. We just want to go, the two of us. Can you understand?” You can understand. “Understand” had become the cruelest word in their new vocabulary. She was supposed to understand that being biological mattered more than being adopted. She was supposed to accept her place—out on the sidelines. Matvey really was good. He’d grown up without a father, and in spite of everything, excelled at everything, everywhere. Smart, handsome, kind. “Dad, I helped out at the animal rescue. Fixed the kennels.” “Dad, did you know I graduated with honours?” “Dad, look! I repaired your phone.” He wasn’t just a son—he was the perfect son. That evening, after Arthur had visited a little while and gone back to his, Lena sifted through old photographs… Arthur’s wedding to her mum (who had died five years back, leaving Lena and Arthur alone). Here they are at the summer cottage… Here’s Lena graduating from school… Nothing would ever be the same. *** “Len, are you awake? I’ve got a question. It’s urgent.” Her stepdad turned up at eight in the morning. “What’s so urgent?” Lena swept her fringe back and put the coffee on. “It’s about the flat for Matvey.” “So it’s true?” she breathed out. “I’m sorry, but yes… it’s true.” “And you lied to me.” “I didn’t want you to worry. But I need your advice! I think I need to act quickly. He’ll get married sooner or later. While he’s young, it’d be good to get him settled. I remember how it was for me…” “Then go get a mortgage,” Lena said through gritted teeth, completely uninterested in the flat for Matvey. Matvey truly had it good! “Yes, yes, I know. But you’re aware of my credit history… And Matvey, he deserves help from the father he never had.” “So what are you getting at?” “Will you help—if I ask?” “Depends what you mean.” “Let me explain. I’ve got £20,000 for a deposit, but the bank won’t give me a loan. They’ll give one to you, though. You’ve got a clean record. We’ll put it in your name, I’ll pay it off. Honestly.” Any illusion that “there’s no difference between you two” crumbled. There was a difference. No one’s putting Matvey’s name on the line. “So Matvey gets the flat, and I get the debt? That about right?” Arthur shook his head with such wounded sincerity, as if Lena had suggested it herself. “What do you mean! I’ll make all the payments. I’m not asking you to, just to have your name on it. Think about it…” “You know, Arthur, I’m not thinking about whether to get a mortgage or not—I’m thinking about how you don’t see me as your daughter anymore. You’ve got a son now. You’ve known him six months, me fifteen years, and all that matters is that he’s family.” “That’s not true!” Arthur flared. “I love you both!” “No. Not the same.” “Len, that’s not fair! He’s my own…” Curtain. She was no longer his daughter. Adopted, convenient, sufficient—until the real thing came along. “I see,” Lena tried to be civil. “I can’t, Arthur. I’ll need to buy a flat myself. I definitely can’t manage two mortgages.” Arthur seemed to only now remember she was without her own home. “Oh, right, you’ll need one at some point… But you could help for a couple years. I’ve got the deposit. Not much more to add.” “No. I’m not putting anything in my name.” She never expected Arthur to understand. “Fine,” he said. “If you can’t help as a daughter… then I’ll sort it myself.” Whether he ever truly saw her as his own or not didn’t matter now. Now she only saw Arthur in photographs. One evening, scrolling through her news feed, she saw it. A photo at the airport. Arthur and Matvey, both in pale jackets. Arthur with his hand on Matvey’s shoulder. Caption: “Off with Dad to Dubai. Family—the most important thing.” Family. Lena put her phone down. She suddenly remembered a moment from childhood, long before her mum married Arthur. She was five. They lived simply, and her doll—her grandmother’s gift—broke. She cried. Her biological father had said, “Len, why do you care about rubbish? Don’t bother me.” She was never allowed to bother him. His main interest was a bottle. Lena never really had a father—but she’d thought Arthur had made up for it… Before long, Arthur tried again to convince her. “Len, I think we need to work on your trust issues…” “What trust issues, Arthur? I said no.” “You just don’t get it. Matvey… he never knew me. No father growing up. I need to make it up to him. He’s a grown man—he needs a place. And you don’t even have to do anything, just put your name down. I promise, you won’t spend a penny.” “Who’s going to fill in my gaps, then…” And that, unexpectedly, made him angry. “Lena, enough! I don’t want an argument. I love you, truly! But you’ve got to see… Matvey is my real family. You’ll understand if you ever have kids. Sure, I love you differently, but it doesn’t mean I don’t need you.” “I’m needed. As a resource.” “Len, calm down! Don’t exaggerate.” “You switched to him in just six months, Arthur,” Lena said. “I’m not asking you to choose. The choice was obvious. You spoke the truth: Matvey’s your flesh and blood. And I… I never was.” Six months passed. Arthur didn’t call. Not once. One day, scrolling her feed, she saw a new photo. Arthur and Matvey in the mountains. Arthur in stylish ski gear. Caption: “Teaching Dad to snowboard! Sure, he’s a bit old for this, but with a son—anything’s possible!” Lena stared at the picture for a long moment. She reached for her desk to finish her report, when a message arrived from an unknown number. “Hi, Lena. It’s Matvey. Dad gave me your number—he can’t bring himself to call. He found a way to sort the flat without your help, but he worries about you. And he wants you to come visit over the bank holiday. He can’t explain it, but he really wants you there.” Lena typed and erased her reply several times, then settled on— “Hi Matvey. Tell Arthur I’m so glad everything’s working out for him. I’m thinking of him too. But I can’t visit. I’ve got my own plans for the bank holiday. I’m off to the seaside.” She didn’t add that she’d bought her own ticket—nor that it wasn’t Turkey but Brighton. And she was going with a friend, not her father. Lena hit send. And realised she could be happy without him.

My Own Flesh and Blood Liz, you wont believe it! Matt and I have decided to go back to Spain next year!

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Twelve Years Later: A Mother’s Heartbreaking Plea on Live TV – The Real Story Behind Catherine’s Desperate Search for Her Estranged Son, Family Betrayal, and Long-Buried Secrets That Changed Their Lives Forever

Twelve Years Later Im begging you, please, help me find my son! the womans voice quivered on the edge of tears.

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I Learned Someone Had Left This Baby at the Baby Hatch Next to the Maternity Unit—Three Months After My Husband’s Death, I Decided to Adopt the Child Abandoned by Their Parents

I learned that someone had left a newborn in the Baby Safe Haven near the maternity wing of St.

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Every Man for Himself “Mum, you wouldn’t believe what’s happening on the housing market right now,” Max fidgeted with the stack of printouts, alternating between piling them neatly and fanning them across the kitchen table. “Prices are jumping every week. If we don’t put down a deposit now, someone else will snap up this flat.” Lydia slid a cup of lukewarm tea towards her son and took a seat opposite him. Floor plans, numbers, repayment charts flashed across the pages. Three bedrooms in a new development: a room for Tim and Sophie, finally their own space. “How much are you short?” “Eight hundred and twenty thousand,” Max pinched the bridge of his nose. “I know, it’s a lot. But Anya’s at her wit’s end, the kids are growing, and we’re still hiding in rented corners…” Lydia looked at her son and saw the little boy who used to bring her bunches of dandelions. Thirty-two years old, two children… and the wrinkle between his brows was the same as when he worried over his homework. “I’ve got savings. They’re in my account.” “Mum, I’ll pay it back, honestly. As soon as things settle down, I’ll start saving again.” She covered his hand with hers, roughened from decades of cooking and cleaning. “Max, this is for my grandchildren. There’s no question of repayment. Family matters more than money.” At the bank branch, Lydia filled in the forms with the precise handwriting that came from thirty years as an accountant. Eight hundred and twenty thousand—nearly everything she’d saved over recent years. For a rainy day. Just in case. “What if.” Max hugged her tightly at the cashier’s counter, not caring about the queue. “You’re the best, Mum. Really. I’ll never forget it.” She patted his back. “Go on now. Anya must be waiting.” …The first months after the housewarming blurred into endless journeys across the city. Lydia would arrive laden with bags from Tesco—chicken, buckwheat, cheese, yogurts for the kids. She helped Anna hang curtains, assemble furniture, scrub construction dust from windowsills. “Careful with the tools, Tim!” she shouted as she juggled curtains with explaining to her daughter-in-law how to make cabbage rolls. Anna nodded, scrolling through her phone. Max would appear in the evening—tired from work—snap up Mum’s cooking and vanish into the bedroom. “Thanks, Mum,” he’d call over his shoulder. “Don’t know what we’d do without you!” …Six months later her familiar number flashed on the screen. “Mum, I need a favour… This month’s mortgage payment coincided with car repairs. We’re thirty-five grand short.” Lydia transferred the money, no questions asked. Life’s tough for the young ones—everyone knows that. New expenses, little kids, stressful jobs. Never mind, they’ll get back on their feet—and the money, well, they’ll return it. Or not. What does it matter, really, when it’s family? The years slipped by quicker than water through fingers. Tim turned seven, and Lydia gifted him that Lego set he’d begged his parents for all year. Sophie twirled in a pink dress sparkling just like a princess’s. “Gran, you’re the best!” Sophie swung from her neck, smelling of children’s shampoo and toffees. Every weekend Lydia whisked the grandkids off—to the theatre, the park, the ice rink. She bought ice creams, toys, books. Her old coat bulged with sweets and wet wipes. Five years melted into this generous, voluntary servitude. Mortgage money—“Mum, we’re strapped this month.” Sick days with the kids—“Mum, we just can’t get off work.” Groceries—“Mum, you’re at the shops anyway.” Gratitude faded with time… …That morning she studied the water stains on her kitchen ceiling. Rusty streaks spread across the plaster. Her flat was flooded—impossible to live in now. She dialled her son. “Max, I need help with repairs. I’ve no idea when I’ll get compensation…” “Mum,” Max cut her off, “You know my priorities are totally different now. Clubs for the kids, Sophie’s ballet, Anya’s signed up for an evening course…” “I’m not asking for much. Just help finding a builder, or—” “I’ve literally no time for this, Mum, not for something so trivial,” Max repeated, as if he hadn’t heard. “Let’s come back to it later. We’ll chat, ok?” The dial tone… Lydia lowered the phone. Her screensaver flashed—a photo from last New Year’s Eve. Her, Tim, Sophie, all smiling. The money he’d borrowed without a thought. The weekends she’d given to his children. The time, the energy, the love—all that was “back then.” Now—it was “different priorities.” A drip from the ceiling splashed onto her hand. Cold… The next day Anna called—a rare event that set Lydia on edge even before her daughter-in-law spoke. “Lydia, Max told me about your chat,” Anna sounded irritated, “But everyone has to deal with their own problems, don’t they? We’re paying off the flat ourselves now, the mortgage…” Lydia almost laughed. The mortgage she’d been covering every third month. The deposit—almost entirely from her. “Of course, Anya,” she answered evenly. “Each to their own.” “Exactly. We’re on the same page. Max was worried you’re upset though—you’re not upset, are you?” “No. Not at all.” The dial tone… Lydia placed the phone on the table and gazed at it for a long time, as if it were some alien insect. Then she walked to the window, but turned away—there was nothing out there for comfort. Nights turned into endless hours—the ceiling pressing down, her thoughts restless. Lydia lay in the dark, counting off the last five years like rosary beads. She had done this herself. Raised in her son the certainty that a mother is an endless resource. The next morning, Lydia phoned the estate agent. “I’d like to put my country cottage up for sale. Six plots, Surrey. Electricity connected.” The cottage she and her late husband had built over twenty years. The apple trees she’d planted, pregnant with Max. The veranda—so many summer evenings. A buyer turned up in a month. Lydia signed the papers without allowing herself to dwell on what she was selling. The money landed in her account and she methodically planned it out: repairs, a new savings account, a small rainy day fund. The workmen started on her flat the next week. Lydia chose the tiles, the wallpaper, the fittings herself. For the first time in years, she spent on herself—not putting things away “just in case” or thinking which family member might need her help next. Max didn’t call. Two weeks, three. A month. Lydia remained silent too. The phone rang after the renovations were done. The new kitchen gleamed, windows sealed tight, pipes no longer groaned with rust. “Mum, why haven’t you been over? Sophie was asking.” “Been busy.” “With what?” “My life, Max. My own life.” She visited the following week. Brought books for the grandchildren—good gifts, but nothing extravagant. Sat for two hours over tea, discussing the weather, Tim’s schoolwork. Declined to stay for dinner. “Mum, could you mind the kids on Saturday? Anya and I—” “Can’t. I’ve got plans.” She saw his face fall. He didn’t understand. Not yet. The months rolled by and understanding came—slowly, painfully. Without Mum’s transfers, the mortgage devoured a third of their income. Without a free babysitter, there was no one to leave the kids with. Meanwhile, Lydia opened a high-interest savings account. Bought herself a new coat—good, warm, not on sale. Took herself to a spa for two weeks. Enrolled in a Nordic walking group. She remembered how Anna’s parents had always kept their distance. Polite birthday cards, dutiful visits every couple of months. No money, no help—in fact, no sacrifices at all. And not a single complaint from their daughter. Perhaps they were right all along? Rare visits with the grandchildren turned into a formality. Lydia would come, bring simple gifts, chat about school, friends… Leave after a few hours, not staying overnight or whisking the children off for the weekend. Tim once asked: “Gran, why don’t you take us to the park anymore?” “Gran’s got things to do these days, Timmy.” The boy didn’t get it. But Max, standing in the hallway, perhaps at last began to. Lydia would return to her newly renovated flat, filled with the smell of fresh paint and new furniture. Brew fine tea, settle into the comfy chair she’d bought with the cottage money. Guilt? Yes, it crept in now and then. But less and less. Because Lydia had finally learned a simple truth: love doesn’t mean self-sacrifice. Not when no one notices or values your sacrifice. For the first time in thirty-two years of motherhood, she chose herself.

Every Man for Himself Mum, you cant imagine whats happening on the housing market at the moment, James

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Blood Ties “Lena, you won’t believe it! Matvey and I have decided—we’re going back to Turkey next year!” My stepdad was practically glowing with excitement. “He says he wants that same hotel overlooking the sea again. What can I do? Anything for my own son.” His words slipped out, clarifying without meaning to: “own” son. “I’m happy for you,” Lena replied, thinking back to how nice things had been before Matvey came along. “‘Own son’… You always told me we’re family, that it doesn’t matter whether we’re related by blood or not.” He had said it before. That it didn’t matter whether she was his biological daughter or not. “There you go again… You know I love you like my own daughter, Lena, that’s not up for debate. But Matvey…” He’d just confirmed it without realising. “Matvey is your son. I’m just an acquaintance now?” “Lena, what are you talking about? I’ve said you’re like family to me!” “Like family… Did you ever take me to the seaside? In all these fifteen years you’ve called yourself my father?” He hadn’t. Arthur always insisted there was no difference between her and Matvey, but Lena knew—he did so much more for Matvey. The difference was huge. “I couldn’t, Lena. You know money was always tighter back then. You’re not a child anymore—you know what two weeks in a five-star hotel costs. Expensive.” “I get it,” Lena nodded. “It’s too costly to bring me along. And yet Matvey, who you’ve only known for six months, you want to buy him a flat on mortgage so he’ll have somewhere to bring his future wife? That doesn’t seem expensive, since he’s your son?” “I’m not buying any flat. Who told you that?” “People who care.” “Tell those people not to spread rumours.” Lena felt slightly revived. “Honestly—you’re not buying it?” “Of course not. Oh, by the way! Guess where we’re going Saturday?” He didn’t wait for her answer. “Go-karting! He did some racing back at uni, and I’m just tagging along.” “Go-karting,” Lena echoed. “Sounds exciting.” “Oh, it is!” “Can I come with you?” The words slipped out before she could stop herself. Arthur, clearly not wanting her to join, blurted: “Uh, Lena… You’d be bored there. Really. It’s more of a men’s thing. Matvey and I, we’ll talk about, you know, father-son stuff.” How that hurt… “So, it’s interesting for you, but not for me?” “It’s not quite like that…” Arthur squirmed. “We just haven’t seen each other for years and want to catch up. Just the two of us. Do you understand?” She understood. That word—“understand”—was their new family code for replacing one with another. She was meant to understand: that blood would always come before chosen family. That her place was outside the fence, not inside. Matvey was objectively great. Raised without a father because his mum kept Arthur in the dark, yet he managed to succeed at everything. Clever, handsome, kind. “Dad, I fixed the dog kennels at the shelter.” “Dad, I graduated with first class honours.” “Dad, I’ve repaired your phone.” He wasn’t just a son—he was the perfect son. Later, after Arthur left, Lena looked through old photos… Arthur and her mother’s wedding (her mum gone five years now, leaving Lena and Arthur alone). There they were at the allotment… there was Lena, finishing school… Nothing would ever be the same. *** “Lena, you awake? I’ve got a question. Urgent.” Her stepdad showed up at 8am the next morning. “What’s so urgent?” Lena swept her fringe back with a hairband and switched on the coffee machine. “It’s about the flat for Matvey.” “So it’s true?” she breathed. “Sorry, yes—it’s true.” “So you lied to me.” “I just didn’t want to upset you. But I need advice! I think I need to hurry. He’ll want to get married, sooner or later. He needs his own place while he’s still young. You should have seen my life at his age…” “Get a mortgage then,” Lena muttered, not wanting to discuss buying Matvey a flat. Matvey had landed on his feet. “Yeah, I know. But you know my credit history… Matvey deserves some help. He’s never had a father, but now I can do this for him.” “So what do you want from me?” “Here’s the thing. I have two hundred thousand pounds. That’s enough for the deposit. But the bank won’t lend to me—they’ll give you a loan, though, your record’s spotless. We’ll put it in your name. I’ll make all the payments, I promise.” The illusion that “there’s no difference between you and Matvey” shattered completely. There was a difference. He’d never throw Matvey onto the mortgage front line. “So Matvey gets the flat, and I get the debt? Is that it?” Arthur shook his head, as if offended—like it was Lena’s idea. “Of course not! I’ll pay everything. I’m not asking you to fork out. I just need the mortgage in your name. Think about it…” “You know, Arthur, I’m not thinking about the loan. I’m thinking about how you don’t see me as your daughter any more. You’ve got a son now. You’ve known him six months and me fifteen years, but only the blood relation matters, right?” “Not true!” Arthur flared. “I love you equally!” “No. Not equally.” “Lena, that’s not fair! Matvey’s my flesh and blood…” Curtain. She wasn’t his daughter any more—just conveniently “like family,” until something realer came along. “Fine,” Lena managed politely. “I can’t help, Arthur. I’ll need a mortgage for myself someday. I won’t get approved for a second one.” Arthur seemed to realise then that she, too, was without a home. “Oh, right, you’ll need one as well…” He checked his watch. “But right now, before you settle down, you could help me out. I already have the deposit. It’s just for a couple of years.” “No. I’m not putting anything in my name for you.” She didn’t expect him to understand. “Alright,” he said at last. “If you can’t help me as a daughter, that’s that. I’ll sort it myself.” Maybe he’d once considered her his daughter. It didn’t matter now. She only saw Arthur in old photographs. One evening, scrolling through her feed, she saw it. A photo at the airport: Arthur and Matvey. Both in pale jackets. Arthur’s arm around Matvey’s shoulder; the caption: “Off to Dubai with Dad. Family is everything.” Family. Lena put down her phone. She remembered a moment from childhood, well before her mother married Arthur. She was five. They were poor, and her favourite doll from her grandmother had broken. She cried, but her biological father just said, “Lena, don’t cry over silly things. Don’t bother me!” You never could bother him: the bottle was always more interesting. Lena realised she’d never really had a father. She’d just thought Arthur could replace him… Soon after, Arthur tried to persuade her again. “Lena, I think we need to address your lack of trust…” “What lack of trust, Arthur? I said no.” “You just don’t understand. Matvey—he never knew me. He needs a home. He’s a grown man. You don’t even have to do anything, just be there, I guarantee you won’t pay a penny.” “Who’s going to make up for gaps in my life…” This time, Arthur grew angry. “Lena, enough! I don’t want a row. I really do love you! But listen—Matvey is my real family now. When you have your own kids, you’ll get it. Yes, I love you both differently, but it doesn’t mean you’re not important.” “I am. As a resource.” “Lena, please! You’re exaggerating.” “You dropped me for him in six months, Arthur,” Lena replied. “I’m not asking you to choose. You already have. You said it yourself: Matvey is your real son. I never was.” Six months passed. Arthur never called. Not once. One day, scrolling that same news feed, she spotted another photo. Arthur and Matvey. Posing in the mountains, Arthur decked out in trendy ski gear. Caption: “Teaching Dad to snowboard! He’s a bit old, but anything’s possible with your son!” Lena stared at the image for a long time. She reached for her laptop to finish her report when a message flashed on her phone. An unknown number. “Hi, Lena. It’s Matvey. Dad gave me your number, but didn’t feel right calling you himself. He wanted to say he’s sorted the flat and didn’t need your help in the end—but he’s worried about you. He really wants you to come visit for the bank holiday. He can’t say why, but he’s asking.” She started to reply, erasing and rewriting. “Hi, Matvey. Tell Arthur I’m really glad he’s doing well. I think about him too. But I won’t come. I have other plans for the bank holiday. I’m going to the seaside.” She chose not to mention she’d bought her own ticket—and that it was Brighton, not Turkey. And she wasn’t going with her father, but with a friend. Lena pressed “send”. And she realised she could find happiness without him, too.

Native Son Emma, you wont believe it! Matthew and I have made plans to fly to Spain next year!

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There Won’t Be a Wedding “Why are you so quiet today?” Tanya asked. “We agreed to pick out bedroom furniture on Saturday, but you seem down. What’s wrong?” Denis knew: it was now or never. He had to say it now. “Tanya… There’s something I need to tell you. About the wedding.” Tanya had been waiting for this conversation. She and Denis had agreed to keep the celebration modest, but she sensed Denis wanted a proper wedding—lots of guests, a photographer, an event planner… She’d been looking forward to this! “Just get to the point, please—I think I know what you’re about to say,” Tanya smiled. But Denis said, “Let’s postpone… Let’s postpone the wedding.” That was not the conversation she’d prepared for. “Postpone?” she gaped, stunned, “What’s brought this on? Why? We were just talking about invitations… You picked them out yourself! We decided who to invite! Have you changed your mind about marrying me?” Like a scene from a drama, she half expected to hear that his feelings had cooled. But Denis didn’t follow the script. “Money’s tight right now,” he muttered. “My pay’s been delayed. We haven’t managed to save. And… We’ve only been living together for six months. Isn’t it a bit soon?” “Too soon?” Tanya choked. “Denis, we’ve been together three years! Three years in a relationship and six months living together is ‘too soon’ for you?” Denis looked less scared now. “Don’t start, Tanya. I don’t want a fight. This is just… a pause. I haven’t changed my mind about marrying you, but a wedding is expensive.” “Fine… Why don’t we just have a registry office wedding and celebrate with friends after?” “Tanya, that wouldn’t be a real wedding.” “Then who cares about a real wedding!” “But you dreamed about it…” “I’ll survive!” He’s coming up with strange excuses. “Tanya…” “Just be honest. Has something happened? Are you unsure about me? Or… did you meet someone else? Because ‘the wedding is expensive’ doesn’t sound convincing.” Denis shook his head. “No, Tanya, I promise. I just want everything to be perfect, you know? And right now, I can’t give us the perfect wedding. And yes—six months. We’re still getting used to each other. Need to see if we’re really compatible…” His words made sense… He was convincing, but Tanya’s intuition protested. Rarely had Denis worked this hard to persuade her of anything. And he himself had insisted on marrying quickly. But she pretended to believe him. After that talk, Denis transformed—not just a boyfriend, but the perfect boyfriend, paying attention to the little things, as if to make amends for the postponed wedding. Always asked Tanya’s preference in shops, always did the dishes himself… But he was gloomy. Not just pensive, but downright gloomy, sighing at night staring at the ceiling, brushing off Tanya’s questions with, “Just tired, that’s all.” Tanya tried not to push. “Later, later, later,” her inner voice whispered. A couple of weeks later, Denis’s parents invited them over. Tanya hesitated but couldn’t refuse. Denis hadn’t brought up the wedding again, and his parents were bound to ask—awkward. They brought up the wedding, of course. “So, when are you going to make us happy?” his mum asked as dad went to watch telly. “We’ve already found a venue for the reception—table for twenty. What date should we book?” Denis sat there just as glum as Tanya. Book what? There’s nothing to book. “Mum, we’ve… postponed it,” he rasped. “Postponed? Why? No money? Denis, mate, why didn’t you think about that sooner?” After dinner, as the men examined yet another broken speaker, Tanya slipped to the bathroom. Spotless in there, like an operating room—not even any cosmetics except shower gel and shampoo. His mum kept all her toiletries in her room; Tanya always wondered how she bothered carting them back and forth. As she dried her face, Tanya heard… The bathroom walls always carried voices. Denis was back in the kitchen, speaking to his mother. And Tanya overheard… “…Denis, have you decided to break up with Tanya?” Tanya froze, towel to her chin. What? She didn’t kid herself—she’d heard that clearly. She pressed her ear against the cold tile. “Mum, I told you. We’ve only postponed the wedding. We’re not splitting up.” “Postponed is just an excuse!” hissed Galina. “I can see how miserable you are. Why do you need her? She isn’t the right wife for you. A wife should listen to her husband, but she… Why marry if you’ll divorce in a year?” “I love her, Mum,” Denis replied. Tanya even had a pang of tenderness. But his mum’s next words put an end to that. “You say you love her? She’s a crafty one, Denis! I told you! Not even your wife yet, and she’s already turned you against us. You don’t help your sister, you rarely come to the house. She’s changing you, and not for the better.” Tanya stuck to the wall, horrified. Setting him against his family? When?! She’d always done her best to be polite, even when his dad trashed her new haircut. She’d never deliberately turned Denis against them—in fact, she always encouraged him to stay close. Suddenly it hit her: The postponed wedding wasn’t about money. It was his mum, lying to her face, who was against it! Tanya hurried back in. “Oh, Tanya, there you are! We were just saying you shouldn’t put off the official bit for long. I know you’re young, but I do think life without a marriage certificate is wrong.” How sweet of her. “Of course, Mrs. Smith,” Tanya smiled (using a typically English surname). “We won’t delay for long! As soon as we’ve saved, we’ll be at the registry office. Won’t we, Denis?” “Absolutely, Tanya. We’re practically married already,” he agreed. That night, driving home, Denis reached to hug her, but Tanya kept moving away. She didn’t know how to start the conversation. Should she even ask? If Denis hadn’t dumped her for his parents’ sake, that meant he must love her… But the wedding was still off. “You behaved oddly when your mum started talking,” she finally said, watching the river lights fade. “Me? Nah, she’s just rushing us to marry and—” “Don’t lie. She’s not rushing you to marry. She’s against our wedding entirely. She said I’d turned you against her. She told you to break up with me.” Denis jerked the steering wheel. “So you heard that?” he muttered. “Tanya, Mum’s scared her precious boy will marry and forget her—typical, isn’t it? Don’t take it personally. She’ll get over it.” Tanya didn’t take the mum’s words to heart—the woman just couldn’t let her son go. What worried Tanya was Denis himself. He hadn’t defended her, just agreed to keep the peace. The wedding question hung in the air. Denis kept acting like he’d been sucking lemons, and now, when Tanya hinted at future plans, he gave his usual, “Maybe later…” Then Tanya came across Denis’s unlocked phone. “I’m just checking the time,” she told herself. “I won’t read messages. Just… a quick look.” The latest notification was from his sister, Vera. Vera was only two years younger than Tanya but acted like she was twelve—no job, no studies, still lived with mum and dad (and their money). The message was blunt: “So, I won’t see any money then. You’re under her thumb again. Well, go live with her if some girl means more to you than your family.” Tanya read it twice. ‘Under her thumb.’ And then she remembered… Before the wedding was cancelled, when Vera had rung Denis asking for money again, Tanya couldn’t help saying, “Denis, she’s twenty-seven, still living with your parents, and asking you for spending money. Maybe it’s time she supported herself? Our budget isn’t endless.” She usually kept out of it, but her money went into the same pot—and she hadn’t signed up to subsidise his sister. Denis had agreed, reluctantly: “Yeah, you’re right, Tanya. Enough is enough.” No wonder now who was turning everyone against her. She copied Vera’s message, sent it to her own phone for proof, and put Denis’s mobile back exactly where it was. Denis came in, brushing snow off his coat. “Picked up bread and your favourite chocolate—the one with the nuts. I was thinking, Tanya, maybe I should have—” “Denis,” Tanya interjected. “What, Denis? Were you expecting someone else?” he joked. But Tanya didn’t laugh. “What’s Vera messaging you about?” she asked. Denis remembered: best form of defence is attack. “So you’re snooping in my phone while I’m out?” Classic defensive move—redirect the blame. “Doesn’t matter what I did, Denis. Explain this. Now.” Denis hesitated; his face cycled through anger, then panic. “She’s young—she takes everything to heart,” he said at last. “Takes what to heart? That I asked her to grow up?” “She grew up with me always helping. Now she expects it. Habits are hard to break, especially easy money. Don’t worry, it’ll blow over.” “She turned your parents against me, didn’t she?” “Well… yes,” Denis admitted. “I tried explaining our money is ours, Vera should fend for herself… Mum took that personally: ‘Tanya’s running you, you’ve abandoned your family.’ But I don’t think that.” “But you cancelled the wedding… fine. She turned your family against me. I get it. I can’t talk to them anymore. But what do you think? Do you actually want to marry me? Or are you just putting it off because you’re afraid to tell your mum ‘no’?” “Of course I want to marry you! But I just can’t… Maybe later… when things settle…” So there was her answer. “You know, Denis, I’ve made up my mind… I don’t want to marry anyone who isn’t sure of his feelings, or flinches every time his sister says boo. It’s a good thing we called off the wedding.”

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