Tanya had just put her son to sleep when the message arrived:
*”I’ll be there soon.”* The sender? Anna Lvovna—her mother-in-law. A woman of *complicated* temperament, to put it mildly. No warmth, no kindness—just endless audacity, vanity, and a desperate need to seem younger. No one knew her real age; she guarded it fiercely, insisting she was *”eighteen at heart.”*
When Tanya was pregnant, Anna made it clear: she wouldn’t lift a finger. Her *busy* life—gym sessions, dance classes, dates—left no room for rocking a baby.
*”I’ve done my time with nappies,”* she’d snapped. *”Not a single day more.”*
Ten minutes later, the doorbell rang. There stood Anna in a garish dress, hair styled like a telly presenter, teetering on heels so sharp their click echoed through the flat. She sailed in like she owned the place, kicked off her shoes, and marched to the kitchen.
*”Tanya darling, make us a cuppa, yeah? I’ve been running ragged—work, shopping, errands. Worn to the bone. Oh, and that green dress of yours? The one from the office do?”*
*”Yes,”* Tanya replied cautiously.
*”Give it here. You’ve put on weight since the baby—you’ll never squeeze into it now.”*
Tanya looked down. The words stung. Yes, her body had changed—but to hear it from family, in *that* tone… She bit her lip. Anna, of course, wasn’t done.
*”Aren’t you even curious why I want it?”*
Silence. Tanya knew the drill. Anna was always hunting for her next *”prince”*—someone younger, richer. Her life was one endless audition. No romance lasted more than a few months.
*”New beau,”* Anna announced smugly. *”Handsome, owns a flat and a car. Probably a womaniser, though. So you’ll help—message him on Facebook. See if he bites.”*
*”No. I won’t play these games,”* Tanya said flatly.
Anna’s laugh was brittle. *”Fine! Keep the dress. You can use it as a rag—you’ll never fit in it anyway!”* She stormed out, slamming the door.
Naturally, she complained to her son. Andrew came home, heard both sides. His mother was volatile—she needed *handling*. But frustration simmered beneath his calm.
*”I’ll talk to her,”* he murmured, hugging Tanya.
Days passed. At Andrew’s birthday gathering, an old friend couldn’t make it. Anna didn’t call to wish him happy birthday—no, she rang to lament another failed fling.
Then she showed up again. Jam jar in hand, apologies on her lips.
*”Sorry, love. I’ve been… tired. It’s hard being alone. Always searching, always disappointed. Take Yuri—we were going to move in, but his son called. Said I was *wrecking* their family. Turns out Yuri’s married, drowning in debt, and I was just… a distraction. And just like that, he cut me off. Like flipping a switch.”*
*”Maybe he got scared?”* Tanya offered gently.
*”Or he’s spineless. His son threatened to pay off his debts if he dumped me. So he did. That’s it. Probably thought I’d drag him to the registry office, then claw at his inheritance. Can you *imagine*?”*
As Anna rambled, Tanya listened quietly. Andrew walked in. Over dinner, Anna launched into her usual lament—how the world wronged her, how *exhausting* it was to be alone. She wanted sympathy, same as always.
*”Mum, maybe stop forcing it? The right person will find *you*,”* Andrew said.
*”Oh, so I should just sit at home and mope?”*
*”No. But less drama? Take your grandson to the park. Life isn’t just romance.”*
*”Ah, so you want free babysitting? *Your* child, *your* problem!”*
*”Mum, you’re twisting everything. Find a hobby—not another disaster.”*
*”A *hobby*? I want *love*! And if I make mistakes, that’s *my* life! Maybe tell your wife to sort herself out—since the baby, she’s let herself go. No spark, no effort. Think that’s how marriages last?”*
*”Enough! Don’t you *dare* talk about Tanya! She’s just had a baby—she’ll bounce back. You could *support* her instead of tearing her down!”*
Anna slammed the door on her way out. Tanya, listening from the hallway, felt the lump in her throat. But she didn’t cry. She just hugged Andrew.
Because she knew: Anna would never change. And the only choice was to live with it—or shut her out completely.
