— If your wife doesn’t master how to speak to me properly, I’ll tear all her hair out, son!
The voice on the phone trembled with barely restrained fury — so sharp and fiery that it drowned out the monotonous background noise of the office.
Maxim instinctively pressed the phone to his ear and turned away from a colleague who threw him a curious glance.
The annual report was frozen on the monitor — tables and graphs that now seemed like a meaningless set of lines and numbers.
The whole reality was in his hands — hot, thick, full of tension.
— Mom, what happened? — he asked tiredly and quietly.
— My friends came over! Lydia Markovna, Verochka!
Decent people, not just anyone!
I’m setting the table, cutting salads, the hot dish is in the oven.
I called Yulia, politely asked: “Come for half an hour, help me, I can’t manage alone.” And she?!
Tamara Pavlovna paused — a theatrical pause full of drama.
Maxim pictured her in the kitchen in her favorite formal apron, phone in one hand and a knife in the other.
In the living room, like spectators, sat long-time friends — witnesses and judges of this family drama.
— She said she was busy! — his mother blurted out.
— Said I should have warned her earlier!
Is that normal? What kind of tone is that? Can you imagine?
She judges me, your mother, like a child, right in front of guests!
They’re watching, and she’s lecturing me about planning!
Maxim rubbed the bridge of his nose. He knew this story inside out.
For his mother, any deviation from the plan was a catastrophe, and someone else was always to blame.
He was sure Yulia really was busy.
Her remote work often required more effort than his office schedule.
But for his mom, there was only one order — her own.
— Mom, tell me everything step by step. What exactly did she say?
— Step by step? — his mother’s voice sounded with a metallic note of offense.
— She said: “Tamara Pavlovna, I can’t right now, I have an online conference.
When I finish — in three hours — I’ll come.”
That’s it! She puts her work above my request!
I’m running around here, and she’s sitting by the computer!
You have to bring her to me immediately.
Let her apologize. In front of everyone.
It sounded like a sentence. Not a request — a command.
Maxim imagined dropping everything, rushing home, grabbing his wife, and driving to his mother where she had to publicly repent before Verochka and Lydia Markovna.
The thought was so absurd he almost laughed.
— I’m at work, Mom. I can’t come. We’ll talk in the evening.
— In the evening?! You don’t understand! The humiliation happened just now!
They’re discussing what kind of daughter-in-law you took — rude and ill-mannered, who despises her mother-in-law!
Solve this immediately!
Call her!
Make her come!
Are you a husband or not?
He felt himself caught again in his mother’s games.
She didn’t want a solution.
She wanted a demonstration of power — for her son to submit, and the wife to acknowledge her authority.
— I’ll deal with it tonight, — he said firmly, ending the call.
— I have work.
He put the phone down face down.
His colleague pretended not to hear, but Maxim felt his attention — as intrusive as the humiliation of the call.
The numbers on the screen blurred before his eyes.
The evening promised to be long.
At home, he was greeted by the smell of coffee and freshness. Not a trace of meat smell or steam over pots — it was different here.
Clean, strict, organized.
Yulia sat at the table in the living room, fully focused on the screen.
Only after a few seconds did she notice him.
Maxim went to the kitchen, poured water, and cooled his inner heat in one gulp.
Finally, Yulia took off her headphones and turned to him.
There was no hint of guilt on her face, only fatigue and calm.
— Hi. How was your day?
— Mom called.
— I guessed. She hung up when I said I was busy.
— She wants you to apologize.
In front of her friends.
Yulia carefully closed her laptop.
She spoke measuredly, without emotion:
— I had a conference with clients from Germany.
We discussed the final details of a project I’ve been working on for three months.
I told Tamara Pavlovna: “I’m in an important meeting now.
When I’m free — in three hours — I’ll come and help.”
After that, she hung up. That’s all.
Her words were as clear as report data.
In this calmness — iron truth.
Maxim saw two pictures: his mother’s hysteria over a couple of salads and Yulia’s professionalism, on which their common future depended.
And the imposed choice suddenly seemed ridiculous.
— Understood, — he said shortly, took the phone, and dialed a number. — Come here.
Yulia came over.
He turned on the speaker, and immediately the tense voice of his mother came through the phone:
— Well?! Are you coming?
— Mom, I figured it out, — Maxim replied coldly.
— Yulia was working.
She couldn’t drop everything just because you decided to invite guests.
She’s not a servant.
She’s my wife.
Silence reigned on the other end, then came an indignant breath.
— How dare you…
— I’m not finished.
You no longer have the right to talk to her like that.
And especially to threaten her.
If I hear it again — we won’t see each other anymore.
At all. Understand?
The silence on the line became dense, oppressive.
As if the ground was ripped out from under someone’s feet.
Maxim hung up first.
Looked at Yulia.
There was no triumph in her eyes, only a response of understanding.
It was only the beginning.
The first victory in a war the mother had already started.
Two weeks passed — two weeks of oppressive silence.
Mother didn’t call.
Such calm was more frightening than shouting.
Maxim knew: mother does not give up.
She was preparing a new attack.
And it came.
The phone woke him on Saturday morning.
Mother’s voice sounded unusual — too soft, too gentle:
— Son, hello. I thought… my birthday is soon.
Not a jubilee, but I still want to gather close ones — sisters, nieces.
Will you and Yulia come? It’s very important to me…
Maxim looked out the window at the bleak gray city.
Every word from his mother sounded like a step leading straight into a trap. “The closest.”
“Very important.”
This was not a request — it was a declaration of war, where she had already set the pieces and written the rules.
— We’ll come, — he said, knowing that refusal would be her victory, which she would present to relatives as proof of her correctness.
On mother’s birthday, they entered her apartment.
The air was thick with perfume, greasy meat, and old polished floor.
The living room was full: Tamara Pavlovna’s sisters — Zoya and Nina, two women — almost faded copies of each other; their daughters, Lydia Markovna — the keeper of family secrets — and a few other faces from the past, gathered like actors in a play by one director.
All turned to the newcomers with the same artificial smile.
Yulia entered confidently, with a straight back.
Her face was calm, without anxiety.
She knew: this was a test. And she was ready.
The evening began with talks — thick like molasses.
Aunt Zoya, putting meat on Yulia’s plate, sighed:
— Eat, Yulia, eat. You need strength.
Modern women are all about work… but family is the main thing.
Maxim was always with Mom.
— Yes, — added Nina, meaningfully exchanging glances with Tamara Pavlovna.
— He knew his place since childhood — beside his mother.
Young people are different now.
They have their own ideas, their own “I.”
Yulia politely smiled and carefully cut a piece of roulade.
— Times change, Nina Petrovna. Today many know how to combine work and family.
Her calm remark hung in the air.
They expected embarrassment or excuses but got only confidence.
For a moment, this threw them off balance, but soon the pressure resumed — from another side.
Tamara Pavlovna told stories.
How she raised her son, how she sacrificed herself for the family, how she kept the house open for guests.
Each story ended with an invisible but clear reproach directed at Yulia.
— …and then I realized, — she finished another tale, — that the foundation of the family is respect.
Respect for elders, their experience, their words.
Without this, the house collapses like a house of cards.
Guests nodded, casting disapproving glances at Yulia.
She was a stranger in this world where traditions and mutual protection reigned.
Maxim tried to smooth the situation, but his voice was lost in the general chorus.
Here he was neither son nor nephew — only the husband of a woman who didn’t fit into their notions.
The climax came when Tamara Pavlovna raised her glass.
— To family! — she began, looking around with a triumphant sparkle in her eyes.
— To the young listening to their elders and not putting their own affairs above the important.
I wish my son wisdom, and his wife… — pause — to learn this wisdom.
To understand that family is not work that can be put off.
It was a verdict.
Public, without the right to appeal.
Maxim waited for the toast to end.
He didn’t argue.
Just stood up, placed his napkin on the table.
— Thanks for the evening. We must go.
He took Yulia’s hand, and they left under the stunned looks of the relatives.
They expected hysteria, tears, conflict.
But Maxim’s cold calm was a blow.
He didn’t play their game.
He just left, leaving them with an empty victory and the bitterness of defeat.
On the way home, they were silent.
Maxim didn’t start the engine immediately.
Yulia looked out at the darkness.
She didn’t ask questions, didn’t seek comfort.
Her presence was the most reliable support.
She trusted him.
Completely.
— I have to go back, — he said in the silence.
— Alone?
— Yes. I need to finish this once and for all.
He didn’t explain.
She understood without words.
He turned the car around, parked by the same building.
Didn’t ask her to wait.
Just got out, feeling everything inside tighten into a cold, hard core.
Emotions stayed behind.
Now — only actions.
He called.
Aunt Zoya answered, her satisfied smile fading when she saw Maxim.
He walked past without a word and went into the living room.
The feast continued, but the mood was different.
Mother, the center of attention, accepted another compliment from Lydia Markovna.
— …you’ve always been a smart woman, Tomochka.
You know where the root of evil lies.
Seeing her son, she fell silent.
Her face was a mix of surprise and expectation.
She thought: he came to ask for forgiveness.
— Changed your mind? Decided to properly congratulate your mother?
Maxim stopped in the middle of the room.
Didn’t approach the table.
Only looked around at everyone — mother, aunts, her friends.
A whole court passing sentence.
— I came back to clarify something, — his voice was even and clear.
— You pretended all evening that I had to choose between you and my wife.
You staged a performance to confirm your choice.
He looked directly into his mother’s eyes.
Her smile faded.
— Today you chose.
In front of everyone.
Now it’s my turn.
Pause.
Everyone froze.
— This apartment was left to us by father.
My half is the only connection to this home.
Tomorrow I’m putting it up for sale.
The room froze.
The sound of the refrigerator seemed deafening.
Nina opened her mouth but said nothing.
Mother’s face became a mask.
— What? — she whispered, not as a question, but as a murmur.
— Because of the layout, probably the whole apartment will have to be sold.
You’ll get your share.
Enough for a one-room apartment outside the city.
Yulia and I will buy a house.
In another city.
He spoke calmly, without anger.
This was not a threat, but a fact.
Cold, logical, inevitable.
He glanced one last time at the woman who tried to control him through guilt, scandals, and pressure.
Now she sat among allies but was alone.
Her power collapsed.
And she herself gave him the tool to destroy it.
— That’s it, Mom.
I choose my family.
He turned and left.
No one stopped him.
No one shouted.
Only the click of the closing door.
This time — forever.
