— Roman, you know we’ll have to invite her mother, right? — Antonina Pavlovna didn’t even look at Anna as she said it. She spoke to her son, as if the bride wasn’t even at the table.— Mom, of course — Roman picked up his fork and began poking at his salad.
— Though I’d prefer to avoid it. What will she even see in her own Kineshma? Half the week there’s no hot water, I bet.Anna clenched her hands under the table. She wanted to say something, but a lump caught in her throat.
— Don’t take it personally, darling — Antonina Pavlovna finally turned to her. — I just want everything to be arranged properly. Your mother is probably a simple woman. We’ll book her a taxi from the airport, pay for her hotel in advance.
She’ll come two days early to settle in. Take a proper bath.— Mom bathes every day — Anna whispered.— I know, I know. But in the provinces, you know… water isn’t always clean. Here she can freshen up properly. And she’ll be ready for the wedding.
Roman said nothing. He chopped his tomato into tiny pieces. Very tiny.— And we’ll seat her separately. With distant relatives. Aunt Zina, Uncle Vova… Simple people, so she’ll feel comfortable. No need for your mother to get nervous around our guests, right?
— Antonina Pavlovna, my mother…— Shh, dear. I understand. You’re a good girl. But let’s be honest. Invite your country mother, and we’ll make sure no one notices. It’s in your interest, isn’t it? Anna stood. Her legs shook.
— Excuse me, I need to step out.Roman didn’t even look up.Outside, Anna quickly dialed her mother’s number.— Mom, it’s me.— Anna, what’s wrong?— Nothing… It’s just… my mother-in-law said you have to come to the wedding.
Two days early. To… take a proper bath. She said it in front of Roman.Silence. Then a deep breath.— And he…?— Ate salad.An even longer pause.— Fine. I’ll come. Send me the address.— Mom, are you sure?
She’ll seat you at the back, at the distant table. She’ll tell everyone you’re from the village. She’ll… I’m embarrassed, Mom.— I’m not embarrassed, darling. I’ll come. And then we’ll see who should be ashamed.
The wedding was held at a country club. White canopies, paved paths, ice sculptures. Over a hundred guests. Anna barely recognized half of them: Antonina Pavlovna’s friends, her husband’s colleagues, some business partners.
Nadezhda Stepanovna arrived an hour before the ceremony. Anna met her at the parking lot. Her mother wore a simple gray suit, no jewelry. Her face calm. Almost cold.— Mom, how are you? — Anna asked.
— Fine. Show me this “wonder” of yours — Nadezhda said evenly.Antonina Pavlovna came forward, a glass of sparkling wine in hand, smiling, but her eyes sharp.— Ah, here’s the guest from Kineshma! How was the trip? Must have been impressive, the plane ride, right?
— Fine. Thank you for your concern — Nadezhda replied calmly.— Well then, please go ahead. Your table is over there, by the service entrance. Sorry, no other seats were available. You’ll be with distant relatives, simple people. Comfortable, isn’t it?
— Thank you. I’ll just stand for now. Fresh air — Nadezhda said.Anna took her mother’s hand.— I’m sorry. For all of this.— For what, my dear? You didn’t choose the back table.— But I brought you here. I agreed to this wedding.
Nadezhda Stepanovna looked her daughter in the eyes.— Anna, do you love Roman?— I… I used to. But now… I’m just tired. Of his mother. Of his silence. Of feeling guilty all the time.— Then why are you here?
— Because I already told everyone. Because the dress is bought. Because the guests have arrived.— Those aren’t reasons. Those are excuses.
The banquet started at six. Anna sat next to Roman at the head table. He smiled at guests, clinked glasses, gave toasts. As if nothing had happened. As if his mother hadn’t humiliated her mother in front of everyone just an hour ago.
Antonina Pavlovna stood with a microphone. Her dress glittered, glass in hand.— Dear guests! I want to say a few words about our bride. Anna — such a good girl, kind. Works as a nurse. True, her family isn’t much. But we’ll shape her properly, won’t we, Roman?
Laughter rippled through the room. Some loud, some awkward.Roman smiled, nodded, raised his glass.Anna felt something inside break.— And today, — Antonina Pavlovna continued — we have the bride’s mother with us.
Nadezhda Stepanovna, where are you? There, by the service entrance. Please stand!Nadezhda rose. Slowly. Calm face.— I want everyone to look at this woman. She lives in Kineshma. Works, retired. Probably seeing this kind of luxury for the first time.
Nadezhda Stepanovna, do you like it here?A few people laughed nervously. The rest stared at their plates.— I like it very much — Nadezhda said. — But let me clarify one detail.— Which? — Antonina Pavlovna smiled.
— You said I’m retired. That’s incorrect. I own a textile factory. The largest in the region. Perhaps you’ve heard of the “Kineshma Factory.” We supply fabrics for every government office in the area.
The room froze. Antonina Pavlovna blinked.— What?— I said I’m not retired. I’m an entrepreneur. After my husband passed away, I restored the factory that was falling apart. I invested everything I had.
Worked sixteen-hour days for three years. I now have three hundred employees and contracts for the next two years.Antonina Pavlovna stepped back.— But… why… why didn’t you say anything?
— Because I don’t like to brag. Unlike you. You’ve spent the evening talking about status, connections, money. I just work.Then Nadezhda turned to her daughter:— Anna, pack your things. We’re leaving.
Anna stood, hands shaking, but she stood.— Anna, wait — Roman grabbed her hand. — My mother was only joking. She didn’t mean…— Let go.— But we just… we just got married… guests are here… cake, gifts…
— Let go, Roman.He let go. Looked at his mother, his father, then at Anna again.— I… I don’t know what to say.— Exactly. You never know. You stayed silent while your mother hurt me for six months. Silent when she said my mother was a village woman.
Silent today, when she staged this circus. You always stay silent, Roman.— But I love you!— No. You love silence. You love it when everything is calm. And I can’t live in that silence anymore.
Three months later, Anna returned to work at the hospital. Colleagues asked no questions. They just hugged her. Gave her her favorite ward. And she worked. Bandages, IVs, night shifts. Hands tired, legs aching. But inside, she was calm.
Roman called the first three days. Wrote long messages. Asked her to come back. Said his mother apologized. Said the family was falling apart. That he needed her support.She read them and deleted. No reply.
On the fourth day, he came to the hospital in person. Anna finished her shift and walked out.— We have nothing to talk about, Roman.— But we… we loved each other.— You know what I realized? Love isn’t when it’s easy together.
It’s when it’s hard, and you still stand by each other. When you defend. When you step between me and those who hurt me. You did none of that. You sat there, chopping salad, while your mother insulted mine.
You smiled at guests while she humiliated me in front of everyone. That’s not love, Roman. That’s convenience.— But I was afraid of hurting her! She’s my mother!— And me? Who defended me? No one. And now I’m leaving, because dignity is worth more than any wedding.
And she laughed. For the first time in three months — truly, freely. Because she realized: sometimes the greatest love is when someone won’t let you drown where you’re destroying yourself.
