Seated stiffly, with my chin pressed against my shoulder, I felt waves of accusations crashing from both sides. Valentina Aleksandrovna, the mother of my soon-to-be husband, spared no harsh words, laying every imaginable fault at my feet. Yet, the sting that hurt the most came from Slava — my Slava — who remained silent, nodding like a puppet, never once attempting to quell her relentless onslaught.
Since the year we entered university, everyone referred to us as “the engaged couple.” However, our bond predated that time; we had known each other since middle school, when my family moved into the neighborhood. Back then, with my oversized glasses, I became an immediate target. But Slava, the strongest boy in our class, declared, “Anyone who bothers the new girl will have to answer to me.” From that moment, he accompanied me home, and gradually, our friendship blossomed into love. He protected me, while I assisted him with his studies. My family adored him: athletic, handsome, and kind to animals. His only weakness was academics, as skiing competitions and practices often occupied his time. He proudly represented our school at sporting events, while I excelled in our Russian, physics, and history contests. He used to joke, “We’re both champions: me in sports, you in intellect and — yes — looks.” Unfortunately, his mother found “looks and brains” insufficient.
Memorable Anecdote: The first visit to their home remains vivid in my memory. No sooner had I set down my bag than I overheard her mutter under her breath, “Slava, are you really fond of this bookish girl?” Slava responded loudly, ensuring I heard, “Mom, Zhenya is extraordinary. And those glasses… they suit her.”
Her reply was dismissive: “It’s your life, but I wouldn’t rush. There are plenty of beautiful girls around, and you’re fixated on this pedantic one…” Nikolaj Ivanovič then entered with a failed cake, receiving a scolding fit for an office manager from Valentina. In comparison, my family seemed a peaceful harbor. From that day, I kept my distance.
- Slava tried to justify her mother’s behavior, explaining she worked as a waitress at a sanatorium but fancied herself the deputy head of services.
- Valentina was ambitious, though he believed she was good at heart.
- I had no doubt about her kindness but chose not to give her room to maneuver.
Slava’s graduation owed much to my support. At university, we didn’t even discuss majors—both chose Economics. I secured my place through merit; he benefited from Valentina’s connections. I continued supporting him during exams, while he kept accumulating university sports accolades. By our fourth year, marriage was no longer just a possibility. Both families met and agreed: we were perfect for each other.
My academic record reflected my hard work, whereas he consistently earned athletic rewards. Soon, Valentina arranged for Slava to become a marketer at a large corporation, while I landed a role as an economist for a construction company. Around that time, my beloved grandmother Polina Žacharovna passed away, leaving me a small apartment on the outskirts. I hadn’t decided what to do with it yet—houses never weigh one down—and my family thought we could move in after the wedding.
Upon graduation, Slava whisked me away to a sanatorium by Lake Cristallo. One warm evening, on a café terrace, he made a cinematic proposal. As we counted the years we’d known each other, violins, a cello, and a saxophone began playing, creating a magical soundtrack over the lake. “Did you hire musicians?” I asked. “Only the best for you,” he smiled.
He then produced a blue velvet box revealing a stunning ring. “It’s a family heirloom, passed from bride to bride,” he explained bashfully. “Zhenya, will you become my wife?” Kneeling, he awaited my answer. Saying yes, the café erupted into applause.
Back in the city, wedding preparations started. My parents, with their business and networks, recommended excellent venues. Only the consent of Slava’s parents was missing, yet they had a very different plan. One afternoon, Slava called: “Remember the ‘Stella’ café? My parents want to see you there tomorrow at seven. It’s important—about the wedding.”
“Why without mine?” I questioned. Slava dodged the topic, but I agreed. At the café, I arrived on time to find them all seated solemnly, like at a formal signing. Valentina’s smile was too polished. Slava hugged me, asking, “We ordered salad and roast; does that work for you?” “Fine. So, what’s this about?”
Exchanging sharp looks, Slava finally revealed, “Love, my mother bought us an apartment and put it in my name. But you’ll have to pay the mortgage.” The floor seemed to drop beneath me. “Is this how we start our life together?” I managed. “Why should I take on a mortgage without ownership? Am I naive?” Slava lowered his gaze, but Valentina burst forth, “What did you think? That my son would scavenge dumpsters to marry you? It’s a gift he chose you at all. You’re smart, fine, but you’re one among millions. Be grateful.”
My gratitude stayed inside — for the gracefulness, no less. “And what about me having a share?” I countered. “If I pay, I own it. Strange?” she shrugged calmly. She advised selling my inherited apartment to quickly clear the mortgage. However, giving me rights was out of the question. Clearly, I was just a walking wallet. Nikolaj excused himself, likely as embarrassed as I was.
Rising, I slipped off the ring and placed it before Slava: “This belongs to you, Vjačeslav.” Calling him by his full name, I left on foot, my legs weak beneath me. Feeling drained and deceived, I questioned where love leaves room for such calculations. Labeling me as greedy, Valentina had failed to see my confusion over where this accusation originated.
At home, I shared everything with my parents, who were shocked. Later that night, Slava texted me: “Your behavior is disgraceful. Mom and I think of our future, and you spit on it. Is that how love acts?”
I replied sharply, “Is it love to doom the other? I imagined love differently.” The phone rang soon after, but I didn’t answer. I tasted bitterness hard to describe, as if my soul had been torn, trampled, and roughly pieced back together.
That evening, I realized I wouldn’t marry a man lacking backbone, blindly obeying his mother. Being alone was better than being with anyone like that.
Final Thought: Navigating love entangled with family ambitions and expectations can unveil harsh truths. Mutual respect and support are fundamental for a lasting relationship. When those are absent, choosing one’s self-worth becomes paramount.
In summary, the journey from school friends to promised partners showed promise but ended in disillusionment. Conflicts rooted in family interference and unequal power dynamics eclipsed genuine affection. This story is a reminder that true partnership requires more than shared history—it demands equality and understanding.