The Day of Dreams: A Bride’s Reflection
Svetlana stood before the mirror, gazing at her reflection. The pristine white dress fit her form flawlessly, cascading fabric draping softly over her shoulders, and her makeup was impeccable. This was the day she had always envisioned, the moment she had eagerly awaited for so long.
Yet, there was a peculiar emptiness within her.
Sliding her hand along the dress’s fabric, she adjusted a loose strand of hair and reminisced about how it all began. A year prior, she had encountered Denis at a corporate event. Tall, handsome, with a charming smile and self-assured demeanor. He held a managerial position at a prominent firm, drove a decent car, and spoke just the right words.
He courted her beautifully. Flowers, dinners, compliments. Svetlana was touched. After several unsuccessful relationships, she longed for stability, reliability, and genuine warmth. Denis appeared to embody just that—dependability.
Half a year later, he proposed romantically, ring in hand, on one knee. Without hesitation, Svetlana accepted. Her parents rejoiced, friends celebrated, and everything flowed as it should.
Planning the wedding took several months. Svetlana handled everything: choosing the venue, ordering the dress, curating the menu, sending out invitations. Denis contributed, but it felt more formal, merely agreeing with her choices, nodding, asserting that everything was fantastic.
Three months before the wedding, Svetlana made a significant decision. She sold her small one-bedroom apartment on the outskirts. There, she had lived for five years post-university, meticulously saving every penny, economizing on every paycheck. She lived modestly, refraining from pastimes, dressing simply—all for the singular goal of affording a larger home.
And then she found her ideal option: a two-bedroom apartment in a new development, bright, with renovations, situated in a pleasant neighborhood. A park, a school, shops—all the components of her dreams. She transferred the funds, finalized the paperwork, and received the keys. This was her triumph. Her victory.
Her parents beamed with pride. Friends expressed envy—in the best sense of the word. Denis praised her efforts, stating how blessed they were to possess their own home. Everything was in perfect alignment.
However, one aspect left her unsettled: Denis’s mother, Nina Sergeyevna.
Their initial meeting occurred two months prior. Denis brought Svetlana home to introduce her to his mother. Nina lived alone in an old three-room apartment on the outskirts. The space was neat yet dim—heavy furniture, dark hues, and numerous old photographs adorning the walls.
Without a smile, she welcomed Svetlana, scrutinizing her from head to toe before nodding:
— Hello. Come in.
They settled at the table. Nina poured tea, produced cookies, and began to inquire about Svetlana’s job, her parents, and future aspirations. Svetlana maintained a calm demeanor, striving to be polite.
— I heard you bought an apartment, — Nina said suddenly, pouring herself another cup. — A two-bedroom, in a new building.
— Yes, — Svetlana nodded. — It’s a good spot. I searched for a long time.
Nina scoffed slightly and regarded her with a strange grin:
— Well, I’ll tell you this, dear. After the wedding, everything becomes collective. Familial. So, don’t get too full of yourself thinking it’s solely yours.
Svetlana remained silent then, dismissing it as generational viewpoints. She didn’t wish to spoil the relationship pre-wedding. Denis said nothing either, simply changing the topic.
But as Svetlana recalled that conversation now, she realized—it had been a warning.
Now, the wedding day had arrived.
Svetlana inhaled deeply and left the room. Guests had already gathered in the hall. The music played, waiters maneuvered between the tables, every detail was meticulously arranged. She had worked hard to make the day memorable.
Denis stood by the entrance, greeting guests with a smile. When he spotted his bride, he approached and wrapped his arms around her waist.
— You’re a vision, — he whispered. — My wife.
Svetlana smiled, even though a slight unease flickered within her. She couldn’t quite discern its origin. Just a sensation, light yet undeniable.
The ceremony unfolded rapidly: vows, kisses, applause. Following this, the banquet commenced. Guests dined, sipped, and danced. Svetlana remained at her table, smiling while responding to toasts and well-wishes.
Nina sat across the table, observing her daughter-in-law with an unusual expression. Not hostile but decidedly cool, almost assessing—as one might evaluate a purchase in a store.
Denis joined Svetlana, draping his arm around her shoulders. His face bore a faint flush—he had likely overindulged in champagne. His eyes sparkled, his smile broadened, and his movements became more relaxed. He laughed louder than usual, playfully clapping his friends on the shoulder, cracking jokes.
— The best day of my life! — he proclaimed loudly, ensuring the neighboring table could hear. — I’m a lucky man! Everything is going to be fantastic now!
Svetlana nodded but sensed an unsettling tone. He was overly satisfied—not like an enamored groom, but more like someone who had clinched a lucrative deal.
Leaning closer, Denis nearly brushed his lips against her ear. The scent of alcohol wafted towards her. Holding his glass to his mouth, he leaned in with a smug smile:
— You know, I’ve discussed everything with my mom. Your entire apartment will go to her. She’s alone and needs the support. And we’ll find ourselves a cozy place to rent. It makes more sense.
Svetlana froze. Her heart raced so loudly that she believed everyone could hear it. Blood rushed to her face, her ears burned. Slowly, she turned her head to face her husband. He was grinning, as if he had just stated something utterly mundane.
— What? — she whispered, hoping she had misheard.
Denis winked at her and patted her shoulder:
— Well, you get it. Mom is already in the loop. We’ll sort it out later. Right now, let’s celebrate!
She sat still, gazing at the empty plate before her. The guests laughed, clinked glasses, the music blared, yet she heard nothing. A buzzing filled her ears, as if she had plunged underwater.
Her apartment. Her apartment! The one she had purchased on her own. With her own money. By selling the cramped studio where she had spent five years, pinching pennies to make ends meet. That two-bedroom dream she had lovingly furnished, where she envisioned living with her family.
And he had just declared he would hand it over to his mother!
Svetlana rose from the table. Her legs wobbled, yet she compelled herself to walk. She passed by guests and couples dancing until she reached the hallway. Leaning against the wall, she shut her eyes and tried to breathe steadily.
Her friend Ksenia spotted her and came over:
— Svetka, what’s wrong? Feeling unwell?
— I’m okay, — Svetlana managed to reply. — Just a bit warm. I’ll be fine.
— Got it. Should we step outside for some fresh air?
— No need. I’ll be right back.
Ksenia nodded and departed. Alone, Svetlana retrieved her phone, lit up the screen, and stared blankly at the wallpaper—a photograph of her and Denis, both smiling warmly, embracing. It felt like an eternity ago.
She recalled all the little details that had failed to fit into the larger picture. How Denis consistently evaded future discussions. How he jokingly brushed aside her inquiries about their living arrangements post-wedding. How his mother incessantly hinted at shared property. How he never once suggested including his name on the apartment documents, yet frequently emphasized that they were one family.
She had assumed he merely didn’t want to be materialistic. That feelings mattered more than formalities. What naivety she had embraced!
Svetlana returned to the hall, reclaiming her spot at the table. Denis had already moved to another table, embracing friends, drinking, laughing. Nina Sergeyevna observed her from a distance, a satisfied smirk hovering on her face. So confident, so assured.
And in that moment, Svetlana understood—they had orchestrated everything. In advance. Even before the wedding.
The banquet dragged into the late hours. Eventually, guests departed, leaving the newlyweds alone. Denis collapsed onto the bed, instantly falling asleep. Svetlana stood beside him, watching as he snored peacefully, arms flung wide, a blissful smile adorning his face.
She undressed, hung her dress in the closet, and lay down beside him but found sleep elusive. With her eyes open wide, she replayed each word, every minute element in her mind.
As dawn broke, she made a decision.
Denis woke around noon, nursing a throbbing headache and bleary eyes. Svetlana had already dressed and was ready to go.
— Where are you off to? — he mumbled, squinting against the light.
— Errands, — she replied curtly.
— Errands? We’re newlyweds, let’s rest a bit.
— Later, — Svetlana stated, stepping out.
She traveled to the public service center. Taking a number, she waited for her turn, approached the window.
— Hello, — she began to the clerk. — I need to place a restriction on any transactions regarding my apartment without my personal presence and notarized consent.
The clerk nodded:
— Passport and property documents, please.
Svetlana handed over the papers, filled out an application, signed it. In twenty minutes, everything was processed. No one—absolutely no one—could sell, gift, or manage her apartment without her express consent and presence.
Upon returning home, she made copies of all her documents, securely stashing the originals in her parent’s safe. She retained copies for herself, just in case. Also, she handed another copy to Ksenia for safekeeping.
— What happened? — her friend inquired as she accepted the envelope.
— I will explain later, — replied Svetlana. — Just hold onto this. If necessary, these documents will confirm that the apartment is mine.
Denis was still asleep when she returned. Svetlana sat in the kitchen, brewed herself strong tea, and awaited his awakening.
He emerged by evening, his hair disheveled, eyes red.
— My head is splitting, — he complained. — Do you have anything for the hangover?
Svetlana silently handed him pills and water. He swallowed them and sat across from her.
— Speaking of the apartment, what did you mean yesterday? — Svetlana asked, meeting his gaze.
Denis cringed:
— I? I didn’t say anything.
— You did. At the wedding. You said my apartment would go to your mother, and we would rent a place.
He hesitated, averting his gaze, rubbing his nose.
— Ah… Well, it was a joke. You must be mistaken.
— It didn’t sound like a joke.
— Svetka, you know I say a lot of silly things when I drink. Don’t take it to heart. It’s nonsense.
Svetlana remained silent, simply watching him. Denis squirmed in his seat, began drumming his fingers on the table.
— Forget it. Let’s think about where we’ll go for our honeymoon. How about Turkey? Or Sochi?
But Svetlana didn’t forget.
Days rolled by, and Denis called his mother, engaging in lengthy conversations over the phone. Svetlana caught snippets: apartment, registration, documents, notary. After hanging up, he announced:
— Mom wants to meet with us. To discuss some matters.
— What matters? — Svetlana asked, her suspicions confirmed.
— Family matters. The housing situation, distribution of duties. It’s all quite normal.
— Fine, — Svetlana acknowledged. — Let’s meet.
The meeting was set for Saturday at a café. Svetlana arrived punctually. Denis and his mother were already seated at a window table.
Nina Sergeyevna appeared satisfied and confident. Her hair neat, makeup done, dressed in formal attire. A condescending smile played on her face, as if she were already the victor of the game.
— Svetochka, sit down, — she beckoned, indicating the chair opposite her. — Let’s discuss important matters like adults.
Svetlana took a seat, placing her bag on her lap, hands resting on the table, straightening her posture.
— I’m listening.
— So, here’s the situation, — Nina began, not waiting for questions. — Now that you’re a family, it’s essential to formalize everything correctly. You have a spacious, bright two-bedroom apartment. It’s quite challenging for me in my three-room on the outskirts. I’m no longer young, my health isn’t the best. The area isn’t safe either. Therefore, it would be fair if you reassign your apartment to me. You and Denis can rent something simpler, closer to the center. You’re both young; it shouldn’t be difficult. It’s also more convenient—no need to burden yourselves with a mortgage.
Svetlana listened in silence. Denis sat beside his mother, avoiding eye contact with his wife. He lowered his gaze to the coffee cup, stirring it absentmindedly even though the sugar had long dissolved.
Nina resumed, picking up steam:
— By the way, this is a common practice. In standard families, this is how things work. The older generation should be supported and protected. You are still young; you will earn. You have your whole lives ahead of you. Plus, when I’m no longer here, it’ll all end up with you anyway. So, it’s just a formality. Temporary.
She spoke steadily, confidently, as if this were a foregone conclusion. As if Svetlana was expected to simply nod, sign the documents, and express gratitude for the opportunity to help the family.
Svetlana held her silence for a moment, then raised her eyes to meet Nina’s. Unsmiling, devoid of emotions.
— No, — she replied firmly, distinctly.
The mother-in-law recoiled, clearly taken aback by the refusal:
— What do you mean—no?
— I will not transfer the apartment to you. It is my property. I purchased it with my own earnings. I invested my time, effort, and strength into it. And it will remain mine. Period.
Nina’s expression hardened, anger flaring up:
— Are you mocking me? We had an agreement!
— We agreed on nothing, — Svetlana calmly retorted. — You made all these decisions on your own. Without my input. But I am not an object or a child. I am an adult, and I will make my own decisions.
— Denis! — Nina suddenly pivoted towards her son. — Tell her! Explain how this works!
Denis finally raised his gaze. His face was ashen, sweat beading on his forehead.
— Svetka, let’s be reasonable. Mom is right. She genuinely needs support. This is family. We should help each other.
— I got married, not transferred ownership, — Svetlana asserted, looking him squarely in the eye. — If this is how you view it, then our understanding of marriage diverges completely.
Nina shot up from her chair, nearly upending her cup:
— Oh really?! So, you don’t care about family? You’re selfish! You only think about yourself! Denis, do you hear who you’re with?!
— I am not being selfish, — Svetlana countered without raising her voice. — I’m just not a fool. You intend for me to give up the apartment I worked hard to earn and leave me with nothing. That’s not family support; it’s straightforward robbery in broad daylight.
— How dare you?! — Nina seized her bag, her face reddening. — Denis, do you hear what she’s saying?! Will you tolerate this?!
Denis remained silent, his jaw clenched, staring down at the table, avoiding her gaze.
— Fine, I’m leaving! — Nina declared. — And you, son, think carefully about who you’re living with. This… this schemer who disregards your mother!
She turned and stormed out of the café, the door slamming behind her. Several patrons at nearby tables glanced over. Svetlana and Denis were left alone.
They sat in silence for a long time. Finally, Denis spoke, still avoiding her eyes:
— You could have made an effort. This is my mother. She truly struggles being on her own.
— And I am your wife, — Svetlana replied. — But evidently, that means nothing to you.
— Please, don’t start.
— I’m not starting anything. I’m concluding.
She stood, grabbed her bag, and slipped on her coat.
— Svetka, wait—
— No, Denis. I will not wait. You have shown me who you truly are. You have demonstrated that you are willing to betray me for your mother. You have revealed that I am not your partner, not your beloved, but merely a source of an apartment. A convenient option.
— That’s not it! I love you!
— No, you love my apartment. You tolerate me. That’s a vast difference.
She exited the café, refusing to look back.
The following week passed in silence. Denis attempted to call, texted, and begged to meet. Svetlana ignored him. She reflected, weighing her options, trying to discern if there was any potential for a future together.
But every time she recalled his words at the wedding, his silence in the café, his bewildered expression instead of support, she understood—there was no chance left.
A week later, she arrived at his home. He opened the door, hope lighting up his face.
— Svetka! Finally! I was so worried! Let’s talk, we can discuss everything!
— Denis, we genuinely need to talk. Seriously.
They settled in the living room. Svetlana placed her hands on her knees, straightened her posture, gathered her strength.
— I want a divorce.
Denis paled, mouth agape but unable to sound a word. After a moment, he managed:
— What? We’ve only just married! Two weeks have passed!
— Precisely. Better now than in ten years, with children, mortgages, and a multitude of built-up resentments.
— Svetka, you can’t just…
— I can. And I will. You have demonstrated that you see me not as a person but as property. You and your mother have decided to dispose of my apartment without even consulting me. This isn’t marriage. This isn’t family. This is a business transaction. And I refuse to partake.
— I… I didn’t mean to… It was all my mother’s idea! I just… didn’t know how to refuse her!
— And you didn’t even try. You agreed. That’s the crux. You did not stand by my side. You remained silent when you should have defended me. And then you blamed me for not cooperating. Denis, I can’t live with a man who cannot protect his family. Who prefers to be a mama’s boy rather than a partner.
He lowered his head, hands covering his face, shoulders trembling.
— I’m sorry, — he murmured quietly. — I was an idiot. I understand everything. Just give me a chance. I’ll fix it.
— It’s too late, — Svetlana replied. — You’ve already revealed your true nature to me. And I no longer trust you. Without trust, there can be no family.
— But I love you!
— If you truly loved me, you would not have betrayed me on the very first day of our marriage.
She turned and made her way to the door. Denis pulled her back, grasping her arm:
— Svetka, wait! We can discuss everything! I’ll refuse my mom! I’ll tell her the apartment remains yours! I’ll do everything you ask!
— It doesn’t matter anymore, — Svetlana stated, freeing her arm. — I will file for divorce. The apartment will be mine because it is premarital property. There’s nothing to divide. I hope you won’t obstruct me and create a scene.
Denis fell silent. Slowly he nodded, lowering his head.
Svetlana exited. They did not see each other until court.
The divorce process was swift. Both appeared at the registry office and submitted their application. A month later, they received their certificate. No disputes, no conflicts—just two individuals who recognized their mistake in time and called it quits.
Svetlana returned to her apartment. Her apartment. Alone. She stood in the middle of the living room, gazing at the walls she had chosen, the furniture she had purchased, and the windows offering a view of the city.
This was her home. Her labor. Her life.
And no one would dare take that away from her.
Her friend Ksenia rang her a week later:
— I heard you got divorced. How are you doing? Hanging in there?
— I’m fine, — Svetlana replied. — Honestly, feeling even better than before.
— No regrets?
— None at all. I’m relieved to have discovered the truth when I did. Before children. Before mortgages. Before it became too late to change anything.
— You’re impressive, — Ksenia said, respect evident in her voice. — Truly. I wouldn’t have had the courage. I might have feared being alone.
— Better to be alone than with someone who betrays you, — Svetlana responded. — And you know what? That’s the best choice I’ve ever made. I’m proud of myself.
She hung up and once again surveyed her apartment. It was quiet, serene, cozy—free of strangers who believed they had a claim to her property. Free of someone who had remained silent when he should have protected her. It was solely her domain. And that was magnificent.
Months later, Svetlana ran into Denis by chance at a shopping mall. He was with his mother. Upon seeing his former fiancée, Nina Sergeyevna ostentatiously turned away, pulling her son by the sleeve. Denis nodded at Svetlana, opened his mouth as if to speak, but said nothing. He simply walked by.
Svetlana reciprocated the nod and continued on. No anger. No bitterness. No regrets. Just passing by, like one does with strangers who no longer hold significance in their life.
That evening, she sat on the balcony with a cup of tea, watching the sunset. The city buzzed below, lights flickered on one by one, life thrived, and she found herself right here, in her home, in her fortress—the one she built herself.
The apartment remained hers. But more importantly, she emerged from the experience with newfound confidence. Confidence that she would never again allow anyone to dictate her life, her toil, her choices, her dignity.
And that was priceless.
Svetlana smiled, sipped her tea, and contemplated the many roads ahead. Many possibilities. Many encounters. But now she knew—she would walk those paths only with those who respect her. Not with those who saw her merely as a means to their ends.
She closed her eyes and inhaled the evening air. Somewhere in the distance, music played, laughter echoed, and cars whirred by. Life continued. And she was ready for it. With her apartment, her rules, her dignity, her freedom.
And this was only the beginning of a new chapter. A chapter where she was not a victim, not a means, not a convenient option, but the mistress. The master of her fate, her home, her life.
And no one—no one—would dare change that.