The Day Yulia Stopped Trying to Please
Yulia parked a block away from the house, her hands still gripping the steering wheel longer than necessary. The clock on the dashboard glowed 5:45 PM — fifteen minutes early. She glanced at her reflection in the rearview mirror, straightened the neckline of her dress, and smoothed her skirt. On the back seat lay a carefully wrapped box — a delicate antique brooch she had spent months searching for. A gift she hoped would finally earn her mother-in-law’s approval.
“Maybe this time she’ll say something kind,” Yulia murmured under her breath, stepping out of the car.
As she approached the modest house, she caught the sound of voices drifting from an open window on the first floor. The familiar, authoritative voice of her mother-in-law carried clearly into the quiet street.
“No, Vera, can you imagine? She doesn’t even know what cake I like! Seven years married, and not once did she ask. She brought some modern dessert nonsense… Slavik has always adored ‘Napoleon’ cake.”
Yulia stopped in her tracks. Her feet felt like they had sunk into the pavement. Her breath hitched.
“I’ve always said she’s not a good fit for Slavik,” the voice continued. “He’s never home — always buried in his work. And she? Some big-shot surgeon. I visited once — dishes in the sink, flowers dead in the vase… and she was in the middle of an operation, of all things!”
The words dug into Yulia like tiny shards of glass. For years, she had bent herself in a hundred directions to fit into that family. Cooked from scratch. Remembered birthdays. Canceled surgeries to make time for awkward dinners. And still — it wasn’t enough.
“She doesn’t even want children. What kind of wife doesn’t want children? Slavik deserves someone who knows how to care for a home, not someone chasing a career.”
Yulia felt her pulse thunder in her ears. Her hands trembled as she pulled out her phone.
“Hi, love,” she said with surprising calm. “Just letting you know I’ll be a bit late. Traffic, that’s all.”
She turned around and walked back to the car, sitting behind the wheel like someone waking from a long, strange dream. The voices from the window echoed inside her — not just tonight’s words, but years of subtle jabs:
“Maybe season the soup better next time?”
“A woman should prioritize the home.”
“Slavik works so hard; he needs someone to take care of him.”
A message popped up on her screen. “Mom is asking where you are. Everyone’s here.”
Yulia stared at the message, then inhaled deeply, as if surfacing from underwater. A slow smile curled her lips — not out of amusement, but resolve.
“If it’s the perfect daughter-in-law they want,” she whispered, “then let’s give them a show.”
She stepped out of the car, straightened her spine, and marched toward the house with a glowing smile.
“Mommy!” she called out as she entered, hugging her stunned mother-in-law tightly. “I’m so sorry I’m late — I had to visit three shops just to find the exact candles you love for your cake!”
The older woman blinked in confusion, her mouth opening and closing like a fish gasping for air.
“I even ran into Vera!” Yulia added with a pointed sweetness. “She’s such a delightful woman. Always speaking her mind, isn’t she?”
At the table, Yulia became the star performer. She filled her mother-in-law’s plate with the best servings, laughed loudly at her stories, and peppered her with domestic questions.
“Do you think rugs should be beaten in the morning or afternoon? Should I stop working altogether, maybe? I mean, Slavik needs a real home, right?”
Her husband frowned, glancing between his wife and his visibly uncomfortable mother.
“You okay, Yulia?” he asked.
“Oh, never better, sweetheart. Just finally realizing what’s expected of me.”
By the time Yulia followed her mother-in-law into the kitchen to “help” with tea, the older woman was rattled. She turned with narrowed eyes.
“What are you doing?” she asked sharply.
“Helping,” Yulia replied with exaggerated innocence. “Isn’t that what good daughters-in-law do?”
“Did you… hear what I said earlier?”
“Every word,” Yulia said calmly, pouring hot water into a teapot. “And suddenly, it all made sense.”
Her mother-in-law looked stricken. “I didn’t mean it like that…”
“What did you mean? That I’m a failure as a wife because I save lives instead of arranging centerpieces? Or that I don’t deserve your son because I have ambitions?”
Silence. Then, almost a whisper: “You misunderstood—”
“No, I finally understood,” Yulia interrupted, her voice soft but steady. “You’ve never accepted me. And I’ve spent years trying to become someone I’m not just to win your approval. But that ends tonight.”
Slavik popped his head in. “Tea coming?”
“Right away, darling,” Yulia replied brightly. “We were just talking about what makes a perfect wife.”
Later, after the guests had left and the laughter faded, Yulia sat with a cup of tea, thinking.
The next few weeks felt like stepping into new skin. She no longer apologized for late shifts or skipped family dinners. She spoke freely about her work. And at the next Sunday lunch, she arrived straight from surgery — still in scrubs, a file folder under her arm.
“I didn’t have time to change,” she said unapologetically. “A teenage girl needed emergency spinal surgery.”
Her mother-in-law opened her mouth, then met Yulia’s gaze — calm, unwavering. She said nothing.
“How did it go?” Slavik asked, passing her a bowl.
“Tough, but worth it. She’ll walk again.”
Yulia spoke at the table — about her work, her patients, the weight and wonder of saving lives — and no one interrupted. Not even her mother-in-law.
Later, unexpectedly, the older woman asked quietly, “Why did you choose surgery?”
Yulia blinked. “When I was eight, I broke my arm. Badly. Everyone said it would heal crooked. But the surgeon fixed it. He gave me back my confidence. I wanted to do that for others.”
Her mother-in-law nodded slowly. “I wanted to be a doctor once,” she said, voice low. “Enrolled in medical school. But I left when I married Slavik’s father. His family didn’t think women should work.”
A long silence followed.
“Maybe that’s why I was so hard on you,” she continued. “Watching you succeed… it reminded me of everything I gave up.”
Yulia stared at her, startled by the raw honesty.
“But it’s not too late,” she said gently. “Maybe not to be a surgeon — but there are medical courses, volunteer work, ways to reconnect.”
“You really think I could?”
“Why not?”
Months passed. Her mother-in-law signed up for a community medical course. She even started volunteering at the children’s hospital. They’d sit together over tea, swapping stories — not about dinner parties, but about recovery, diagnosis, human resilience.
Then one evening, she said: “Yulia… I owe you an apology.”
Yulia looked up.
“All these years, I tried to mold you into something familiar, something I could understand. But you… you taught me something better. To live my own life. To respect others’. Thank you.”
Yulia smiled, touched. They sat in warm silence, the kind built on understanding, not obligation.
“By the way,” her mother-in-law added with a gleam, “I’m reading to the kids in the oncology ward next week. Do you know any good stories?”
Slavik glanced at them, eyes twinkling. “Well, looks like you two finally figured each other out.”
Yulia looked at the woman she once feared and saw something new — not a critic, but a companion on the journey.
She realized then that love doesn’t always mean changing for someone. Sometimes, it means standing your ground until they meet you there — and grow beside you.