Can you believe it, I still can’t believe it!” Angela stirred sugar in her cappuccino cup, oblivious to the slowly settling foam. “Just two months… In two months, I’ll be a wife.”
Nadezhda smiled, watching her friend. Their favorite coffee shop on the corner of Sadovaya Street had been their meeting spot for the last five years. The waitress brought pastries: blueberry for Nadya and lemon for Angela.
“Are you nervous?”
“Insanely!” Angela put her spoon down. “Especially because of his mother. Valentina Nikolaevna… She is so… strict. On our first meeting, she examined me as if I were a museum exhibit.”
“Stop it,” Nadezhda tasted her pastry. “All mothers-in-law are like that at first. Mine was a Cerberus too, but now we make jam together. What matters is your relationship with Nikita.”
Angela closed her eyes, remembering their first meeting. The sea roared, music from a distant festival played, and they sat on a deserted beach talking until dawn. Three years had flown by like a single day.
“You know, he proposed right where we first met. We went to the same festival, and in the evening…”
“Wait, you’ve told me this!” Nadezhda interrupted. “With the ring at sunset, I remember.”
“Yes, sorry. I still can’t believe it.”
Outside, the April wind chased clouds, and the sun appeared and disappeared. Angela pictured her May wedding: apple trees in bloom, a light dress, Nikita happy beside her…
“Have you decided to keep your grandmother’s apartment?” Nadezhda suddenly asked.
“Of course. It’s a memory, every corner is dear. Nikita understands, says we’ll renovate it to my taste.”
“You’re lucky with him.”
Angela nodded. After her grandmother’s death, the apartment became her only inheritance. A small two-bedroom in an old building, but it was hers. They didn’t plan to live there. Nikita had his own large, modern three-bedroom in the city center.
The entrance bell rang. An elderly couple entered the coffee shop, and Angela flinched—the woman reminded her of her future mother-in-law.
“Nadya, what if she never accepts me?”
“Nonsense. Give her time to get used to it. You’re not marrying her.”
They sat in the coffee shop until evening. Nadezhda shared stories from her family life, advising not to sweat the small stuff. Angela listened, but her anxiety lingered.
She returned home after dark. The hallway light was out, so she had to grope her way upstairs. Near her door, Angela noticed a shadow and gasped.
“Don’t be scared, it’s me.”
Valentina Nikolaevna stepped into the dim light from the window. Tall, straight, in a stern dark coat.
“We need to talk.”
Angela nervously opened the door and flicked the light switch. The hallway was cool—she had forgotten to close the window that morning.
“Come in… Tea?”
“No need,” Valentina Nikolaevna remained standing. “I have a serious conversation for us.”
She took a folder with documents from her bag.
“Here’s a deed of gift. For half of the apartment.”
“I’m sorry?”
“You will transfer half of the apartment to me. As a guarantee of your serious intentions.”
Angela stared at the folder, confused. Her ears rang.
“But… why?”
“Because I need to be sure about you. My son is a desirable match, and some girls…” Valentina Nikolaevna pursed her lips. “In short, it’s a guarantee of your good behavior in marriage.”
“But the apartment… It’s a memory of my grandmother…”
“Exactly why. If you truly love Nikita, you’ll agree. If not…” she paused. “Then there will be no wedding. And don’t you dare tell him about this conversation.”
Valentina Nikolaevna placed the folder on a side table.
“I give you three days to think.”
The door slammed so sharply that the light bulb shook. Angela slid down the wall, wrapping her arms around herself. A draft from the window fluttered the curtain, bringing the smell of wet asphalt. From the avenue came the honks of cars—apparently, another traffic jam at the intersection. She sat in the cool hallway, examining the cracks in the old linoleum, until her fingers began to numb from the cold.
She sat like that until morning, replaying happy moments with Nikita in her mind. His smile, warm hugs, kind eyes… Could he possibly know about this? No, impossible. It was all her, his mother.
By dawn, Angela had made her decision.
The morning was overcast. Angela dialed Valentina Nikolaevna’s number. The phone rang endlessly, but she didn’t hang up.
“I’m listening,” the mother-in-law’s voice sounded detached.
“I’ve made my decision.”
“And?”
“No. I won’t give up the apartment.”
Silence hung on the line. Angela gripped the phone tighter.
“Do you understand the consequences?” Steel crept into Valentina Nikolaevna’s voice.
“I do. But I truly love your son.”
“You will regret this.”
The call ended. Angela lowered her hand with the phone. Outside, rain began to drizzle, droplets tapping on the eaves. She brewed strong coffee, opened her laptop—today she needed to work.
Nikita called later in the evening.
“Hey, sunshine! Can you get off early? I want to see you.”
“Of course,” she smiled. “In an hour?”
“Great. I’ll be waiting in our park.”
She found him by the fountain. Nikita stood under an umbrella, tall, broad-shouldered, in his favorite leather jacket. Seeing Angela, he beamed.
“I’ve missed you.”
They walked under one umbrella, talking about the wedding, the future. Nikita joked about his boss at work. Angela laughed, but inside, she tensed—she knew a storm was near.
The call came the next morning.
“Can you explain what’s happening?” Nikita’s voice trembled with tension.
“What happened?”
“Mom called. She says you’re demanding some unreasonable conditions, blackmailing… What’s this nonsense?”
Angela took a deep breath.
“Let’s meet. Now. And I’ll tell you everything.”
They settled at a distant table in a café by the river—an old bakery with a peeling sign and creaky floors. Angela fiddled with a teaspoon, examining scratches on the wooden tabletop. Words came hard—each phrase had to be pushed out. About how Valentina Nikolaevna appeared at her doorstep. About the folder with the deed documents. About how she demanded half of the apartment, threatening to cancel the wedding. Nikita was silent, his jaw working.
“And you kept silent?” he asked quietly.
“She forbade me from telling you.”
Nikita abruptly stood, paced along the window. A waitress flinched away with a tray.
“Sorry,” he muttered. “Angel, I’ll be right back.”
He stepped outside. Angela saw through the window how he dialed a number, spoke—gesticulating sharply. He returned after ten minutes, sitting beside her.
“I spoke to Mom.”
“And?”
“I told her I love you. That I’ll marry you, even if I have to choose between her and you.”
Angela felt tears well up.
“I don’t want you to have to choose.”
“It’s not you making me choose,” he took her hand. “You know, I’ve always noticed how she treats my girlfriends. Always finding faults, nitpicking… But this?”
At a neighboring table, a young couple fed each other ice cream. They laughed, oblivious to everything else.
“Maybe I should have agreed?” Angela whispered. “For us…”
“No,” Nikita squeezed her fingers. “You did the right thing. A family shouldn’t start with blackmail.”
Days flowed strangely. They prepared for the wedding—chose a restaurant, ordered invitations, discussed music. But a shadow of an unachieved reconciliation loomed over every decision.
Valentina Nikolaevna called a week later.
“I want to apologize,” she said in a formal tone. “Perhaps I was too… emotional.”
“Do you want to reconcile?” Angela asked cautiously.
“Let’s meet the three of us, with Nikita. Discuss everything calmly.”
They scheduled the meeting for Sunday, in Valentina Nikolaevna’s large apartment. Angela was there for the first time—bright walls, antique furniture, photos of Nikita as a child.
“Sit down,” the hostess pointed to the sofa. “Tea, coffee?”
“No need, Mom,” Nikita cut her off. “Speak, why did you call us?”
Valentina Nikolaevna adjusted her perfectly styled hair.
“I thought… Maybe we can come to an agreement. Angela, you draw up the deed not to me, but to Nikita. That would be fair.”
“What?” he stood up. “Are you starting this again?”
“Sit down!” Authority sliced through Valentina Nikolaevna’s voice. “I care about your future. You never know what might happen…”
“Enough!” Nikita slammed his fist on the table. Cups jumped. “I won’t let you ruin my happiness. If you can’t accept Angela as she is—that’s your problem. The wedding is in a month. Come if you want. If not—we’ll manage.”
He took Angela’s hand.
“Let’s leave.”
They descended the stairs in silence. Outside, drizzle fell.
“Sorry,” Nikita said. “I didn’t think she would…”
Angela hugged him.
“It’s okay. We’ll manage.”
Four weeks until the wedding. Angela tried to occupy herself—work, meetings with friends, preparations. But every evening, alone, she thought about Valentina Nikolaevna. Why did she act that way? Did she truly want to protect her son? Or was she just used to controlling his life?
Nikita started staying over more often. They planned their honeymoon, discussed movies, adjusted the guest list for the wedding. The future seemed clear and bright, despite everything.
“You know,” he said one evening, “I’m grateful to my mom.”
“For what?”
“For helping me understand what’s important. No matter what happens—I’ll always be on your side.”
Angela smiled and leaned against his shoulder. Outside, lilacs bloomed—her grandmother’s favorite flowers. What would she say now? Probably, she’d praise her for her bravery. She always said, “Keep your back straight, girl. And don’t let anyone boss you around.”
May turned out warm. Apple trees and cherries showered the city with white blossoms, tulips bloomed in flower beds. Angela stood before a mirror in the bridal salon—her last dress fitting.
“Wonderful,” Nadezhda breathed, adjusting her friend’s veil. “Nikita will faint when he sees you.”
The dress was indeed beautiful—simple, elegant, with lace sleeves. Angela twirled in front of the mirror.
“Do you think everything will go well?”
“Sure. Stop worrying.”
The morning of the wedding day began chaotically. Friends arrived to do hair and makeup, a photographer snapped every moment, a florist brought the bouquet.
“The phone is blowing up,” Nadezhda laughed, answering another call. “Everyone’s anxious, everyone’s congratulating.”
Angela watched the makeup artist work magic on her face, thinking about her grandmother. How happy she would have been now…
Nikita waited at the registry office doors—in a dark suit, a white rose in his lapel. Seeing Angela, he froze with his mouth open.
“Close it, or a fly will get in,” his father whispered, and everyone laughed.
The ceremony passed like a blur. Angela only remembered Nikita’s warm fingers, his shining eyes, and his trembling voice as he said “yes.”
Close friends and family gathered at the restaurant. Pavel Andreevich gave a toast that brought tears to many eyes.
“To true love,” he said, raising his glass. “To the courage to be yourself and to protect your feelings. To my son, who grew up to be a real man, and to my new daughter, who taught him to be strong.”
As evening approached, Angela stepped out onto the terrace for some air. The May air smelled of lilacs and freshness.
“Am I intruding?” Pavel Andreevich approached quietly.
“Not at all, have a seat.”
They sat silently, watching the sunset.
“You know,” he began, “when Valya and I got married, I thought love would overcome everything. That she would change, become softer… But some people can’t let go of control. I gave in, bent—and lost myself. We eventually divorced. But Nikita… He’s different. He has a backbone.”
“Must be painful, seeing a son drift away from his mother.”
“Painful. But sometimes distance is the only way to preserve a relationship. Valya will understand, eventually.”
Minutes, hours flew by. Fireworks began—multicolored sparks reflected in champagne glasses. Nikita pulled Angela into a slow dance.
“What are you thinking about?” he asked.
“About us. About the future.”
“And what’s in the future?”
“Us. Together. No matter what.”
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