My grandmother came to me in a dream the day before the wedding and said, “Don’t go there.” I only realized what she meant when I reached my mother-in-law’s house.
Victoria rolled over and opened her eyes again. The clock showed two-thirty in the morning. Sleep wouldn’t come. Leaves rustled outside, the wind blew the last of the rain across the pavement. Autumn was coming into its own—cold, damp, and uninviting.
Tomorrow was the wedding. No, today. In a few hours, a new life would begin. Victoria closed her eyes, trying to calm herself. But her thoughts swirled, preventing her from relaxing. The dress, the hairstyle, the guests, the cars, the restaurant—everything was planned down to the minute. All that remained was to survive until morning.
Sleep came unexpectedly. Victoria fell into darkness and woke up in a familiar place. Her grandmother’s house. The very same one where she had spent her childhood, where it smelled of apples and fresh bread. Victoria stood in the threshold, looking at the porch. Her grandmother was sitting there.
Lydia Petrovna looked the same as she had in life—gray hair neatly tucked under a headscarf, a calm face, kind eyes. Only her gaze was different. Anxious. Serious.
Victoria stepped forward, about to speak, but her grandmother raised her hand. Lidia Petrovna looked straight at her granddaughter, unblinking.
“Don’t go there,” her grandmother said quietly but clearly.
Victoria froze. Nothing more. No explanations, no gestures. Just those three words. Lidia Petrovna vanished into thin air, and Victoria woke up.
Her heart pounded. Victoria sat up in bed, hugging her knees. It was already dawn outside. The gray, dim morning filtered through the cracks in the curtains. The dream was so vivid it seemed real. Her grandmother’s voice echoed in her ears, the words repeating over and over.
Don’t go there.
Victoria ran a hand over her face. Lydia Petrovna had died two years ago. Quietly, in her sleep, without suffering. Victoria had mourned the loss for a long time. Her grandmother had always understood her granddaughter without words. Now Lydia Petrovna was gone. Only memories remained. And dreams.
The phone rang. Her friend Lena wrote: “Get up, bride! We’ll be there in an hour! Today is your day!”
Victoria sighed and got out of bed. She needed to get ready. Sleep is just sleep. Nerves, fatigue, worries. Nothing surprising before such an important day.
The morning flew by in a flurry. Her friends burst into the apartment with champagne and flowers. The hairdresser was already setting out her tools, the makeup artist was checking her cosmetics. Victoria sat in the chair, closed her eyes, and let them do whatever they wanted with her. Hair, makeup, dress—every step was accompanied by enthusiastic comments from her friends.
“Vika, you’re like a princess!”
“The dress is simply a fairytale!”
“Dmitry will be stunned!”
Victoria looked at her reflection in the mirror and didn’t recognize herself. A white dress, a neat hairdo, light makeup. Everything looked perfect. Why was it so cold inside?
The groom arrived on time. Dmitry looked happy. His suit fit perfectly, and the smile never left his face. Dmitry hugged the bride and whispered something sweet. Victoria smiled back, but a strange tension remained inside.
The ceremony passed quickly. The registry office, signatures, congratulations, photographs. Guests laughed, shouted “bittersweet,” and threw rose petals. Victoria stood next to her husband and tried to be happy. But her thoughts returned to her morning dream. Her grandmother’s words echoed in her head, haunting her.
Don’t go there.
Where—there? What did Lidiya Petrovna mean? Victoria shook her head, pushing away the intrusive thoughts. Nonsense. Just nerves.
After the wedding, the guests dispersed to their cars. Some went straight to the restaurant, others stayed for the photo shoot. Dmitry approached Victoria and took his wife’s hand.
“Vika, let’s stop by Mom’s first. She’s waiting for us. She’s set the table, the family has gathered. They want to congratulate us in person.”
Victoria nodded. Her mother-in-law had indeed asked to stop by. Raisa Ivanovna wanted to greet the newlyweds according to tradition, treat them, and bless them. It would have been awkward to refuse.
The car pulled away. Victoria looked out the window, watching the houses, trees, and occasional passersby flash by. Dmitry was talking and laughing, but his words were lost on her. Victoria thought about her grandmother. About her anxious gaze. About words that made no sense.
Her mother-in-law’s house was on the outskirts of town. It was a private residence, with quiet streets and old fences. The car turned onto a familiar street and stopped in front of a gray two-story house. Victoria got out and froze.
Something was wrong.
Victoria couldn’t explain what it was. The house looked ordinary. Gray walls covered in peeling paint, old windows, a leaning fence. Nothing special. But something inside her tightened. A weight settled on her shoulders, and her breathing became shallow.
“Vika, come on,” Dmitry called, holding out his hand.
Victoria looked at her husband. Dmitry was smiling, oblivious to his wife’s condition. Victoria took the outstretched hand and stepped toward the gate.
