“Mom says you didn’t feed her.”
Anna froze at the stove, spoon hovering over the soup.
“I fed her at two. Buckwheat and a cutlet.”
“She says you didn’t.”
Sergey stood in the doorway, hands in his pockets. The look in his eyes hurt more than the words — he was already on his mother’s side.
Three weeks earlier, he had brought his mother home after she broke her hip. He hadn’t asked Anna. He had decided. Anna agreed — caring for people was her job, after all.
At first, everything was calm. Then strange things began to happen. Bills disappeared. A gold ring vanished. Her flowers died overnight. And every time, Sergey believed his mother — never Anna.
“She says you yelled at her.”
“She says you scare her.”
“She says you’re cruel.”
Anna realized something terrifying: in her own home, she was the suspect.
So she installed a hidden camera.
What she saw shattered everything.
Her “bedridden” mother-in-law walked freely, hid keys in Anna’s bag, poisoned the flowers, stole the ring — then lay back down and called Sergey with a weak, trembling voice, crying about how frightened she was.
That evening, Anna showed Sergey the footage.
He watched in silence as his world collapsed.
“Mom. Get up.”
She did. On her own feet. Furious, exposed, hateful.
“I did it for you,” she screamed. “To save you from her.”
That night, Sergey chose. Not loudly. Not proudly. But clearly.
The next morning, his mother left.
An hour later, Sergey packed his own bag.
“I need time,” he said.
Anna nodded.
There was nothing left to fix.
A month later, they divorced quietly. No arguments. No drama. Just signatures and silence.
Afterward, Anna bought new flowers — violets in soft colors. She accepted an invitation to the movies. She sat by her window with tea and felt something unfamiliar.
Peace.
She didn’t need cameras anymore.
She needed someone who believed her without proof.
And now, finally, she had herself.
