“This is for humiliating me at the wedding.”
The daughter-in-law took her revenge on her mother-in-law so harshly that the latter moved to another city.
Galina Petrovna had always believed she possessed a special gift: she could see through people. After twenty years as head accountant at the factory, she had mastered the art of reading faces, catching tones, and noticing things others overlooked. This talent made her indispensable at work, but in her personal life—especially concerning her son—it was often more of a curse.
When Andrey brought Lena home, Galina Petrovna instantly sensed something was off. The girl was too beautiful, too confident. There was a nuance in her laughter that set off alarm bells in an experienced woman’s mind. Lena acted naturally, answered questions without hesitation, even helped with dinner, but something about her didn’t sit right. A mother’s heart doesn’t lie.
“Mom, we’ve decided to get married,” Andrey announced over a family dinner a month after meeting Lena. He looked at her with love in his eyes, while Lena lowered hers modestly, spinning the engagement ring on her finger.
Galina Petrovna slowly set down her fork. She had known this moment would come—just not this soon.
“Andryusha, darling, don’t you think you’re rushing things? Why not take more time to get to know each other?” she tried to keep a soft tone, though a tense note crept in. “There are many good girls out there. Why hurry with such a serious decision?”
Lena looked up—there was a cold glint in her eyes that Andrey didn’t notice, but his mother certainly did.
“Galina Petrovna, I understand your concern,” Lena said firmly, “but Andrey and I truly love each other.”
“Of course, of course,” Galina Petrovna nodded quickly, thinking to herself, We’ll see who you really are, dear.
They set the wedding for autumn. For the time being, the young couple would live in Galina Petrovna’s apartment—rent was too expensive, and they didn’t yet have a place of their own. Galina Petrovna reluctantly agreed, comforting herself with the thought that it would be easier to keep an eye on things this way.
Small Frictions, Growing Tensions
Living together began with small irritations. Lena rearranged the furniture, changed the kitchen routines, played music when Galina Petrovna wanted to rest after work. Each little thing chipped away at her patience, but there was never enough cause for a real confrontation—Lena was polite and considerate.
Galina Petrovna began to subtly influence her son. At breakfast, when Lena wasn’t around, she would sigh:
“Andryusha, remember how peaceful our breakfasts used to be? Not like now—with music blaring at dawn…”
Or before bed:
“Son, maybe you should postpone the wedding a little. What if you don’t truly know each other yet?”
Andrey ignored the comments, but the seeds of doubt were being planted.
The turning point came in mid-summer. Galina Petrovna was returning from work when she saw Lena outside talking to a young man. The conversation was heated; the man gestured wildly while Lena shook her head. It was clearly unpleasant.
When Lena came upstairs, her face was tense.
“Who was that with you outside?” Galina Petrovna asked casually, slicing bread for dinner.
“My ex,” Lena replied curtly, not looking up. “He was demanding his share of the apartment rent. We used to share a place until we broke up.”
“Ah, so that’s what it was,” Galina Petrovna murmured, her voice laced with subtle satisfaction. “When did you break up?”
“Six months ago,” Lena poured tea. “But he keeps pestering me about money, even though it’s all been settled.”
Galina Petrovna nodded and didn’t ask further, but she filed the information away. She had a habit of remembering things that might be useful later. Everyone at work knew: if you wanted the latest gossip, ask the head accountant. Galina didn’t see it as meddling—other people’s business was simply her hobby.
The Wedding Bombshell
The wedding was held in October at a small restaurant. Galina Petrovna wore her best suit and smiled at guests, though inside she burned with impatience—waiting to embarrass the bride. Andrey radiated joy. Lena, stunning in white, was irresistible. It seemed nothing could ruin the day.
When it came time for the mother-in-law’s toast, Galina Petrovna rose with a glass of champagne. The room quieted; everyone expected warm wishes for the newlyweds.
“My dears,” Galina Petrovna began, looking at her son and daughter-in-law. “I am, of course, happy for you—even if my daughter-in-law has a… turbulent past.” She paused, letting her words hang in the air. “But what can we do? Young people today have different morals. In my day, a girl was expected to save herself for her fiancé.”
The silence was deafening. Lena went pale, then flushed deep red. Andrey looked down, face burning with shame. Guests glanced around, unsure where to look.
“Well then, let’s toast the young couple!” Galina Petrovna exclaimed with forced cheer, raising her glass.
The rest of the wedding passed under a cloud. Lena barely spoke. Andrey seemed crushed. Guests left earlier than expected.
Back home, the newlyweds didn’t speak to Galina Petrovna for a long time. The atmosphere was icy. But she felt justified: she had spoken the truth, however bitter.
The Tables Turn
Time passed. Relations improved on the surface. Lena was polite, Andrey avoided mentioning the wedding incident, and Galina Petrovna tried to hold her tongue—though not always successfully.
That year, she turned fifty and decided to celebrate in style. She invited colleagues, including her boss, Marina Vladimirovna, and her husband. Their relationship was strained: formally respectful, but Galina often gossiped about Marina behind her back.
Marina was striking but infamous. Rumor had it her husband had been cheating for years with a secretary. Galina knew all the details—gleaned from coworkers—and often shared snide comments:
“How can a woman not realize her husband’s cheating? The whole plant knows—she must be blind.”
Or:
“Did you see Viktor Semyonovich buying flowers? I wonder if they’re for his wife or his mistress.”
About thirty people gathered for the party. The restaurant was decorated with balloons and flowers. Galina felt like a queen—receiving congratulations, dancing, laughing. Marina and her husband sat at the main table, polite and smiling.
When it came time for the family toast, Lena stood. Elegant in a black dress, poised and calm. Galina Petrovna expected the usual: health, happiness, long life.
“Dear Galina Petrovna,” Lena began sweetly. “I want to say how much I admire you. You’re such an open and honest person—never hiding your thoughts or feelings.”
Galina smiled, pleased: finally, her daughter-in-law recognized her value.
“What amazes me most,” Lena continued, “is how noble you are—inviting even those you don’t like and about whom… well, you’ve said some rather unkind things.” She paused. “After all the things you’ve told me about the lovers of Marina Vladimirovna’s husband, it was incredibly generous of you to invite them both to your birthday celebration.”
The silence was brutal.
Marina turned chalk-white; her husband crushed his napkin. Galina Petrovna froze, glass in hand, face blazing with humiliation and rage.
“So let’s toast our dear birthday girl,” Lena said calmly, raising her glass, “and her remarkable talent for noticing every little detail in others’ lives.”
The room was stunned. A few guests raised their glasses awkwardly. Most didn’t move. Marina stood, gave Galina a frosty nod, and left. Her husband followed.
“Marina Vladimirovna, wait—it’s a misunderstanding!” Galina chased after them, but Marina didn’t even look back.
The party collapsed. Guests began making excuses to leave. An hour later, only close family and a few coworkers remained. Galina sat red-faced and speechless.
Lena, meanwhile, chatted sweetly with those left—as if nothing had happened.
Aftermath and Reflection
At work the next day, Galina was met with cold stares. Marina ignored her. Coworkers avoided conversation. No one sat at her table during lunch. It was clear her reputation was severely damaged.
A week later, she handed in her resignation. Staying after the incident was unbearable. Andrey and Lena tried to talk her out of it, but she was firm.
“I need a change,” she told her son. “I’ll move to the dacha. Can’t stay in the city after this…”
The dacha was a hundred kilometers away in a small village. Modest but cozy, it had been built by her and her late husband for weekend escapes—but she hadn’t visited much since he passed. Now, she had to make it home.
