Rain fell in silvery sheets over the café windows, tracing thin lines across the glass like veins of unease. Kira stirred her coffee mechanically, watching pedestrians rush past with umbrellas. Her heart thudded in sync with the rain. Today wasn’t just another date—it was the day she would meet his mother.

Pavel had said it casually over dinner the week before.
“It’s time you met Mom,” he’d smiled, that calm, steady smile that had charmed her from the start. “She’s dying to know the woman who stole her son’s heart.”

Dying to know—or dying to judge?

Kira adjusted the navy-blue dress she had bought especially for the occasion. It wasn’t too flashy, not too simple—just elegant enough to say: I’m serious about your son, but I’m not here to impress you. Yet, beneath that self-assured facade, her stomach churned.

At exactly three, Pavel appeared at the door—punctual, as always. His sandy hair was damp from the drizzle, his broad shoulders hunched slightly against the cold.

“Ready to meet the most important woman in my life?” he teased, leaning in to kiss her cheek.

Kira forced a laugh. “After me, I hope?”

“Of course,” he said lightly. “Mom’s already made your favorite shrimp salad.”

She blinked. “How does she know what I like?”

“I told her. I’ve told her a lot about you.”

Something in his tone—affectionate, proud—made her heart lift. She wanted this to go well. She wanted to belong.

The First Dinner

Valentina Nikolaevna’s apartment smelled faintly of perfume and lemon polish. The building was old, with high ceilings and creaking parquet floors, a reminder of better times.
The woman herself was composed elegance—hair perfectly coiffed, nails painted nude, and a calculating glint behind her polite smile.

“You must be Kira,” she said, taking the bouquet of chrysanthemums with a thin smile. “Chrysanthemums… an interesting choice.”

The pause after “interesting” was surgical. Kira’s smile faltered for half a heartbeat.

Dinner was… formal. Too formal. Conversation revolved around Kira’s career—her position at the logistics firm, her promotion, her salary. Every answer felt like a number being tallied somewhere in the older woman’s mind.

“Career is admirable,” Valentina Nikolaevna finally said, dabbing her lips with a napkin. “But a woman must remember what’s truly important—supporting her husband and his parents. That’s how strong families are built.”

Kira’s fork froze midair. She smiled politely, her voice steady.
“I believe support works both ways. A modern family should be built on equality.”

“Modern,” Valentina repeated, as if the word were a disease. “Pavlik, darling, pour me more wine.”

Pavel obeyed instantly. The approving nod his mother gave him made Kira’s stomach twist.

Later, in the car, she tried to laugh it off. “Is your mom… always so… direct?”

He chuckled. “She just wants to protect me. She’s been alone for ten years. Give her time—she’ll come around.”

Kira looked out the window. The rain had stopped, but somehow the night felt colder.

The First Favor

A week later, her phone buzzed with an unfamiliar number.
“Kirochka, hello, dear,” came Valentina Nikolaevna’s syrupy tone. “A tiny favor. My pension’s delayed, and I desperately need a new face cream. Could you lend me fifteen thousand?”

Kira hesitated. “I’m sorry, but I don’t lend money. It’s a personal rule.”

“Not even to your future mother-in-law?” The voice hardened.

Kira inhaled. “Pavel and I aren’t engaged yet. And even if we were, I don’t lend money. Not even to family.”

A pause. Then a curt, “I see.” The call ended.

An hour later, Pavel rang, irritated.
“Mom said you refused to help her?”

“She asked me for money, Pavel. We’ve known each other one week.”

“She’s proud. It must’ve been hard for her to ask.”

“Proud people don’t demand loans for cosmetics.”

He sighed. “Her pension really is small. I told you, she struggles.”

“You also told me she inherited an apartment, a dacha, and savings.”

“That’s her rainy-day fund.”

“Then it must be pouring,” Kira murmured.

Strings Attached

By October, the pattern was set. Valentina called often—sometimes to complain about her aching back, sometimes to “invite” Kira shopping, usually to ask for money. Always with that honeyed tone that turned to acid when refused.

When Pavel’s birthday came, Kira gifted him a Swiss watch he’d dreamed of for years. The sparkle in his eyes made it worth it—until his mother leaned over.

“What a gorgeous gift! I wouldn’t mind something like that myself. My birthday’s in November, you know.”

Kira smiled tightly. “I’ll make a note.”

After that, the calls became relentless. A broken washing machine, an upcoming holiday, a “short-term loan.” Kira refused each time.

Her friend Lena was blunt:
“She’s training you, honey. Testing how far she can go.”

“Pavel says she just needs help,” Kira said weakly.

“Yeah, help carrying her shopping and paying her bills. Wake up before you’re buying her car insurance too.”

Kira laughed it off—but the seed of doubt grew.

The Proposal

In November, Pavel proposed. A diamond ring, candlelight, tears—perfect. The next morning, Valentina took charge of wedding planning like a general mobilizing troops.

“The Metropol has an excellent banquet hall,” she declared. “Two hundred guests, at least.”

“Mom, that’s too expensive,” Pavel protested.

“Kira has a great job. Her parents will help.”

“My parents live modestly in Yekaterinburg,” Kira said. “We want something simple.”

“Simple?” Valentina gasped. “My son only marries once! Don’t you want it to be memorable?”

“For us, yes—not for your social circle.”

That was the first time Kira saw genuine hatred flicker behind the woman’s polite mask.

The Eavesdrop

December brought snow—and revelation. One evening, Kira arrived early at Pavel’s apartment. From the hallway, she heard voices inside.

“Don’t worry, Pavlik,” Valentina was saying softly. “After the wedding, she’ll loosen her purse strings. You’ll see.”

“Mom, please—Kira’s already doing enough.”

“Enough? She refused me a face cream! A face cream!” The voice dripped venom. “Listen, son: after marriage, you set the rules. If you want her to sell her apartment, she will. If you want her to help me, she will. You’re the man.”

Kira stood frozen, the air leaving her lungs. The floor creaked under her heel. Silence fell inside, then Pavel’s voice:
“Who’s there?”

She walked in, face composed, heart in shreds. “Hi. Got off early.”

Valentina gave her a thin smile. “We were just discussing wedding expenses. Well, I’ll leave you two lovebirds.”

Her heels clicked out the door.

Kira turned to Pavel. “I heard everything.”

He went pale. “Kira, don’t—”

“She called me your cash cow, Pavel.”

“She didn’t mean—”

“She meant every word.”

“Kira, she’s old-fashioned. She thinks—”

“She thinks I’ll bankroll your family. And you’re letting her.”

He sighed. “I love you both. Why do you have to make me choose?”

“Because marriage is a choice,” Kira said quietly. “And right now, you’ve already chosen her.”

The Confrontation

The next day, Valentina herself called.
“Kira, let’s talk—woman to woman.”

They met at the same café where it had all begun. The rain outside mirrored their first meeting, but this time Kira’s hands didn’t tremble.

“You’re too independent,” Valentina began. “In our family, the wife respects hierarchy. A husband, his mother—it’s the natural order.”

“And the wife’s money fits where in that order?”

“Money runs out, dear. Families don’t.”

“I see. So you expect to live off us.”

“I expect gratitude. I raised Pavel alone.”

“Congratulations,” Kira said calmly, standing. “You can keep raising him, then.”

The End of Illusion

That evening in the park, Kira gave Pavel one final chance.

“Either you set boundaries with your mother, or we’re done.”

“Kira, don’t do this. She’s all I have.”

“And I’m nothing?”

Silence. Snowflakes fell between them like fragile white walls.

“I need time,” he whispered.

“You’ve had a year,” Kira said, turning away.

Freedom

A week later, they met one last time—again at that same café. He brought roses, apologetic eyes, a weak smile.

“Mom says she’ll apologize.”

Kira slipped the ring off and placed it on the table.
“I don’t need her apology, Pavel. I need respect. You can’t give me that.”

“Because of Mom’s words?” he pleaded.

“Because you didn’t stop them.”

She stood, leaving him with the roses scattered on the floor like lost chances.

Aftermath

Valentina’s furious call came hours later.
“You ruined everything! You’re stealing our happiness!”

Kira hung up mid-sentence. Then blocked both numbers.

That night, Lena brought wine. “To dodging a lifelong nightmare,” she toasted.

“To waking up in time,” Kira replied.

A New Chapter

Weeks later, at work, her boss summoned her.
“We’re opening a St. Petersburg branch,” she said. “I need someone reliable to run it. Interested?”

Kira smiled for the first time in weeks. “Very.”

Packing up her apartment, she found the note she’d once scribbled during a rough patch:
“Remember—you deserve love and respect.”
It no longer felt like wishful thinking. It was truth.

Epilogue

Months later, standing on Palace Square, Kira watched the pale northern sun glimmer on the Neva. Her phone buzzed—a message from Lena:

“Heard Pavel’s mom sold the flat. They’re living in a studio now. Guess her ‘rainy day’ came early.”

Kira laughed. “Let it rain.”

She raised her glass in the café window, smiling at her reflection.

“Thanks to this little fool,” she whispered, echoing the words that had once broken her heart, “someone finally learned who the real fool was.”

Outside, the drizzle continued—gentle, cleansing, and free.