Liliya’s Choice

Liliya sat alone in her office, surrounded by silence. The late afternoon sun streamed through the window, casting long shadows across her desk where important real estate documents lay scattered. Her gaze was fixed, though unfocused, on a lease agreement. Her manicured fingers subconsciously traced the signature at the bottom—Alla Sergeyevna Voronova. A name she knew all too well.

Her mother-in-law.

Ironically, Alla Sergeyevna had no idea that the rent she paid every month went directly to her own daughter-in-law. Liliya had carefully hidden this truth by arranging the lease through a trusted real estate agency. Three years ago, when her relationship with Igor had just begun to blossom, Liliya had made a deliberate decision—not to disclose her financial status.

She had inherited a substantial portfolio from her late parents: three luxury apartments in the heart of the city and a modest but profitable shopping center on the outskirts. But she kept all of it secret, wanting to be loved for who she was—not for what she owned.

“I don’t care how much you earn, Igor,” she had told him, gazing tenderly into his uncertain eyes. “What matters to me is the way you love me.”

He had blushed, both flattered and self-conscious. An ordinary engineer at a construction firm, his salary was modest, and he never expected a woman like Liliya—elegant, educated, ambitious—to settle for someone like him.

“But… you’re so beautiful, so smart. Won’t you get bored living simply?” he asked, almost apologetically.

She had only laughed and thrown her arms around him.

“I love you, Igor. That’s all I need.”

And with that, she built her life on a carefully constructed illusion. She told him she worked as a manager at the shopping center but never revealed that she owned the entire complex. The apartment they lived in—she claimed it was a family inheritance, omitting just how much she really owned.

At times, the weight of this deception wore on her, especially when it came to his mother.

From the very beginning, Alla Sergeyevna had disliked Liliya. Perhaps it was jealousy. Perhaps it was pride. Either way, she never missed a chance to undermine her.

“How could you choose someone like that?” she often scolded Igor. “She can’t cook, she’s always at work, and she doesn’t know how to take care of a family.”

Liliya endured the jabs in silence. For the sake of her marriage, she allowed herself to become the target of the older woman’s insecurities. Even when the comments turned venomous, she remained patient. But the effort it took—day in and day out—slowly chipped away at her spirit.

One evening, while sautéing vegetables for dinner, Liliya overheard a phone call.

“Galina, can you believe it?” her mother-in-law’s voice boomed from the living room. “She bought another expensive dress. I don’t know where she gets the money from. Igor must be wasting his entire salary on her!”

Liliya froze, barely keeping herself from dropping the pan. The dress had indeed been pricey—but paid for entirely with her own income from the shopping center. Not one ruble from Igor.

“And she has the nerve to walk around like a lady of the house,” continued Alla Sergeyevna. “If it weren’t for my son, she’d probably be homeless. No real education, no real job…”

Liliya’s hands trembled. She had two university degrees and graduated with honors, but Igor had once pleaded with her not to mention her academic background—his mother “didn’t trust overly educated women.”

The criticisms only intensified over time. Every family dinner turned into a test of endurance.

“This borscht is barely edible,” her mother-in-law would sneer. “Back in my day, girls knew how to cook before they even got engaged.”

In reality, Liliya had taken culinary classes before their wedding—just to impress Igor. But it never mattered. Nothing ever seemed to be good enough.

Despite it all, Liliya held on to hope. For their wedding anniversary, she decided to surprise Igor with a gift: two tickets for a two-week vacation at a five-star resort on the Turkish Riviera. She booked the trip secretly and planned to reveal it the day before departure.

Sliding the envelope with the tickets into her desk drawer, she smiled to herself. Maybe, just maybe, this would change things. Maybe his mother would finally see her differently.

That evening, however, Igor came home looking troubled. He barely touched his dinner and sat in silence before finally speaking.

“Mom called today,” he said.

Liliya’s heart sank. Conversations with his mother always led to trouble.

“She said the rent for her apartment went up. She’s struggling now…”

Liliya narrowed her eyes slightly. That wasn’t true—she had not raised the rent.

“And what is she suggesting?” she asked calmly.

“Well… maybe we could help her out a bit?” Igor said hesitantly. “She’s my mother, after all.”

Before Liliya could respond, there was a sharp knock on the door. It opened before either of them moved. Alla Sergeyevna stepped inside like she owned the place.

“There you are,” she huffed. “I knew you’d be home.”

“Mom?” Igor blinked. “What’s going on?”

“They’ve turned off the water in my building—repairs, supposedly. So I’ll be staying here for a few days.”

She tossed her bag onto the kitchen table and made herself at home.

Liliya’s stomach twisted. Tomorrow was their anniversary. The day after, they were supposed to leave for Turkey.

“Alla Sergeyevna, maybe we can—”

“Maybe what?” the woman snapped. “You think I can’t stay with my own son? I knew it. I’ve always known you wanted to push me out.”

“Mom, please,” Igor tried to calm her, “Liliya just meant—”

“She meant what? That I’m not welcome? That I should go sleep in the street?”

Liliya bit her tongue. For years, she had taken every insult. But this time, something shifted inside her. The truth wanted out. Badly.

But she held it in—for one more night.

Later, in their bedroom, she tried again.

“Igor, tomorrow is our anniversary. I had something planned… A trip.”

“What trip could be more important than helping your family?” he retorted. “She’s trying to help us. Teach you.”

Liliya stared at him in disbelief. “Teach me? She humiliates me, Igor. Constantly.”

“She means well. You’re overreacting.”

That was the final straw.

“If you can’t see how she treats me, maybe you should both leave. Take your mother and go.”

“You can’t just throw us out—I’m your husband!”

Liliya walked over to the cabinet, took out a folder, and handed him the property documents.

“This apartment is mine. As are the others. I’ve kept that hidden out of love. But I won’t live like this anymore.”

Igor went pale as he scanned the papers. Before he could respond, she continued:

“Tomorrow, I want you both out.”

The next morning, Liliya drafted an official eviction notice and sent it to her agency. The silence didn’t last long.

By afternoon, Alla Sergeyevna stormed in, waving the paper in her hand.

“What kind of joke is this? You’re kicking me out?!”

Liliya stood, calm and composed.

“I’m not joking, Alla Sergeyevna. I am your landlord.”

The older woman looked as if she had been slapped.

“That’s impossible. The lease is under a company’s name—”

“Yes. A company I own.”

Igor stepped forward, his face a portrait of shock.

“All this time… You were…”

“Yes,” Liliya replied. “And I lowered your mother’s rent repeatedly. Not for her—but for you.”

Alla Sergeyevna sank into a chair. Her voice softened, syrupy.

“Lilechka, please. I didn’t know. I only wanted the best for Igor…”

“By insulting me? Mocking my cooking? Spreading lies?” Liliya’s voice didn’t rise—but it cut deep.

“I got carried away,” the older woman sniffled. “Forgive me. We can start over.”

“No,” Liliya said firmly. “You have one month to move out.”

She handed Igor a second envelope.

“Divorce papers. I’ve already signed.”

“Lily, please,” he begged. “I’ll change. We’ll change.”

“No, Igor. It’s too late. You chose her—again and again. You never stood up for me. That’s not love. That’s weakness.”

A month later, Liliya sat alone in her office once more, signing the last of the divorce documents. Her lawyer looked on approvingly.

“I feel free now,” she said, sealing the envelope. “No one controls my life anymore.”

And as she looked out the window, the sky clear and endless, she knew: she hadn’t lost. She had simply outgrown the life that never saw her worth.

She didn’t lose a marriage.

She found herself.