Don’t meddle in other people’s affairs
“Mom, if Nastya asks, just tell her I’m with you.” “Why? What’s going on?”
“Nothing. Just… some things.” Tatyana froze.
Her fingers instinctively gripped the edge of the tablecloth. She didn’t yet understand the meaning behind his request, but a bad feeling already tightened her chest.
Dima had never asked her to cover for him before—not even back in school, when he tried to skip classes. And even then, it hadn’t worked.
“What things shouldn’t Nastya know about?” Tatyana asked cautiously. “Son, you’re asking me to lie without explaining anything. That’s not right.”
Dima huffed irritably. He hated lectures. “Mom, stop. I’ll handle it myself. Thanks.” “Wait a minute,” Tatyana frowned. “Do you… have someone else?”
“Mom! I’m an adult. Don’t meddle in my personal life,” Dima snapped.
Tatyana’s heart skipped a beat. He hadn’t said ‘no,’ hadn’t joked, hadn’t offered any other explanation. “Dima…” Her voice hardened. “If you’re going to start talking, then finish it.”
“Fine. Let’s say I do have someone else. So what? I told you, I’ll sort it out myself. Stay out of it, okay?”
Tatyana pressed her hand to her chest. Her vision seemed to darken. “Then sort it out yourself,” she said sharply. “But no, you’ve dragged me into this. You’re making me an accomplice!”
“Mom, what accomplice? We don’t even have kids. No one owes anyone anything. I just want to figure out my feelings,” Dima replied nervously.
“How can you say that? What about the vows you made?” Tatyana’s eyes widened—at her age, that meant something.
“Oh, come on. Those were just formalities. Everyone does it. Nothing special.” “Then why marry her at all if it meant ‘nothing special’ to you and you still haven’t figured out your feelings?”
“It’s tradition. I wanted to make her happy. That’s all. Enough, don’t make a scene. I’ll call later.” The line went dead.
Tatyana lowered the phone and stared blankly at the wall. It felt like a betrayal—of her, even worse than that. She didn’t recognize her son.
The little boy who once made hand-drawn cards that read “To my dearest mom” was now breaking the heart of a woman who loved him… and even two hearts, if you count her own.
Her mind wandered to Nastya: cheerful, kind, always smiling. She often brought Tatyana treats—roast chicken, pies—asked if she needed help, taught her to use her phone, and once spent an entire day protecting her from scammers.
Tatyana genuinely liked her. Nastya was a homebody, always said family came first. She never called Tatyana “mom,” never shared her innermost thoughts, but their relationship was warm.
Tatyana also noticed that after the wedding, Dima started calling more often—checking in, talking about work.
He hadn’t done that before; he only called when he needed something. That, she thought, was Nastya’s doing—she had a gift for bringing people together.
And now her son was asking her to lie to the very person who had built a family with him sincerely. What was she to do?
She remembered her friend Lyuba. Three years ago, Lyuba had cried on Tatyana’s shoulder:
“Tanya, can you believe it? I told her the truth. How else could I? I couldn’t live a lie. I thought she should know…” Lyuba wiped her tears.
“And she exploded! Said I was trying to split them apart. Even though I only meant well…” Even after Lyuba’s daughter-in-law realized she had been honest, nothing changed.
She said her mother would always side with her son. Didn’t even apologize. And Lyuba’s son stopped speaking to her, calling her a traitor.
Lyuba was left alone—with a truth no one wanted. Tatyana didn’t want that fate. So she remained silent. For three months, she carried the secret like a heavy stone, unseen by anyone.
Dima had only started calling in recent weeks; before that, he had kept his distance, seemingly afraid of a difficult conversation.
She tried to speak with her son, hoping he would reconsider, but… “Mom, I said stay out of it!” he waved her off. There was no remorse in his tone.
Meanwhile, Nastya continued her usual kindness: taking Tatyana to appointments, asking about her health, bringing groceries. Each time, it felt like a needle stabbing at Tatyana’s heart. The silence was unbearable.
One afternoon, Nastya came for tea and said quietly, “Tatyana Ivanovna, I was thinking… maybe it’s time Dima and I have a child? We’ve been living together for years now. You’d help us, right?”
Tatyana nearly dropped her cup. Her chest tightened. What would happen to Nastya and a grandchild if Dima left? Seeing her holding a baby, crying… She couldn’t bear it.
She set down the cup and gripped the table edge to hide her trembling hands.
“Nastya… I need to tell you something,” Tatyana began cautiously. “Try not to worry. You’re like a daughter to me, and I can’t pretend I don’t know.”
Nastya raised an eyebrow in surprise but stayed silent. “Don’t rush into having a child,” Tatyana continued.
“Dima has—or had—someone else. I found out three months ago. I stayed silent, afraid you’d misunderstand. I’m sorry… but I can’t keep it from you any longer.”
She lowered her head, bracing for Nastya’s reaction. The younger woman sat motionless, only her fingers gripping the cup, whitening. Her smile disappeared.
“Thank you,” she said quietly. “I hope you’re wrong. But if you’re not… better I know now than later.”
That evening, they spoke little. Nastya left, leaving half-eaten pie behind. Tatyana hoped she had only left her home, not her life. Five years passed.
Now, she and Dima spoke rarely. He called infrequently, his tone dry, as if speaking to a colleague.
He never mentioned his personal life; as far as Tatyana knew, he had neither wife nor children.
But she regretted nothing. Her gaze fell on the photographs on the dresser.
One showed Nastya in her wedding dress, her new husband, and Tatyana herself, as an honored guest.
