I read the message from my fiance the day before the wedding. My mom invites you to dinner tonight. At the end of the evening, my future mother-in-law said something to her husband in Italian, and they laughed. Before leaving, I smiled, took her hand, and said in flawless Italian, “But before we continue, please write down which country you’re from and how old you are. Enjoy listening.

 

 

” Alina woke up early. The day was gray, but inside she felt light. 24 hours remained until the wedding. On the table lay two registration tickets, a slim box with earrings for her bridesmaid and a to-do list. She needed to pick up the bouquet, take the suit to the dry cleaner, and check the music with the host.

 Her phone blinked. A message from Andre. My mom invites you to dinner tonight. She really insists. 700 p.m. Will you come, Alina? She stared at the screen for a few seconds. The message was polite, but the word insists graded as if she were being summoned not for a warm evening, but for an inspection. She typed a reply, keeping it simple.

 Of course, I’ll be there by 7. She put the phone down and walked to the window. In the courtyard, workers were rolling coffee barrels for the cafe on the corner. A cat strolled along the curb, unhurried. People were heading to work. Everything was ordinary. But inside her, tension was growing. Not fear, but a quiet anticipation.

Alina knew Andre’s mother regarded her with suspicion. Their conversations at gatherings were cold. Her mother-in-law’s gaze always caught small details, piecing them into judgments. Alina tried to be polite, but after each meeting, she stayed silent for a long time. She called her friend Marina and told her about the dinner.

 “Stay calm,” Merina said. “Don’t prove anything. Ask them about themselves. You don’t owe anyone anything.” “I know,” Alina replied. “I just don’t want conflict on the last day. Let it be neutral. If there’s a jab, you’ll handle it, Marina said. You’ve got the strength and the smarts. Alina smiled.

 Her friend knew she spoke Italian fluently and that Alina had another surprise up her sleeve. An email from an international company awaited in her inbox. An offer for a project in Milan. She’d passed the interview, but hadn’t told anyone yet. She planned to discuss it with Andre after the wedding chaos settled or when the right moment came. The day passed calmly.

 Alina picked up the bouquet, signed seating cards, and checked her dress. In the evening, she wore a simple navy dress and gray shoes, her hair tied in a low bun. The woman in the mirror had steady eyes. Not a girl, not a warrior, just a normal adult woman who wanted to love and build a home.

 At seven, she rang the bell at Andre’s parents’ apartment. His father opened the door, tall, slightly stooped, with a gentle smile. He always spoke calmly and sparingly. He invited her to the living room where Ludma Sergevna waited. Her hair was neatly styled, her light blue blouse pristine, a precious pendant at her neck. Her smile lacked warmth.

“Elina, hello,” she said. “You look so delicate. Aren’t you cold in that dress?” “Good evening,” Alina replied. “I’m fine. Thank you for inviting me.” Andre emerged from the kitchen with a salad bowl. Hey,” he said, smiling genuinely, and the tension eased. “Let’s eat.” They sat at the table. The tablecloth gleamed with polished dishwear, plates held thin slices of salmon, and a small bowl of olives sat nearby.

Ludma Sergevna asked questions politely, but it felt like she was filling out a questionnaire. Andre’s father asked about her favorite book. They talked about poetry. Andre shared a funny childhood story. The dinner went smoothly, but beneath every phrase lay a thin edge of steel felt by all four.

 By dessert, Andre stepped out to the balcony. The host had called to confirm the song for the first dance. His father went to the kitchen for tea. Alina was left at the table with Ludma Sergevna. She leaned toward her husband, who had returned with the teapot, and said a phrase in Italian, softly but clearly, with a slight smirk.

 They both laughed briefly and glanced at Alina with curiosity, as if looking at someone who didn’t understand. Alina lowered her eyes. She disliked scenes, but this wasn’t just a jab. It was an attempt to put her in her place, to test her reaction. The day before the wedding, Alina took a breath, stood, walked around the table, gently took Ludma Sergea’s hand, and covered it with her own.

 Smiling, she looked her straight in the eyes and said in clear, effortless Italian. I understood everything. You’re worrying for nothing. I’m not going to ask you for a single penny. I know how to provide for myself and care for the people close to me. Ludma Sergeyna flinched. Her smile vanished. Surprise flickered across her face, then irritation, then confusion.

Andre’s father dropped his gaze to his cup, realizing the meaning before his wife and sensing the awkwardness. Andre returned from the balcony. Silence hung in the room. Alina let go of her hand and calmly sat back down. The host had confirmed the song. The evening ended without a scandal. At the door, Alina thanked them for dinner.

 Ludma Sergevna said the obligatory words about the big day tomorrow and the need to rest well. Her voice was even, but it carried a new caution. Outside, the air was cool. Alina walked along the avenue thinking about what she’d said. It was honest and calm without shouting. She didn’t want war. She wanted respect.

Inside, there was no smug satisfaction, just clarity. She’d taken a step that couldn’t be undone. Her phone buzzed. A message from Andre. You’re amazing. I saw something happened. Tell me tomorrow. She replied, “Tonight, just sleep.” Alina returned home, kicked off her shoes, put the kettle on, and opened the company’s email.

 The offer was clear. A year-long project in Milan, full salary, bonuses, and 6 months of rent covered. The move was in a month. The manager’s number was at the bottom with a 3-day response deadline. She reread the email thinking of Andre. They’d been together for a year. He was kind, attentive, but sometimes too influenced by his mother.

 He worked hard, rarely complained, stayed up late with numbers, kept his word, and disliked carelessness. He needed quiet support, not grand gestures. Andre knew how to love, but sometimes chose silence over decisions. That was livable as long as they could talk. She imagined their life in Milan. Morning coffee on the corner, a house with a balcony and flowers, the Saturday market, the tram’s chime.

She also saw the other side. Distance from Andre’s parents, his mother’s resistance, a new language of birds in the trees, but a familiar one at work. New people, a new pace. Alina took a notebook and wrote two columns, one for Milan, one for here. In the first, freedom, growth, the project, partners, the sea on weekends.

In the second, an apartment by the park, friends, habits, warm evenings at her parents, familiar speech, known faces. Between them, she wrote a question. Who is she with there? Who is she with here? She closed the notebook, turned off the light, and lay down. Sleep didn’t come, but her thoughts flowed in steady waves.

She decided to tell Andre about the offer in the morning, not as a threat or condition, but as a chance. He was an adult. He’d choose. She wouldn’t drag him or justify her dreams. In the morning, she woke to the dampness outside, did her exercises, cooked oatmeal, tied her hair, and called Andre. I need to talk before the registration, she said.

Okay, he replied. I’ll be there in an hour. Andre arrived, sat beside her, and looked at her hands. Speak, he said. I got a job offer, Alina said. In Milan, a year-long project. I want you to know now. I’m not leaving today, and I’m not setting conditions. I want us to decide together. Are you ready to go or not? I don’t want to hide anything or give up what matters.

Andre took the envelope, read the letter, and was silent for a long time. You’re talented, he finally said. Even I can see that. This is your chance. I don’t want to be the person who chains you to a radiator. I have nothing set up in Italy. Here, I have work and a few projects. I can do some remotely, but not all. It’ll be hard for mom.

 But I’m not a child. I don’t want to make decisions at the expense of your steps. He turned to her. I’ll go, he said, not out of principle, but because I want to be with you for real. I’m ready to start from scratch there. I’ll try to transfer some work. If it doesn’t work, I’ll find something new. I’m an adult.

 I’ll manage. He paused. “And what did you say to mom yesterday?” Alina recounted it. Andre covered his face for a second, then laughed softly. “Good hit,” he said. “Right on target. No blood. I’ll make sure our family doesn’t have room for those kinds of jabs.” He kissed her forehead. It was calm. Decisions aren’t always easy, but sometimes they’re simple.

They arrived at the registry office on time. Her bridesmaids adjusted her dress. Andre’s friends joked. Their parents stood nearby. His father smiled. His mother stood straight. The ceremony went smoothly. They said yes, signed, and stepped out to rice and laughter. The reception was warm. The host was unobtrusive.

In their first dance, Andre held Alina gently yet firmly. Merina gave a short, precise toast, wishing them to listen to each other and not shy away from simple words. At dessert, Ludma Sergea pulled Andre aside. Alina saw her speaking tensely. Andre listened, nodded, but didn’t agree. They returned to the table.

Alina felt her mother-in-law’s gaze and knew the conversation was about Milan. After the celebration, Andre drove his parents home while Alina and her friends sorted gifts and took the flowers to their apartment. He returned tired and a bit lost. “Mom’s against it,” he said. “She says I should think about business and family, that I can’t abandon everything for your job.

 I told her I’m not abandoning anything. I’m taking it with me. It’s our path for a year, but she thinks it’s a whim. She asked me to reconsider. Said no one’s waiting for you in Italy. That it’s a risk. It’s a risk, Alina said calmly. But not a game. I know how to work. I know how to learn. I’m not going to prove anything to anyone.

 I’m going to take a step in my career and for us to try being a family where no one knows us. Not because we’re running, but because I chose this, because you chose this. If you’ve changed your mind, say so. Don’t be afraid to hurt me. Be honest. I haven’t changed my mind, Andre said. I’m scared. It’s hard for mom, but I’ve made my choice.

 I don’t want to live in a house where every decision needs her stamp of approval. I love her, but I’m separate. They hugged. The faint smell of fresh linen, the soft rustle of curtains, the quiet city outside. Their first night as husband and wife passed without grand words. They weren’t in the mood for theatrics. They lay quietly side by side, doing what people do when words have said enough.

 In the morning, Alina wrote to the manager accepting the offer, specifying dates, and asking about housing. Andre emailed his partners about a transition period requesting 2 months to hand over tasks. His father sent a short message. I support you. Ludmila Sergevna stayed silent. A week later, Alina met her at the parents apartment.

 The house smelled faintly of laundry detergent. Clean towels lay on the table. “You’re leaving,” Ludmila Sergevna said, not looking at Alina. “You’re taking my son away.” “I’m not taking anyone,” Alina replied. “I’m going with him. He’s an adult. It’s his choice.” “You always speak so beautifully.” Ludma Sergevna said, “But when it all falls apart, you’ll come back to our house asking for help.

” “If it falls apart, we’ll get back up ourselves,” Alina said calmly. “I know how to live on little money. I know how to work with my hands and my head. I’m not leaving to return empty-handed. But even if things go wrong, I won’t ask you for money. Not because I’m proud, but because I don’t want to hear again that I’m not in your league.

 Ludmila Sergea pushed her chair back sharply. “Are you insulting me?” she said. “No,” Alina replied. “I just don’t want to keep justifying myself. You don’t have to love me, but you can’t control me through pain.” They fell silent. Andre’s father entered, put the kettle on, and stayed out of it. His silence held understanding. Sometimes silence is better than words.

The apartment emptied as things were packed, books went into boxes, dresses into vacuum bags, documents into clear folders. Andre handed over his tasks, meeting after meeting. Sometimes he came home late and sat on the floor by the boxes. Alina sat beside him. They just sat. It helped. Friends hosted farewell dinners, each bringing something. Books, small amulets.

Marina gave Alina a softcovered notebook, saying it was good for living. Alina smiled. She understood. Ludma Sergea called rarely keeping her distance. Once she invited them for lunch, making Andre’s favorite salad. She sat across listening to his voice, trying to accept the change. At the end, she said quietly, looking at her plate, “I don’t know how to live without your Sunday visits.

” “Mom,” Andre said, “we’ll stay in touch. I’ll call. We’ll visit for holidays. It’s not a break, it’s a step. Give us a year. Her eyes were wet and she nodded. Letting children go is always painful and distance makes it unbearable, but holding tighter only hurts more. At the airport, they arrived 3 hours early.

 The departure hall was crowded. Andre checked the luggage. Alina reviewed the documents. The flight board flickered. Ludma Sergea and her husband came to see them off. She stood straight, but her shoulders betrayed her exhaustion. His father spoke little, but hugged them tightly. “Live,” he said. “You only get one life.

 Don’t waste it on others decisions.” Ludmila Sergevna approached Alina as if to say something sharp, but stopped. Her eyes showed a rare vulnerability. She sighed. “Take care of him,” she said. “He doesn’t always know how to say when he needs something.” “I will,” Alina replied. “And he takes care of me, too.” They passed through security.

 In the plane, Alina took Andre’s hand. He smiled. Clouds floated below, leaving behind cities, roads, fur trees and yards, warm kitchens, the clink of spoons and cups. Above it was bright. She felt no euphoria, just calm. That was enough. Milan greeted them with a soft breeze and light noise.

 The company manager met them at the exit, helping with the luggage. The apartment was small but bright with empty flower boxes on the balcony. The land lady left plates, a pan, and a kettle. The first night they slept on fresh sheets, waking to the sound of trams. Alina went to the office in the morning. Andre stayed to unpack and email colleagues.

 At the office, they welcomed her warmly, gave her a desk by the window, introduced her to the team, and handed her a task plan. At noon, they took her to the city hall to sort out paperwork. The first weeks were like a textbook. New words, faces, routes. Alina kept her head steady, didn’t pretend to understand when she didn’t, and wasn’t shy to ask. evenings.

She told Andre about meetings and mistakes. He laughed, sharing his own slipups. He managed to shift some projects to remote work, and was finding his footing. On weekends, they walked along the waterfront, ate simple pasta, learned to pick cheese at the market, debated coffee, and chatted with neighbors.

 The neighbor downstairs gave Alina rosemary. The old man on the corner always nodded as they passed. One evening, Alina got a message from Ludma Sergevna. “How are you?” she replied briefly, “Working, trying.” A week later, a photo came. Andre’s father at the stove with a pot captioned, “Learning to cook your soup.” Alina smiled and sent a heart.

 Sometimes small letters are enough. Andre found local clients consulting on numbers. He enjoyed starting from scratch, teaching how to build reports, face taxes, and set simple team rules. Small offices warmed to him. He brought home short stories. They listened to each other like news, and it felt good. In December, a paper letter arrived from Ludma Sergea in a thick envelope, her handwriting neat.

 Alina opened it in the kitchen. Two pages. The first said she was struggling but trying to adjust, that Andre was her anchor, and she feared losing him forever. She admitted her words at the dinner were foolish. The second page asked if they’d come for Christmas, even for a few days. Alina read it aloud. Andre sat, hands on the table, and thought.

Let’s go. He said, “If you’re okay with it, I want mom to see we’re fine, that we’re alive with a life, work, plans, not running from her, just living.” They booked tickets for a week. Home smelled of oranges. Andre’s father brought out a box of decorations. Ludma Sergea listened to their stories, asked questions, and sometimes smiled.

The awkwardness didn’t vanish, but it softened. At one point, Alina and her mother-in-law were alone in the kitchen. Ludma Sergevna poured tea, dropping sugar past the bowl. Alina handed her a napkin. They both laughed. I didn’t mean to offend you then, Ludma. Sergeyna said quietly. I wanted to protect my son from potential pain.

 I often confuse protection with control. I’m not perfect either, Alina said. I make mistakes, too, but Andre and I managed to talk. That’s better than anything else. Ludmila Sergey ofna nodded and in slow, slightly clumsy Italian said, “I’m still learning, but I want to speak your language, too.” Alina smiled. It was better than any apology.

They drank tea, opened a box of cookies, and called the men. The evening was simple and warm. The year flew by. Ludma Sergeyna wrote more often asking not about plans but about food, weather, books. Once she sent a photo of a new recipe she found online. Alina sent a video of her sauce simmering. They laughed like students in a cooking class.

Andre’s father called regularly, saying simple, needed things, asking if they remembered to rest, sending photos of blooming chestnuts in the park. In spring, Andre got an intense project. For 2 months, he worked at his limit, worrying he wasn’t giving Alina enough time. She stayed late on calls, fearing he felt sidelined.

 But they talked openly. One evening a week was theirs. No work, no guests, just them. Dinner, a movie, a walk. It wasn’t a rule, more a habit. And the habit saved them. One evening, they came home late. The kitchen smelled of basil. A thick envelope from the company lay on the table. Alina opened it. An offer to lead a small department in 6 months.

 a three-year contract, higher salary, a team of four, and quarterly trips to Russia. Andre felt a wave of mixed emotions. Joy for Alina, slight fear for himself. She sensed his tension and approached. “I haven’t accepted or declined,” she said. “Let’s talk. I don’t want my promotion to hurt you.

 Work matters, but so does family. I won’t move forward if you’re left in the shadows, suffering. Andre sat, thinking, looking at her hands, the bunch of greens in a vase, the yellow lamplight. I want you to accept, he said. I’ll find a way to grow beside you. It’s easier when we decide honestly. I don’t want to hold you back.

 I want to take even half your step. She smiled. The next day, they went to the office together. Alina signed the papers. Andre bought pastries. They celebrated alone and called their parents via video. Ludma Sergea smiled genuinely, said she was proud, then added she’d study Italian harder. In autumn, Alina showed Andre a test with two lines.

 He sat on the bed’s edge, grabbed at the air, unsure where to put it, then laughed and cried. So did she. They sat on the floor holding hands, afraid to speak. Words scare miracles. They decided to tell their parents later after a doctor’s visit. Moving quietly through the days. That evening, they video called their parents.

 Andre’s father understood first and smiled. Ludma Sergevna looked at the screen, covered her mouth, and teared up. She spoke softly. “Come for New Year’s. I’ll knit you socks, and I promise not to argue. I just want to hold your hand.” Alina felt an old weight lift from her chest, not gone, but gently removed, making it easier to breathe.