My Father-in-Law Called My Husband Right in Front of Me—He Didn’t Know I Could Hear Everything
My Father-in-Law Called My Husband Right in Front of Me—He Didn’t Know I Could Hear Everything
Galina overheard the conversation by accident. She was walking from the bathroom to the bedroom, barefoot on the cold laminate flooring, and stopped in the hallway because Kostya was talking on the phone in the kitchen.
The door was ajar. Her father-in-law’s voice came through the speaker so clearly it felt as if Gennady Pavlovich was sitting right at the table next to him.
She hadn’t meant to eavesdrop. She simply froze—the way people freeze when they hear their own name.
“Talk to me honestly, Kostyan. Are you even happy with her?”
Silence. Galina pressed her palm against the wall. The wallpaper was slightly damp, as it always was in that corner during the winter.
“Dad, seriously? What kind of questions are these late at night?”
“Normal questions. I’m your father, I have the right to ask. Your mother’s worried sick, she can’t even sleep.”
“What is she worried about?”
“About you, what else. You’ve completely deflated. Your mother says you’ve got the same look your grandfather had before he retired. Empty.”
Kostya let out a soft huff. Galina knew that sound. It was what he did when he didn’t want to answer, but couldn’t bring himself to lie either. He would huff, and the person he was talking to would usually drop it and move on to something else. But Gennady Pavlovich didn’t drop it.
“I’m asking you seriously. Can you give me a straight, man-to-man answer?”
“Dad. Everything is fine.”
” ‘Fine.’ I hate that word. Your mother told me ‘fine’ for twenty years, and then it turned out she had an ulcer and her nerves were completely shot. Fine, Kostya, is when a person is smiling and isn’t lying through their teeth.”
Galina stood there in the hallway. Her toes were starting to go numb. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, trying not to rustle.
They had been together for seven years. They met at a mutual friend’s birthday party in a café on Taganka that was way too loud and crowded. Kostya was sitting in the corner eating olives straight out of the jar with his fingers. Galina sat down next to him because it was the only empty seat left. He held out the jar and said, “Careful, they’ve got pits.” That was the entirety of their first conversation.
Then came three years of dating, a wedding in November, and a move into a two-bedroom apartment on the edge of the city. A renovation they did themselves: Kostya hung the wallpaper crookedly, and she straightened it out. He joked that she had the hands of a surgeon. She replied that she had the hands of a woman who was tired of living with crooked walls.
Their daughter was born in the second year. Polina, Polinka, Polya. Nine and a half pounds, a big baby with fists the size of apricots. Kostya held her in the maternity ward and stayed silent for about five minutes. Galina thought he was in shock. Later on, he told her, “I was memorizing it. I wanted to remember what it felt like so I wouldn’t forget.”
And he hadn’t forgotten. For the first two years, he was right there. He’d get up at night, carry Polya around the apartment, and sing something incomprehensible to her. Galina would wake up to his footsteps and fall right back asleep because his steps were steady and even. Like a metronome.
And then something shifted. Not suddenly, not with a loud snap. Just one day she noticed that he came home from work and went straight to the shower. Before, he would go to Polya first, kiss the top of her head, and ask Galina how her day was. But now it was: boots, jacket, shower. Then dinner in silence. Then his phone.
She didn’t ask. She figured he had a heavy project at work. Kostya worked as an engineer at a ventilation equipment plant, and every six months there was some kind of crisis—certification, an inspection, or a new client with a forty-page list of requirements. She was used to these cycles.
But this cycle hadn’t ended.
The father-in-law’s voice from the speaker grew quieter, as if Gennady Pavlovich had pulled the phone back or leaned in toward something.
“Listen to me. I don’t poke my nose into your life. But your mother told me something, and now I can’t sleep in peace.”
“What did she tell you?”
“She says Galina called her. A week ago. And she was crying.”
Galina’s mouth went dry. She really had called her mother-in-law. Lidia Sergeyevna was the kind of woman who didn’t ask unnecessary questions. You could call her and stay silent on the line, and she would simply say, “I’m right here, kiddo. Just breathe.” And that’s how it went. Galina had called because it was Sunday, Kostya had driven off to “the warehouse” on his day off, Polya was napping after lunch, and the walls were closing in so tightly she wanted to go out onto the balcony and scream.
She didn’t scream. She dialed Lidia Sergeyevna and started to cry. Without words, without explanations. She just cried, and her mother-in-law listened, occasionally saying, “It’s alright, it’s alright, it happens.”
Galina had been certain that Lidia Sergeyevna wouldn’t tell her husband. Absolutely certain.
“Dad, I didn’t know she called.”
“Precisely. You didn’t know. Because you apparently don’t notice what’s happening right inside your own home.”
“What is happening? We’re living normally. Polya’s in daycare, I’m working, Galya…”
“What about Galya?”
A pause. Galina heard Kostya take a sip of tea. His mug hit the table with a clink.
“Galya works, too. She’s fine.”
“People who are fine don’t call other people’s mothers and sob into the phone, Konstantin.”
Whenever her father-in-law called his son by his full name, it meant the conversation had shifted into a serious phase. Galina knew that tone. She’d heard it once before, when Gennady Pavlovich found out Kostya had taken out a car loan without consulting anyone. Back then, he had also said “Konstantin” and stayed silent for ten seconds before continuing.
“Dad, I’ll figure it out.”
“How are you going to figure it out? You don’t even see the problem. I’m going to tell you something right now, and you aren’t going to interrupt me. Sit down and listen.”
The continuation is in the first c0mment
