Here is a story about how I took revenge on Lydia, who thought she could treat my eldest daughter Tanya badly with impunity.
I have two daughters. Tanya is 10 years old and is from my first marriage. She is kind, calm and always tries to please everyone. Sonya is 4 years old and is my daughter from my current husband, Grigory. Sonya is the complete opposite of Tanya — she is energetic, curious and constantly asking questions. Grisha adores both girls, but his mother, Lydia, is a different story, especially when it comes to Tanya.
Lydia is, how can I put this gently? She is one of those people who tries to look perfect in public, but if you dig deeper, you will find condemnation and coldness, especially towards Tanya. And the worst thing is that it’s all because Tanya is not Grigory’s ‘real’ daughter.
For years, I tried to keep the peace. ‘She’s just old-fashioned,’ Grisha would say. ‘She’ll change.’ But that didn’t happen. Lydia constantly made snide remarks about Tanya.
Poor Tanya never complained. She kept quiet, thinking perhaps it was her fault. But I saw everything. I heard it. And every time, I felt myself boiling inside. Grisha? He didn’t see it the way I did. He loved his mother and thought she was just strange. But I knew the truth.
Lydia would make comments about her appearance: ‘Tanya, don’t you think that dress is too grown-up for you?’ Or she would ‘forget’ about Tanya’s birthday, but shower Sonya with gifts.
Everything started to fall apart after my mother died. It was like a bolt from the blue. I didn’t have time to say goodbye. The pain was so intense that I could barely breathe.
We had to fly to another state for the funeral, and that was the last thing I had the strength for. Every moment was like a fog. But I had to think about the girls.
Lydia volunteered to look after the children while we were away. That was the last thing I wanted. I knew Tanya would be uncomfortable with her, and it was unbearable for me to leave her with someone who had never treated her well.
But I had no choice. I was drowning in grief, and our close friends were busy with their own lives. I felt alone and helpless. It was either leave the children with Lydia or find another option, which seemed impossible. Against all my instincts, I agreed.
After three exhausting days, we returned home. The house was eerily quiet, too quiet. On the kitchen table, I found a note from Lydia: ‘Took Sonya to the park. We’ll be back later.’
I felt a sense of unease in my chest. Where was Tanya? I called her, but she didn’t answer. My heart began to beat faster, and a chill ran down my spine.
Then I noticed a faint light coming from the basement window. None of us ever went down there — it was dirty and full of junk.
I opened the basement door, my heart pounding wildly. Tanya was lying on the floor under an old blanket. Her face was pale, her cheeks covered with dried tears.
She whispered quietly, ‘Grandma said I’m not her real granddaughter and I shouldn’t get in the way.’
Lydia crossed all boundaries. But she didn’t know what I had in store for her.
When the day of the annual family gathering, Lydia’s pride and joy, arrived, I inserted footage of Tanya sleeping in the basement into the family slideshow. Shock, bewilderment and condemnation filled the entire garden. Lydia’s reputation was ruined.
She hasn’t spoken to me since. And you know what? That’s just the icing on the cake.
