What will happen if I just tell the truth one day?” he asked quietly, staring into space.
“What you fear most in the world, Kirill. You will stop being someone you never were,” his wife replied, not lifting her eyes from the book.
The autumn wind hurled handfuls of rain against the windows of the spacious living room. Outside, the wet maples were losing their last leaves, which stuck to the wet pavement, creating a colorful mosaic of yellow and crimson patches. The fire in the hearth crackled, casting whimsical shadows on the walls. This house, large and bright, with a terrace and garden, had never been the result of his efforts — just a generous gift from his father-in-law.
Thoughts tangled in his mind, like threads in an old sewing box. The middle-aged man grimaced and took a sip of cognac from a crystal glass. The amber liquid burned his throat but offered no relief.
“Mother is coming tomorrow,” he said after a long silence.
His wife finally broke from her reading and looked at him with an expression that mixed compassion with exhaustion.
“And, as usual, you’ll tell her how you personally negotiated with Chinese investors? Or will you come up with something more interesting this time?” bitterness tinged her voice.
“What do you suggest? Should I tell her I’m just a manager at your father’s company? That all of this,” he waved his hand around the spacious room, “isn’t my doing?”
“And what’s wrong with that, Kirill? Being a manager is normal. Living in a house your wife’s parents gave you — that’s fine too. What’s shameful is lying endlessly.”
Eighteen years of marriage had taught her to control her emotions. To calmly speak about things that caused a real storm inside. Every time her mother-in-law visited, their life turned into an absurd performance.
The small wall clock struck nine in the evening. The wind outside grew stronger, and the maple branches knocked against the glass as if begging to be let into the warmth. At times like this, despair gripped the man more sharply — it felt like the bad weather that had suddenly swept through nature, turning everything upside down.
“Anna, you don’t understand,” he began, placing the glass on the coffee table. “For my mother…”
“For your mother, only titles, statuses, and how everything looks from the outside matter. What matters to you, Kirill?” his wife interrupted.
This question, like a sharp knife, tore open a long-formed abscess. As a child, after every school meeting, returning home with his mother, little Kirill heard the same words: “Maria Petrovna’s son got an A in math,” “Svetlana’s daughter won the olympiad,” “Why can’t you be like all the normal kids?”
Over the years, external comparisons turned into internal ones. To gain his mother’s approval, he began claiming small achievements of his classmates. Later, it was the successes of colleagues. Then, this lie grew to ridiculous proportions.
“She’s coming with her friends,” the man exhaled. “She wants to show them how her ‘successful son’ lives.”
Anna closed the book and set it aside. Her face, framed by chestnut hair, expressed both fatigue and determination.
“You know, I’m not going to participate in this farce anymore. Either you tell your mother the truth, or I’ll take the children and go to my parents. And I’ll take the company we’ve been developing with my father all these years,” her voice was quiet but firm. “By the way, you’ll have to leave the house — it belongs to my father.”
Outside, the rain turned into a real downpour. The drops merged into streams, flowing down the glass, blurring the outlines of the trees in the garden.
“Is this blackmail?” he asked, trying to feign indignation.
“This is an ultimatum. I’m tired of living in a lie. Our children will soon be ashamed of their father, who can’t tell the truth to even his closest people.”
A lump rose in his throat that he couldn’t swallow. The painful truth was that his wife was right. Throughout his adult life, he had tried to live up to the image he had created — the image of a successful businessman, leader, and executive. In reality, he had none of those qualities. The company he worked for belonged to his father-in-law, his successes were exaggerated, and his achievements — appropriated.
“I can’t tell her the truth,” he whispered. “It will destroy her.”
“I’m afraid it will destroy not her, but you. You’ve been living a lie for so many years.”
Anna stood up from her chair and walked to the window. Her silhouette against the rainy night looked fragile yet unyielding.
“Do you remember the day we met?” she asked, not turning around. “You were just an ordinary student, working as a waiter in a café, and you didn’t try to impress anyone. I fell in love with that guy, not this impostor.”
The bitter truth of those words hit harder than a slap. Yes, that young man was real — funny, clumsy, honest. When they started dating, he hadn’t lied about his achievements. Everything changed after meeting her parents. The wealthy father-in-law, his successful business, the possibility of a high position — all of this went to his head and gave rise to new fantasies.
“Mom always said I had to achieve more than Dad,” he said after a long pause. “And he was just an engineer at a factory. When she found out I was marrying the daughter of the company owner, she was on cloud nine. Not because I found love, but because it opened up prospects for me.”
“And instead of working honestly and achieving success on your own, you preferred to create an illusion.”
Anna turned to face her husband. There was no contempt in her eyes — only endless fatigue and disappointment.
“I’ll give you one last chance, Kirill. When your mother arrives tomorrow, tell her the truth. All of it. About your work, our life, and that this house is a gift from my parents. Otherwise, I can’t stay your wife anymore.”
The night passed without sleep. The man tossed and turned in bed, replaying possible scenarios of the upcoming conversation in his head. None of them seemed realistic. How could he explain to his mother that all these years he had been lying? That his life wasn’t the result of personal achievements, but a consequence of a successful marriage?
Morning came unexpectedly fast. The gray sky outside promised more of yesterday’s rain. Kirill went down to the kitchen, where Anna was already making breakfast for the children.
“Good morning,” he said, not looking his wife in the eyes.
“Mother-in-law called. They’ll be here by lunchtime,” she replied, placing scrambled eggs on the plates. “I’ll take the kids to my parents. I think you two need to talk alone.”
The children silently ate breakfast, glancing at their parents. Even they, teenagers, could feel the tension hanging in the air.
“Dad, will Grandma Lisa be telling everyone again how great a businessman you are?” suddenly asked their thirteen-year-old son. “At school, everyone laughs when I say you’re just an ordinary manager.”
These words sounded like a shot. His eyes filled with hot tears of shame. Even the children knew the truth and suffered because of his lie.
“No, Misha. Today will be different,” Kirill replied, feeling his mouth dry.
After breakfast, Anna took the children away. Left alone, the man wandered aimlessly around the house, which had never been the result of his labor. The spacious rooms, expensive furniture, paintings on the walls — everything had been chosen and paid for by Anna’s parents. Even his position in the company was nothing more than a concession from his father-in-law.
By noon, the driveway was filled with cars. Elizabeth Petrovna, a stately woman of sixty-five with perfect hair and an expensive coat, got out of a taxi. Three of her friends followed her, looking just like her — well-groomed, with dyed hair and lots of jewelry.
The doorbell rang, signaling the beginning of the show. Taking a deep breath, Kirill went to open it.
“Son!” Elizabeth Petrovna exclaimed, hugging him. “Meet Vera, Margarita, and Galina — my friends from the gardening club. I’ve told them so much about you, they’ve been dying to meet such a successful person!”
The women smiled, examining him with undisguised curiosity. In their eyes, admiration mixed with envy — they were clearly comparing him to their own children.
“Please, come in,” Kirill mumbled, letting the guests into the house.
The women gasped with delight, examining the interior. Elizabeth Petrovna proudly showed her friends around the rooms, talking about her son’s achievements as if she had been present at all his business negotiations.
“Here, Kiryusha holds video conferences with partners from Japan. He speaks three languages fluently!” she excitedly said, pointing to his office.
In reality, he could barely hold a conversation in English, and in his office, he usually went through reports prepared by his subordinates.
“Where’s your charming wife?” asked one of the friends.
“Anna went to her parents with the kids,” Kirill replied.
“What a pity, I wanted to introduce your family to my friends,” his mother said disappointedly. “Well, no matter, at least we can talk about your latest projects. Tell us about the shopping center construction in Moscow?”
Of course, no shopping center existed. This invention had come up a few months ago when Elizabeth Petrovna had been complaining about her son’s success to her neighbor.
“Mom, we need to talk,” Kirill said quietly. “Alone.”
“What do you mean, dear? We’re all family here!” she laughed, hugging her friends by the shoulders. “Go ahead, don’t be shy.”
“Fine. Then I’ll say it in front of everyone. There’s no shopping center. I don’t own a company. I’m just an ordinary middle manager at my father-in-law’s company. This house is a gift from Anna’s parents. I’m not a millionaire, not a polyglot, not a business leader. Everything you’ve been told about my achievements — is a lie.”
Kirill fell silent. A deafening silence filled the living room. Elizabeth Petrovna’s friends froze with stiff smiles on their faces, and his mother looked at him as if she didn’t recognize him.
“Are you joking?” she finally gasped, nervously laughing. “Kiryusha, what strange jokes.”
“This is not a joke, Mom,” he sank into the chair, suddenly feeling an overwhelming fatigue. “I’ve been lying to you about my success for years because I was afraid of disappointing you. I was afraid you’d love me less if you knew that I’m just an ordinary man. Not outstanding, not great. Just a man.”
Elizabeth Petrovna paled. Her friends exchanged glances, clearly unsure of how to respond to the awkward situation.
“Maybe we should…” one of them began.
“No, stay,” Elizabeth Petrovna suddenly said firmly. “If my son wants to make a public confession, let it be.”
She sat down across from Kirill, straightened her back, and folded her hands in her lap.
“Why are you doing this?” she asked, and tears filled her eyes. “To humiliate me in front of my friends?”
“No, Mom. To finally stop humiliating myself.”
Outside, the rain started again. The drops drummed on the glass, creating a strange accompaniment to this painful conversation.
“You’ve always wanted me to be better than everyone. The honor student, the winner, the leader. But I was just an ordinary boy. And when I couldn’t live up to your expectations, I saw such disappointment in your eyes that I started making things up. First small things — made-up A’s, imaginary praises from teachers. Then more. And after meeting Anna’s family, the lies just got out of control.”
Her friends sat motionless like statues. Elizabeth Petrovna looked at her son as though he had betrayed her in the most terrible way.
“But all these stories… about your business trips, the contracts…”
“Made up, Mom. All made up.”
Suddenly, the front door opened. Anna walked in. Alone, without the kids. She took off her wet coat and stood next to her husband, placing her hand on his shoulder.
“Hello, Elizabeth Petrovna,” she said calmly. “I’m glad Kirill finally found the strength to tell the truth.”
“You knew?” his mother gasped. “You knew and allowed this?”
“I tried to convince him to stop this game for many years. But every person has to come to the realization that living in a lie is impossible.”
One of Elizabeth Petrovna’s friends suddenly stood up and walked to the window.
“You know, Lisa,” she said quietly, “maybe we all need to learn from your son. My daughter works as a cashier in a supermarket, and I tell everyone she’s a financial analyst. Because I’m afraid of looking worse compared to your stories about your millionaire son.”
“What?” Elizabeth Petrovna stared at her friend in shock.
“And my son has been unemployed for five years,” another woman unexpectedly confessed. “He’s living off his wife, and I tell everyone he’s on a long business trip abroad.”
The room fell silent, only the sound of the rain breaking the stillness. Elizabeth Petrovna looked bewildered, glancing from her son to her friends.
“We all lie, Lisa,” the third friend said quietly. “Because we’re afraid of looking like failures compared to others’ success stories. Each of us exaggerates our children’s achievements, and then these children feel the need to live up to our fantasies.”
Kirill stared at these women in astonishment. Only now did he realize that his mother might also have been a victim of this endless cycle of comparisons and competitions.
“Mom,” he took her hands in his, “I’m just an ordinary person. I have a good job, a loving wife, wonderful children. I don’t run a corporation, but I do my job honestly. I’m not a millionaire, but we don’t need to worry. Isn’t that enough?”
Elizabeth Petrovna started to cry. She cried loudly, not hiding her emotions, the way she hadn’t since Kirill was a child.
“I always thought you deserved more,” she said through tears. “Your father stayed in the same job his whole life, never aspired to promotion. I didn’t want you to follow in his footsteps.”
“But Dad was happy, wasn’t he? He loved his job, his family. Isn’t that the point?”
Anna sat beside him, hugging Kirill around the shoulders.
“Elizabeth Petrovna, your son is a wonderful man. A caring father, a reliable husband. He doesn’t run a company, but his colleagues respect him. Isn’t that an achievement?”
His mother nodded slowly, wiping her tears.
“Forgive me, son,” she whispered. “I was so afraid that people would look down on me because of your failures that I didn’t notice your real victories.”
The children returned home. They entered quietly, sensing the importance of the moment. Misha, the same thirteen-year-old son who had asked his father a painful question in the morning, now looked at him with a new expression in his eyes — respect.
“Dad, Grandpa said you got a promotion at work,” the boy said. “Are you going to be in charge of a department now?”
Kirill hugged his son.
“Yes, but it’s a small department, only five people,” he answered honestly. “Nothing grand.”
“But it’s real,” Misha smiled.
In the evening, when Elizabeth Petrovna’s friends left, and the children went to bed, Kirill and Anna went out onto the terrace. The rain had stopped, and stars peeked through the gaps in the clouds. Elizabeth Petrovna decided to stay the night — she had much to think about.
“How do you feel?” Anna asked, draping a blanket over her husband’s shoulders.
“Strange,” he admitted. “Like I’ve shed a heavy backpack I’ve been carrying for years. And now I don’t know how to walk without this burden.”
“You’ll learn,” she gently touched his cheek. “You know what’s most important in today’s conversation?”
“What?”
“That you’ve finally become someone you never were.”
“And who am I now?” Kirill smiled.
“Real,” Anna simply replied. “Just real.”
The lights in the house went out. Kirill hugged his wife, gazing at the sky, where the stars broke through the autumn clouds — just as real as the truth he had finally dared to speak aloud.
