Anton was zipping up the very last zipper on his travel bag when Lena walked into the room with her phone in her hand. The look on her face told him instantly—something had happened.
“Your mother called,” she said quietly—too quietly. “She wished you a good trip. Said she’s so happy for us. And that Sveta and Igor and the kids are coming to the dacha too. Tomorrow evening.”
Anton went still. The bag slid out of his hands and hit the floor with a dull thud.
“Len, I…”
“Are you serious?” His wife’s voice wavered, but she forced herself under control. “Anton, we agreed! You promised you wouldn’t tell anyone!”
“I didn’t!” He raised his hands defensively. “Len, I swear—I only told Mom we wouldn’t be in the city for the holidays…”
“And of course she put the pieces together right away,” Lena said with a bitter half-smile. “And called your precious sister immediately. You know, I can actually picture it. ‘Can you believe it, Lena and Anton got some dacha! They’re spending New Year’s there. Alone. How selfish of them, right?’”
“Lena, Mom didn’t say it like that…”
“Not like that?” She turned toward him, and he saw tears in her eyes. “Then why has your sister already packed her bags and decided to show up with her entire family? With the kids, by the way!”
Anton sank onto the edge of the bed, feeling everything cave in. Six months. They’d been breaking their backs on that dacha for six long months.
When Aunt Nina died in the spring, Lena’s mother called late at night with the news: Aunt Nina had left Lena her dacha outside Moscow. A small plot of land, an aging house, a bathhouse, a greenhouse. Lena cried then—she loved Aunt Nina, even if they didn’t see each other often.
“We could…” she’d started, wiping her cheeks. “Maybe we should try? Put everything in order? We’ve never had our own place—somewhere we could just run away from everything.”
Anton agreed immediately. Their city apartment—constant noise, and the neighbors upstairs who’d been renovating for the third year in a row—was exhausting. And here, it would be their own house, quiet, the woods nearby.
“Just… let’s not tell anyone,” Lena asked. “Not yet. Not until we fix it up. You know how it goes—suddenly everyone has advice, everyone knows what’s best. And your family…”
She didn’t finish, but Anton understood. His family. A mother who believed it was her duty to control their every step. A sister, Sveta, who could turn any occasion into a chance for her own benefit. And Igor—Sveta’s husband—a forever carefree joker who acted like the world owed him simply for being alive.
“Alright,” Anton agreed then. “We won’t tell anyone.”
And they truly kept quiet. Every weekend from May onward, they drove to the dacha. First they cleared out the clutter—Aunt Nina hadn’t been able to care for the property in her last years, so everything had grown wild, tangled, worn down. Then they started renovating the house.
Anton painted walls, replaced wiring, repaired the roof. Lena scrubbed floors, hung wallpaper, hunted for furniture at flea markets and online listings. They poured in every spare ruble and every spare minute. In summer they came for whole weekends—no rest, no seaside vacation like their friends—just work.
“Look how it’s turning out!” Lena beamed when they finished the veranda in August. “Anton, can you imagine? We can celebrate New Year’s here! We’ll put up a tree, light the fireplace…”
“We don’t have a fireplace,” Anton smiled.
“Then we’ll build one!” She laughed and hugged him. “We can do anything.”
They did build one. Anton found a craftsman who helped install a real wood-burning hearth in the living room. It cost a fortune, but when they lit the first fire in October, Lena sat on the floor in front of the dancing flames and cried with happiness.
“This is our place,” she whispered. “Ours. Do you understand? The first thing that’s truly ours.”
By December, the house was ready. Cozy and warm, with new windows, a repaired bathhouse, and a woodshed stacked with birch logs. Lena bought beautiful linen curtains, soft blankets, and placed candles in elegant holders all over the rooms. In the kitchen stood a huge wooden table they’d found at a flea market and restored together.
“We still haven’t rested here even once,” Anton remarked during one of their trips. “We’ve only worked.”
“But New Year’s…” Lena pressed close to him. “For New Year’s we’ll come here, and it’ll be just you and me. Snow, silence, the fireplace. Champagne at midnight on the veranda. Like in a movie.”
She said it out loud so often Anton could recite it by heart: how they’d watch the sunrise on January first wrapped in blankets; how they’d cook breakfast in the new kitchen; how they’d go for a walk in the forest where the snow would probably be knee-deep; how they’d lie by the fire with books and wine.
“We need this break so badly,” she kept saying. “We work like crazy all year. You’ve got two jobs, I’ve got these projects. When was the last time we were just… together? Not rushing between chores and deadlines?”
And now this—two days before they were supposed to leave.
“I didn’t invite them, and I don’t want to see them!” Lena shouted, her voice breaking. “If they come, you’ll be celebrating New Year’s without me!”
“Len, don’t say that…”
“How can you tell me not to?” She wiped her tears with the back of her hand. “Anton, I’ve been dreaming about this for six months! We worked like slaves to get everything done by the holiday. I wanted to spend these days with you. With you! Not with your family charging in, eating through our supplies, making a mess and leaving us to clean up after them!”
“Sveta isn’t like that…”
“Sveta is exactly like that!” Lena slammed her palm on the table. “Did you forget last year? She came ‘for a couple days’ and stayed two weeks. Igor drank your whiskey while lecturing you about how you work too much and have forgotten what family means. Their kids broke that mug I gave you for our anniversary, and Sveta didn’t even apologize—she just said, ‘Kids will be kids.’”
Anton kept silent, because it was all true. Sveta was two years older and had lived her whole life as if everyone owed her. As a child, she bossed him around, took the best toys, got more attention from their parents. As an adult she didn’t change—she simply found new ways to use him: as free labor, as a source of “loans” she never repaid, and as a convenient place to stay whenever she wanted.
“She’s my sister,” he said weakly.
“And?” Lena looked at him with such pain it made him feel physically ill. “Does that give her a right to everything? Anton, I’m not asking for the impossible. I want three days with you. Three days alone, in our home—the home we built with our own hands. Is that too much?”
“No. Of course not…”
“Then call her. Now. And tell her they weren’t invited and they can’t come.”
“Lena, you understand what kind of scandal that will be…”
“Let it be a scandal.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “You know what, Anton? I’m tired. I’m tired of being last on your list. First work, then your mom, then Sveta and her problems, and somewhere at the very end—if I’m lucky—me. Your wife.”
“That’s not true!”
“It is true!” She walked to the window, staring at the winter evening outside. “Remember when we got married? You promised I’d be first. That we’d be a team—you and me against everything. And what do we have instead? Your mother always has something ‘urgent,’ Sveta is always having some crisis, and you run to them, dropping everything. And I wait. I always wait.”
Anton stepped toward her, wanting to hug her, but she moved away.
“Don’t,” she said softly. “Just answer honestly: how do you want to spend this New Year? With me, or with them?”
He stood there, silent, realizing he didn’t know what to do. Images flickered through his mind: his mother calling every day, offended if he couldn’t come; Sveta throwing a fit if he refused; Igor with his sneering jokes about “henpecked husbands.” And then other images: Lena painting the walls, Lena smiling by the fire, Lena dreaming about the magical New Year they had earned.
“With you,” he finally exhaled. “Of course—with you.”
“Then prove it.” She turned to him, and there was so much hope and fear in her eyes at once that his breath caught. “Call Sveta. Right now. And tell her she can’t come.”
“Len…”
“This is an ultimatum, Anton.” She straightened, and he saw that strength in her—the strength he’d fallen for. “Either you call her and tell the truth, or I stay in the city and you celebrate New Year’s alone. Or with them if you want. But without me.”
“You can’t do that…”
“I can.” She grabbed her bag and headed for the door. “And honestly, I probably should’ve done this earlier. I’ll give you five minutes to decide. If you choose right, I’ll stay. If not, I’m going to a friend’s. And then we’ll see what happens next.”
The door slammed, and Anton was left alone in the bedroom with the travel bags and his phone in his hand.
Five minutes. That was all he had.
He paced the apartment like a caged animal. He imagined calling Sveta—how she’d start screaming that he was selfish, that he’d forgotten family, that their mother would be heartbroken. He imagined his mother crying into the phone, telling him she’d raised an ungrateful son. He imagined the holidays ruined by a scandal that would drag on for months.
And then he imagined the other version: New Year’s at the dacha with Sveta, Igor, and their children. The TV blaring, drunken toasts, kids tearing through the house. Sveta inspecting every corner, every thing, commenting, “The wallpaper is crooked right here, see?” Igor sprawled in an armchair by the fire with a beer. And no Lena beside him—Lena, who’d dreamed of those days for half a year.
He picked up the phone. His hands shook as he dialed Sveta.
“Tosha!” her cheerful voice rang out. “We’re almost ready! Masha can’t find her skis, but it’s fine—we’ll just buy some on the way…”
“Sveta, wait.” He closed his eyes. “We need to talk.”
“About what? If it’s food, don’t worry—we’ll buy everything ourselves, just—”
“You can’t come.”
Silence. Heavy, endless.
“What?” his sister finally asked, and her voice sharpened.
“Sveta, I’m sorry, but we didn’t invite you. Lena wanted us to spend New Year’s just the two of us. We’re exhausted, we need time to—”
“Are you joking?” she cut him off, and Anton could hear the rage now, clear as day. “Are you seriously telling me this? One day before you leave?”
“I didn’t know Mom told you…”
“You didn’t know!” Sveta laughed, but it was a nasty laugh. “Of course you didn’t! You never know anything when it’s inconvenient! You know what, Anton? I don’t even care about your dacha! But you’re a complete selfish jerk!”
“Sveta…”
“Shut up!” she screamed. “You think I don’t understand? This is all your precious Lena’s idea, isn’t it? She’s disliked us from the start! Always looked at us like we were contagious! And you, you spineless rag, you obey her in everything!”
“Don’t you dare talk about my wife like that!”
“I’ll say whatever I want!” Sveta’s voice rang with fury. “We’re family, do you understand? Family! And she’s an outsider! And if you choose her, then know this—Mom will hear about it. And she’ll be very upset. Very.”
“Let her hear,” Anton felt something in his chest untie, loosen, finally freeing him. “I’m married to Lena. She is my family. And you…”
“And we what?”
“You could try, for once, to understand that the world doesn’t revolve around you. That I have a right to a private life. To my own home. To boundaries.”
“Boundaries!” Sveta snorted. “Did she teach you this psychological nonsense? Boundaries, personal space… and what about family values? What about blood ties?”
“Family values aren’t when one person keeps giving and the others only take,” Anton surprised himself with the steadiness in his voice. “Sveta, I love you. You’re my sister. But Lena and I are spending this New Year alone. I’m sorry.”
He could hear her breathing—heavy, jagged—into the phone.
“You know what, Anton?” she finally spat. “To hell with you and your dacha. We have other places to go. And don’t expect things to be the way they were after this. You crossed a line.”
“If the line is ‘I’m not allowed to have a personal life,’ then I’m glad I crossed it,” he replied—and ended the call. The phone slipped from his hand. Anton sat on the couch, a strange mix of terror and relief flooding through him. He’d done it. For the first time in his life, he’d told his sister no. For the first time, he’d put Lena first without checking what his mother and sister would think.
Five minutes later a message arrived from his mother: “Sveta told me everything. I’m very disappointed in you. I didn’t expect such coldness from my son.”
He didn’t reply. He set the phone on the table and went to the window. Snow was falling outside—large flakes drifting slowly down onto the sleeping city. Somewhere out there, forty kilometers away, stood their house. Warm, cozy, waiting for them.
The door opened. Anton turned and saw Lena. She stood in the doorway with red-rimmed eyes, biting her lip.
“I heard,” she admitted softly. “I heard you shouting.”
“I called her,” he said simply. “I told them they’re not coming.”
Lena took a few steps toward him, stopped—and then suddenly rushed forward and hugged him so tightly he felt her trembling.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered into his chest. “I’m sorry I forced you to choose like that. I know how hard it is for you to go against your family…”
“You are my family,” Anton said, stroking her hair. “The most important one. And I should have proved it a long time ago. A long time ago.”
They stood like that, holding each other, while the snow kept falling outside. The phone chimed with new messages—Sveta was probably firing off something vicious, and his mother was likely writing long reproaches. Anton didn’t even glance at it.
“Are we really going to spend New Year’s just the two of us?” Lena asked, lifting her tear-streaked face.
“We are,” he kissed her forehead. “You, me, the fire, and the snow. Just like you dreamed.”
“This will be a scandal for years, you know.”
“Let it.” He smiled faintly. “At least we’ll finally rest. Together. In our home.”
Lena smiled through her tears and hugged him tighter.
Two days later they stood on the veranda of their dacha, wrapped in blankets, looking up at a sky full of stars. Five minutes remained until midnight. Inside, the fireplace crackled; champagne flutes waited on the table; a chicken was finishing in the oven. The air smelled of pine from the tree they’d decorated the day before, mandarins, and candles.
“Happy?” Anton asked, slipping an arm around her shoulders.
“More than I can put into words,” she said, leaning into him. “You know, I keep thinking… if you hadn’t called Sveta, if they’d shown up…”
“They didn’t,” he said quietly. “And they won’t. This is our place. Ours.”
In the distance the New Year’s chimes began to ring. Lena turned to him, and in the light spilling from the windows he saw her face—bright and truly happy.
“Happy New Year, my love.”
“Happy New Year, sunshine.”
They clinked glasses and drank champagne right there in the freezing air under the stars. Then they went back inside, where it was warm and safe—where the crackle of the fire replaced the whole world, and there was no one but the two of them.
And it was the best New Year’s of their lives.
