Yana ran her finger over her smartphone screen, scrolling through photos of resort hotels. Sea breeze, white-sand beaches, cocktails by the pool—that was what she dreamed of after a hard year in the office. Accounting reports and tax returns had long turned life into a gray routine, and only thoughts of vacation helped her hold on until summer.
“Igor, look at this hotel!” she called to her husband, showing him the screen. “All-inclusive, spa, entertainment. We could book it today.”
Igor tore himself away from the TV and reluctantly glanced at the offer.
“Too expensive,” he shook his head. “And why do we need those hotels? Let’s go to Mom’s in the village instead. Real quiet there, clean air, ripe berries. Nature heals better than any treatment.”
Yana felt a knot of disappointment tighten inside her. The village instead of the sea, a vegetable patch instead of a beach—definitely not what she had been dreaming of for months.
“I want a real rest, Igor. To lie down, sleep, do nothing.”
“Can’t you rest in the village?” her husband was surprised. “Fresh air, the banya, fishing. Mom’s there by herself, she needs help. It’s just a week, and think how useful it’ll be!”
Yana tried to object, but Igor was already set.
“Yana, Mom’s getting older. It’s hard for her to run the place alone. We ought to support her, help out. And the sea isn’t going anywhere—we’ll go next year.”
It was hard to argue with that. Yana gave in, though her heart resisted the decision. Maybe she really would manage to relax a little in nature, she thought. In the end, a week would fly by.
A few days later the couple were on a train heading deep into the countryside. Fields and groves flickered past the window, and Yana still hoped a village vacation wouldn’t be such a bad option.
Galina Stepanovna met her son and daughter-in-law at the station. A sturdy sixty-year-old woman, she looked younger than her age—sun-browned face, strong hands, lively eyes.
“At last you’re here!” Igor’s mother hugged them. “I was beginning to think you’d changed your mind.”
“How are things, Mom?” Igor kissed her on the cheek.
“Same as always. The place won’t run itself. Weeds have taken over the garden, the banya hasn’t been fired up for three days, the potatoes need hilling.”
Listening to the list of chores, Yana realized their “vacation” was turning into a work trip. Still, she tried to stay positive—maybe physical labor would do her good after sitting at a desk.
Galina’s house stood on the edge of the village. An old but solid building with a large vegetable garden, a banya (bathhouse), a shed for livestock, and a chicken coop. The place demanded constant attention, and Igor’s mother was used to managing it on her own.
“Get yourselves settled,” Galina showed them to a room. “Tomorrow morning we’ll get to work. There’s more to do than we could finish.”
The first evening passed quietly. They had fresh, still-warm milk with homemade bread for dinner, Galina shared village news, and Yana finally began to relax. Maybe it wouldn’t be as bad as she’d imagined.
But at six in the morning, her mother-in-law knocked on the door.
“Yanochka, up you get! Daylight’s wasting and there’s a mountain of work.”
Yana could barely open her eyes. Igor was still sleeping soundly, his head under the blanket.
“Come on now, daughter-in-law,” Galina persisted. “We need to heat the banya, wash the floors, cook soup. Let Igor sleep in—men are supposed to rest after a trip.”
Yana got up, feeling wrecked after an uncomfortable bed and the stuffiness of the small room. Before she was even fully awake, she was already standing in the banya with a bucket and a rag.
“Scrub it well,” her mother-in-law instructed. “Young people nowadays are used to doing everything any old way, just to get it over with.”
While Yana scoured the floors in the banya, Igor kept sleeping. Later he unhurriedly drank coffee, scrolled on his phone, and went fishing with the local men.
“I won’t be long,” he told his wife. “You can manage here.”
“Help me?” Yana asked, surprised.
“It’s mostly women’s work. Mom will explain how everything’s done.”
And he left, abandoning his wife to his mother and the endless to-do list. By lunchtime Yana had already washed the floors in the house, weeded the carrot beds, peeled a bucket of potatoes, and cooked a big pot of borscht.
“Not bad,” Galina approved after tasting the soup. “Just needs more salt, and you didn’t sauté the onions enough. But never mind, you’ll learn.”
After lunch came the second shift of chores: watering the garden, cleaning the chicken coop, washing laundry outside in a tub. Yana’s back ached and her hands blistered from the unfamiliar work.
“When I was young I put up with a lot more than this,” her mother-in-law said, watching her. “Haymaking from morning till night, then run home—feed the stock, cook for the kids. You city folk get tired from any little thing.”
Yana tried not to react to the barbs, but each remark frayed her nerves. She’d come to rest and had turned into free labor.
In the evening Igor returned—happy, sun-kissed, and with a good catch.
“How’s it going?” he asked, settling on the bench with a mug of tea.
“Fine,” Yana answered curtly, still weeding a bed.
“Good, then. Mom says you’re doing great.”
He didn’t even offer to help. He sat there sipping tea with jam and telling fishing stories while his wife battled weeds in the fading light.
Three days went by like that. Every morning began at six, every day was filled with work, and every evening Yana collapsed, dreaming only of leaving as soon as possible.
“I got married, not hired on to slave in a village!” she exploded on the fourth day.
Igor looked up from his phone, surprised.
“What are you talking about? Mom’s just asking for help.”
“Your mom bosses me around from morning till night! And you spend all your time off fishing.”
“I’m resting. And women are better at household stuff.”
“Then let your mother find help elsewhere,” Yana burst out. “I came to rest, not to drudge!”
Galina heard the raised voices and came out, displeased.
“What’s all this shouting?” she asked sternly. “The neighbors will hear.”
“Galina Stepanovna, I’m exhausted,” Yana tried to explain. “Four days without a break…”
“Exhausted?” her mother-in-law smirked. “At your age I was raising three kids and running the house. And you’re whining after a week’s work?”
“This isn’t a vacation—it’s agricultural labor!”
“Who’s forcing you?” Galina took offense. “If you don’t like it, pack up and go back to your city. Igor should stay—my son is better off here.”
Her husband was silent, looking from his wife to his mother. He clearly didn’t want to choose between them.
On the fifth day Igor announced he was going on an overnight fishing trip.
“The guys invited me; it’d be awkward to refuse,” he explained. “You’ll manage here, Yana. Mom will help if anything.”
“How am I supposed to ‘manage’?” Yana protested. “You’re leaving me here alone?”
“Just for a day. I’ll get a good rest.”
And he left without waiting for an answer. Yana was left alone with Galina, who immediately drew up the day’s plan.
“Since there are no men, we’ll have to handle it together,” her mother-in-law said briskly. “We need to hill the potatoes, rewash the laundry, and get the banya in order.”
The day turned into a real nightmare. Yana worked without stopping, and Galina kept issuing instructions and criticism.
“Loosen the soil deeper or it won’t do any good.”
“You’re not rinsing the laundry properly; there’s still soap in it.”
“You didn’t sweep the corners well—dust everywhere.”
By evening Yana could barely stand. Her back throbbed, her hands burned from work, and mosquitoes had bitten any exposed skin. The “nature” Igor had promised had turned into sheer torment.
She made it to her room and fell on the bed without undressing. She wanted only one thing—to sink into sleep and not think at all. But an hour hadn’t passed before Galina appeared in the doorway.
“Yanochka, and who’s going to milk the goats?”
Yana slowly turned her head toward her mother-in-law. The weariness and irritation were gone from her eyes—only the cold calm of someone who had made a final decision remained.
She got up from the bed and silently walked to the corner where her suitcase stood. Her hands no longer trembled from fatigue—now the trembling came from inner resolve, and nothing could shake it.
“What are you doing?” Galina asked, astonished, watching her daughter-in-law start to pack.
Yana didn’t answer. Methodically, she put dresses, underwear, and her makeup bag into the suitcase. Each movement was precise and deliberate.
“What on earth are you doing?” the older woman raised her voice. “Where are you going? You promised to help with the place.”
“I did help,” Yana said shortly, continuing to pack.
“What do you mean, helped? There’s a week of work left! The potatoes aren’t all hilled, the cucumbers aren’t pickled, and we haven’t done a deep clean.”
Yana snapped the suitcase shut and turned to her.
“Galina Stepanovna, I got married, not hired on to break my back in the village. Find yourself another helper.”
“What?” the mother-in-law flared. “You got married and now you wear a crown? You think being a wife is all rights and no responsibilities?”
“My responsibility is to be a good wife to my husband. Not free labor for his mother.”
“How dare you!” Galina burst out. “Igor is such a smart boy, and he ended up with… You’ve gotten too big for your boots!”
Yana picked up the suitcase and headed for the door. Her mother-in-law blocked the way.
“Stop! You’re not going anywhere! What will people say—that the daughter-in-law came and ran off after five days?”
“Let them talk,” Yana replied coolly. “I don’t care.”
“And what will Igor say? My son will never forgive me if you leave because of me.”
“Then perhaps you should have thought of that earlier.”
Yana stepped around her and left the house. Dusk was falling, but she wanted only one thing—to get as far from this place as possible.
She took out her phone and called a taxi to the station. The driver promised to arrive in half an hour.
Galina ran out onto the porch.
“Yana, don’t be foolish! Think—you’ll destroy the family over some vegetable beds!”
“Not over the vegetable beds,” Yana answered calmly. “Over the lack of respect.”
“What lack of respect? I talk to you like a daughter!”
“People don’t talk to their daughters like that. And they don’t exploit them.”
The taxi arrived. Yana got into the car without looking back at her mother-in-law, who still stood on the porch with an indignant expression.
On the way to the city, Igor kept calling. Yana declined all the calls, unwilling to explain anything. Let him sort it out with his mother and her demands himself.
Only at the station did she read her husband’s messages:
“Mom called, she’s crying. What happened?”
“Did you really leave? Why didn’t you wait for me?”
“Yana, answer! What kind of childishness is this?”
She wrote back briefly: “I’m continuing my vacation. Without farm labor.”
She managed to buy a ticket for the morning bus. She had to spend the night in a hotel near the station, but even the hard bed felt like heaven after the village ordeal.
In the morning, sitting on the bus, Yana felt relief for the first time in five days. No one would order her around, demand, or criticize. She could just look out the window and think her own thoughts.
She got home by lunchtime. The apartment greeted her with quiet and cool—the air conditioner worked perfectly, unlike the village heat and mosquitoes.
The next few days Yana spent exactly as she had planned her vacation in the first place. She slept till noon, read books, strolled in the park, went to cafés. No garden beds, no goats, no lectures.
Igor returned three days later with a sour face and a set of complaints.
“You embarrassed me in front of Mom,” he declared on the threshold. “Now the whole village knows my wife ran away from our visit.”
“That wasn’t a visit; it was forced labor,” Yana replied calmly.
“Mom meant well! She wanted to show you real village life, teach you how to run a household.”
“Galina Stepanovna wanted free help. And she got a no.”
“What’s gotten into you?” Igor protested. “You weren’t like this before. Mom says the city turned you into an egoist.”
“Your mother says a lot of things. But she won’t be making decisions for me.”
“So what now, we won’t visit my parents?”
“We will visit parents. We will be guests. But we won’t be working for free in someone else’s garden.”
Her husband tried to argue, but Yana cut him off:
“Igor, if you think a wife should slave for your mother, then go live with her. I will rest where I am treated with respect.”
“You mean… live with Mom?”
“Exactly. Choose—either you’re married to me and take my interests into account, or you’re your mother’s son and do everything she says.”
Igor fell silent, apparently realizing for the first time how serious this was. Yana no longer intended to compromise at her own expense.
“Yana, it doesn’t have to be so black and white…”
“It does. And it will be.”
For several days a tense silence reigned at home. Igor called his mother, trying to smooth things over, but Galina demanded an apology from her daughter-in-law.
“Let her come and ask forgiveness, and then we’ll all live in harmony,” Igor relayed his mother’s words.
“I won’t come,” Yana answered. “And I won’t apologize. It’s Galina Stepanovna who should apologize for turning guests into workers.”
The standoff lasted two weeks. Then Igor gave in.
“Fine,” he said. “We won’t go to Mom’s anymore. And we’ll fly to the seaside like you wanted.”
“Now you’re talking,” Yana smiled.
The seaside vacation turned out exactly as she had dreamed. Sun, beach, blissful idleness. No one forced her to get up at six, no one criticized her for under-sautéed onions.
From then on, summer vacations in their family were decided differently. Either Yana went somewhere she could truly relax, or she stayed home. And Igor learned the main thing: a wife is not free help for his mother, but a person with her own needs and a right to respect.
Galina held a grudge for a long time and told the neighbors about her ungrateful daughter-in-law. But gradually she realized—times had changed, and you can’t make modern women work the old-fashioned way. She had to hire a local helper who, for pay, did the very work she had demanded from Yana for free.
And every summer, Yana fondly remembered the moment she dared to say “no” and defend her right to a real vacation.
