Andrey sat at the kitchen table, shuffling through the printed paperwork from the Zdravnitsa sanatorium. The evening sun slanted through the window, lighting his tired face. He knew Lena would be home any minute and the conversation wouldn’t be easy. But he hoped she would understand.
Two weeks earlier his mother had called him at work. Her voice was weak and strained—the very tone he remembered from childhood, when she would complain about her health and say that she’d soon die and leave him an orphan.
“Andryusha,” she had said on the phone, “I saw the doctor. He says I need to go to a sanatorium urgently. My heart is in terrible shape, my blood pressure keeps spiking. If I don’t go, I could have a heart attack.”
Andrey knew that tone. He knew what would come next: a long monologue about how she had worked all her life for him, how she’d saved every kopeck to give him an education, how she now lived alone in her three-room apartment on a twenty-thousand-ruble pension.
“But Mom, a sanatorium is expensive,” he tried to protest.
“What are you telling me about money?” her voice turned hard. “I raised you alone—your father left when you were three. I worked two jobs so you wouldn’t need anything. And now that I feel unwell, you’re counting pennies?”
Andrey closed his eyes. He was thirty-five, but in front of his mother he still felt like a guilty child.
“How much is the package?” he asked, already knowing he’d lost.
“Eighty thousand. But this is about health, Andryusha. Your mother still needs you, right?”
Eighty thousand. Almost his entire bonus for successfully finishing a project. The very money he and Lena had planned to use for a trip to Turkey. Lena had even put down a deposit for a package for two—she was getting a bonus too and had been so happy when she told him her plans.
“I’ll think about it, Mom,” he said.
“What’s there to think about?” her voice turned aggrieved. “I thought I’d raised a grateful son. Looks like I was wrong.”
After that call Andrey sat at his desk for a long time, staring out the window. Colleagues were heading home, congratulating each other on the project’s success. And he was thinking about how to explain to Lena that their vacation was being postponed again.
It wouldn’t be the first time. Three years ago, when they finally had money for a proper vacation, his mother “broke her leg.” In fact, she slipped at the dacha and slightly twisted her ankle, but told everyone she’d broken it. Their vacation turned into two weeks of repairing the outhouse and painting the fence.
Two years ago his mother’s “sciatica flared up,” and she couldn’t stay alone. Lena hadn’t even objected—she quietly canceled the hotel reservation and spent the vacation cooking compotes and cleaning at his mother’s house.
Last year his mother suddenly decided she urgently needed to replace the plumbing because “the old pipes could burst any day and flood the neighbors.” Andrey spent all their vacation money on a plumber and a new bathtub.
And now the sanatorium.
The apartment door banged—Lena was home. Andrey heard her set her bag down in the hall and take off her shoes. There was a special lightness in her movements—she was happy. She was probably thinking about the sea, about how they would stroll along the promenade and drink wine at sunset.
“Hi, honey!” Lena came into the kitchen, beaming. “I finished all the arrangements today. We just need to buy the insurance, and then…”
She stopped when she saw his face.
“What happened?”
Andrey handed her the sanatorium documents.
“Len, my mom called. The doctor told her she needs urgent treatment. Her heart is really bad.”
Lena took the papers and skimmed them. He watched her expression change.
“Eighty thousand?” she asked quietly.
“Yes. I know it’s a lot, but…”
“And our Turkey trip?”
“Len, we can go next year. Or we could pick something cheaper. Remember how we went to Sochi? That wasn’t bad either.”
Lena slowly sank into a chair. Andrey saw her hands trembling.
“Andrey,” she said very softly, “I’m thirty-two. The last time I had a real vacation was seven years ago. Seven years, do you understand?”
“Len, come on. We’ve gone places…”
“Where have we gone?” her voice rose. “To your mother’s dacha! To mop floors, paint fences, dig garden beds! Is that what you call a vacation?”
“That’s rest too. Fresh air…”
“Rest?” Lena stood, her eyes glittering with tears. “Do you know what I did on last year’s ‘vacation’? I sorted your mother’s potatoes! Three days sorting rotten potatoes in a damp cellar! And then I cooked compotes from the windfalls she’d gathered under the apple trees!”
Andrey tried to take her hand, but she pulled it away.
“Len, try to understand—she’s old. She’s alone. I’m all she has.”
“And you have a wife!” Lena shouted. “Or did you forget? You have a wife who also works, who also gets tired, who also dreams of taking a break sometimes!”
“Mom raised me by herself…”
“So what? Does that mean you have to feel guilty for the rest of your life? That you have to sacrifice your own family for her whims?”
“These aren’t whims! She’s sick!”
“Sick?” Lena let out a bitter laugh. “Andrey, your mother runs around her plot like a young woman, hauls sacks of potatoes, chops firewood. But the moment it comes to money—she’s suddenly on her deathbed!”
Andrey felt anger rising inside. How dare she talk about his mother like that?
“You don’t know what it’s like to be alone. Mom has been alone her whole life…”
“What about me?” Lena cut him off. “What am I— not alone? Do you know how I spent the weekend? Alone! Because you went to your mother’s to fix a faucet. And the weekend before that? Also alone— you were delivering her groceries. And the night before last? That’s right, you talked to her on the phone for three hours!”
“She called because she felt unwell…”
“She’s always unwell when you’re at home!” Lena was shouting now. “Amazing how precisely her attacks happen when we plan something together!”
Andrey stood up, his face pale.
“Are you implying she’s faking it?”
“I’m not implying— I’m saying it outright! Your mother is a manipulator. And you don’t see it because you’ve been conditioned to feel guilty since childhood!”
“Lena!”
“What— ‘Lena’? Does the truth hurt your eyes? Want me to tell you what she said to me in the kitchen last time when you ran to the store?”
Andrey kept silent, but from his face Lena saw she’d hit the mark.
“She said I’ve spoiled you. That you used to come to her every weekend, and now it’s less often. That I’m a bad influence and turning you against your own mother.”
“She’s worried…”
“She’s jealous!” Lena cried. “She can’t accept that you’re a grown man with your own family! To her you’ll always be a little boy who has to obey!”
Andrey turned to the window. His chest tightened. He didn’t want to choose between his mother and his wife. Why couldn’t women understand there were things more important than money?
“Mom raised me alone,” he repeated stubbornly. “She sacrificed a lot for me.”
“And now you have to sacrifice everything for her? What about our family? What about our plans?”
“We’re still young, we’ll have time…”
Lena suddenly went quiet. When Andrey turned, he saw she was crying. But these weren’t ordinary tears—there was a terrible resolve in them.
“You know what?” she said, wiping her face. “I’m thirty-two. And I’m tired of waiting. Tired of being second to your precious mommy. Tired of spending every vacation on garden beds.”
“Len, come on, don’t…”
“What?! You used your bonus to buy your mother a package? Then go vacation at her dacha! You won’t be going on vacation at my expense anymore!”
Her words sounded like a sentence. Lena turned and walked out of the kitchen. Andrey heard her moving around the bedroom, taking things out of the closet.
He followed her. Lena was packing a suitcase.
“What are you doing?”
“Getting ready. I’m flying to Turkey.”
“How? What about the money for two?”
“I’ll get a better room. With my own money. Alone.”
“Len, wait. We can pick something simpler. Sochi, for example. Or Crimea. There’s a sea there too, and it’s much cheaper.”
Lena stopped, a summer dress in her hands.
“Sochi?” she repeated. “The same hotel we stayed at three years ago? Where the roof leaked and there was no hot water in the shower?”
“Not everywhere is like that…”
“Andrey, I work ten hours a day. I handle hard negotiations, solve problems, live under stress. All I dream about is a week of normal rest. Not at your mother’s dacha with a shovel in my hands, but somewhere they bring me cocktails and I can just lie by the pool.”
“But Mom…”
“Your mom is healthier than both of us!” Lena exploded. “Last month she herself hauled sacks of fertilizer around the garden. And the month before— she dug the beds. But to you she immediately turns into a feeble old lady!”
“You’re being unfair to her.”
“Unfair? Is she fair to me? When was the last time she asked how I’m doing? When did she show interest in my work, my plans? To her I’m just an obstacle between you and her!”
Andrey sat on the bed. It felt like the world was collapsing. On one side—his mother, who had indeed devoted her life to him. On the other—his wife, whom he loved and who was right about many things.
“Len, let’s talk calmly. Maybe we can find a compromise.”
“Compromise?” Lena turned to him. “We’ve been looking for compromises for seven years. And every time that compromise means your mother gets everything she wants, and I make do with the scraps.”
“That’s not fair…”
“Not fair? Want numbers? Last year you gave her fifteen thousand for medicine, even though she has benefits. Twenty thousand for repairs at the dacha. Thirty thousand—remember, she ‘urgently’ wanted a new fridge. And every month you give her five thousand ‘for living expenses.’”
Andrey was silent. He’d never kept track of that money. To him it was natural—helping his mother.
“And do you know how much we spent on ourselves last year?” Lena went on. “On a vacation, on entertainment, just to treat ourselves? Zero. Because everything either went to your mother or to utilities.”
“We’re not struggling…”
“We’re scraping by!” Lena shouted. “We work like horses and scrape by! And your mother lives better than we do! She has a bigger apartment than ours, she has a dacha, she has new appliances—because we buy them for her!”
“She’s a pensioner…”
“Who gets income from renting out two rooms in her apartment!” Lena pulled out her phone. “You think I don’t know? You think I’m blind? I saw the ads online!”
Andrey froze. He really didn’t know his mother was renting out rooms.
“She didn’t tell me…”
“Because then it would be harder to ask you for money! Andrey, wake up! You’re supporting a woman who makes more than you!”
He felt the ground slip from under his feet. Could his mother really be deceiving him?
“Maybe she has her reasons…”
“She does—greed and the desire to control you!” Lena sat down next to him and took his hands. “Andrey, I’m not asking you to abandon your mother. I’m asking you to start living your own life. We’re a family—you and I should have our own plans, our own dreams.”
“But if she really feels unwell…”
“Then let her go to the sanatorium with her own money! Or at least chip in! Why should she go to the most expensive one at your expense?”
Andrey said nothing. Deep down he understood Lena was right. But saying no to his mother was beyond him.
“I’ve already agreed,” he said at last.
Lena let go of his hands.
“I see.”
She stood and kept packing the suitcase. Andrey watched her neatly fold swimsuits, summer dresses, sunscreen.
“Len, wait. Let’s talk it through once more. Maybe Mom will agree to a cheaper sanatorium…”
“Andrey,” Lena didn’t look up, “I’m tired of talking. I’m tired of being understanding. I’m tired of sacrificing my own wishes for a woman who doesn’t even bother to hide that she sees me as an obstacle.”
“She doesn’t see you as an obstacle…”
“No? Then why does she start complaining about her health every time I come over? Why does she always find some urgent chore specifically on the weekends when we plan to spend time together?”
Andrey wanted to object, but he remembered the last few months. It really did seem as if his mother sensed when they had plans, and something would immediately “happen.”
“Maybe it’s a coincidence…”
“Seven years of coincidences?” Lena snapped the suitcase shut. “Andrey, I love you. But I can’t keep living as a rival to your mother for your attention.”
She headed for the door, dragging the suitcase.
“Where are you going?”
“I’ll stay with a friend. Then to the airport.”
“Lena, wait!”
She stopped on the threshold.
“Do you know what hurts the most?” she said without turning around. “You didn’t even try to find a compromise. You chose her right away. As always.”
“That’s not true…”
“It is. And next time it’ll be the same. And in a year, and in ten years. Because you don’t know how to tell her ‘no.’”
The door slammed. Andrey was left alone in the apartment, which suddenly seemed huge and empty.
He sat on the bed for a long time, looking at the things scattered on the floor—the ones Lena hadn’t taken. His shirts and her dresses still hung side by side in the closet, like a symbol of the life that could have been but was no longer.
The phone rang. Mom.
“Andryusha, thank you so much. I’ve already arranged everything, I’m going tomorrow. You’re such a good son.”
“Mom, are you really renting out rooms?”
Silence. Then cautiously:
“Who told you that?”
“Lena saw the ad.”
“Ah, Lena…” there was steel in his mother’s voice. “Andryusha, it’s not much money. The utilities are high, groceries have gotten expensive…”
“Mom, why didn’t you tell me?”
“Why upset you? You already work so much…”
Andrey closed his eyes. Lena had been right. His mother really had deceived him.
“Mom, maybe you could pay toward the sanatorium? At least half?”
“Andryusha!” her voice turned hurt. “I thought a son would be glad to help his mother! What kind of talk about money is this?”
“Mom, it’s just that we had plans too…”
“Your plans are more important than your mother’s health? Fine, fine. Then I won’t go anywhere. I’ll stay home and die. I don’t want to be a burden…”
And that tone again. The tone of the aggrieved martyr, to which he had been helpless since childhood.
“Mom, that’s not what I meant…”
“No, no, I understand. Lena has turned you against me. She wants me to die so you’ll belong only to her.”
“Mom, stop it!”
“All right, son. I won’t bother you anymore. I’ll cancel the package and sit at home. Maybe I’ll live till autumn…”
The phone hung in his hand. Andrey understood that his mother was using the same tricks she had twenty years ago. Knowing it didn’t make them any less effective.
He called Lena.
“What?” Her voice was cold.
“Len, let’s talk again…”
“There’s nothing to talk about. You made your choice.”
“I tried to explain things to Mom…”
“And what did she say?”
Andrey was silent.
“Thought so,” Lena said. “Listen, I’ll come by tomorrow to pick up the rest of my things.”
“You… you’re leaving?”
“I don’t know yet. I’ll go on vacation and think.”
“Lena, don’t make hasty decisions…”
“Andrey, I need time. To think about what I want from life. About whether I’m ready to spend another thirty years sharing you with your mother.”
“We can work it out…”
“We can. If you finally decide who matters more—your mother or your wife.”
“That’s an unfair choice…”
“That’s life,” Lena said, and hung up.
Andrey spent a sleepless night, tormented by doubts. By morning he’d made a decision. He called his mother and said he couldn’t pay for the package in full—she should cover half from her own money.
“So she did turn you against me,” his mother said coldly. “Well then, I understand. I’ll manage without the sanatorium.”
“Mom, I’m willing to pay half…”
“I don’t need your handouts. Clearly a stranger is dearer to you than your own mother.”
She hung up. Andrey understood there would now be days of offended silence, then tears, then stories to everyone about her ungrateful son.
But for the first time in his life, he had told his mother “no.” It was frightening and liberating at the same time.
He called Lena.
“Len, I refused to pay for my mom’s trip.”
“Seriously?”
“Seriously. I told her I can only cover half.”
Silence.
“And what did she say?”
“She took offense. Said she’ll manage without the sanatorium.”
“Andrey…” Lena’s voice softened. “You realize she’ll put even more pressure on you now?”
“I do.”
“And what will you do?”
“I don’t know,” he admitted honestly. “For the first time in my life, I don’t know.”
“Listen,” Lena paused, “how about we still go somewhere together. We’ll pick something mid-range. Not a fancy hotel, but not a Soviet-style sanatorium either.”
It felt to Andrey as if the sun had risen again.
“Really?”
“Really. But on one condition.”
“What condition?”
“Your mother mustn’t know where we’re going or when we’ll be back. And if something happens to her while we’re on vacation—that is not a reason to fly home.”
Andrey thought. He had never hidden his plans from his mother.
“Okay,” he said at last.
