And you still call yourself a homemaker,’” the mother-in-law sighed loudly. “When Dima was sick, everything in my place sparkled. Have you even picked up a rag once?”
“Now is not the time for cleaning, the child’s temperature is almost forty.”
“A fever is not the end of the world,” retorted Antonina Andreyevna. “Besides, you knew I was coming. You could have made an effort.”
One dull, overcast morning, Veronika woke up and immediately realized the day was off to a bad start. Her daughter Yulia had complained of feeling unwell the evening before, and now she was literally burning up. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes were shining, and she was terribly weak. The thermometer confirmed her fears: 38.9.
“Well… We’re not going to kindergarten today…” Veronika whispered, tucking the blanket around her daughter. “Lie down, sunshine. I’ll give you some fever medicine now.”
Veronika called her boss and explained everything, saying she would take sick leave to care for her child, even though she knew her boss would not be pleased. But her child was more important than anything in the world.
Her husband Dmitry, as usual, had a quick breakfast and left for work — lately he almost never lingered at home in the mornings. As always in the cold season, sales went up, which meant more work.
On his way to work, barely stepping over the office threshold, Dmitry got a call from his mother. He didn’t even look at the screen before answering; he already knew who it was.
“Good morning, Mom,” he said stiffly, settling down at his desk.
“What’s so good about it?” came the familiar heavy voice of Antonina Andreyevna. “I didn’t sleep all night. My heart was stabbing, my blood pressure was all over the place… I thought that was it, the end. And you don’t even bother to ask how I am.”
Not a single day passed without such monologues. Antonina Andreyevna had long since stopped working, but still got up at the crack of dawn out of habit — as if on purpose, to call her son as soon as he had “torn himself away from his family.”
Dmitry half listened, absent-mindedly nodding while he stared at the monitor where his work programs were opening.
“Oh… it was hard for me… very hard. So how are you there?”
“Yulia is sick today. High fever, Veronika took sick leave.”
“Really?” The woman fell silent for a second. “Well, that happens. Anyway, I’m telling you I probably need to call a doctor for myself, because my heart is hurting more and more often…”
It was as if she hadn’t even heard that her granddaughter was unwell. She went on according to her usual rehearsed script. At that moment Dmitry’s phone beeped — Veronika was calling at the same time.
“Mom, hold on a moment, Veronika is calling. Must be something urgent. I’ll call you back.”
“Of course! Your mother isn’t needed,” Antonina said sharply. “Everything is urgent for you now if it’s her.”
Dmitry didn’t argue, he just switched to the second line. Veronika was speaking quickly and anxiously:
“The temperature won’t go down. I called the doctor, but who knows when he’ll get here. They’re overwhelmed with sick people right now. They say there’s some kind of virus…”
“Okay. Don’t worry, everything will be fine. If you need anything, I’ll ask Mom and she’ll bring it,” her husband suggested.
“Well… actually, we do need something. Fever medicine…” Veronika answered hesitantly. “But I didn’t think Antonina Andreyevna would agree to that.”
“Don’t worry. She’ll agree. All right, see you later.”
When he switched back to the call with his mother, she was already breathing loudly and demonstratively into the phone.
“What terrible thing has happened over there?” she asked coldly. “The child got a bit of a runny nose and they turn it into a tragedy. I went to the hospital with you and nothing — I didn’t whine.”
“Mom,” Dmitry said wearily, “a child doesn’t choose when to get sick…”
The woman only sighed heavily, and Dmitry went on.
“Veronika needs your help.”
“Veronika has her own mother. Let her help.”
“You know Svetlana Grigoryevna works.”
“So what? I’m the one who has to be the scapegoat now?”
“No. I just want to ask you to buy some fever medicine for your granddaughter. Your help is really needed right now.”
“Fine, send me the name,” Antonina Andreyevna replied and hung up.
Veronika was wiping her daughter down with a damp cloth, trying at least to bring the fever down a little. The temperature would drop slightly and then rise again.
“Hang in there, sweetheart, the doctor will come soon,” Veronika whispered, gently squeezing the little girl’s hand.
She felt completely drained — her eyes stung from fatigue and her head buzzed with anxiety. She needed at least to make the bed and clear the breakfast dishes from the kitchen table, but Veronika couldn’t leave her daughter’s bedside for more than a couple of minutes. It seemed to her that Yulia was only getting worse.
Suddenly the doorbell rang sharply. Veronika flinched — the doctor couldn’t have come this early. But there was still hope… She carefully opened the door — on the threshold stood Antonina Andreyevna. A handbag, a coat, and a displeased expression. In her hand — a pharmacy bag.
“Here,” she said coldly, handing over the medicine. “Dima asked me to buy it.”
“Thank you,” Veronika muttered, taken aback. “Come in…”
Her mother-in-law didn’t need to be asked twice. She stepped confidently into the hallway and immediately looked around.
“Just look at yourself…” she drawled in a judgmental tone. “Is this how you plan to meet the doctor?”
Veronika glanced around, not immediately understanding what she meant.
“And what happened here in the apartment, did a tornado hit?”
The apartment really was a mess: mugs with leftover tea on the table, damp towels, toys, a thermometer, a blanket thrown on the floor. All morning Veronika hadn’t left her daughter’s side; she simply had no time for cleaning.
“I’ll… tidy up later,” Veronika mumbled, lowering her eyes.
But Antonina Andreyevna walked around the room, peeked into the kitchen, then into the living room, as if searching for proof of her own rightness.
“Some ‘homemaker’ you are,” she sighed loudly. “When Dima was sick, everything in my place sparkled. Have you even picked up a rag once?”
“Now is not the time for cleaning, the child’s temperature is almost forty,” she said calmly.
“A fever is not the end of the world,” the mother-in-law parried. “You can still straighten things up a bit. Your husband will come home — what will he think? Besides, you knew I was coming. You could have made an effort.”
Having said that, Antonina Andreyevna finally sat down at the table, shifted in her chair with a dissatisfied look and said:
“So, is anyone going to pour me some tea? I didn’t walk two stops to your place for nothing. It’s cold out there, only seven degrees.”
Veronika silently boiled water and quickly set a mug and a plate of candies in front of her. Her mother-in-law rustled the wrappers, glancing around.
“And I see you don’t even iron the curtains. Always ‘no time,’ huh?”
Veronika just took a deep breath in response.
“Just don’t argue. Let her talk and go,” she tried to convince herself.
From time to time she got up to check on her daughter and make sure everything was all right. Sometimes people called from work to clarify details about her tasks. Antonina Andreyevna watched this with an ever more irritated expression.
The third time Veronika stood up from the table, her mother-in-law suddenly grabbed her by the arm. Her fingers dug into Veronika’s skin, her gaze turned cold and commanding.
“Sit down already.”
“But I have to see how Yulia is,” Veronika said quietly, trying to pull away.
“I said sit!” barked Antonina in a tone that brooked no objection. “How long are you going to run back and forth? You’re nervous yourself and scaring the child.”
“She has a fever, I can’t just sit here!” Veronika burst out.
“Nothing will happen to her,” the older woman snapped. “You’ve spoiled her too much. When Dima was little and got sick, he never whined.”
Veronika felt anger boiling up inside. Her chest tightened, her eyes burned, but she held herself back.
“She is my child,” she said quietly but distinctly, looking her mother-in-law straight in the eye. “And I will decide myself how to take care of her.”
Antonina Andreyevna turned pale, let go of her arm and leaned back in her chair, narrowing her eyes.
“Well, well…” she said with a faint smirk. “You’ve learned to raise your voice. Looks like living with my son hasn’t been for nothing.”
At that moment a weak cough and a soft whimper came from the bedroom. Veronika pulled her arm free without another word and hurried to her daughter.
And behind her back she heard a cold, almost hissing remark:
“No manners at all…”
Ten minutes later the doorbell rang again. Veronika hurried to open it — finally, it was the doctor. A young woman in a protective mask put on a gown and quickly stepped into the apartment, nodding:
“Where is our patient?”
“In the bedroom,” Veronika answered quietly, but before she could take a step, a displeased voice rang out from the kitchen:
“And I thought you’d at least say hello!” Antonina appeared in the doorway, holding a cup of tea. “How can you just barge in like that without even asking who opened the door?”
The doctor froze for a second, then smiled politely and introduced herself:
“I’m the duty pediatrician for your district, Anna Vladimirovna.”
“So I guessed,” the older woman replied with contempt and at once followed after her. “Only, you know, I raised two children myself, so I know perfectly well how to treat them. These days all you doctors like to prescribe antibiotics, and that’s harmful! I gave Dima raspberry compote to drink and he was up and running the next day.”
The doctor nodded, trying not to react. Doctors see all sorts of things in a day’s work.
“All right, but let me examine the child first, okay?”
“Go ahead, but it won’t do much good,” Antonina muttered, walking into the bedroom ahead of the doctor as if showing the way.
Veronika followed them, feeling her ears burn with embarrassment as her mother-in-law kept talking without pause:
“You young ones do everything by the book, by instructions, and we used to treat by experience! You don’t need to give a child pills, the body should fight on its own!”
The doctor calmly examined Yulia, listened to her breathing, looked at her throat and took her temperature.
“She has tonsillitis,” she finally said. “Her condition is moderate, but nothing dangerous. The main thing is to start treatment on time.”
“Tonsillitis? Nonsense!” the mother-in-law cut in at once. “A couple of gargles and it’ll all pass! Why are you scaring people?”
At that moment Veronika wanted to sink through the floor.
“Please,” she whispered, “the doctor knows best…”
“Oh, I know your doctors,” Antonina waved her off. “It’s always either tonsillitis or bronchitis with you.”
The doctor then looked at Veronika kindly and said gently:
“Could I talk to you for a minute and explain what needs to be done?”
They went to the kitchen. There, in a short conversation, the doctor explained what medicines to give, in what schedule, what spray to buy and how to monitor the child’s condition. Veronika wrote everything down carefully in a notebook.
“Don’t worry,” the doctor said as she was leaving. “With the right care, she’ll get better quickly. And don’t forget to make an appointment with me next week.”
Veronika thanked her and saw her out. But when she returned to the bedroom, she stopped in her tracks. Antonina was sitting by the bed and trying to make Yulia sit up, even though the girl could barely keep her eyes open.
“Come on, sweetheart, tell Grandma the poem you learned in kindergarten! Come on now!”
“I don’t want to…” Yulia croaked, her eyes filling with tears.
“What are you doing?!” Veronika cried out and rushed to the bed. “She’s sick, it’s hard for her even to speak!”
“Oh, stop babying her!” her mother-in-law snapped irritably. “A child needs attention, not just lying there doing nothing!”
Veronika gently laid Yulia back down, adjusted her pillow and pulled the blanket up.
“That’s enough, Antonina Andreyevna. Please go home now.”
“What?!” the older woman’s eyebrows shot up. “You’re throwing me out? I came here to help!”
“You’re not helping,” Veronika replied firmly. “You’re only getting in the way.”
“So that’s how it is…” drawled Antonina, standing up. “So I’m in the way now, am I? Well, well, we’ll see what Dima has to say about that.”
“Say whatever you like,” Veronika sank wearily onto a chair. “Just leave now.”
Her mother-in-law smiled maliciously, as if she’d gotten exactly what she wanted. She left, slamming the door loudly, and no sooner had she stepped onto the landing than she pulled out her phone.
“Dimochka, you can’t imagine what’s going on in your apartment,” she hissed into the receiver. “Your wife threw me out of the house! Yes, yes, right out onto the street! I came to my granddaughter with good intentions, and she… she started yelling at me! That’s your mother and wife for you…”
Meanwhile, in the apartment, Veronika sat by her daughter’s bed, listening to her quiet breathing as she slept.
Dmitry listened to his mother in silence. At first he nodded out of habit, throwing in short “uh-huh” and “I see.” He knew this script by heart: first indignation, then hurt, tears, and the final phrase — “And I only wanted what’s best.”
But this time something clicked inside him. He remembered how it had always been. How many times his mother had “accidentally” pushed Veronika into a quarrel and then called him in tears, telling him how disrespectfully she had been treated.
How many times Veronika had cried at night when Dima defended his mother instead of her. And how seven years ago, right after the wedding, Antonina had said that Veronika wasn’t good enough for him.
Back then he’d just waved it off. But he shouldn’t have — because from that moment on his mother seemed to set herself the goal of proving she was right. Now Dmitry saw it clearly. The same thing over and over: provoke, complain, take offense, make him feel guilty.
And all of it for one thing: to be at the center of her son’s attention again.
“Mom,” he said calmly, cutting her off mid-sentence. “I hear you, but I know Veronika very well. She would never be rude for no reason. Which means you most likely pushed her to it.”
There was silence on the other end.
“What are you saying?” Antonina finally exclaimed. “I’m your mother! I don’t wish you harm!”
“I know,” he answered gently. “But maybe sometimes it hurts precisely because of that. Veronika did the right thing. She was protecting our child.”
“Oh, so that’s how it is…” his mother’s voice went icy. “So now I’m the one to blame for everything? Well then… live as you like.”
And without waiting for an answer, she hung up. For the first time in many years, Dima didn’t feel his usual anxiety after such a conversation. He just exhaled and went back to work. The next day Antonina didn’t call. Nor the day after.
A week passed — still silence. And suddenly Dima realized how long it had been since he’d started his morning in peace, without irksome complaints and endless laments. The office seemed quieter, and his mind clearer. He was even getting more done, and his colleagues were surprised at how light he seemed in the mornings.
At home, Veronika gradually calmed down. Yulia was almost fully recovered, running around the apartment with a book, now and then wrapping her toy bear in a scarf and announcing:
“He has a fever, Mom! I’m going to treat him just like you!”
Dima watched them and smiled. That evening, for the first time in a long while, he came home early. He brought Yulia a pastry and a soft toy bunny, and Veronika — a bouquet of white roses.
The three of them sat together on the couch, watching cartoons, and there was a warm, peaceful quiet in the apartment — the kind they hadn’t had for a long time. And somewhere in another apartment, behind a closed door, Antonina Andreyevna sat in an armchair, clutching her phone. For a week she had been living in expectation of her son’s call — and kept hoping he would be the first to crack.
But the phone stayed silent.
And so she convinced herself that she was the one who was right. That everyone around her was ungrateful, and she alone truly knew how things should be. Only, for some reason, that didn’t make her feel any better.
While in Dmitry and Veronika’s home, it finally became truly peaceful.
