— Mom, hi. I need your help urgently.
Her son’s voice on the line sounded as if he were speaking to an annoying subordinate, not to his mother.
Nina Petrovna froze with the remote in her hand, never having turned on the evening news.
— Kiryusha, hello. Did something happen?
— No, everything’s fine, — Kirill exhaled impatiently. — It’s just that Katya and I grabbed a last-minute hot deal. Our flight is tomorrow morning.
And there’s no one to leave Duke with. Will you take him?
Duke. A huge, drooling Great Dane who took up more space in her small two-room apartment than the old sideboard did.
— For how long? — Nina asked cautiously, already knowing the answer.
— Well, for a week. Maybe two. Depends. Mom, who else but you? Putting him in a dog hotel is cruelty. You know how sensitive he is.
Nina Petrovna looked at her sofa, newly reupholstered in light fabric. She had saved up for it for half a year, denying herself little things. Duke would destroy it in a couple of days.
— Kirill, I… it’s not very convenient for me. I just finished renovations.
— Mom, what renovations? — open irritation slipped into his voice. — You pasted new wallpaper?
Besides, Duke is well-behaved. Just don’t forget to walk him. Okay, Katya’s calling—need to pack. We’ll drop him off in an hour.
Short beeps.
He didn’t even ask how she was doing. He hadn’t congratulated her on her birthday last week. Sixty-five.
She’d waited for his call all day, made her signature salad, put on a new dress. The kids had promised to stop by, but never came.
Kirill had sent a short text: “Ma, happy bday! Drowning at work.” Olya hadn’t written anything at all.
And today: “Urgently need help.”
Nina Petrovna slowly sank onto the sofa. It wasn’t about the dog or the ruined upholstery.
It was about that humiliating feeling of being a function. She was a free boarding service, an emergency hotline, a last resort. A function-person.
She remembered how many years ago, when the children were small, she’d dreamed they would grow up and become independent.
And now she understood that the scariest thing wasn’t loneliness in an empty apartment. The scariest thing was waiting with a sinking heart for a call, knowing you were needed only when someone wanted something from you.
Begging for their attention, bargaining for it at the price of your own comfort and self-respect.
An hour later the doorbell rang. Kirill stood on the threshold holding the leash of an enormous dog. Duke joyfully lunged inside, leaving dirty tracks on the clean floor.
— Mom, here’s his food, here are his toys. Walk him three times a day, you remember. That’s it, we’re running or we’ll miss the plane! — he shoved the leash into her hands and, pecking her on the cheek in passing, disappeared out the door.
Nina Petrovna remained standing in the middle of the entryway. Duke was already businesslike, sniffing the legs of an armchair.
From deeper in the apartment came the sound of fabric tearing.
She looked at her phone. Maybe she should call her daughter? Olechka—maybe she’d understand? But her finger froze over the screen.
Olya hadn’t called in a month. Probably busy too. She had her own life, her own family.
And at that moment Nina Petrovna, for the first time, didn’t feel her usual hurt. Instead something else came—cold, clear, and very sober understanding.
Enough.
Morning began with Duke deciding to show affection: he jumped onto the bed and left two dirty paw prints, the size of saucers, on the snow-white duvet cover.
The new sofa in the living room had already been torn in three places, and her favorite ficus—she’d been growing it for five years—lay on the floor with chewed leaves.
Nina Petrovna poured herself valerian straight from the bottle and dialed her son. He didn’t pick up right away.
In the background she could hear the roar of waves and Katya’s laughter.
— Mom, what? Everything’s great here, the sea is amazing!
— Kirill, about the dog. He’s wrecking the apartment. He tore the sofa—I can’t handle him.
— What do you mean? — her son sounded genuinely surprised. — He’s never torn anything. Maybe you’re locking him up? He needs freedom. Mom, don’t start, okay? We just arrived—we want to rest. Just walk him longer and he’ll calm down.
— I walked him for two hours this morning! He pulls the leash so hard I almost fell. Kirill, please come get him. Find another sitter.
There was a pause on the line. Then Kirill’s voice went hard.
— Mom, are you serious? We’re on the other side of the world. How am I supposed to come get him? You agreed yourself. Or do you want us to drop everything and fly back because of your whims? That’s selfish, Mom.
The word “selfish” landed like a slap. She, who had lived her whole life for them—selfish.
— I’m not being difficult, I—
— That’s it, Mom. Katya brought cocktails. Entertain Duke over there. I’m sure you’ll become friends. Kisses.
And again, beeps.
Nina Petrovna’s hands were shaking. She sat down on a kitchen chair, away from the destruction. The helplessness felt almost physical. She decided to call Olya. Her daughter had always been more levelheaded.
— Ol, hi.
— Hi, Mom. Is it urgent? I’m in a meeting.
— Yes, urgent. Kirill left me his dog and flew off. This dog is out of control. He’s ruining the furniture, and I’m afraid he’ll bite me next.
Olya sighed heavily.
— Mom, Kirill asked you. That means it was really necessary. Is it that hard to help your own brother? We’re family. So he tore the sofa—buy a new one. Kirill will pay you back later. Probably.
— Olya, it’s not about the sofa! It’s about the attitude! He just put me in front of a done deal!
— And how was he supposed to do it? Beg on his knees? Mom, stop it. You’re retired—you have tons of free time. Spend time with the dog, what’s the big deal? I have to go—my boss is watching.
The conversation was over.
Nina Petrovna set the phone down on the table.
Family. What a strange word.
In her case it meant a group of people who remembered you only when they needed something—and accused you of selfishness if you couldn’t or didn’t want to immediately fulfill their demand.
That evening the downstairs neighbor rang the bell, furious as a fury.
— Nina! Your dog has been howling for three hours straight! My child can’t sleep! If you don’t quiet him down, I’ll call the police!
Duke, standing behind Nina, barked happily, confirming the neighbor’s words.
Nina Petrovna closed the door. She looked at the dog, tail wagging, waiting for praise.
Then at the torn sofa. At her phone. Inside her, a dull, heavy irritation was growing.
She had always tried to solve everything nicely. Persuade, explain, be understanding.
But her logic, her feelings, her arguments—no one needed them. They shattered against a wall of condescending indifference.
She took the leash.
— Come on, Duke. Let’s go for a walk.
She led the dog down the park alley, feeling the tension in her shoulders turn into a dull, aching pain.
Duke strained forward, nearly yanking the leash from her weakened hands. Each jerk echoed in her soul with her son’s and daughter’s words: “selfish,” “tons of free time,” “is it hard to help?”
Walking toward her with a light, almost dancing gait was Zinaida, her former colleague. A bright scarf, a trendy haircut, laughing eyes.
— Ninochka, hi! I didn’t even recognize you at first—so busy! Watching your grandkid again? — she nodded at Duke.
— It’s my son’s dog, — Nina replied dully.
— Ah, got it! — Zina laughed carefree. — You’re our eternal lifesaver. And I’m flying to Spain in a week, can you imagine? Signed up for flamenco!
At my age! Going with the girls from my class. My husband grumbled at first, then said, “Go—have fun, you’ve earned it.” When was the last time you rested?
The question hung in the air. Nina couldn’t remember. Rest had always meant the dacha, grandkids, helping the children.
— You look tired, — Zinaida said with sincere sympathy. — You can’t carry everything on yourself like this.
They’re adults—let them handle their own problems. Otherwise you’ll be babysitting their dogs while life passes you by. Okay, I’m off—I have rehearsal!
She flitted away, leaving behind a trail of expensive perfume and a ringing emptiness.
“While life passes you by.”
That simple phrase went off like a detonator. Nina Petrovna stopped so abruptly that Duke looked at her in surprise.
She looked at the huge dog, at her hands clenched around the leash, at the gray buildings around her.
And she understood she couldn’t do it anymore. Not one more day. Not one more hour.
That’s it. Enough.
She pulled out her phone. With trembling fingers she opened a search engine: “Best dog hotel Moscow.”
The very first link led to a site with glossy photos: spacious suites, a pool, a grooming salon, individual sessions with a dog trainer. And prices that made her catch her breath.
Nina Petrovna decisively pressed the phone number.
— Hello. I’d like to book a room. Yes, for a Great Dane. For two weeks. Full board and spa treatments.
She called a taxi right to the park. In the car Duke was surprisingly calm, as if he sensed the change.
The hotel smelled not of dog, but of lavender and expensive shampoo. A sweet girl in uniform handed her the contract.
Without blinking, Nina Petrovna wrote Kirill’s name and phone number in the “Owner” field.
In the “Payer” field—his as well. She paid the deposit with money she’d been saving for a new coat. It was the best investment of her life.
— We’ll send a daily photo report to the owner’s number, — the girl smiled, taking the leash. — Don’t worry—your boy will like it here.
Back in her peaceful, though battered, apartment, Nina Petrovna felt, for the first time in many years, not loneliness but calm.
She poured herself some tea, sat down on the surviving edge of the sofa, and sent two identical messages—one to Kirill, the other to Olya.
“Duke is safe. He’s at a hotel. All questions to his owner.”
Then she turned off the sound on her phone.
Three minutes later the phone began vibrating on the table. Nina Petrovna looked at the glowing screen—“Kirill”—and took another sip of tea.
She didn’t answer. A minute later the phone vibrated again. Then a message came from Olya: “Mom, what does this mean? Call me immediately!”
Nina turned the TV up louder. She knew what was happening on the other end.
Panic. Outrage. Attempts to understand how their convenient, always-available mother could do such a thing.
The real storm broke two days later. The doorbell rang insistently, almost aggressively.
Nina Petrovna walked over unhurriedly and looked through the peephole. Kirill and Olya stood there. Tanned, but angry. The vacation had obviously been hopelessly ruined.
She opened the door.
— Mom, have you lost your mind?! — Kirill shouted from the doorway. — What hotel? We got the bill—have you seen those numbers? You decided to bankrupt us over some dog?
— Hello, children, — Nina said calmly. — Come in. Just take your shoes off—I washed the floors.
That calm threw them off better than any shouting match. They entered the apartment. Kirill glanced at the shredded sofa, the overturned plant.
— That, — he jabbed a finger at the sofa. — What’s that?
— That, Kirill, is the result of your well-behaved dog staying in my apartment. I called a repairman—he assessed the damage. Here’s the bill for reupholstery and a new ficus.
She handed him a neatly printed sheet of paper.
— You’re charging me now? — Kirill choked with indignation. — You were supposed to watch him!
— I was supposed to? — For the first time in many years, Nina Petrovna looked at her son not with love, but with cold curiosity.
— I don’t owe you anything, children. And neither do you owe me. As I understand it, you didn’t come to refund my deposit for the hotel and compensate the damage?
Olya cut in, trying to smooth things over.
— Mommy, why like this? We’re family. We would’ve figured it out. Kirill got heated—who hasn’t? Why go straight to extremes?
— Extremes are when your own son calls you selfish because you don’t want your home turned into ruins.
Extremes are when your own daughter says you have “tons of free time” to serve her brother. And this, — she nodded at the bill, — is simply the consequence of your choices.
Kirill went red.
— I’m not paying for this! Not a kopeck! And not for your stupid hotel either!
— Fine, — Nina answered simply. — I expected as much. Then I’m selling the dacha.
It hit them like a punch in the gut. The dacha they’d already been making plans for: barbecues, the sauna, relaxing with friends. Their dacha. The place they came only to отдых while their mother weeded beds all summer and painted the fence.
— You don’t have the right! — Olya shouted, forgetting the peacemaking. — It’s ours too! We spent our whole childhood there!
— The documents are in my name, — Nina shrugged. — And childhood, Olenka, is over.
The money from the sale will be enough to cover the expenses, compensate me for moral damages, and maybe even go to Spain.
Zinaida says it’s wonderful there.
They stared at her like a stranger. Before them stood not their quiet, obedient mother, but a woman with a steel core they’d never suspected existed.
A woman who no longer feared their anger, their manipulation, their resentment.
For the first time in many years, an uneasy silence settled in the room—an awkward pause of realization.
They had lost.
A week later Kirill transferred the full amount to her card, down to the last kopeck. There were no apologies, no more calls.
And Nina Petrovna didn’t wait for them. She pulled her old, almost never-used suitcase down from the top shelf and called Zinaida.
— Zinochka, hi. Do you still have one more spot for flamenco
