20/09/2025
“I signed the apartment over to my daughter! She’ll take care of me now,” the mother-in-law had announced with finality. And so, it seemed, her daughter could now take full responsibility.
Andrey was calmly spreading butter on a slice of bread when the silence shattered. The phone rang. On the display: “Mom.” His chest tightened with a familiar weight.
“Andryusha,” came his mother’s voice—soft, plaintive, laced with that tone he’d long grown to fear. A whisper before the storm. “My joints hurt terribly. I can’t manage the cleaning anymore. Come by tomorrow with Lena—she can scrub the bathroom, and you can mop the floors.”
Across from him, Lena arched an eyebrow, her coffee cup paused mid-air. Their two-year-old, Maxim, gleefully smeared porridge across the table, laughing with wide-eyed mischief.
“What about Katya?” Andrey set down the butter knife slowly. “She was supposed to start helping you, remember? You said that."
Silence dropped, sharp and heavy. Through the phone, only the tick of an old clock echoed from his mother’s lonely apartment.
“What are you talking about?” His mother’s voice was hurt, confused. “Katyusha lives far away. She has her own life now. But you… you’re the son, you should—”
“Mom,” Andrey caught Lena’s glance, “I need to think about it. I’ll call you back.”
He ended the call.
Lena busied herself clearing the table. Maxim giggled, oblivious to the storm that had just passed through the kitchen.
After the call, Andrey sat there, still. The tea in his cup had gone cold, but he kept holding it, idly twisting it in his hands. Beyond the wall, Lena tucked Maxim in. The silence stretched.
He remembered the stark hospital room. The day his father’s voice had become a breath.
“Take care of Mom… and Katya…” the words barely louder than breath, lips barely moving. Andrey had nodded—no space or time to argue.
At first, he truly tried.
Every weekend, he was at his mother’s. Fixing leaky faucets, restocking groceries, driving her to the dacha. Katya had just ended a relationship. She was broke and constantly asking for help. He sent her fifteen thousand without question.
But each time he visited, his mother didn’t greet him with gratitude—just complaints.
“Well, finally. The bathroom tile’s hanging on by sheer will. Why so long between visits?” She’d always add, “Katya called yesterday. Crying. She needs money. Svetlana’s son checks on her every day. And my own son? Only Sundays. When it suits him.”
Lena had gone along, polite and well-meaning. She cleaned, did the dishes, wiped down dust. But the mother was never pleased.
“You missed spots on the mirror. That floor’s still filthy. Katya would’ve done it properly.”
After enough visits, Lena stopped coming. “From now on, you go alone,” she said. And Andrey didn’t argue.
Then came the blow no one saw coming.
The grandmother’s apartment—a spacious three-room on Molodyozhnaya—had always been spoken of as family property. “I’ll split it evenly,” his mother had assured. Until silence swallowed their hopes.
Suddenly, everything was signed over to Katya.
“She’s nearby. She promised to care for me,” the mother muttered, unable to meet Andrey’s eyes. He said nothing. Just left. Everything inside him twisted into a knot, but he wasn’t about to fight anymore. At home, he gave Lena a quiet nod. No words were needed—she understood.
Now he sat in that same kitchen, fingers wrapped around the same cup, haunted by the question: when did “help” become “carry it all alone”? When did a son become a servant? When did “obligation” stop deserving even a “thank you”?
That night, he rocked Maxim to sleep in the nursery. Thoughts coiled around the same truth: no matter how much you give—it’s never enough. Not fast enough, not the right way. Always missing, always wrong.
Maxim snuggled against him, breathing softly. Andrey brushed his son’s back, imagining a future—his boy, grown, a family of his own. Would Andrey expect him to make the same sacrifices? Would he judge his daughter-in-law, compare, guilt-trip with ailments and blame?
“Never,” he whispered.
In the kitchen, Lena washed the dinner dishes. She never mentioned the last cruel word his mother had thrown her way—“useless”—and after that, never asked about future visits. They both played along as if it hadn’t happened.
Andrey emerged, son in arms. “Lena,” he said calmly, “I’m not rushing over whenever my mom calls anymore.”
She turned, startled. He continued.
“I’m tired. Always feeling guilty. Always proving something—to her, to Katya, to myself. The apartment’s Katya’s now? Fine. Let her return the favor. I’ve done my part. That’s enough. No more.”
There was no anger in his voice. Just truth.
“I want a normal life. For us. For Maxim. No more fights, no more pressure. I won’t let him grow up in all that.”
Lena shut the water off and walked over. She hugged them both, held on. No words—just warmth.
“That’s it,” Andrey murmured. “It ends now. We live for our family.”
Maxim stirred, and his father held him tighter. Peace settled into their home.
Two weeks passed. No calls, no messages. For a moment, Andrey believed his mother had changed. Or at least realized the old ways wouldn’t work anymore.
Saturday morning unfolded quietly. Maxim built towers from blocks. Andrey helped, patiently stacking.
Then the phone buzzed. “Mom”—lit up again.
Andrey glanced at the screen, exhaled heavily, and answered.
“Hello?”
“Andryush!” Her voice was too cheerful, like nothing had happened. “The house is a disaster. Come with Lena, help clean. I just can’t anymore.”
Andrey didn’t stop stacking blocks.
“Mom, you made your choice. The apartment’s Katya’s. Let her help now.”
A beat. Offended confusion crackled through.
“What Katya? She’s in Yekaterinburg! Pregnant, and with terrible nausea. She had to rent out the place and move in with her in-laws. She can’t deal with any of this right now.”
With a happy shriek, Maxim smashed the tower to bits. Blocks flew.
“Well,” Andrey said calmly, “then maybe she can hire a cleaning service with the rent money. They’ll handle it in a couple of hours.”
“What?” Her tone turned sharp instantly. “I’m supposed to let strangers dig through my things?! Are you out of your mind? No decency at all! My hands, my legs—everything aches! And you—you’ve abandoned me like I’m nothing!”
To be continued in the comments below 👇
