“Where Do You Think You’re Going?!” Arthur Blocked His Wife’s Way. “And Who’s Going to Take Care of My Mother? I Don’t Have Time.”
Nadezhda stopped in the doorway, a suitcase in her hand. Behind her was her mother-in-law’s apartment, where she had spent the last eight months—with no days off, no gratitude, and no husband by her side.
Arthur stood in front of her, blocking the exit and looking at her as though he somehow had the right to decide what she could and couldn’t do.
His affair had happened three years earlier, but Nadezhda had forgiven him then. She had forgiven him for the sake of their family, their shared past, and the hope that they might still have a future together. His mistress disappeared, her husband swore he would remain faithful, and he promised not to waste their family money anymore.
And now here he was, demanding that his wife take care of his mother while he lived separately because he was “too busy.”
“Arthur, move away from the door,” Nadezhda said calmly.
“Have you completely lost your mind?” His voice cracked. “My mother is bedridden, and you’re packing your suitcase! Do you have any conscience at all?”
“I do. But apparently you left yours somewhere in the hallway. Along with your sense of shame.”
Arthur wasn’t used to his wife answering back.
For eight months, Nadezhda had silently fed his mother, washed her, and turned her over every two hours. For eight months, he had appeared once a week for half an hour to “check on her.”
“You’ve really crossed the line!” he shouted. “I support you!”
“Support me?” Nadezhda gave a bitter smile. “You haven’t given me a single ruble in eight months. I buy the food. I buy the medicine. Diapers, absorbent pads—everything comes out of my pocket. Your idea of ‘support’ is sending me a text every three days asking, ‘How’s Mom?’”
“It’s your duty!”
“My duty is to take care of your mother? That’s an interesting interpretation of family law. Maybe you can show me the article where it says that?”
Arthur was used to always having the final word. He was used to Nadezhda nodding and doing whatever he told her.
But today, something had changed.
“She has a son,” Nadezhda continued, her voice even, almost cheerful. “She has a daughter, Kristina, in Voronezh, who comes once a year and complains about having to waste her vacation. She has a sister, Tamara, who comes here to eat everything in the refrigerator and then leaves. She has a brother, Gennady, who lives in the neighboring district and has shown up twice in an entire year. Do you know what they all have in common?”
“What?” Arthur muttered.
“They all decided that the daughter-in-law should take care of her. Me. A woman who isn’t even related to them. Meanwhile, her own children, her own sister, and her own brother are all too busy. And I’m the household staff.”
“You’re her daughter-in-law! You’re my wife!”
“Was. Here.”
Nadezhda handed him a folded sheet of paper.
Arthur automatically took it and unfolded it. The lines seemed to blur before his eyes, but the words “petition for dissolution of marriage” were perfectly clear.
“You… What are you doing?” Arthur’s voice suddenly became quiet, almost pitiful.
“I’m creating some justice, Arthur. For eight months, I lived alone in this apartment with a bedridden woman. You deliberately refused to move in because you didn’t want to help. Did you think I didn’t understand? I understood perfectly. I just kept hoping your conscience would wake up.”
“It was inconvenient for me to commute!”
“Inconvenient because it would take you fifteen minutes to get to work instead of ten? And it was convenient for me not to sleep at night? To run around with a bedpan? To wash sheets by hand because the washing machine broke and you said, ‘I don’t have time, call a repairman yourself’? You know what? I did call someone.”
Arthur stared at her, confused.
“What repairman?”
“Not a repairman. Social services. Tomorrow morning, they’re coming to take your mother to a specialized care facility. Professionals will look after her there. And you’ll pay for it. Or Kristina will. Or Tamara and Gennady. Work it out yourselves. I’m done.”
“You called social services?!” Arthur grabbed his head. “Do you even understand what you’ve done?! It’s a disgrace! Everyone will find out!”
“And the fact that your mother has been lying here for eight months without help from her own children—that isn’t disgraceful? That’s normal? I called everyone. Every single one of them. I recorded the conversations, by the way. Tamara said, ‘She’s my sister, but I’m old. It’s hard for me.’ Gennady said, ‘Let the children deal with it. I’ve done my duty.’ Kristina said, ‘I have my own life. I didn’t sign up for this.’ And you? You didn’t say anything at all. You just stopped coming.”
“I work!”
“So did I. Remotely. Between feeding her and cleaning the apartment. Do you know how much sleep I got? Four hours a day. In fragments. And what were you doing while I was living like that?”
Arthur said nothing.
“I’ll tell you what you were doing. You were living alone in our apartment. Going to restaurants—I saw the bank statements. Going fishing with your friends—I saw the photos on social media. And you came here once a week, kissed your mother on the forehead, and asked me, ‘So, how are things going here?’”
“Nadya, wait.” Arthur suddenly changed his tone. His voice became soft and pleading. “Let’s talk about this properly. Why jump straight to divorce? Why involve social services? We can work something out.”
“Work something out?” Nadezhda laughed briefly, without joy. “Arthur, we have worked things out. Many times. After your affair with that blonde—we ‘worked it out.’ After you took money from our joint account for ‘urgent expenses’—we ‘worked it out.’ After your sister called me an idiot at a family dinner while you sat there silently—we ‘worked it out.’ I’m tired of working things out.”
“Oh, come on, Kristina just blurted something out…”
“She didn’t blurt anything out. She said exactly what your entire family thinks. A daughter-in-law is a servant. A free caregiver. A silent workhorse. But when the workhorse finally kicks back—oh no! How dare she? Where does she think she’s going?”
Nadezhda walked around him and reached for the door handle.
“Stop!” Arthur lunged after her. “You can’t just leave like this!”
“Yes, I can. Watch me.”
“Nadezhda!” came her mother-in-law’s voice from the room.
It was weak and cracked, but perfectly clear.
“Come here.”
Nadezhda froze.
Arthur froze too.
Valentina Ivanovna rarely spoke. After her stroke, speaking was difficult for her.
But now she had called out.
“Go,” Arthur said triumphantly. “See? Mom is calling you. She needs you.”
“I never said she didn’t. I said I refuse to be the only person who needs her.”
Nadezhda put down her suitcase and walked into the room.
Arthur started to follow, but she turned around.
“Stay here. This conversation isn’t for you.”
“With my mother?!”
“Yes. With your mother—the woman you dumped on me. Stay here and think about that.”
Valentina Ivanovna was lying propped up on high pillows. She had deteriorated badly during those months—she had lost weight, grown pale, and her eyes had become sunken.
But her gaze was clear and aware.
“Sit down,” she said.
Nadezhda sat on the edge of the bed.
“I heard everything. The walls are thin.”
“I know.”
“You’re doing the right thing.”
Nadezhda looked at her mother-in-law in surprise.
“I raised an egoist,” Valentina Ivanovna continued. “I thought I was spoiling him because I loved him. Turns out I was ruining him. Kristina is the same. Tamara has only ever thought about herself. And Gennady… well, Gennady is Gennady.”
“Valentina Ivanovna…”
“Be quiet. Let me speak while I still have the strength.”
Nadezhda fell silent.
“You’ve taken care of me for eight months. I’m not blind. I can see how exhausted you are. I can see that my son hasn’t lifted a finger to help. I can see that my own relatives abandoned me. I’m worse off than a stray dog—at least someone might feed a dog out of pity.”
“Please don’t say that…”
“I have to. You’re my daughter-in-law. We aren’t related by blood. And yet you took care of me like a daughter. No—better than my own daughter. Kristina would have put me in an institution months ago and forgotten about me.”
Valentina Ivanovna paused, gathering her strength.
“I won’t stop you. Leave if you want. You’ve done more than enough. But I have a proposal for you.”
“What kind of proposal?”
“This apartment belongs to me. Three rooms, right in the city center. It’s worth a substantial amount of money. I can leave it to the state—I don’t care anymore. I can leave it to Arthur or Kristina. But they don’t deserve it.”
Nadezhda looked at her silently.
“I want to transfer the apartment to you,” Valentina Ivanovna said. “On one condition: lifetime care and my right to live here. You stay with me, and I’ll legally transfer the apartment to you with that condition attached. When I’m gone, the apartment will be completely yours. Arthur, Kristina, and those freeloaders Tamara and Gennady won’t get anything.”
Nadezhda said nothing.
The offer was completely unexpected.
“This isn’t payment for slavery,” her mother-in-law continued. “It’s gratitude for your humanity. And if you refuse, I’ll understand. Then let them take me to a care facility. But even then, my relatives won’t get this apartment.”
“Arthur too?”
“Arthur especially. Let him learn that betrayal has a price.”
Arthur’s head appeared in the doorway.
“Mom, what are you talking about? What transfer? This is our apartment! It belongs to the family!”
“Get out!” Valentina Ivanovna’s voice grew stronger with anger. “Get out, I said! You’re no son of mine! A son wouldn’t leave his mother to die!”
“Mom, you don’t understand…”
“I understand perfectly! I saw Nadezhda running herself into the ground! I saw her staying awake all night! I heard her crying in the bathroom when she thought I couldn’t hear her! And you?! Where were you?!”
“I was working!”
“You were enjoying yourself! You thought Mom would die, the apartment would become available, and you and Kristina would split it. End of story. And the daughter-in-law? Throw her away once she’s finished doing her job.”
“Mom!”
“Be quiet!” Valentina Ivanovna was struggling to breathe now, but she couldn’t stop. “I gave birth to you—I know exactly what kind of man you are. Greedy, cowardly, arrogant. Do you think I didn’t know about your mistress? I knew. I hoped Nadezhda would leave you and maybe then you’d finally come to your senses. But she stayed. You were the one who never changed.”
Arthur stepped backward.
His face had gone gray, and his lips were trembling.
“Mom, you’re being unfair…”
“Unfair?!” Nadezhda stood up. “Was it fair when your sister decided at a family meeting that I would become the caregiver—without even asking me? Was it fair when you moved back into our apartment ‘temporarily’ and never returned? Was it fair when your aunt came here to ‘help’ and spent three days eating everything in the refrigerator and watching TV?”
“Tamara is elderly…”
“Tamara is fifteen years younger than your mother and runs around shopping like a young woman. She’s only ‘elderly’ when somebody needs her help. Just like all of you.”
“Nadya, let’s calm down…”
“I am calm. I’m very calm, Arthur. And now I’m telling you very calmly: leave.”
“This is my apartment too!”
“This apartment belongs to your mother. And she just asked you to leave. Did you hear her, or should I repeat it?”
“Mom, tell her!”
Valentina Ivanovna closed her eyes.
“Leave, Arthur. I’m tired. Of you most of all.”
He stood in the middle of the room, not knowing what to do.
The woman he was accustomed to ignoring was looking at him without fear or pleading.
And the woman who had given birth to him no longer wanted to see him.
“This is a conspiracy,” he finally forced out. “You two planned this against me.”
“Leave. Tomorrow morning I’ll call social services and cancel the request. If your mother and I come to an agreement, of course,” Nadezhda replied.
“Come to an agreement?! About what?”
“Something that no longer concerns you. Now leave. There’s nothing for you to do here.”
Arthur left.
Nadezhda returned to her mother-in-law, adjusted her pillow, and checked the IV.
“Do you agree?” Valentina Ivanovna asked.
“I need to think about it.”
“Think. But know this: if you refuse, I won’t be offended. You’ve already done far more than you were obligated to do.”
“Valentina Ivanovna… why did you stay silent? All these months? You saw what was happening.”
“I was ashamed. Ashamed of my children, ashamed of my family. I kept hoping they would come to their senses. They didn’t. So this is where we ended up.”
Nadezhda sat beside the bed.
Outside, evening was falling. The day was coming to an end.
Ahead of them were long conversations, decisions, paperwork.
But for now, there was only silence and two women who had finally come to understand each other.
An hour later, the doorbell rang.
Nadezhda opened the door.
Arthur was standing there.
No suitcase. Empty-handed. His eyes were wet.
“Nadya…”
“Did you forget something?”
“I wanted to talk. To Mom. To you.”
Nadezhda looked at him for a long time.
The man she had once loved.
The man who had betrayed her—not once, but many times.
Through infidelity, indifference, silence.
Through small, everyday betrayals that had eaten away at their marriage like rust.
“No,” she said. “Not today.”
“When?”
“I don’t know. Maybe never. Go home, Arthur. Go back to the apartment where you hid from your own mother. Go there and think about how you became this person.”
She closed the door.
Quietly.
Without slamming it.
She simply closed it—and that was all.
A week later, Nadezhda signed an agreement with Valentina Ivanovna.
The apartment was transferred to her under an arrangement requiring lifelong care and granting Valentina Ivanovna the right to live there for the rest of her life.
Arthur and Kristina were formally notified by letter—the notary insisted on it.
The scandal was enormous.
Everyone called.
Tamara demanded “her share.” Gennady made threats. Kristina called in hysterics.
Nadezhda listened calmly and gave everyone the same short answer:
“This was your mother’s decision. Take it up with her.”
But no one did.
Not a single relative came to visit—not to see Valentina Ivanovna, not even to argue in person.
They all limited themselves to shouting over the phone.
Valentina Ivanovna began to recover.
Slowly and with difficulty, but she was getting better.
The doctor said that when a person feels needed, sometimes that can help more than any medicine.
And Arthur?
Arthur sent a text message once a week.
Just like before.
“How’s Mom?”
Nadezhda never replied.
Why would she?
He had never really cared about the answer anyway.