Olga was sitting at the kitchen table in their city apartment, sipping hot coffee and scrolling through the news on her phone. Outside, the rain was pattering, washing the first yellow leaves from the trees. The workweek had come to an end, and the long-awaited weekend was ahead.
Her husband, Dmitry, was already getting ready for work, tying his tie in front of the hallway mirror. The couple lived a steady city life — work, home, meeting friends on weekends. Olga worked as a manager at a construction company, while Dmitry held an engineering position at an industrial plant. Both worked five-day weeks and treasured their weekends.
The phone rang sharply and insistently. Her mother-in-law’s name appeared on the screen — Valentina Ivanovna. The woman rarely called, and usually only for a specific reason. Olga answered, mentally preparing herself for the conversation.
“Is Dmitry home?” her mother-in-law asked sternly, without even saying hello.
“He’s still home, getting ready for work,” Olga replied.
“Tell him that tomorrow you both need to be at my place by six in the morning with shovels. The potatoes are ready, and the carrots need to be dug up too. And the weeds have grown everywhere — the whole garden is getting overgrown.”
Olga felt a familiar tightness in her chest. The same story repeated every season. In spring, Valentina Ivanovna demanded that they come plant vegetables; in summer, weed the beds; in autumn, dig up the harvest. Their weekends turned into hard physical labor on the village plot.
“Valentina Ivanovna, maybe not tomorrow? We have plans for the weekend…”
“What plans could be more important than your parents’ household?” her mother-in-law interrupted. “The harvest won’t wait. Once the rains start, all the potatoes will rot in the ground.”
Dmitry heard the conversation and came over to his wife, holding out his hand for the phone. Olga reluctantly handed it to him.
“Hello, Mom,” Dmitry greeted her politely. “Yes, of course, we’ll come. We’ll be there at six in the morning. We’ll bring the shovels, don’t worry.”
The conversation continued for several more minutes. Valentina Ivanovna listed the amount of work: three hundred square meters of potatoes, a bed of carrots, weeding the paths, collecting apples. Dmitry only nodded and agreed, as if they were discussing something completely obvious.
“All right, Mom, we’ll do everything. Goodbye.”
Dmitry hung up and looked at his wife.
“Well, tomorrow morning we’ll go to Mom’s. The harvest really does need to be gathered.”
Olga silently finished her coffee. Thoughts of a lost weekend and plans that would have to be canceled again swirled in her head. For the second year in a row, every weekend had turned into compulsory labor.
The first time Olga went to her mother-in-law’s dacha, she had been enthusiastic. City life was exhausting, and she wanted to spend time in nature and breathe fresh air. But her romantic ideas about country relaxation quickly disappeared. From six in the morning until eight in the evening — nonstop work without a break.
Valentina Ivanovna supervised the process like a construction foreman. She pointed out where to dig, how to stack the potatoes, which carrots counted as large and which as small. The lunch break lasted half an hour, after which work continued with the same intensity.
“City people have become lazy,” her mother-in-law would comment while watching the young couple work. “In my day, we worked the garden even after a full workday.”
Dmitry never objected to his mother. He treated helping on the plot as a son’s duty, not something open for discussion. Olga tried to hint to her husband that she would like to spend their weekends differently sometimes, but she always received the same answer:
“Mom lives alone. Who else is going to help her? We’re young; we can handle it.”
Last autumn, Olga worked on the plot with a high fever. She had caught a cold the day before, but she did not dare refuse the trip. Valentina Ivanovna only let her daughter-in-law go home after Olga could barely stand from weakness.
“You should have said right away that you were sick,” her mother-in-law grumbled. “Now we’ll have to finish digging potatoes in the dark.”
Dmitry had not shown much sympathy for his wife then. He stayed to finish the work and returned home around midnight, tired and dirty. Olga was lying in bed with a temperature of thirty-nine degrees, but her husband was more concerned about his mother’s dissatisfaction over the unfinished harvest.
That summer, the situation repeated several times. In June — weeding strawberries. In July — hilling potatoes. In August — picking cucumbers and tomatoes. Every time, Valentina Ivanovna called on Friday evening with a demand that they arrive the next morning at six.
Olga’s friends were surprised by her weekend schedule.
“Can’t your mother-in-law hire workers?” her friend Elena asked. “There are plenty of ads now from people offering help on garden plots.”
“Why pay money when you have relatives?” Olga replied with a bitter laugh.
Her colleagues at work also noticed that Olga constantly looked tired on Mondays. Instead of rest, her weekends turned into physical labor harder than her weekdays. Her back ached from constantly bending over the beds, and her hands were covered in calluses from the shovel.
Dmitry left for work, leaving his wife alone with her gloomy thoughts. Olga imagined the coming day: waking up at five in the morning, driving to the village, ten hours of digging in the cold, damp earth. The weekend would be lost again.
The phone rang again. It was Valentina Ivanovna once more.
“I forgot to say,” her mother-in-law began without preamble. “There are a lot of potatoes this year, at least three sacks. And the carrots grew big too. So prepare yourselves for a long day.”
“Valentina Ivanovna, could we split the work over several days?” Olga suggested cautiously. “Maybe the potatoes tomorrow, and the carrots next weekend?”
“What nonsense!” her mother-in-law exclaimed. “The rains will start, and everything will be ruined. It all has to be gathered in one day. You’re young and healthy.”
“But we work all week. We’d like to rest a little…”
“You’ll rest in winter,” Valentina Ivanovna cut her off. “Right now it’s time to work. And frankly, it’s strange to hear such talk from a daughter-in-law. In normal families, people help their elders without unnecessary questions.”
Olga felt blood rush to her face. Her mother-in-law’s voice sounded instructive and demanding, as if this was not a request, but an unconditional order.
“One more thing,” Valentina Ivanovna continued. “The apples also need to be collected. And the pears are ripe. I’ve prepared jars for preserves; you’ll cut them up and can them.”
“Valentina Ivanovna, but preserves are a completely different job…”
“What’s so difficult about it? You have hands, and your head is in place. You’ll drink compote in winter. Or do you think it’s better to buy it from the store?”
Olga grew more irritated with every minute of the conversation. She clenched her fists, trying to keep her tone polite.
“All right, Valentina Ivanovna. We’ll come tomorrow.”
“That’s better. And don’t be late; there isn’t much daylight left.”
Her mother-in-law hung up without saying goodbye. Olga remained sitting in the kitchen with the phone in her hands, feeling anger rise inside her. Another weekend was turning into forced hard labor.
In the evening, Dmitry returned home. Olga met him in the kitchen, where she was making dinner. Her face showed poorly concealed displeasure.
“Your mother called again,” Olga said without looking up from the frying pan. “She added apple picking and winter preserves to the list of work.”
“Well, that’s good,” Dmitry replied carelessly. “Homemade compote is always better than store-bought.”
“Dmitry, we have plans too!” Olga could not hold back anymore. “We wanted to go to the theater. We bought the tickets a long time ago.”
“The theater isn’t going anywhere, but the harvest can be lost,” her husband objected. “Mom is right. Everything has to be gathered on time.”
“But why does it have to be us?” Olga insisted. “Let her hire workers if the plot is so big.”
Dmitry looked at his wife in surprise.
“What workers? Mom is a pensioner. Where would she get money to hire people? We’re her children. It’s our duty to help our parents.”
“But every weekend, Dmitry! We don’t rest at all!”
“But in winter we’ll eat fresh vegetables,” her husband said in a conciliatory tone. “And besides, physical labor is good after sedentary work.”
Olga turned toward him, tears of indignation flashing in her eyes.
“I didn’t sign up to be a collective farm worker!” she shouted. “If she wants potatoes, let her dig them herself!”
Dmitry blinked in confusion, not expecting such a harsh reaction from his usually compliant wife. Olga grabbed her mobile phone and pressed the speed-dial button for her mother-in-law’s number.
Valentina Ivanovna answered after the first ring.
“What else did I forget?” her mother-in-law asked irritably.
“Valentina Ivanovna, we are not coming tomorrow,” Olga stated firmly.
“What do you mean, you’re not coming?” her mother-in-law was stunned. “And who is going to gather the harvest?”
“I don’t know. Hire helpers or ask the neighbors.”
“How dare you!” Valentina Ivanovna exclaimed. “What kind of daughter-in-law speaks to her mother-in-law like that?”
“The kind who is tired of working for free on weekends,” Olga replied and ended the call.
Dmitry stood in the middle of the kitchen with his mouth open, unable to believe what was happening.
For several minutes, her husband remained silent, trying to process what he had heard. His wife’s sharpness had caught him off guard — in all their years of marriage, Olga had never spoken to his mother in such a tone. He tried to find words to smooth over the conflict.
“Olga, why so rude?” Dmitry reproached her. “Mom is trying for the family, growing vegetables. Of course the work is hard, but the benefit is for everyone.”
“The benefit is only for your mother,” Olga replied sharply. “Valentina Ivanovna gets free labor every weekend. And we lose our time and our health.”
“But she’s my own mother!” her husband protested. “How can you refuse to help an elderly person?”
Olga turned to Dmitry, and there was an unshakable decision in her eyes.
“I didn’t hire myself out as a farmhand. I have a job that pays me a salary. And on weekends, I want to rest or take care of my own affairs.”
“Is the theater really more important than family obligations?” he tried to appeal to her conscience.
“And are all my weekends less important than my peace of mind?” Olga parried. “For two years in a row, I’ve lost every weekend. When am I supposed to recover from the workweek?”
Dmitry shifted uncertainly from one foot to the other. His wife’s logic was understandable, but refusing his mother seemed unthinkable.
“Olga, listen,” he began in a conciliatory tone. “Maybe we can agree on a compromise? We’ll go tomorrow and help with the potatoes, and postpone the preserves for another day.”
“No compromises,” Olga said firmly. “Tomorrow we have theater tickets that we bought a month ago. Valentina Ivanovna can wait or find other helpers.”
“But Mom will feel embarrassed…”
“Embarrassing is exploiting us for years like cheap labor,” Olga interrupted. “Not asking for help one time.”
Dmitry fell silent, realizing that further persuasion was useless. His wife was showing a rare firmness. He tried to find other arguments.
“All right, then I’ll go alone,” Dmitry announced. “I can’t leave Mom without help.”
“Go,” Olga agreed calmly. “But without me. I’m going to my friend Elena’s for the whole day.”
She went into the bedroom and began packing things into a small bag. Dmitry followed his wife, trying to convince her with his final arguments.
“Olga, think about what the neighbors in the village will say. The son came alone, and his wife refused to help…”
“Let them think whatever they want,” Olga replied indifferently, zipping the bag. “I don’t care about the opinions of people I see once a year.”
“But Mom will be upset…”
“Let her be upset. Maybe it will help Valentina Ivanovna understand that free labor is not endless.”
Olga picked up the bag and headed toward the door. Dmitry watched helplessly as his wife got ready, realizing how serious her intentions were.
“When will you come back?” he asked.
“Tomorrow evening,” Olga answered briefly. “Give yourself a chance to decide whether it’s worth turning every weekend into forced labor.”
The door closed behind his wife softly but decisively. Dmitry was left alone in the apartment, thinking about the conflict that had just happened. For the first time in all their years of marriage, his wife had openly challenged family traditions.
In the morning, Dmitry went to the village alone. The road took an hour and a half, and the whole time he thought about how he would speak to his mother. He needed to somehow explain his wife’s absence without mentioning the scandal.
Valentina Ivanovna met her son on the doorstep of the house, looking around the car in surprise, searching for her daughter-in-law.
“Where is Olga?” she asked warily.
“She’s sick,” Dmitry lied. “Caught a cold, has a fever. Better for her to lie down at home.”
“Hm,” Valentina Ivanovna drawled with displeasure. “So you’ll have to dig the whole garden alone. Good thing at least you came.”
Work began at half past six in the morning. Dmitry took a shovel and headed to the potato beds. The first hour passed relatively easily, but gradually his back began to ache from the constant bending.
Valentina Ivanovna supervised from a distance, periodically coming over with comments and instructions.
“Dimka, dig carefully. Don’t damage the potatoes. And put them straight into the boxes, don’t scatter them on the ground.”
By lunchtime, Dmitry could barely stand. He had never worked alone on such a large plot. Usually his wife dug half the beds, which significantly lightened the task. Now the entire burden had fallen on one person’s shoulders.
“Rest a little,” his mother allowed, noticing her son’s fatigue. “But don’t sit too long; there’s still a lot of work before dark.”
Dmitry sank onto an old stool near the house, feeling the muscles in his back and arms ache. His palms were covered in blisters from the shovel handle, even though he had worked only five hours. Ahead still lay carrots, apples, and winter preserves.
“Mom, maybe we can dig up the carrots next weekend?” Dmitry suggested. “It’s already late today.”
“What nonsense!” Valentina Ivanovna exclaimed. “The rains will start, and everything will rot in the ground. Everything has to be gathered today.”
The second half of the day turned into real hard labor. Dmitry dug up carrots, collected apples, and carried heavy boxes of produce. By evening, he could barely move his legs from exhaustion.
“We’ll leave the preserves for tomorrow,” his mother unexpectedly took pity on him. “You see, it’s hard to manage without a helper.”
Dmitry agreed with relief. The thought of cutting vegetables and sterilizing jars filled him with despair. His hands trembled from overexertion, and his back shot with pain at every movement.
The road home seemed endless. Dmitry stopped several times on the roadside to stretch his stiff muscles. In the city, he worked in an office, and his physical activity was limited to the gym twice a week. Ten hours of garden labor had turned out to be an unbearable test.
Dmitry returned home around ten in the evening. Olga was already home, sitting in an armchair with a book, looking rested after spending the day with her friend.
“How are things on the agricultural labor front?” his wife asked with slight irony, assessing his exhausted appearance.
Dmitry silently went into the bathroom, turned on the hot water, and stood under the shower for a long time, trying to relieve the muscle tension. His hands burned from blisters, and his back ached unbearably. For the first time in years, he felt what kind of burden had fallen on his wife’s shoulders every weekend.
“Was it hard?” Olga asked sympathetically when her husband came out of the bathroom.
“Very,” Dmitry admitted honestly. “I didn’t think one person physically couldn’t handle that amount of work.”
“That’s why I’m not going there anymore,” his wife stated calmly. “Two years of suffering is enough.”
Dmitry lowered himself into the armchair opposite his wife, still feeling the consequences of the heavy day. Arguments about filial duty and family obligations no longer seemed convincing.
“Maybe we really should find paid helpers for Mom?” he said thoughtfully.
“Of course we should,” Olga agreed. “There are plenty of teenagers in the village who would gladly work in the garden for a little money. Valentina Ivanovna has simply gotten used to free labor.”
The next day, Dmitry could barely get out of bed. His back hurt so badly that every movement took effort. His hands were covered with blisters that burst at the slightest touch.
“Now do you understand what I felt every Monday?” Olga remarked, watching her husband suffer.
That evening, Valentina Ivanovna called, asking about her son’s condition and their plans for the next weekend.
“Dima, how’s your back? Have you recovered from yesterday’s work?” his mother asked sympathetically.
“It still hurts,” her son admitted. “Mom, maybe next time we should find you some helpers? The neighbor boys would probably agree to earn some money.”
“For money?” Valentina Ivanovna was surprised. “Why spend money on strangers when there is family?”
“Because family also has the right to rest,” Dmitry answered unexpectedly firmly. “We work all week. Weekends are needed to restore our strength.”
His mother fell silent, processing her son’s unexpected position. Dmitry had never objected to working on the plot before.
“All right,” Valentina Ivanovna agreed reluctantly. “I’ll try to arrange something with the neighbor boys. But it won’t be cheap.”
“Mom, it’s better to pay money than ruin your health,” her son remarked reasonably.
After the conversation with his mother, Dmitry turned to his wife.
“Olga, forgive me for blaming you. The burden really is unbearable. We shouldn’t be turning every weekend into hard labor.”
The woman smiled softly at her husband.
“The main thing is that you understood it yourself. I didn’t want to offend anyone; I was just tired of being constantly forced.”
The following Saturday, the spouses spent at the theater, enjoying the performance and the chance to truly rest. They devoted Sunday to walking around the city and meeting friends.
Valentina Ivanovna, no longer receiving her usual free help, hired two teenagers from a neighboring house. The boys dealt with the remaining carrots in two hours and received a small but honest payment for their labor.
“It turns out there’s no need to torment relatives,” the mother-in-law admitted to her son in a phone conversation. “The boys work quickly and carefully.”
From then on, the demands for regular help in the garden stopped. Valentina Ivanovna got used to hiring locals for seasonal work, and Olga no longer heard reproaches about not wanting to help the family. The weekends returned to their original purpose — time for rest and recovery after the workweek.