“What do you mean, vacation? We need to go help my mother at the dacha!” my husband declared at the dinner table.
Friday evening in Anna’s family had always been a time of quiet happiness. Her two boys, seven and ten years old, were helping set the table. Denis, her husband, sat in an armchair with his face buried in his phone, waiting for dinner. Anna, still wearing her business suit after calls with clients, was placing cutlets and mashed potatoes onto plates. She worked from home as an online product promotion specialist, and that week had exhausted her completely. The client had been difficult, endless revisions kept coming in, and she had barely slept. But joy was shining in her eyes. Her boss had appreciated her effort and given her an unexpected bonus.
Anna decided the family needed a break. She found a holiday resort with hot springs in the neighboring region and booked a room for the weekend. She wanted to breathe out, lie in the pool, and walk with the children through the pine forest. She placed the teapot on the table and said in a cheerful voice:
“Denis, I have news. We’re going on vacation. I got a bonus and bought a two-day trip to a spa resort. We leave tomorrow at noon, after Artem’s math competition.”
Her husband looked up from his phone. A shadow of displeasure crossed his face. He pushed his plate away and leaned back in his chair.
“What do you mean, vacation? We need to go help my mother at the dacha!” he said loudly, with pressure in his voice.
Anna froze with the teapot in her hand.
“Denis, I’m serious. The children are tired, and I’m tired. We have a reservation, and the money has already been paid. Why do we need the dacha? You know I’m allergic to blooming weeds.”
“You’ll breathe it out somehow,” her husband snapped. “Mother called. She has water standing in barrels, the pump is broken, and the potatoes haven’t been hilled. You’ll take your car and go to her tomorrow morning. And the boys and I are going fishing. We’ll leave the children with your mother for the weekend, let her spend time with her grandsons.”
He spoke as if the matter had already been decided. As if Anna were unpaid help with no plans or feelings of her own. Anna remembered how, a month earlier, Denis had asked her to take out a bank loan for a new car for him. She had agreed then because she thought they were a family. And now this man had not asked what she wanted. He had not noticed her exhaustion. He had simply sent her to weed the garden.
“Denis, I’m not going. Our son is competing in the city math competition tomorrow. I promised to take him. And anyway, your mother can hire someone for the garden. Why does it have to be me?”
Her husband slammed his palm on the table.
“Because you’re the wife in this family! Mother is old, it’s hard for her. She helped us when you were on maternity leave, have you forgotten? And now listen to how you talk — hire someone. You throw money away on your resorts, but you don’t want to help your own mother-in-law!”
He did not remember, or did not want to remember, that during Anna’s maternity leave, his mother had come once a month to sit with her grandson for exactly one hour, then reproached Anna for being lazy. Her “help” had consisted of advice, not actual work. Anna put her hands behind her back so he would not see them trembling.
Anna’s phone vibrated on the table. A voice message had arrived. Denis nodded.
“It’s Mother. Put it on speaker.”
Anna pressed play. Galina Stepanovna’s sharp, creaky voice filled the kitchen: “Anya, don’t be late, be here by seven in the morning. Once the dew dries, we’ll need to weed. You’ll also spread manure over the beds, I’m old already. And hang the curtains in the house, I’ve been asking you for three months. Tell Denis to drop you off and go about his business.”
Anna turned off the recording. Silence hung in the kitchen. Denis looked at her expectantly.
“I said I’m not going,” Anna said quietly. “And the children aren’t going either. Artem has a competition. I’ll be there. And you can go fishing or go to your mother. Decide for yourself.”
She turned and left the kitchen without waiting for an answer. Her husband shouted after her:
“You’re going to regret talking like that! I’ll show you your competition!”
Anna did not turn around. She went upstairs to the bedroom, closed the door, and sat on the edge of the bed. Her heart was pounding somewhere in her throat. She looked at her hands. They were well-groomed, with neat nail polish. And tomorrow they wanted to force her to knead manure and carry buckets of water. And her husband, her own husband, thought that was right.
In the morning, Anna woke up at six. Denis was already packing a backpack, whistling some cheerful tune. Seeing his wife, he nodded toward the window.
“I’m leaving. Come on, get ready. Be at Mother’s by seven. I’m not coming to pick you up.”
Anna did not answer. When the front door slammed and the engine of his new car, bought with her money, roared outside the window, she woke the children. She fed them, got them ready, and took them to her mother, Larisa Pavlovna. Anna’s mother lived in an old five-story apartment building, had once worked as a Russian language teacher, and now quietly kept house and helped with her grandsons. Seeing her daughter with travel bags and the children, Larisa Pavlovna threw up her hands.
“Anechka, what happened? Weren’t you supposed to go to the resort?”
“Mom, watch the boys. Artem has to be at the gymnasium for the competition by ten, and take Ilyusha to the park later,” Anna said quickly, avoiding her eyes. “I need to sort something out.”
Larisa Pavlovna narrowed her eyes. She was a wise woman and immediately understood that her daughter was not telling her everything.
“Going to bow before your mother-in-law again? Anya, how long will this continue? Look at yourself. Your face is gray. You’re a lawyer, you’re an intelligent woman. Why are you living like a serf? That Denis of yours has completely lost his conscience.”
“Mom, please, don’t start. I’m going.”
“Daughter, at least change your skirt. How are you going to the garden dressed like that? It’s muddy up to the knees there.”
“I have old clothes in the trunk. I’ll change,” Anna threw back and closed the door behind her.
Anna arrived at Galina Stepanovna’s dacha ten minutes before seven. The twelve-hundred-square-meter plot greeted her with nettles along the fence and the smell of stagnant water in a barrel. On the porch of the wooden house sat her mother-in-law in a faded robe. Beside her was her younger sister Tamara, a thin woman with a long nose and an unkind squint. They were drinking tea and quietly discussing something. Seeing Anna, Galina Stepanovna did not greet her. She looked her daughter-in-law up and down, taking in the light trousers and thin blouse.
“Why are you dressed up like you’re going to a ball?” her mother-in-law said instead of hello. “Change into old rags. There’s a bucket in the bathhouse. And take the rubber boots. Don’t dirty your sneakers, they cost money. You probably spent your husband’s money again.”
Anna silently swallowed that too. She went into the small bathhouse standing in the corner of the plot and found a bucket of rags. What her mother-in-law called boots turned out to be torn galoshes with a crack in the sole. The work clothes she had been given smelled of mold, and a huge tear gaped across the back. Anna clenched her jaw. She did not put on the rags and decided to take her own old clothes from the car.
When she came out of the bathhouse, she noticed that her mother-in-law and her sister had gone into the house. Anna climbed onto the porch to ask for proper shoes or a key to the shed with the tools, and then she heard a conversation. The veranda window was open, and every word cut into her memory like a nail.
“Galya, why are you handling her with kid gloves? She came here, let her work like a mule. Your Denis has spoiled her completely. Look at her, planning to go to resorts,” Tamara hissed.
“He hasn’t spoiled her,” Galina Stepanovna replied. “Yesterday I told him: if you don’t send your wife, don’t bother coming home. He called me back right away and said he would send her. She won’t get away. Let her work off what she eats. And she’ll hang the curtains too. I’m too old to climb ladders. We won’t indulge her nonsense. Imagine that — vacation. That’s not why I raised my son.”
Anna stood behind the wall, her fingers gripping the doorframe. Every word struck like a slap. She suddenly clearly remembered taking out that loan for the car. How Denis had sworn he would drive her to work, pick the children up from school, and be the head of the family. And now his mother was saying he would not let his wife rest because Anna had to “work off” what she ate.
Her heart pounded unevenly. She turned and walked to the car. Her old jeans and sneakers were lying inside. After changing, she noticed a list on the refrigerator in the house. Four squared notebook pages covered in tiny handwriting. There were forty-eight tasks. Pull weeds in the raspberry bushes. Sort potatoes in the cellar. Replace the slate roof on the shed. Spread the manure pile. Paint the fence. Hang curtains and a curtain rod in the house. Clean the drainage pit.
Anna photographed the list on her phone. Then she photographed the torn boots, the dirty work robe, and the satisfied relatives sitting with tea. Then she moved behind the raspberry bushes, where she could not be seen from the windows, and dialed a number. The ringing went on for a long time, but eventually someone answered.
“Ira, hi. It’s Anya.”
“Anya! It’s been ages! Why are you calling so early? Did something happen?”
“Ira, I have a question. You’re handling family cases now, right? Divorces, property division?”
“Yeah. The Law and Protection firm. Senior divorce specialist. Why, are you heading for divorce?”
Anna sighed and sat down on a bench near the crooked greenhouse.
“Ira, tell me as a lawyer. If a person is forced to work in a garden, carry heavy things, climb onto a roof without certification or safety gear — is that legal at all?”
“What do you mean, forced? Where are you?”
“At my mother-in-law’s dacha. My husband sent me here. Yesterday I said I had bought a weekend vacation, and he declared that I had to go help his mother. And I can’t refuse because he simply doesn’t listen to me.”
There was a pause on the line. Then Irina spoke in a hard, businesslike tone:
“Anya, listen to me carefully. You are an adult, legally capable person. No one has the right to force you to work without your consent. That’s one. Second, if they make you do dangerous work, for example climb onto a roof, and something happens to you, your mother-in-law can be held responsible, up to criminal liability. Third, record everything. Every word, every demand. Do you have a voice recorder on your phone? If you are a participant in the conversation, a recording made without warning can be submitted as evidence. Take photos and videos. And most importantly, do you think anyone needs you in that condition? You have children. Don’t climb anywhere. Do you understand me?”
“I understand.”
“No, you don’t. You’re a lawyer too, even if you don’t work in the field, you have the degree. Use your head, Anya. If you fall from that roof today, your children will be left with their father and grandmother. With the people who sent you into slavery. Do you need that?”
Anna closed her eyes. Her sons’ faces rose before her mind: Artem with his math notebook, Ilya with his favorite plush rabbit.
“Thank you, Ira. I’ll call you back.”
She ended the call and turned on the voice recorder. She placed the phone in the breast pocket of her jeans so that the microphone faced outward. Then she stepped out from behind the bushes and headed for the porch. Galina Stepanovna was already standing on the steps, hands on her hips.
“Well, have you finished strolling around? Go to the cellar. Some jars of pickles burst, brine leaked everywhere. It stinks. Clean it up. And sort the potatoes while you’re there, some have rotted.”
Anna silently headed for the cellar. It was a separate structure with a heavy wooden lid. Inside, a dim bulb hung on a wire. Anna descended the slippery steps. A sour smell of spoiled preserves hit her nose. She found a rag and began wiping up the puddles of brine, trying to breathe as little as possible. On a sagging shelf, she noticed a bag of cement that had clearly been left in the wrong place. Anna reached for the rag, touched the bag with her foot, and it crashed down right onto her. She slipped, lost her balance, and fell onto the earthen floor. Sharp pain pierced her right knee. Her vision darkened. From above came footsteps.
Her mother-in-law’s voice rang out:
“Are you alive down there? Why are you making such a racket?”
Then came the voice of Tamara, her mother-in-law’s sister:
“Galya, is she still moving down there? If not, we can close the lid. Let her sit there until evening and think about her behavior.”
Both women laughed. That cold, cruel laughter worked on Anna better than any painkiller. She gritted her teeth and, overcoming the pain in her knee, stood up. Her clothes were covered in dirt and brine. Her palms stung. Anna limped to the stairs and climbed back into the light. Galina Stepanovna and Tamara stood above her. Seeing the filthy daughter-in-law, the mother-in-law grimaced with displeasure.
“Where do you think you’re going? And who will cook dinner? Denis will come back from fishing hungry. March back down there until you finish!”
Anna stopped and, for the first time that morning, looked her mother-in-law straight in the eye.
“The person with healthy hands can cook dinner for my husband. I am not your slave. Pray I don’t sue you for this,” she said, pointing to her swollen knee.
“What do you think you’re doing, you trash?” Tamara shrieked.
Her mother-in-law turned crimson and rushed at Anna, but Anna was already limping toward the gate. A sound came from behind her. Anna turned around for a second and saw Galina Stepanovna grab a pitchfork standing by the fence and raise it. Anna pressed the button on her key, the car chirped, and she slipped inside and locked the doors. The dashcam on the windshield captured the elderly woman with the pitchfork running toward the gate.
Anna reversed and drove out onto the road. Her knee throbbed with pain, angry tears ran down her cheeks, but inside her, cold determination was growing stronger. She would never return to that house again.
That evening, Denis came home late. He was pleased with his fishing trip and smelled of river water and campfire smoke. In his hands, he held a bag of fish. Entering the apartment, he expected to see a quiet wife and a set table. Instead, the living room was dimly lit, Anna was lying on the sofa with her knee bandaged, and a stack of papers lay on the coffee table beside an open laptop.
“Why are you lying around? And dinner?” he began from the doorway.
“There will be no dinner,” Anna answered evenly. “Sit down. We need to talk.”
Denis threw the bag of fish onto the floor and approached the sofa. He looked furious.
“What did you do? Mother called me, crying into the phone! You abandoned an old woman, insulted her, and drove away! She was waiting for you, and you ran away! You ungrateful animal, Anya!”
Anna calmly picked up her phone and played the recording. Voices filled the silence of the room. First the rough “let her work like a mule,” then “planning to go to resorts,” then the chilling “we can close the lid, let her sit there until evening.” And finally the laughter — the very same laughter she had heard while lying on the cellar floor with an injured knee.
Denis turned pale and stepped back.
“What is this? You recorded us? Have you completely lost your mind?”
“This is what your mother and your aunt say when they think no one can hear them,” Anna said, stopping the recording. “And I also have photos of the list of forty-eight tasks, the torn boots they gave me, and a video of your mother running at me with a pitchfork. Would you like to see it?”
“You misunderstood. It was a joke. You and Mom have always had misunderstandings. You have a sick imagination, Anya. You’re always making things up.”
“I have a sick knee, Denis. I went to the emergency room. A meniscus bruise. And I filed a police report about an attempt to harm me. So my imagination is perfectly fine.”
Denis opened his mouth but could not find anything to say. Anna picked up a sheet of paper from the table and handed it to him.
“What is this?”
“A petition for divorce. I’m filing it in court tomorrow. The children will stay with me. The apartment was bought by my mother before our marriage, so you have no share in it. The car you drive was bought with my loan, and tomorrow I’m going to the bank to rework the documents.”
Denis jerked as fear appeared in his eyes.
“You wouldn’t dare. The children are mine. I’m their father. I won’t allow it.”
“You will. You have no choice. Starting today, you don’t live here anymore. I’ll pack your things and put them in the hallway. You can go to your mother. Her potatoes haven’t been hilled, so you’ll have something to do.”
She spoke without shouting, but every word hit its target. Denis grabbed the petition from the table, tore it in half, and threw it on the floor.
“You fool! You’re nobody without me! Who needs you with two children?”
“Get out,” Anna said. “Or I’ll call the police right now.”
He left, slamming the door so hard the walls shook. Anna leaned back on the pillow and closed her eyes. It was frightening and painful, but somewhere deep inside, a sprout of freedom had already begun to bloom.
The next morning began with pounding on the door. Anna was still sleeping after a sleepless night when fists started hammering at the apartment door. She walked to the door and looked through the peephole. On the landing stood Galina Stepanovna, her sister Tamara, and Denis. All three of their faces were twisted with anger. Her mother-in-law pounded the door and shouted:
“Open up, you ungrateful trash! I know my rights! My son lives here, and you don’t dare throw him out!”
Anna put on the chain and opened the door a few centimeters.
“If you break the door, I’ll call the police. Illegal entry into a home is a criminal offense, punishable by up to three years in prison. Is that what you want?”
“What police, what nonsense are you spouting?” her mother-in-law screamed. “Give us the grandchildren! We’re going to the dacha, let them help! Enough of them sitting with your mommy, she’s turning them against us!”
“The children are in a safe place. They will not go with you. You are dangerous to their health and mental state. Here is a copy of the police report about your actions at the dacha. And here is the doctor’s note about my injury. Read them.”
Anna pushed the papers through the gap. Galina Stepanovna snatched them and tried to tear them up, but Denis caught her hand and began reading. His face stretched in shock.
“You really filed a police report?”
“Absolutely. Now leave. Or I’m calling the district officer.”
And then Tamara, the mother-in-law’s sister, decided to act. She shoved her bony hand through the gap, trying to feel for the latch and remove the chain. Anna did not lose her head. On the small table by the entrance stood a little hand sprayer for flowers. She grabbed it and, without aiming, sprayed water straight into Tamara’s twisted face.
“Oh, sorry. That’s against the evil eye,” Anna said coldly and slammed the door shut.
From the stairwell came shrieking, filthy curses, and shouting. The neighbors’ dogs started barking. One neighbor, fed up with the noise, stepped onto the landing and, seeing the disgraceful scene, began filming everything on a mobile phone. Galina Stepanovna, realizing that she was turning into a laughingstock for the whole building, grabbed her son’s arm and dragged him toward the elevator. The performance was over.
Anna exhaled and sank onto the small bench in the hallway. Her hands were trembling, but she was smiling.
The court hearing took place two months later. All the main players gathered in a small courtroom. Anna came with her lawyer, Irina, the same former classmate who had once given her the life-changing advice to turn on the voice recorder. Denis arrived with an elderly female lawyer who immediately took an aggressive tone and demanded that the children be left with the father and that the property be divided in half. Her mother-in-law sat on a bench by the door, drilling her former daughter-in-law with a hateful stare.
After hearing the demands of the opposing side, Irina stood and asked the judge for permission to submit documents to the case.
“Your Honor, I ask the court to take into account that the apartment in question was purchased with the personal funds of the plaintiff’s mother, which is confirmed by bank statements showing the transfer of money before the marriage was registered. Therefore, this property is not subject to division. As for the car, here is the loan agreement. Anna is the borrower; the defendant is only a co-borrower and did not invest any personal savings in the purchase. We are prepared to divide the loan debt equally with the defendant, since he was the one who used the car.”
Denis’s lawyer jumped up.
“I object! This is a consumer loan taken during marriage! The wife is obligated to support the family!”
“The family,” Irina continued calmly, “was something the defendant refused to support, which is confirmed by statements showing that all utility payments and expenses for the children’s education came from Anna’s account. Furthermore, we insist that the children remain with their mother. We have recordings of conversations in which the plaintiff’s mother-in-law threatens and mocks her. Here is the child psychologist’s conclusion: the boys are afraid of their grandmother and father, and they categorically do not want to live with them. The plaintiff asks that child support be assigned to the defendant in the amount of one third of his income.”
Denis jumped from his seat.
“She earns more than I do! Let her pay me!”
“The court will take income levels into account,” the judge said, raising her hand. “Sit down, defendant.”
Her mother-in-law loudly whispered across the entire courtroom:
“Shameless woman! She took everything from her husband! Turned the children against him!”
Irina turned around and added loudly enough for everyone to hear:
“We have also filed a separate claim for compensation for moral damages and harm to health. Anna has a documented meniscus bruise received on the defendant’s mother’s property. There are photos and dashcam footage of an attempted attack with a pitchfork.”
Her mother-in-law clutched her heart and began sinking onto the bench, but no one rushed to help her. She was overacting too much. Denis stood red-faced and confused. He realized he had lost on all fronts. He looked at his wife and did not recognize the confident woman with the straight back as the same tired, obedient Anna who had once silently carried buckets in the garden.
Leaning toward her, he hissed:
“You used to be quiet. You were supposed to endure. That’s a woman’s fate.”
Anna turned to him and said loudly enough for everyone to hear:
“You know, Denis, when I was lying in that cellar with my injured leg, I realized one simple thing. My fate is to be happy. And you and your mother are no longer part of that fate.”
The court granted Anna’s claim almost in full. The children remained with her. She sold the car and paid off the remaining part of the loan. The court recognized the apartment as her personal property. Denis was ordered to pay child support in a fixed amount. Compensation for the knee injury was also awarded.
Three months passed. A bright sunny day was leaning toward evening. Anna sat in a lounge chair on the open terrace of a countryside resort. The very same one she had dreamed of visiting. Only now she had come with her children and her mother. The boys were splashing in the warm pool, and Larisa Pavlovna was reading a book in the shade of an umbrella. Anna sipped cool berry juice and watched the sunset.
Her phone chimed. A message had arrived from an unknown number.
“Anya, this is Denis’s mother. You ruined our lives. Denis drinks, and I have no one to dig up the potatoes. Maybe you could come help, for old times’ sake? And bring the grandchildren, I’ve forgiven them.”
Anna smirked. She forwarded the message to her lawyer with a note: “Ira, this is continuing. Record it as an attempt at harassment.” Then she blocked the number and put the phone away.
Her son Artem ran up to her with wet hair.
“Mom, when are we going to the dacha now? I want to plant potatoes, like Grandma Galya taught us!”
“We’d better go to a restaurant,” Anna laughed. “They have potatoes there too — fried, with mushrooms. And no weeds.”
She hugged her son and closed her eyes with pleasure. The sweet scent of freedom made her head spin more than any hot springs ever could.