“YOU DON’T EVEN WORK, AND NOW YOU’VE DECIDED TO HELP YOUR MOTHER TOO? THAT’S IT! BOTH OF YOU, GET OUT OF MY APARTMENT!”
Anna wiped the drops of water from the kitchen table and glanced at the clock. Half past eight. Dmitry was still asleep. She sighed heavily as she poured herself some coffee.
Three months. It had been exactly five months since he had been laid off. Back then, he had sworn that he would find a new job within two weeks—three at the most.
“I have experience, qualifications, and references,” he had said, confidently tapping his finger against the table.
But the weeks turned into months, and Dima was still at home.
Anna finished her coffee and began packing her bag. Another twelve-hour shift at the clinic awaited her. There was more and more work—people tended to get sick more often during this period, appointments were piling up, and she had to take additional shifts.
Besides, they desperately needed the money. Utility bills, food, and the loan for the car, which Dima now used most of the time as he drove around the city searching for a “suitable” job.
“Dima, I’m leaving!” she called toward the bedroom.
Silence was her only answer.
She closed the apartment door quietly, almost soundlessly, as though she were afraid of waking the thing sleeping inside her—her irritation, exhaustion, and disappointment.
That evening, Anna returned home completely drained. Her legs throbbed, and her back ached. She kicked off her shoes in the hallway and heard the television playing in the living room.
Dmitry was sitting on the sofa, staring at the screen, where some program about animals was playing.
“Hi,” she said wearily.
“Hi,” he replied without turning his head.
Anna went into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. It was empty. She closed it and turned toward her husband.
“Dima, couldn’t you have gone to the store?”
“Oh, I forgot. Sorry. I had a job interview today.”
Anna immediately became alert. It was the first piece of news she had heard from him in two weeks.
“How did it go?”
“It was nonsense,” he said, waving his hand dismissively. “They’re offering peanuts. I’m not going to work for that kind of money. It’s humiliating.”
She slowly lowered herself onto a chair.
“Humiliating? Dima, do you understand that we’re living on my salary alone? That I don’t even have enough time to eat properly between shifts?”
“I can’t accept the first offer that comes along,” he replied calmly, as though he were explaining something obvious. “I have experience. I’m not going to work for pennies.”
Anna bit her lip. She wanted to scream, but she did not even have the strength for that.
“Then at least help around the house,” she asked quietly. “Go grocery shopping, make dinner, clean up. Do something.”
“I’m not a housewife, Anya,” he muttered. “I’m looking for a job. That’s work too, you know.” She stood up and silently went to the bathroom. Standing beneath the hot water, she finally let herself go—and cried.
The following week, Dmitry went to another interview. The job was on the opposite side of the city, and it would take an hour to get there, including a transfer.
“No, that’s not an option,” he said over dinner. “Two hours a day spent commuting. I can’t live like that.”
Anna silently finished her soup. She had stopped arguing. There was simply no point.
Then Lyudmila Petrovna called.
Her mother-in-law always called unexpectedly, as though she deliberately chose the moments when Anna was most vulnerable. This time, she called on Saturday morning, when Anna could finally get some sleep.
“Dimochka,” came a voice from the phone, ringing with outrage. “You haven’t sent me any money for two months! Have you forgotten about your mother?”
Anna was lying beside him and could hear every word.
“Mom, I’m in a difficult situation right now,” Dmitry began. “I’m currently out of work.”
“Out of work?!” Hysterical notes appeared in Lyudmila Petrovna’s voice. “What about me? I’m a pensioner! I need money for medicine and food! You’re my son—you’re supposed to help me!”
“Mom, I understand, but…”
“No buts! I raised you alone! I denied myself everything! And now you’re abandoning me! Ungrateful boy!”
Dmitry looked guiltily at Anna. She turned her face toward the wall.
“Mom, I’ll think of something, I promise. Just give me some time.”
“I don’t have time! I need the money now!”
The conversation continued for another ten minutes. Dmitry made excuses while his mother accused him. When he finally hung up, a heavy silence settled over the room.
“I didn’t tell her I was unemployed,” he said quietly.
“Now she knows,” Anna replied dryly. “She really is struggling. Her pension is small…”
“We’re struggling too, Dima. Or haven’t you noticed?”
He said nothing.
Lyudmila Petrovna would not give up. She called every two or three days, demanding, pleading, and making accusations each time. Dmitry apologized and made promises, but there was no money.
Anna listened to these conversations and felt something dark and angry growing inside her.
One evening, when she returned from work, Dmitry met her with a guilty expression.
“Anya, I need to ask you for something…”
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She stopped in the doorway.
“Mom is in a very difficult situation. She urgently needs ten thousand. For medicine.”
“No.”
“Anya, please…”
“Dima, no!” Her voice rang sharply. “We don’t have any money ourselves! I’m doing everything I can, taking additional shifts, and now you expect me to support your mother too?!”
“She’s my mother,” he said quietly.
“And she’s your responsibility! Not mine!” Anna threw her bag onto the floor. “Find a job—any job—and help her as much as you like! But don’t put that burden on me!”
He turned away.
“You simply don’t understand. She has no one except me.”
“And do I have anyone except myself?” Anna felt a lump rising in her throat. “I’m carrying everything alone! I’m the only one paying for the apartment, the food, and everything else! And you’re lying on the sofa talking about ‘suitable’ salaries!”
“I’m looking for a job!”
“You’ve been looking for three months! Three!” She grabbed her coat and stormed out of the apartment, slamming the door behind her.
She went down into the courtyard and sat on a bench. It was cold, but she did not care. She simply sat there, staring into the darkness and realizing that things could not continue this way.
A week later, on Sunday, while Anna was trying to catch up on sleep after a night shift, the doorbell rang. Dmitry went to answer it, while she remained in bed with the blanket pulled over her head.
“Dimochka!” came a familiar voice.
Anna froze. It was Lyudmila Petrovna.
“Mom, what are you doing here?” Dmitry sounded confused.
“I came to talk! You’re not answering my calls, so I decided to come over!”
Anna groaned quietly and got out of bed. She put on her robe and walked into the hallway.
Lyudmila Petrovna was standing in the entrance hall. She was tall and thin, with a cold gaze filled with righteous indignation.
“Hello, Lyudmila Petrovna,” Anna said tiredly.
“Oh, there you are.” Her mother-in-law looked her up and down with contempt. “Sleeping until noon, I suppose, while my son racks his brains trying to figure out how to provide for the family.”
“I worked the night shift,” Anna replied calmly. “Unlike your son, I work.”
“Watch your language, young lady!” Lyudmila Petrovna exploded. “Dima is a man—the provider! You should support him instead of making sarcastic remarks!”
“Mom, calm down,” Dmitry tried to intervene, but his mother was not listening.
“He’s a provider who hasn’t worked for five months,” Anna said, stepping forward. “He turns down jobs because either the salary is too low or the commute is too long. He lies on the sofa while I work twelve-hour shifts!”
“That’s a lie!” Lyudmila Petrovna’s face turned purple. “My son simply cannot find a job worthy of him! And you lived at his expense all these years!”
“This is my apartment!” Anna’s voice rang through the hallway. “I’m the one paying for it! And he never earned much more than I did! Now I’m the only one working!”
“You seem to be living quite well! That means you have money!”
“I have money,” Anna said distinctly. “He doesn’t.”
Lyudmila Petrovna turned toward her son.
“Dimochka, tell her! Tell her that you’re looking for a job! You’re supposed to help me! I’m your mother! I devoted my entire life to you!”
Dmitry looked helplessly from his mother to his wife.
“Mom, I…I’ll try. I’ll think of something…”
“You see!” his mother exclaimed triumphantly. “My son won’t abandon me! And you”—she pointed a finger at Anna—“you’re incapable of supporting either your husband or a mother in need!”
Anna slowly looked at her husband. He stood with his head lowered, saying nothing. He did not defend her. He did not stop his mother. He simply stood there.
“Dima,” she called quietly.
He looked up at her.
“Tell her to leave.”
“Anya…”
“Tell her to leave my apartment.”
“How dare you!” Lyudmila Petrovna shrieked. “I’m his mother! I have the right…”
“You don’t have any rights here!” Anna’s voice broke into a shout. “This is my apartment! And I’m tired! I’m tired of supporting a grown man who can’t find a job! I’m tired of him promising you money he doesn’t have! I’m tired of your phone calls, your accusations, and your lies!”
“Dima!” Lyudmila Petrovna pleaded. “Do you hear the way she’s speaking to me?!”
“Mom, maybe you really should…” he began, but his mother interrupted him.
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“You’re taking her side?! Against your own mother?!”
“I’m not taking anyone’s side. I just…”
“You’re just nothing,” Anna said, and there was no longer any shouting in her voice. There was only cold exhaustion. “You simply stand there and say nothing. Like always.”
She turned toward her mother-in-law.
“Lyudmila Petrovna, perhaps your son owes you something. I don’t. I’m not obligated to support you. I’m not obligated to listen to your accusations. And I’m not obligated to tolerate your presence in my home.”
“You have no right…”
“I do.” Anna walked to the door and pulled it open. “Leave.”
“Dima!” Lyudmila Petrovna grabbed her son’s arm. “Are you going to let her speak to me like this?!”
He remained silent, staring at the floor.
“Dima! Explain to your wife how she should speak to her elders!”
“Mom,” he managed to say, “maybe you really should leave now, and we can talk later…”
“Later?!” She recoiled. “When is later? I need your help now, not later! Are you turning your back on me?! Are you choosing her over me?!”
“Mom, I’m not turning my back on you. This isn’t a choice. I just…”
“So you are choosing her!” Her voice trembled. “Ungrateful boy! I raised you! I devoted my entire life to you! I denied myself everything! And you…you’re betraying me for the sake of this…”
“Enough,” Anna said quietly.
Lyudmila Petrovna turned toward her, hatred burning in her eyes.
“You! You turned my son against me!”
“I’ve been feeding your son,” Anna replied. “For three months. And now you expect me to feed you too.”
“He promised to help me!”
“With what?!” Anna felt everything inside her begin to boil. “With my money?! The money I earn by working myself to death?!”
“You’re his wife, which means you must…”
“I don’t owe you anything! Anything! Not you and not him!”
Dmitry flinched.
“Anya, this is too much…”
“Too much?!” She spun toward him. “Too much?! You’ve been sitting at home for three months! Three! You turn down jobs! You lie on the sofa while I work myself to the bone! And your mother comes here demanding money that you don’t have! And you remain silent! You don’t defend me, you don’t stop her—you simply stand there mumbling that we’ll ‘think of something’!”
“I’m trying…”
“You’re not trying! You’re hiding!” Her voice trembled. “You’re hiding from responsibility for yourself, for your family, and for your mother! I’m tired, Dima. I’m tired of being alone. I’m tired of carrying everything on my shoulders. I’m tired of you allowing her to insult me in my own home!”
“I didn’t want…”
“You never want anything! You don’t want to work for a ‘low’ salary! You don’t want to commute too far! You don’t want to upset your mother! What do you want? To lie on the sofa and feel sorry for yourself?!”
“Anna!” Lyudmila Petrovna interrupted. “You have no right to speak to him like that!”
“Yes! You can’t speak to me like that!” Dima finally decided to speak up. “My mother really does need help. She needs medicine…”
Anna turned toward him, and something dangerous flashed in her eyes.
“You don’t even work, and now you’ve decided to help your mother too?” she said through clenched teeth, staring directly at Dmitry. “That’s it! Both of you, get out of my apartment!”
Silence fell.
Lyudmila Petrovna stared at her with her mouth open. Dmitry turned pale.
“Anya, you can’t…”
“I can. This is my apartment. And I don’t want to see either of you anymore. Not her and not you.”
“But…”
“Leave,” she said, her voice becoming as calm and cold as ice. “Right now.”
Lyudmila Petrovna grabbed her handbag.
“Come on, Dimochka. She’s become completely shameless!”
Dmitry did not move.
“Dima,” his mother called.
He looked at Anna. Confusion, resentment, and fear were visible in his eyes.
“Are you serious?”
“Absolutely.”
“But where am I supposed to go?”
“To your mother’s,” Anna said, nodding toward Lyudmila Petrovna. “Since the two of you need each other so much.”
“Anya, let’s talk…”
“No. I’ve said everything. Leave.”
Lyudmila Petrovna pulled her son toward the door.
“Come on. Now you can see what she’s really like. She’s throwing you out like a dog. I’ll always take you in.”
Dmitry slowly walked toward the exit. At the threshold, he turned around, anger burning in his eyes.
“You’ll regret this.”
Anna gave a bitter smile.
“I already have regrets. I regret not doing this sooner.”
The door closed.
Anna leaned her back against it and slowly slid down to the floor. She sat in the empty hallway, listening to their fading footsteps, and for the first time in a long while, she felt something resembling relief.
A week passed.
Dmitry called, but she did not answer. He sent messages, but she did not read them. Lyudmila Petrovna tried to call as well, so Anna blocked her number.
She went to work and returned home, and the emptiness of the apartment no longer felt oppressive. On the contrary, the apartment seemed lighter and more spacious.
It was as though something suffocating and oppressive had left along with Dmitry and his mother.
One evening, Anna sat in the kitchen with a cup of tea, looking out the window. Her phone vibrated. It was an unfamiliar number.
She nearly rejected the call, but something made her answer.
“Hello?”
“Anna Sergeyevna?” a woman’s voice asked. “This is Marina Vladimirovna, Lyudmila Petrovna’s neighbor.”
Anna froze.
“I’m listening.”
“I got your number from Dima. I wanted to tell you that Lyudmila Petrovna has been taken to the hospital. It’s nothing serious—her blood pressure rose sharply. But Dima is very worried. He asked me to tell you to call him.”
Anna remained silent.
“Anna Sergeyevna?”
“I understand. Thank you.”
She hung up and finished her cold tea. Then she stood, washed the cup, and went to bed.
She did not call.
And she did not feel ashamed.
More than that, she did not feel anything at all.
For the first time in a long while, she slept peacefully, without expecting someone to demand more from her than she could give. Without fearing that, in the morning, she would once again have to carry someone else’s burden on her shoulders.
She was alone.
And she felt good.
Because sometimes loneliness is not emptiness.
It is freedom.