Two years. Exactly two years since he’s no longer with us.
Sveta stood by the window, gazing at the gray industrial landscape. The factory pipes released plumes of smoke into the sky, just like they did that day — the day everything collapsed. When the world turned upside down and split into “before” and “after.”
The phone call that evening was forever etched into her memory. The trembling voice of the workshop foreman: “Sveta, there’s been an accident… Seryozha… He didn’t make it out.” And then the silence on the line, long and deafening.
After that, everything felt like a blur: the hospital corridors, identification, endless paperwork, meetings with the management. “There will be compensation,” the workshop foreman said, trying not to look her in the eye. “And benefits for sanatorium treatment for you and your son. The company will support you.”
And her son, little Dima, looked at her with wide eyes, unable to understand. “Dad won’t come back? Not ever?” And she didn’t know how to explain to an eight-year-old boy that his father would never return. That the sky had taken him.
After the farewell ceremony, Zinaida Petrovna, her mother-in-law, silently packed her things and left. She just left, without offering any comforting words, without hugging her grandson, without offering help. As if, along with her son, her desire to see her daughter-in-law and grandson had disappeared. As if they had become strangers in an instant.
At night, Sveta often had the same dream: Seryozha coming out of the factory gate, waving at her, smiling. And then suddenly the ground beneath him gives way, and he disappears — without a scream, without a sound. She would wake up with tears in her eyes and stare at the ceiling for a long time.
The apartment felt too big and empty without him. The smells, the sounds, the shadows — everything reminded her of him. For a while, Sveta didn’t touch Seryozha’s things — shirts in the wardrobe, his razor in the bathroom, the unfinished book on the nightstand. It was as if he had just stepped out and would soon return.
Then, she had to clear everything away. For Dima’s sake. It was hard enough for the boy.
The boy became withdrawn, quiet. He stopped playing with other children. He would sit for hours, assembling his construction set — the same one his father had given him shortly before that terrible shift.
“Mom, is Dad in the sky now?” Dima asked.
“Yes, baby,” she answered, holding back tears.
“And can he see me from up there?”
“Of course.”
And those words tore her heart even more.
Sveta worked as an inspector at the same metallurgical plant where Seryozha had worked. He had been in the hot shop — the place he never returned from.
After he was gone, she nearly broke. She didn’t want to get up in the mornings, talk to people, live. Work saved her — and Dima. For him, she had to stay strong, make breakfast, check homework, smile.
The first few months were the hardest. People sympathized, supported her. Then — as it always happens — life returned to normal. Everyone around her continued to live, laugh, and socialize. But for Sveta, time seemed to have frozen, stuck at that point.
She put the compensation she received for Seryozha straight into the mortgage. More than five hundred thousand. The apartment was just a two-room place, they had bought it just a year ago… Seryozha had been so happy, slapping the walls: “Ours! Ours!” And now, look how it turned out — just Dima and her in it.
What was left of the compensation went to Dima’s treatment. The boy started coughing, couldn’t sleep at night, had headaches… The doctor looked at her sadly: “It’s all stress, the worries.” And what stress does an eight-year-old have? It’s just that his father isn’t here anymore…
The tests, the pills — so much money. Sometimes Sveta would get her inspector’s pay and, within a week, it would be gone. Where could she get new clothes? What toys? The only joy was having bread until the next paycheck.
Their metallurgical plant — basically, the whole town lived off it. Almost every second person wore a factory uniform with that metal emblem. It roared and smoked around the clock. The men worked twelve-hour shifts in the shop, welding, pouring, riveting. Those metal parts were sent to some factories, maybe to be used in car manufacturing.
The workshops were filled with dust, heat, and noise. The workers did twelve-hour shifts, especially in the hot shops. Seryozha would often come home exhausted, with red eyes from the heat. But he never complained.
“At least they pay well,” he’d say. “It’s enough for the apartment.”
They dreamed of their own home, saving and budgeting. When they got the keys to the new apartment, there was no end to their joy. Even if it was a mortgage, even if for twenty years, it was theirs!
And then, a year later, Seryozha was gone.
The plant took responsibility for its workers. Compensation for the families, support programs, social benefits. It all looked good on paper. But when it came to reality, it wasn’t so easy to get what was promised.
First, there were endless commissions, checks, papers. Then, the wait for the management’s decision. Then, more paperwork, forms, queues. Sveta spent almost three months on all of it. She went to the plant’s head office in the regional center three times. She stood for hours in waiting rooms.
“We’ll definitely help you,” the social support department employees would smile at her. “Just need one more paper…”
In the end, the compensation was paid. But she had to fight for most of the benefits.
The winters in their town were especially tough. Snow, wind, the gray sky over the factory pipes. On such days, sadness would hit her with a renewed force.
One day, Dima came home from school silent, gloomy.
“What happened?” Sveta asked.
“Nikita said I’m poor,” he said quietly. “That I don’t even have a proper jacket.”
Sveta gasped. Dima’s jacket was old, with a patched sleeve. She couldn’t afford to buy a new one — the winter had been expensive, heating bills ate up half of her salary.
“Nikita’s talking nonsense,” she hugged her son. “You have everything you need.”
“But why does everyone have new phones? And tablets? And I don’t?”
She didn’t know what to say. She just hugged him tighter and pressed him to her.
At work, Sveta tried to keep it together. She smiled, joked with her colleagues, met her quotas. But sometimes, it would hit her, and then she would lock herself in the bathroom and quietly cry, her face buried in her hands.
“Hang in there, Svetlanka,” her shift mate Olga would say. “Time heals.”
But time passed, and it didn’t get easier. Just more familiar.
The plant’s director would occasionally invite the families of deceased workers to meet with him. For a talk, as he put it. But in reality, it was just for show, to report to the inspectors that the support program was working.
Sveta had been to one such meeting twice. She sat in a spacious office with a view of the factory yard. The director offered tea, asked how they were living, if everything was okay. Sveta politely smiled, said: “Yes, thank you, everything’s fine.”
What else could she say? That money barely lasted from paycheck to paycheck? That her son had outgrown all his clothes and there was no money to buy new ones? That at night, she dreams of Seryozha and wakes up screaming?
One time, she took a chance and asked: “I’d like to transfer to a different position. So I could get paid more. I can study, take courses…”
The director nodded: “Of course, of course. We’ll look into your request. Submit an application to HR.”
She did. Three times. All three times, she got a refusal — “no vacancies.”
Sometimes, Sveta worked overtime. She took extra shifts to earn a little more. On those days, Dima stayed with the neighbor — a kind old lady, Antonina Nikolaevna.
“Don’t worry,” the old woman said. “Come on, I’ll take him. We’ll do his homework, watch some cartoons.”
And Sveta was grateful to this woman — for her kindness, for her understanding, for her help. Unlike her mother-in-law, who forgot about them as soon as the earth fell on the coffin lid.
Zinaida Petrovna lived in the same town, just three stops away. But she never once came to visit her grandson. Not a single call, not a word.
When New Year’s came, Dima asked: “Is Grandma Zina coming?”
Sveta just shook her head: “Probably not, son. She’s very busy.”
And she thought to herself: “Busy with herself. As always.”
In January, there was another inspection at the plant — a commission from the ministry. The director personally walked through the workshops, smiling at everyone, giving instructions to clean up.
“Svetlana Andreevna!” he came up to her station. “How are you? Are you satisfied with everything?”
She lifted her tired eyes to him: “Yes, Viktor Stepanovich. Everything’s fine.”
“Great!” he beamed. “By the way, are you aware of our social program? For the families of our… uh… former employees?”
“Yes, I’m aware,” she nodded.
“Great! Take advantage of it! We have everything for the people!”
And the director walked away without waiting for a response. And inside Sveta, everything boiled with anger. What program is he talking about? What’s he even saying? They only give her free medication for prevention once a year — and that’s it.
That evening, she asked Olga: “Hey, what’s this support program for the families of the deceased? The director mentioned it, but I don’t know anything about it.”
— There are a lot of them, — Olga waved her hand dismissively. — Free medicine, financial aid for the holidays. And, of course, vouchers.
— What vouchers? — Svetlana didn’t understand.
— Oh, you didn’t know? — Olga was surprised. — Well, you should! You’re entitled to free vouchers to a sanatorium once a year for you and your child!
Svetlana shook her head: — First time I’ve heard of it.
— Well, go to Petrovna at the trade union office. She’ll explain everything. You just need to submit the documents. They’re accepting applications until the 10th. You’ll make it in time!
The next day, Svetlana found out that it was indeed a real program. In honor of those who would never return from their work shifts, their families were given vouchers for sanatoriums on the Black Sea. You could even take one additional adult with you. You just needed to submit an application.
— Is it really free? — she asked the union worker again.
— For you and the child, yes, — the woman nodded. — But if you want to take a third person, you’ll have to pay extra. It’s a discounted price, not the full cost, but it’s still about thirty thousand for the voucher. Plus the cost of transportation and meals along the way — that’s at your own expense for everyone.
— And what amount should I expect approximately? — Svetlana asked, internally tensing.
— Well, if it’s just you and the child, only the transportation will cost about six or seven thousand. If you take someone else, then you’ll need an additional thirty thousand for the voucher and about three thousand for the transportation.
Svetlana mentally counted her savings. If she went with Dima, the money would be enough for transportation and maybe a little left over for ice cream and souvenirs.
For the first time in a long time, hope began to spark inside her. Dima dreams of the sea so much!
They could breathe in the salty air, swim, and sunbathe.
— Mom, is it true? Are we going to the sea? — Dima’s eyes sparkled when she told him about the voucher.
— Yes, son. In August. Two weeks!
He threw himself around her neck: — You’re the best! I love you so much!
And at that moment, Svetlana felt the weight that had been pressing on her for two years loosen a little. She would make her son happy. She could show him the world beyond their town. She could finally take a breath.
The paperwork for the voucher took a whole week. Doctor’s notes, applications, questionnaires, status confirmation. But Svetlana was ready to go through it a hundred times if it meant seeing Dima’s joy.
At the trade union office, they were understanding: — Oh, Svetochka, finally! We give out these vouchers every year, and you’ve never asked before!
— I didn’t know, — she honestly admitted.
— Aren’t you taking a second adult?
— Who would I take?
— Well, alright. Good. Just don’t forget the documents. And we’ll buy your tickets in advance, in the second class. Is that okay?
— Of course! — Svetlana smiled. — It’s free! How could I not be happy?
She smiled all the way home. A little sprout of hope grew in her soul. For the first time in two years, she felt that life could be more than just pain and exhaustion. There was room for joy too.
The doorbell rang as she was finishing the dishes after dinner. Wiping her hands with a towel, Svetlana went to the door.
Standing on the doorstep was Zinaida Petrovna. Dressed up, even had makeup on. As if those two years without a single call or message hadn’t passed at all.
— Hello, — she threw curtly, walking into the apartment uninvited.
— Good evening, — Svetlana answered, bewildered.
Two years. Two years since her mother-in-law had crossed the threshold of their home. She hadn’t called. She hadn’t asked about her grandson. Not even a call or a message, not even a gift for Dima last New Year.
— Would you like some tea? — Svetlana asked, not knowing what else to say.
— I don’t have time for tea, — Zinaida Petrovna replied, looking around. — What, you haven’t done the repairs yet? What did you spend the money on?
— What money? — Svetlana didn’t understand.
— What money? Compensation! For Sergey! They say you got almost a million!
— Not a million, but five hundred thousand, — Svetlana answered quietly. — I paid off part of the mortgage and for Dima’s treatment…
— And where is he, by the way? — suddenly asked her mother-in-law, as if she had just remembered her grandson.
— At the neighbor’s. They’re watching cartoons.
— Call him!
— Why? — Svetlana felt a wave of bitterness rise inside her. — You never cared about him. Not once in two years did you ask how he’s doing. You didn’t even call on his birthday.
— Oh, what are you starting now? — her mother-in-law waved her hand dismissively. — I’ve been busy. My dacha, seedlings, the garden. And really, it was hard for me to see you. You remind me… of him.
“Was it easy for us?” Svetlana wanted to ask but remained silent.
— So, — Zinaida Petrovna continued, sitting down on a chair in a businesslike manner, — I heard from Galina Sergeevna that they’re giving you a voucher. To the sea. A free one for you and Dima. And you can take a third person at a discounted price.
So that’s it. Galina Sergeevna — the accountant at the factory. And an old friend of her mother-in-law’s.
— Yes, I just found out about the program…
— That’s why I came to tell you, — Zinaida Petrovna interrupted her. — So you can sign me up as the third person. And you’ll pay for my voucher. The doctor told me I need the sea air, or my lungs will be in trouble. And you have money! Only thirty thousand for a discount.
Svetlana stared at her, not believing her ears.
— I don’t have that kind of money, — she said quietly. — The money I have is just enough for us two, Dima and me, for transportation.
— But they paid you the compensation! — her mother-in-law threw her hands up. — For Sergey! Are you really going to regret thirty thousand for your mother-in-law? I have every right! It’s because of my son that you’re getting all this! He lost his life at that factory, and now his mother should get something. I’m going to the sea thanks to my son’s tragedy!
Svetlana didn’t even know what to say after such brazen accusations.
Two years of pain, loneliness, trying to survive, raise her son, and not break. And not once, not a single time, did Zinaida Petrovna ask how they were doing. Didn’t care whether they needed anything. Didn’t come to visit her grandson.
But now she appeared — to demand her “right” to the sea.
— So, who did you think you’d take with you? — her mother-in-law continued, not noticing her condition. — Well, take me! We’ll go. Dima will see his grandmother, and I’ll breathe the sea air. Galka said there are luxury rooms, three meals a day…
— And you won’t even ask how Dima has been this whole time? — Svetlana suddenly interrupted her. — How we’ve been living these two years? How we’ve been?
Zinaida Petrovna sighed: — Well, of course it was hard. It was hard for me too. But life goes on. So let’s go, we’ll relax…
— To the sea on my money? — Svetlana raised an eyebrow. — Don’t you think, Zinaida Petrovna, that the bus stop is the most you deserve?
Zinaida Petrovna froze. Her face slowly elongated, and her eyebrows shot up.
— What are you… How dare you! I am Sergey’s mother! I have the right!
— To what? — Svetlana calmly asked. — To the fact that you abandoned us right after saying goodbye to him and didn’t remember us for two years? To the fact that you never called your grandson? Never asked how we were living? And now you’re here demanding the sea?
Zinaida Petrovna grabbed her bag: — I’ll file a complaint! To the trade union! They’ll take your voucher away!
— File it. — Svetlana shrugged.
Her mother-in-law hesitated. A flash of fear appeared in her eyes — as if she had just realized how it looked from the outside.
— Good luck, Zinaida Petrovna, — Svetlana said, opening the door. — The bus stop is around the corner. I would walk you, but…
Before she finished the sentence, her mother-in-law rushed out the door.
The sea turned out to be exactly as Dima imagined: endless, blue, warm.
The waves ran ashore, crashing against the rocks. Dima was building a sandcastle. The wind was blowing the laundry drying on the neighboring balconies of the sanatorium.
For the first time in two years, Svetlana felt something like peace. And hope. The sea heals everything — even a broken heart. Especially when there are real, living people around. Not those who only come to demand.
Did the mother-in-law have the right to demand that Svetlana pay for her voucher to the sea?
What do you think?