“Oleg, finally! What air, huh! Do you hear how the nightingales are singing somewhere? It’s like some kind of paradise… I can already imagine: we’ll light the grill, the meat in the trunk has been marinating for a long time — the barbecue will be excellent!” Lena jumped out of the car even before the engine had completely died down.
She took a deep breath — the fresh, thick scent of blooming lilacs and freshly cut grass filled her lungs. The dacha village, drowning in greenery, greeted them with silence broken only by birdsong and the distant buzzing of a lawnmower. Lena was already picturing herself in an old hammock under the apple tree with a book and a cup of lemonade, while Oleg skillfully prepared the barbecue. This was the idyllic scene she had been imagining all through the hectic workweek.
But she barely had time to immerse herself in these dreams when Raisa Petrovna slowly got out of the car with a sigh and a certain dignity. Oleg’s mother was a sturdy woman, used to hard work and intolerant of idleness. She swept the plot with a sharp, owner’s gaze, as if already deciding what to tackle first. Her eyes narrowed, and her lips pressed into that strict line Lena had already learned to understand — the look of a commander before a decisive battle against weeds and other garden trials.
“Well, we’ve arrived, thank God,” Raisa Petrovna said matter-of-factly, adjusting her headscarf that had slipped to the side. “Oleg, carry the things into the house, and you, Lena, don’t just stand there like a statue — it’s time to get to work.”
Lena blinked in confusion. Her thoughts of the hammock began to quietly collapse.
“What work? We came here to relax…”
Before she could get an answer, her mother-in-law was already heading toward the crooked shed where the garden tools were kept. A minute later, she returned with a rusty hoe and a pair of old canvas gloves.
“Here, take this,” she handed Lena this “gift.” “The vegetable garden is a mess — the carrots are all full of bindweed, the beets have completely overgrown. My back’s been stiff since morning, can’t straighten up, but the work won’t wait. You know, the earth loves labor, not idleness.”
Lena looked at the hoe — cold and uncomfortable in her hands — then at the endless, by her city standards, overgrown beds. The prospect of spending the day bent over under the scorching sun was not pleasing at all.
“Mom, but we just wanted to rest,” Oleg intervened, pulling a bag of groceries out of the trunk. “Lena’s tired, let her at least have some tea, look around a bit.”
Raisa Petrovna gave her son a look that made him involuntarily shrink.
“We’ll rest after the work is done,” she cut in sharply. “You city fashionistas are used to jumping straight into hammocks with books without lifting a finger. Real rest is in righteous labor, right here! You weed the beds — you’ll build up an appetite and get some benefit. You can’t just sit in offices all the time like living shadows!”
Lena took a deep breath, trying to stay calm. Her perfect weekend was rapidly falling apart. She realized arguing now was pointless, but she was not going to give up without a fight.
“Raisa Petrovna, I truly respect your work and hold it in high regard,” she began softly but firmly. “But I was expecting to spend these days a bit differently — barbecues, swimming, walks. Working in the garden wasn’t part of my plans. We came here to relax together.”
Carefully putting down the hoe and gloves on the bench by the porch, Lena felt the tension in the air grow almost tangible. Raisa Petrovna froze, her face flushing. Her look held something between offense and outrage.
“Just look at her!” she exclaimed, addressing her son more than Lena. “A doll, not a woman. Came here to rest! And who said the dacha is a resort? It’s work, the earth that feeds us. And people like you only know how to consume the fruits of others’ labor. Used to lying on sofas in the cities, and when it comes to real work — suddenly ‘tired,’ ‘not in the plan.’”
She dramatically threw her hands up.
“Look, Oleg, what kind of wife you got! Not like my late mother-in-law — she worked from morning till night, never said a word too many. And this one — all hammocks and barbecues. A pretty picture, not a hostess! You brought home a porcelain doll, but who’s going to work?”
Lena’s cheeks burned. The accusations were unfair, and she wanted to explain that if her mother-in-law treated her with respect, maybe she would have agreed to help. But not like this — with orders and contempt.
“Mom, that’s enough,” Oleg asked uncertainly, sensing the situation was getting out of control. “We agreed we’d just rest. You asked me to bring the barbecue…”
“You asked!” his mother mocked, her voice rising and becoming sharper. “And who’s going to grill it if you’re both lying in hammocks? Do you think the meat will skewer itself? I’ve been sweating for years so you’d have jars of our own cucumbers in winter, and the thanks — zero! Only complaints and tantrums!”
The sun continued to shine, the birds chirped, but a tension thick as storm clouds was gathering over the plot, promising an impending family storm.
Lena felt the piercing gaze on her and tensed inwardly. Mentally, she was already figuring out how to leave this place quickly — call a taxi, gather her things, and disappear before the remnants of the perfect vacation were completely burned under the scorching sun. The calm, almost fairy-tale picture of the weekend, with which everything had started, had crumbled to dust.
“Well, silent now?” Raisa Petrovna snapped sharply, stepping close. Lena smelled the earth, grass, and irritation, as if the very air around her mother-in-law had thickened. “Do you think you can get away with silence? Not a chance! I know people like you — I grew up on my own garden, unlike you city fashionistas who only know how to hold your nose up!”
Lena slowly raised her eyes. Her gaze met Raisa Petrovna’s furious, condemning stare.
“I don’t want to quarrel with you, Raisa Petrovna,” she replied calmly, though her voice was already cold as ice. “I came to rest, not to perform duties or endure attacks. If my presence irritates you so much, I can just leave.”
She carefully placed the blanket she had intended to spread under the tree and headed toward the car, clearly showing she was not going to participate in this scene. This gesture — her ignoring, her composure — finally exploded Raisa Petrovna.
“I should shove your face into that grill so you know your place, daughter-in-law?!” she blurted, stepping forward.
For a moment, silence fell. The birds seemed to stop singing, the wind halted, and even the bumblebees stopped buzzing. Lena slowly turned around. Her face became a mask of coldness, but behind it was a clenched ball of fury.
“Raisa Petrovna,” she said firmly, each syllable striking sharply, “you can shove anyone into that grill — even your whole garden bed. But not me. I am neither a slave nor a serf to you. Oleg,” she shifted her gaze to her husband, who stood between them, confused and pale, “did you hear what your mother just said? Do you think it’s normal? If yes — then we can consider our vacation officially ruined. Choose: either you explain to your mother that it’s unacceptable to talk to me that way and we try to spend these days in a normal atmosphere, or I’m leaving right now. Alone. And you stay here and enjoy the family coziness.”
“Who do you think you are to tell me what to do?!” Raisa Petrovna literally gasped with outrage. She was ready to lash out at Lena again, but Lena stood firm, not letting herself be shaken. “You’ll even teach my son how to live?! In my house?! I’ll… I’ll shove your nose into the beds myself so you know your place! What audacity! Came here to throw your weight around! I lived a life, raised my son, and you act like a queen!”
She took another step forward, but Oleg finally came to his senses and stood between the women. His hands stretched out sideways as if trying to stop the approaching tsunami.
“Mom, stop!” His voice trembled, but notes of determination slipped through. “Lena, please, calm down, both of you!”
But neither woman heard him. Raisa Petrovna continued to unload a stream of accusations on him, saying Lena “poisons” their family, that she “came to something ready-made,” that he would “forget the way home.” And Lena, ignoring her mother-in-law’s hysteria, silently gathered her things, carefully, almost with dignity, lifted the blanket, and headed for the car. Each step was confident, precise, without a trace of doubt.
Oleg watched her go, feeling something important inside tear apart. On one side — his mother, with whom he grew up, whom he loved, though not always understood. On the other — his wife, beside whom he built his life, whom he also loved. And now he stood between them, crushed by a choice on which everything depended.
Raisa Petrovna was relentless, demanding her son stay with her, accusing Lena of selfishness, wanting to control them, calling her a “homewrecker.” But Lena no longer listened. She opened the car door, sat in the driver’s seat, and froze, leaving the final, decisive moment for Oleg.
Silence hung over the plot. The sun shone as if nothing had happened, birds chirped, but for the three people standing there, the world had stopped. Everything depended on one step. One word. One decision.
Oleg stood, head bowed. His shoulders drooped under the weight not only of what had happened but of the choice he had to make. He felt his mother’s sharp, almost tangible gaze — full of unspoken reproach and hidden threat. And he keenly felt Lena slipping away, her silhouette frozen by the car door, like the last beacon before a point of no return.
Thoughts flashed chaotically in his mind: the first glance at Lena, her laughter shining from within; the wedding day filled with promises of eternal love; his mother’s face — always strict, but, as he had thought before, fair; her hands — sinewy, covered with calluses, once a symbol of reliability. And now — between two women who meant everything to him, he stood torn apart.
But essentially, it was not a choice between mother and wife. It was a choice between a past filled with pressure and fear of not being good enough, and a future where he wanted to be himself — a person worthy of respect, love, and freedom.
He took a deep breath, as if gathering strength before jumping into icy water. He lifted his head. The confusion disappeared from his eyes. There was pain — yes — but along with it, clarity. He looked at Raisa Petrovna. She froze, expecting to be heard, confident in her right. But in her gaze, beyond anger, he suddenly noticed fear — fear of loneliness, fear of losing her son completely, fear of losing the power that had held their bond for so long.
“Mom…” he began quietly, but his voice was firm. No excuses, no explanations. Nothing extra. Just a long look — full of regret, bitterness, and some new, previously unknown confidence in himself.
And without saying anything else, he turned and slowly but resolutely walked to the car, where Lena was waiting. Each step was hard, but he knew — he was doing what he must. Raisa Petrovna stood frozen, unable to believe her eyes. Her son. Her beloved Oleg. He chose not her. He was leaving. Without looking back.
“Traitor!” she shouted, her voice breaking. “Ungrateful! I gave you my life, and you… you chose this… this empty shell?! May your spirit never be in my house again! May you disappear with her! I curse you! Do you hear? I curse you both!”
She ran after the car to the gate, stumbling, disheveled, her slipped headscarf flapping like a ragged flag of defeat. She threw a clod of earth after the car — a helpless act of despair. The clod broke up in the air, crumbled to dust, not even reaching the fence. She was left standing alone, screaming into the void, clenching her fists until the car disappeared around the corner, taking away the last threads that bound her to her son.
Inside the car, a dense, almost tangible silence settled. Lena sat behind the wheel, back straight, hands on the steering wheel, gaze fixed ahead. No tears, no questions, no sign of weakness. Only cold composure and focus. She did not look at Oleg. She was simply driving them away — from broken hopes, from pain, from the old life.
Oleg sat next to her, hunched, looking out the window at passing trees, houses, and plots. Inside him, a storm raged, but outwardly he was calm. The heavy realization of what had happened lay like a stone on his heart, but along with it came a strange relief. The way back was blocked. The bridge burned. Not the bridge connecting two banks, but the one that held him between two worlds — childhood and adult life.
They never returned to that dacha again. And Oleg never entered Raisa Petrovna’s house again. At first, she called — sometimes with reproaches, sometimes with pleas, sometimes with hysterical threats. He didn’t answer. Lena neither. Over time, the calls stopped. A thick veil of resentment and unspoken curses fell over the former relationship.
But Lena and Oleg chose each other. They paid a high price for this choice, but, as it seemed then, the only possible one. Their own life was opening before them — one they had to build anew, honestly, without looking back. However, the scars from that day remained with them forever — as a reminder of how fragile love can be, and how painful the breaking of family ties is when they become chains.