Three years earlier, everything began with a fall. Lyuda’s mother-in-law, Antonina Semyonovna, slipped at home and fractured her hip. A call from the hospital in the dead of night. Panic. Paperwork. Endless waiting rooms and doctor queues. Lyuda bounced between her job and the hospital halls, while her husband, Viktor, only sighed and kept repeating the same line:
“I can’t look at this. My heart won’t take it.”
From that day on, the care of seventy-five-year-old Antonina Semyonovna became Lyuda’s burden. Viktor quietly stepped away from every responsibility connected to his mother. First he skipped the discharge—work “wouldn’t let him.” Then he stopped going to checkups—his nerves “couldn’t handle it.” Eventually he announced that his presence upset his mother more than it helped.
Lyuda didn’t fight him. In a household where a programmer and an interior designer lived, no one was used to loud confrontations. So she simply took over everything that involved her mother-in-law.
Monday was the clinic and the general physician. Tuesday, the ophthalmologist—her eyesight was worsening. Wednesday, the cardiologist—her blood pressure swung unpredictably. Thursday, the endocrinologist—her sugar levels were up. Friday was for buying medicines and groceries for the entire week.
“Lyudochka, you didn’t forget those joint pills, did you?” her mother-in-law would ask from the doorway. “And be sure to buy cottage cheese—the doctor said I need calcium.”
“Of course, Antonina Semyonovna. I remember.”
Lyuda kept lists, marked appointments in her calendar, and made sure not a single test was missed. Her design studio schedule had to bend around her mother-in-law’s medical routine. Clients sometimes grumbled when meetings were moved, but Lyuda always found an explanation.
Antonina Semyonovna’s apartment demanded constant upkeep too: cleaning once a week, mopping floors, wiping dust, changing bed linens. The older woman did almost nothing herself—between the injury’s aftermath and general weakness, even basic chores felt impossible.
“I can’t bend down, my back hurts,” she complained. “Thank goodness you’re so capable.”
Viktor would occasionally stop by on weekends for half an hour. He’d sit in an armchair, share some work news, drink tea with biscuits, and leave.
“Mom looks fine,” he’d say at home. “You’re doing great looking after her.”
There was no warmth in his voice—only the cold certainty that his wife was managing the duties he didn’t want.
Lyuda had been a designer for eight years and earned decently—around eighty thousand rubles a month. But the constant trips to her mother-in-law’s place, plus paying for medicines and food, swallowed an enormous amount of time and money. Antonina Semyonovna’s pension was twenty-two thousand rubles, and it was nowhere near enough.
“Lyudochka, could you buy me this one too?” her mother-in-law would ask, holding out a prescription. “It’s expensive, but the doctor says I really need it.”
Lyuda bought it. Imported medications, vitamins, special joint creams. Every month she spent around fifteen thousand rubles—out of her own income—just on her mother-in-law’s treatment.
Viktor knew. He simply never offered to help. His programmer salary was about one hundred and twenty thousand rubles, but most of it went into his photography obsession: costly lenses, nature trips, editing software.
“Photography helps me unwind after work,” he’d say whenever Lyuda hinted that his hobby was draining their finances.
Summer pressure
The summer months were brutal. The heat made Antonina Semyonovna’s condition worse. She struggled in high temperatures—felt weak, dizzy, constantly unwell.
“Lyudochka, I feel terrible today,” she would complain over the phone. “Could you come by and see what’s wrong?”
Lyuda would drop everything and race across the city. She’d check her blood pressure, give her medication, turn on the air conditioner, buy extra water and fruit.
“It’s a blessing you exist,” Antonina Semyonovna would say. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
Meanwhile Viktor was spending his weekends at his friend Oleg’s dacha—photographing sunrises and sunsets, swimming in the river, grilling skewers over a fire. He’d vanish all day Saturday and Sunday.
“You have to escape the city sometimes,” he’d say, returning home tanned and satisfied.
Lyuda would nod, put away his things, wash clothes that smelled of smoke and river water, then sit down to plan the next week: which doctors her mother-in-law needed, what medication was running low, what groceries had to be bought.
In mid-July, something happened that forced Lyuda to admit just how distorted her life had become. Antonina Semyonovna took a bad turn at night—her blood pressure shot up, her heart started fluttering irregularly. Lyuda got a call at two in the morning.
“Lyudochka, I’m really bad—call an ambulance!” her mother-in-law pleaded, trembling.
Lyuda dressed in five minutes and shook Viktor awake.
“Your mom is sick. We’re going to the hospital,” she said, pulling on her jeans.
“Oh, not again with these heart problems,” Viktor muttered, and didn’t even sit up. “Go yourself. You’ll handle it.”
Lyuda said nothing. She grabbed the car keys and went. The ambulance took Antonina Semyonovna to cardiology. Lyuda stayed until morning—filling out forms, speaking to doctors, buying whatever medicines the ward demanded.
Viktor called once in the morning to ask how things were. When he heard his mother was stable, he said casually:
“Well, good. I’m going to the dacha today—I promised Oleg I’d help with his sauna.”
And he went. Lyuda spent the entire day at the hospital, ran home for fresh clothes and necessities, cooked food suitable to bring to the ward.
A week later Antonina Semyonovna was discharged with new prescriptions, a strict diet, and orders to rest. Lyuda took several days off work to help her settle back in.
“I don’t know how to thank you,” Antonina Semyonovna said. “You’re like a real daughter to me.”
Viktor, throughout all of it, never once asked whether his mother needed anything. He simply assumed Lyuda would manage.
The betrayal
In August, Lyuda noticed Viktor started coming home late more often. He blamed urgent projects and important meetings.
“It’s a busy period. Lots of work,” he said when she questioned him.
But he was different. He was glued to his phone. He showered more after work. He bought new clothes.
Lyuda didn’t focus on it. Her mother-in-law had been worse since the hospital—tired easily, her blood pressure dropped often, she became short of breath.
“Lyudochka, could you come over? I’m scared to be alone,” Antonina Semyonovna called in the evenings.
Lyuda went—sat beside her, checked her pressure, gave her pills, talked her down from fear.
And Viktor was out somewhere. He began returning even later, often smelling faintly of someone else’s perfume, his face flushed in a way that had nothing to do with sitting at a computer.
At the start of September, Lyuda accidentally saw a message on Viktor’s phone. The screen wasn’t locked, and while he stepped into the shower, a notification appeared from a woman named Kristina:
“Waiting for you at my place tonight. I’ll cook your favorite.”
Lyuda’s heart jolted. She put the phone back quickly, but her thoughts were already racing. So that’s what the late nights were. Another woman. Lies.
And the cruelest part was this: while Viktor built a new relationship, Lyuda kept caring for his mother—doctor visits, medications, cleaning, solving every daily problem.
Viktor simply used the arrangement. His mother was supervised, his conscience stayed conveniently quiet, and his personal life happened elsewhere.
Lyuda stayed silent for several days, thinking. Watching. Noticing details. A new shirt she’d never seen. Extra care shaving before leaving. A lightness in his mood that had vanished at home.
The direct conversation happened at the end of September. Lyuda didn’t scream, didn’t throw a scene. She asked plainly:
“Are you seeing another woman?”
Viktor didn’t deny it.
“Yes,” he said.
“And what now?”
“I want a divorce. Kristina and I plan to get married.”
She had expected it, yet the blow still hurt. Eleven years of marriage, erased for something new.
“And your mother?” Lyuda asked.
“What about her?”
“Who’s going to take care of her?”
Viktor shrugged, as if it barely mattered.
“You will,” he said. “You’re good at it.”
“So you leave for another woman—and I’m supposed to keep taking care of your mother?” Lyuda gave a bitter half-smile.
“Well… she’s used to you. Why upset her?”
After the divorce
They finalized the divorce a month later. There was nothing to divide—Viktor’s apartment had come to him as an inheritance from his father, and they hadn’t made major purchases together. Lyuda packed her personal things and moved into a rented one-bedroom closer to the city center.
But strangely, she continued caring for Antonina Semyonovna anyway. Out of habit, she called to check on her. She still took her to the clinic, bought her medicines, cleaned the apartment once a week.
“Lyudochka, when are you coming?” her former mother-in-law would ask. “My blood pressure is acting up again—I need a doctor.”
“I’ll be there soon, Antonina Semyonovna.”
Lyuda would drop her own plans and cross the city. She measured blood pressure, called the district doctor, bought new prescriptions—paying from her own wallet, just like before.
Viktor vanished into his new life. He didn’t call his mother, didn’t ask about her health. Colleagues said they’d seen him with a young blonde in restaurants and malls. The happy couple was building their future, while seventy-five-year-old Antonina Semyonovna didn’t even know where her son lived now.
“Lyudochka, why doesn’t Vitya call?” she asked. “Do you think he’s sick?”
“He’s very busy with work,” Lyuda lied, unable to bring herself to tell the truth about the divorce—and the new wife.
October went by in the same routine: Monday—cardiologist. Tuesday—endocrinologist. Wednesday—pharmacy run. Thursday—cleaning Antonina Semyonovna’s place. Friday—groceries for the week.
Lyuda worked, tried to set up her new apartment, met friends. But every weekend was swallowed by her former mother-in-law’s needs. Strangely, none of Lyuda’s acquaintances ever told her the obvious—that caring for an ex-husband’s mother was no longer her duty.
November passed the same way. Antonina Semyonovna caught a cold, and Lyuda went to her every day for two weeks—boiling chicken broth, buying antibiotics, calling doctors to the apartment.
“It’s so good you exist,” the older woman said. “Without you, I’d be lost.”
Meanwhile, judging by the photos on social media, Viktor and Kristina were skiing in Sochi—smiling against snowy slopes, dining out, strolling along the promenade.
December began with yet another ambulance call. Antonina Semyonovna’s blood pressure spiked dangerously; arrhythmia returned. Lyuda spent the night in cardiology, handling paperwork and buying medicine.
In the morning—exhausted, clutching a bag of prescriptions that had cost two thousand rubles—Lyuda received a call from Viktor. His first in a month and a half since the divorce.
“Hi, Lyuda,” he said lightly. “How are things?”
“Fine.”
“Listen… how’s Mom? We haven’t talked in a while.”
Lyuda stopped in the middle of the hospital corridor. Her hands tightened around the bag.
“Why do you need to know?” she asked.
“What do you mean—why? She’s my mom.”
“Your mom is in cardiology with a hypertensive crisis. An ambulance brought her in last night.”
“Seriously? Why didn’t anyone tell me?”
“Who was supposed to tell you? You haven’t called in six weeks. And she doesn’t even know you married Kristina.”
Viktor fell silent. Then he said carefully:
“Well, you’re right there with her. You handle everything.”
“I divorced you, Viktor. Do you understand what that means?”
“I do… but Mom’s used to you…”
“And you’re used to me solving your problems,” Lyuda cut him off. “For six weeks you’ve been enjoying your new life while I keep dragging your mother to doctors and paying for her medication out of my own money.”
“Lyuda, don’t be angry. I didn’t know she was having issues.”
“You didn’t know because you didn’t care enough to ask. And I was stupid enough to keep doing it on autopilot.”
Lyuda ended the call. She sat down on a hospital bench and stared at the bag in her lap as the absurdity finally settled in.
She’d divorced the man who cheated and left. And yet she was still spending her time, money, and nerves on his mother. As if the marriage had dissolved—but the obligations had stayed behind, with none of the support.
Antonina Semyonovna was discharged three days later. Lyuda brought her home, helped her settle in, explained the new medication schedule.
“Thank you for everything, Lyudochka,” her former mother-in-law said. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
“Antonina Semyonovna, we need to talk,” Lyuda said, sitting across from her.
“About what, dear?”
“Viktor and I divorced two months ago. He’s living with another woman.”
Antonina Semyonovna turned pale.
“Divorced? But you keep coming… you keep helping…”
“Out of habit. But it isn’t right.”
“So what happens now?” the older woman asked, lost.
“Now your son needs to take care of you. I’m not his wife anymore, and I’m not your daughter-in-law.”
“But Vitya doesn’t know how,” she whispered. “He’s never gone to doctors with me, never bought my medicine…”
“Then he’ll learn,” Lyuda said. “He’s thirty-eight years old.”
Lyuda wrote down Viktor’s number for her and gave her the address of the apartment where he now lived with Kristina. She explained she wouldn’t be coming every week anymore.
“If something happens, call your son. That’s his responsibility—not mine.”
As Lyuda walked out of the apartment, she felt an unfamiliar lightness—like she’d finally taken off a heavy backpack she’d carried for years.
That evening, Viktor called.
“What have you done?” he snapped. “Mom’s crying—she says you’re abandoning her!”
“I’m not abandoning her. I’m just stopping myself from being responsible for your family.”
“But how will she manage without help?”
“Exactly,” Lyuda said. “How will she? That’s your problem now, Viktor.”
“Lyuda, be reasonable. I have a new life, new relationship…”
“I have a new life too—without obligations to a family that tossed me aside.”
“You know I don’t know how to take care of sick people.”
“You’ll learn. Or your new wife will help. If Kristina wants to be your spouse, she can start getting used to family duties.”
Viktor tried to bargain, begged her not to “leave” his mother, promised he’d reimburse medication costs. But Lyuda didn’t budge.
“You made your choice, Viktor. You chose a life without me. That means my duties stay in the past.”
Lyuda ended the call and turned off her phone. For the first time in three years, a Saturday evening belonged to her alone. She could take a bath, read, watch a movie, or simply go to sleep early.
No one needed to be driven to the hospital. No prescriptions needed to be bought. No apartment needed to be cleaned. Freedom felt unfamiliar—but it felt good.
A week later, Lyuda heard from mutual acquaintances that Viktor had finally started visiting his mother. He came with Kristina, and the new wife was clearly unhappy about the sudden responsibilities. But that was no longer Lyuda’s story.
Lyuda understood something simple: you can’t keep carrying responsibility for people who’ve rejected you. Family is mutual. If the bond is broken, the obligations end with it.
She began living for herself again—put more energy into work, started planning a European vacation. Life without someone else’s burden turned out to be lighter—and far more interesting—than she’d ever expected.