Garden bed number seven. Tomatoes.
Marina pulled out another weed and tossed it into the bucket beside her. Her back ached, and her knees throbbed after nearly two hours of crawling around on all fours. The July sun burned against the top of her head, and her T-shirt clung to her skin with sweat.
“Marina! Marisha!” Vlada Petrovna called from the veranda. “Don’t forget the eighth bed! The cucumber leaves are turning yellow. It could be pests. Make sure you check them carefully!”
Marina slowly straightened and pressed a hand against her lower back.
The eighth bed.
Another two meters of crawling through the dirt. Then the ninth. Then the tenth. After lunch, her mother-in-law planned to start preserving vegetables, which meant Marina would be washing jars, sterilizing them, chopping vegetables, and preparing the pickling mixture.
“All right, Vlada Petrovna!” Marina shouted back.
This was the third year.
The third summer in a row that every weekend had been spent at her mother-in-law’s country house. From May until September, without a single break.
Arthur came too, of course. But her husband usually appeared around lunchtime, by which time Marina had already weeded half the garden. He ate the grilled meat Vlada Petrovna prepared especially for her beloved son, drank beer, scrolled through his phone, and then left a couple of hours later.
He always had an excuse.
He needed to run errands, meet friends, or buy construction supplies for his mother’s apartment.
Marina stayed behind.
She weeded, watered, harvested vegetables, carried heavy buckets, and washed jars until evening. Sometimes until it was completely dark.
Vlada Petrovna remained on the veranda, giving orders and pointing out everything Marina was supposedly doing wrong.
In the middle of July, the work was especially exhausting. The cucumbers were ripening, the tomatoes were growing heavy on the vines, and the zucchini seemed to double in size overnight.
Every Friday, Vlada Petrovna called Arthur.
“Arthur, darling, you must come early tomorrow! The cucumbers are getting too big. They need to be picked! And make sure you bring Marisha. I can’t manage everything by myself!”
Arthur agreed immediately.
Marina stayed silent.
What was the point of arguing? Her husband never listened anyway.
By the end of August, Marina felt completely drained. Every muscle in her body hurt. Her hands were covered with calluses, and the skin on her nose had peeled from too much sun.
And September was still ahead of her, the most difficult month of all.
The last harvest had to be collected. The soil had to be dug over. The entire garden had to be prepared for winter.
At the beginning of September, Vlada Petrovna called Arthur again.
“Son, you absolutely must come this weekend! We need to gather the last tomatoes and dig up the garden. I won’t manage without Marina. My back has been hurting.”
Arthur came home that evening and tossed his keys onto the cabinet in the hallway.
“Marina, we’re going to the country house on Saturday. Mom says there’s still a lot of work.”
Marina was sitting on the sofa with a book. She looked up.
“Arthur, I’m tired. We’ve spent every weekend there all summer. Can’t we stay home and rest just once?”
“Mom can’t manage alone,” he replied with a shrug. “Just be patient. It’s the last time this season.”
“You say that every time.”
“Marina, she’s my mother,” Arthur said, sitting beside her. “She needs help. The property is large, and there’s a lot to do.”
Marina closed her book.
“And where are you when there’s so much work? You come for two hours, eat, and leave.”
“I have things to do!” Arthur frowned. “I can’t spend the whole day hanging around there!”
“But I can?”
“You’re a woman. It’s easier for you. Mom worked in the garden her whole life, and she survived.”
Marina looked at her husband.
She wanted to say something, but changed her mind. Instead, she stood and walked into the kitchen.
Saturday was unbearably hot.
Marina dug up potatoes, picked the last tomatoes, pulled out dead plants, and turned over the soil in the garden beds.
Vlada Petrovna sat in the shade on the veranda, drinking tea.
“Marina, dig more carefully! Don’t damage the potatoes!”
By evening, Marina could barely stay on her feet. Her back burned with pain, and her hands trembled from exhaustion.
Arthur had left at three in the afternoon. He said he needed to go to the store and then stop by a friend’s house.
They returned home late.
Marina collapsed onto the sofa without even changing her clothes.
“Tired?” Arthur asked as he changed channels on the television.
“Mm-hmm.”
“Don’t worry. Next summer should be easier. Mom says she might make the garden smaller.”
Marina said nothing.
She did not have the strength to speak.
A week later, Marina visited Vlada Petrovna.
Her mother-in-law lived in a neighboring apartment building on the ground floor. She opened the door wearing a housecoat.
“Oh, Marisha! Come in, come in! Would you like some tea?”
“No, thank you,” Marina said as she stepped into the hallway. “I won’t stay long. Vlada Petrovna, I wanted to ask you something. Could I take a few jars of pickled cucumbers and tomatoes for the winter?”
Vlada Petrovna frowned.
“Marisha, dear, I would gladly give you some, but I’ve already given everything away. I took some to my neighbor, Lyudmila Viktorovna, some to Arthur’s sister, and some to the nephews. I barely have enough left for myself to last until spring.”
Marina stood silently, trying to process what she had just heard.
She had worked on that property all summer.
Every weekend.
She had weeded, watered, harvested vegetables, washed jars, and helped prepare the preserves.
And now everything had been given away.
“I understand,” Marina said with a small nod. “It’s fine. We’ll buy some at the store.”
“Yes, exactly. You can buy them,” Vlada Petrovna replied, patting her daughter-in-law on the shoulder. “Stores have everything nowadays. It’s not like it used to be.”
Marina stepped onto the stairwell and quietly closed the door behind her.
For a moment, she stood by the window.
Everything had been given away.
To the neighbor, the sister, the nephews.
To everyone except the woman who had spent the entire summer breaking her back in the garden.
Fine.
Winter passed peacefully.
Marina worked, went to the movies with her friends, and signed up for yoga classes. She tried not to think about summer, the country house, or Vlada Petrovna and her endless garden beds.
Arthur continued living as usual.
Work, friends, and football on weekends.
In March, Arthur’s phone rang.
It was Vlada Petrovna.
He talked to her for ten minutes, nodding and murmuring agreement. When the call ended, he put the phone down.
“Mom is planning the gardening season. She says we need to go in April to open the house, clear away the rubbish, and prepare the beds. I told her we’d come.”
Marina was chopping vegetables in the kitchen.
She stopped, the knife suspended above the cutting board.
“I’m not going.”
“What?” Arthur turned around.
“I’m not going to the country house,” Marina said, putting the knife down and wiping her hands on a towel. “Not in April. Not at all.”
“Marina, what are you talking about?” Arthur stood and approached her. “Mom can’t manage alone! There’s a huge amount of work!”
“She can hire someone,” Marina replied with a shrug. “Or ask the other relatives.”
“Hire someone?” Arthur stared at her. “That would cost money!”
“So what? I worked for free for three years. Maybe it’s time for someone else to do it.”
“Marina, this is family!” Arthur raised his voice. “She’s my mother! We’re supposed to help her!”
“Arthur,” Marina said, turning to face him, “do you remember when I asked your mother for a few jars of cucumbers and tomatoes last autumn?”
“So? What does that have to do with anything?”
“She refused. She said she had given everything away.”
“Well, she gave them away. It happens,” he replied dismissively. “She probably didn’t have enough for herself.”
“She didn’t have enough,” Marina repeated. “But she had enough for the neighbor. Enough for the nephews. Enough for your sister. Yet there was nothing for me, even though I spent the whole summer working in that garden.”
“Marina, you’re exaggerating!” Arthur rubbed his forehead. “They’re only jars of vegetables. You’re refusing to go because of that?”
“It isn’t about the jars,” Marina said, folding her arms. “It’s about being used. I’m treated like free labor. You come for two hours, eat, and leave. Vlada Petrovna sits on the veranda giving orders. I work from morning until night. I’ve done it for three years.”
“You are obligated to help my mother!” Arthur slammed his fist against the table. “She is my mother!”
“Exactly,” Marina replied. “Yours, not mine. Her son should help her.”
“I work! I get tired!”
“And you think I don’t work?” Marina narrowed her eyes. “You think I don’t get tired?”
Arthur opened his mouth, then closed it again.
He turned away, took out his phone, and walked into the other room.
Marina heard fragments of the conversation.
“Mom, we have a problem… Marina refuses to come… I don’t know why… She mentioned something about jars…”
Half an hour later, Arthur returned looking grim.
“Mom is very upset. She says you’re ungrateful.”
“I see,” Marina replied, returning to the salad.
“Are you seriously not going?”
“I’m serious.”
“Then I’ll go alone.”
“Go ahead,” Marina said with a shrug. “I don’t mind.”
Arthur stood there with clenched fists.
Then he turned sharply and walked into the bedroom, slamming the door behind him.
For the next week, her husband was cold and silent.
Marina did not try to change his mood. They spoke only when necessary: what groceries to buy, when the plumber would arrive, and who would pay the internet bill.
On Saturday morning, while Marina was still asleep, someone rang the doorbell.
The ringing was long and insistent.
Marina opened her eyes and looked at the clock.
Nine-thirty.
Who could it be?
Arthur walked into the hallway and opened the door.
Marina heard Vlada Petrovna’s voice.
“Arthur, darling! Where is Marina? Is she ready?”
Marina sat up in bed.
What?
She put on her robe and walked into the hallway.
Vlada Petrovna stood at the door wearing a tracksuit and sneakers, a large bag in one hand. When she saw Marina, she pursed her lips.
“There you are! I thought you’d already be dressed. Hurry up. Stop standing around. We’re going to the country house!”
“Vlada Petrovna,” Marina said, rubbing her eyes, “I’m not going.”
“What do you mean, you’re not going?” Her mother-in-law stepped into the apartment. “Arthur said you were busy, so I decided to come and collect you myself. The garden won’t clean itself!”
“Vlada Petrovna, I really am not going,” Marina said, folding her arms. “Not today, not next weekend, and not at all.”
Her mother-in-law’s face turned red.
“What do you think you’re doing? How can you refuse?”
“Very easily,” Marina replied as she walked into the kitchen and switched on the kettle. “I’m not going.”
Vlada Petrovna rushed after her.
“Do you understand who you’re speaking to? I am your husband’s mother! I am the oldest woman in this family! You are obligated to respect me and help me!”
“Help can take different forms,” Marina said as she took a cup from the cupboard. “I helped you at the country house for three years. I don’t want to do it anymore.”
“You don’t want to?” Vlada Petrovna threw up her hands. “How dare you? You’re a terrible wife! A terrible daughter-in-law! You’re lazy and selfish!”
Arthur stood in the kitchen doorway, shifting uncomfortably from one foot to the other.
Marina glanced at him.
“Are you going to say anything?”
“Marina,” he said hesitantly, stepping forward, “maybe you could go this time. Just once.”
“Just once,” Marina repeated. “Then once again. And again after that. Until September. No, Arthur. Enough.”
“Marina!” Vlada Petrovna slapped her palm against the table. “Get dressed immediately! I will not allow you to speak to me like this!”
“And I will not allow you to use me as unpaid labor,” Marina replied, pouring boiling water into her cup. “I’m sorry.”
“Arthur!” His mother turned toward him. “Do you hear how she’s speaking to me? Tell her! Order her to come!”
Arthur licked his lips nervously.
“Marina, don’t embarrass me. Mom is right. You should help.”
“I should?” Marina took a sip of tea. “Why?”
“Because she’s my mother! Because that’s what wives are supposed to do! Because you’re my wife and you’re supposed to obey me!”
Marina placed the cup back on the table.
She looked at Arthur, then at Vlada Petrovna.
Her mother-in-law stood with her arms folded, wearing the satisfied expression of someone who believed she had already won.
Arthur stood beside her, weakly echoing every word she said.
“You know what?” Marina said as she walked out of the kitchen. “Your mother can crawl around those garden beds herself! I’m not her seasonal farm worker!”
“What did you say?” Vlada Petrovna shrieked.
Marina entered the bedroom, pulled a travel bag from the wardrobe, and started packing Arthur’s belongings.
“Marina!” Arthur rushed into the room. “What are you doing?”
“Packing your things,” she replied, stuffing his phone charger into the bag. “It’s obvious you would rather live with your mother than with me. Fine. Go live together.”
“Marina, stop!”
“No,” she said, zipping the bag. “I’m not stopping.”
Vlada Petrovna appeared in the doorway.
“So this is who you really are! Ungrateful and badly raised! I told Arthur from the beginning that you weren’t right for him! You don’t deserve my son!”
Marina turned toward her.
“Vlada Petrovna, do you know what? I don’t care what you told him. I don’t care what you think. I worked on your property for three years. For free. Every weekend. And you couldn’t even give me one jar of cucumbers. You gave them to your neighbor and your nephews, but not to me. Because to you, I’m not a person. I’m labor.”
“How dare you?” her mother-in-law shouted, her face turning dark red. “I’ve done so much for you!”
“What exactly have you done?” Marina asked as she lifted the bag. “Allowed me to work in your garden? Thank you, but I’ll pass.”
Marina walked into the hallway carrying the bag.
Vlada Petrovna blocked her path.
“You cannot throw my son out! Arthur, stop her!”
“Mom, move aside,” Arthur said, trying to guide her out of the way.
“No!” Vlada Petrovna spread her arms. “She has to apologize! She has to go to the country house! She has to…”
“She has to, she has to,” Marina said with a bitter smile. “You know something, Vlada Petrovna? I don’t owe you anything. You are not my family. I married your son, but that doesn’t mean I agreed to become your servant.”
“Servant?” her mother-in-law gasped. “I never treated you…”
“You always did,” Marina interrupted. “From the very beginning. And now, excuse me, but I have no time for your garden.”
Marina opened the front door wide.
“Vlada Petrovna, go home. Or go to the country house. Your garden beds are waiting. Arthur, here are your things. Both of you need to leave my apartment. Now.”
“You’re throwing us out?” Arthur stared at her in disbelief.
“Yes,” Marina replied, pointing toward the stairwell. “Get out.”
Vlada Petrovna clutched her chest dramatically.
“Arthur! Did you hear that? She’s throwing us out! She’ll pay for this!”
“Pay for what?” Marina narrowed her eyes. “Are you going to curse me? Go ahead. I don’t care. Now get out!”
“Marina, calm down…” Arthur reached toward her.
“Out!” Marina shouted so loudly that he flinched.
Vlada Petrovna grabbed the bag and stormed onto the landing.
“You’ll regret this! You’ll regret it terribly! I’ll make sure that…”
“Goodbye, Vlada Petrovna,” Marina said before slamming the door.
There were shouts outside, heavy footsteps, and more ringing at the door.
Marina leaned against the doorframe and closed her eyes.
Her entire body trembled with adrenaline, and her heart hammered against her ribs.
But she felt good.
So incredibly good.
She stayed there for a minute or two.
The shouting gradually stopped, and footsteps moved down the stairs.
Marina returned to the kitchen and finished her cold tea.
Her phone vibrated.
Arthur.
She rejected the call.
It vibrated again.
Vlada Petrovna.
She rejected that one too.
Messages began arriving one after another.
Marina silenced her phone and placed it face down on the table.
Then she sat on the sofa and hugged her knees to her chest.
The silence inside the apartment was overwhelming.
And beautiful.
That evening, her friend Katya called.
“Marina, how are you? We haven’t seen each other in ages!”
“I’m doing great,” Marina said with a smile. “Katya, I think I just destroyed my marriage.”
“What?” her friend gasped. “Tell me everything!”
Marina told her about the country house, the three years of unpaid work, the jars of pickled vegetables, and that morning’s argument.
Katya listened, occasionally interrupting with comments such as, “Wow,” “Seriously?” and “I can’t believe you actually did that!”
“How do you feel?” Katya asked when Marina finished.
“Free,” Marina replied, looking out the window. “For the first time in three years, I feel free.”
“You’re amazing!” Katya laughed. “Stay strong, Marina. Call me if you need anything. I’ll come over and support you.”
“Thank you, Katya.”
Three days later, Arthur returned to collect the rest of his belongings.
Marina opened the door and silently let him inside.
Arthur entered the bedroom and began putting clothes into another bag.
“You destroyed a family because of a country house,” he muttered. “Because of a stupid garden.”
“It wasn’t because of the garden,” Marina said from the doorway. “It was because you didn’t respect me.”
“I respected you!”
“No,” Marina replied, shaking her head. “If you had respected me, you wouldn’t have forced me to go there against my will. You wouldn’t have stood beside your mother while she insulted me. You wouldn’t have told me I was obligated to obey.”
Arthur zipped his bag and turned toward her.
“Mom was right. You are selfish.”
“Maybe I am,” Marina said with a shrug. “But at least I’ll never again break my back working for free in someone else’s garden.”
“You’ll regret this,” Arthur said, lifting the bag. “Your life will be worse without me.”
“We’ll see,” Marina replied, opening the door. “Goodbye, Arthur.”
He left without another word.
The door closed.
Marina returned to the living room and lay down on the sofa.
You’ll regret it.
Why did people always say that?
As though life without them was supposed to be the end of the world.
Marina did not regret anything.
Not even for a moment.
A week later, she filed for divorce.
The lawyer helping her was a woman in her forties with intelligent, observant eyes.
“Do you own any property together?” the lawyer asked.
“The apartment belongs to me. I bought it before the marriage. We don’t have a car, children, or shared loans.”
“Then the divorce should be straightforward,” the lawyer said with a nod. “It should take no more than a month or six weeks.”
The divorce was finalized five weeks later.
Arthur did not object or demand anything.
He signed the documents and disappeared from Marina’s life.
Vlada Petrovna called several more times.
She shouted, blamed Marina for everything, and demanded that she apologize and return to her son.
Marina listened quietly and then answered in a calm voice.
“Vlada Petrovna, please leave me alone.”
Then she ended the call.
Eventually, her former mother-in-law stopped calling.
That summer passed peacefully.
Marina took a vacation in August and traveled to the seaside with Katya.
She sunbathed, swam, and drank wine while watching the sunset.
There were no garden beds.
No weeds.
No mother-in-law giving orders.
She returned home tanned, rested, and happy.
Soon afterward, she found a new job with a higher salary and a friendly team. She met new people, started taking dance classes, and joined a gym.
One day, while walking through a market, she noticed a stall selling homemade preserves.
There were jars of cucumbers, tomatoes, and zucchini spread.
Marina stopped and looked at them.
“Go ahead, take some!” the vendor said with a smile. “Everything is homemade from my own garden. Absolutely delicious!”
Marina bought three jars of cucumbers and two jars of tomatoes.
When she got home, she placed them on a shelf and burst out laughing.
There they were.
Her winter preserves.
Bought with her own money.
No crawling through garden beds.
No humiliation.
No mother-in-law ordering her around.
And do you know what?
The cucumbers tasted even better than Vlada Petrovna’s.
Marina opened a jar, took out a cucumber, and bit into it.
It was salty and crisp, fragrant with dill and garlic.
It tasted like freedom.
She sat by the window with her book, her tea, and the cucumber.
Rain fell outside, the city hummed, and life continued.
A life without toxic relationships.
Without obligations to people who treated her like a servant.
Without garden beds she would never again be forced to crawl through.
Just life.
Her own life.
And it was wonderful.