“Find a Caregiver for Your Mother Yourself. I’m Becoming a Wife, Not an Unpaid Nurse,” the Bride Said Half an Hour Before the Ceremony
“Artyom, come here. Now.”
Ksenia was holding his phone and staring at the screen.
There was about half an hour left before the ceremony. Beyond the door of the small room at the registry office, footsteps, muffled voices, and music from the neighboring hall could be heard. Ksenia had just been adjusting an earring in front of the mirror when the groom’s phone, left on an armchair, lit up with a new message.
She had not intended to read someone else’s conversation. The sender’s name and the first line appeared on the screen by themselves.
“I’ve cleared out the room. You can move my things over as soon as the wedding is over.”
The message was from Galina Semyonovna.
Artyom’s mother.
At first, Ksenia thought she must have misunderstood. Perhaps her future mother-in-law was clearing a room in her own apartment for renovations or moving something out of an old storage space.
 
But the words “after the wedding” connected the message to them far too clearly.
Artyom entered the room, adjusting the cuff of his shirt.
“What happened?”
Ksenia held out the phone.
“What things is your mother planning to move after the wedding?”
He read the message.
His face answered the question before he did.
Artyom was not surprised. He did not ask what she meant. He merely froze for a second, then took the phone from her.
“Mom is rushing things again.”
“Rushing them where?”
“Ksyusha, this really isn’t the time.”
“That’s why I’m asking now. Where is she moving her things?”
He glanced toward the door.
“They’ll be calling us soon.”
“Then answer quickly.”
Artyom ran a finger across the screen and slipped the phone into the inside pocket of his jacket.
“We’ll talk about it calmly later.”
Ksenia stopped adjusting her earring.
Five minutes earlier, she had been wondering whether the wind had smudged her mascara and whether her father had remembered the gift box for the restaurant. Now none of that mattered.
“No. Now.”
Artyom sighed heavily.
“Mom is going to stay with us after the wedding.”
Ksenia stared at him.
“Where?”
“At our place.”
“In my apartment?”
“In our apartment.”
“Artyom.”
He corrected himself immediately.
“Fine, in yours. But we live there together.”
“And since when does your mother live there too?”
The groom looked irritably at his watch.
“I was going to tell you.”
“When?”
He did not answer.
Ksenia removed the earring whose clasp had been bothering her, placed it on the table, and sat down.
“Let’s start again. Your mother plans to move into my home after we register the marriage?”
“Not today exactly.”
 
“Does that make a difference?”
“In a few days. Maybe next week.”
So this was not some sudden idea of Galina Semyonovna’s. Everything had already been discussed.
Ksenia knew that the past few months had been difficult for Artyom’s mother. At the beginning of summer, Galina Semyonovna had fallen near the entrance to her building. She avoided a fracture but badly bruised her hip and injured her knee. For the first few weeks, she barely left the apartment. Later, she gradually began walking by herself again.
By now, she could prepare her own meals, take a shower, move around the apartment, and walk downstairs with a cane if someone was driving her somewhere.
Even so, she still needed assistance.
Someone had to carry heavy groceries, wash the floors, change the bed linen, occasionally accompany her to the clinic, and pick up necessary medication. Some household tasks were difficult for her, especially those that required standing for a long time.
Ksenia understood that perfectly. In fact, she had suggested several times that Artyom hire someone to visit and help his mother.
They had first discussed it back in July. Galina Semyonovna had called her son one evening and complained that she had been unable to carry a shopping bag up to her apartment. A neighbor had helped her, but after the call Ksenia said, “This arrangement isn’t practical. Find someone who can come several times a week.”
Artyom agreed.
“Yes, I’ll look into it.”
A week later, Ksenia asked whether he had. It turned out he had not had time yet. Then he had urgent work. Then Galina Semyonovna seemed to be feeling better. Then Artyom’s sister visited their mother a couple of times, and the matter was postponed again.
Ksenia did not push him. Galina Semyonovna was Artyom’s mother, and Ksenia believed that he, as her son, should decide how to arrange the help she needed.
Now it turned out he had found a solution after all.
He had simply forgotten to tell his future wife.
“How long is she moving in for?” Ksenia asked.
“Until she fully recovers.”
“And how long will that take?”
“No one knows.”
“A month? Six months?”
“There’s no point counting right now.”
Ksenia studied him more closely.
“Which room have you prepared for her?”
Artyom fell silent again.
 
Ksenia owned a two-bedroom apartment. They slept in one room, while the second served as both a guest room and her home office. It contained a sofa, a desk, shelves of documents, and a monitor she used on the two days each week that she worked from home.
She had bought the apartment several years before meeting Artyom. By the time they met, the mortgage had been paid off, and the property belonged to her completely.
Artyom moved in after they had been dating for eight months. It had not happened immediately or at Ksenia’s insistence. Before that, each had lived separately. They stayed overnight at each other’s homes, took short trips together, and gradually realized they were ready to share a life.
After moving in, Artyom contributed to their household expenses, bought groceries, paid part of the bills, and once replaced the washing machine when it broke.
Ksenia never emphasized that the apartment was hers alone.
But they both knew it.
About a year later, Artyom proposed.
They did not plan a large wedding. Ksenia did not want to spend the day rushing between photo shoots, banquet halls, and relatives she had last seen ten years earlier.
They chose something simpler: the civil ceremony, followed by dinner for around twenty people—parents, a few relatives, and their closest friends.
Ksenia liked that plan.
The morning had been peaceful. She got ready at home, her father drove her to the registry office, and her mother was more nervous than the bride herself, checking five times that they had not forgotten the documents.
And now, half an hour before the ceremony, Ksenia had discovered that Artyom had prepared a surprise of his own.
“The second room?” she clarified.
“Where else would she sleep?”
Ksenia nodded.
“So, my office.”
“You only work in there two days a week.”
“Does the room cease to exist on the other five?”
“That isn’t what I said.”
“What exactly did you tell your mother?”
Artyom sat down opposite her. Someone laughed in the corridor, and then they heard an employee inviting another couple into the ceremony hall.
“I told her we’d sort everything out after the wedding.”
“No. Judging by her message, you told her more than that.”
 
The groom frowned.
“Ksyusha, why are you turning this into an interrogation?”
“Because I’m being asked to marry a man who is already deciding who gets to live in my apartment.”
That struck a nerve.
“I’m not deciding anything of the kind.”
“Then why did your mother clear out a room?”
Artyom looked toward the door.
“I told her she could move in.”
Now everything was completely clear.
Ksenia leaned back in the chair.
“When?”
“About two weeks ago.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“We’ve been constantly busy with the wedding.”
Ksenia did not even smile.
Preparing for their ceremony had taken very little time: choosing a restaurant, ordering a small bouquet, confirming the menu, and selecting their clothes. There had been no endless weeks of organization.
“That’s a poor excuse.”
Artyom was silent for a moment.
Then he said, “I simply didn’t want to bring up a domestic issue before the wedding.”
“But you made the decision.”
“Mom needs help.”
“I know that.”
 
“Then what’s the problem?”
Ksenia felt heat rise to her face.
It was not the idea of helping an older woman that angered her. It was the casual way Artyom spoke about a decision he had already made behind her back.
“Tell me the whole plan.”
He stood, walked to the window, and then turned back.
“Mom will live with us. You work from home two days a week, so on those days you can make sure she’s all right. We cook anyway. We buy groceries anyway. I’ll help in the evenings.”
Ksenia watched him without interrupting.
“Is that everything?”
“What do you mean?”
“Who will clean?”
“We’ll do it together.”
“Who will take her to the clinic?”
“We’ll decide depending on the situation.”
“And her medication?”
“Someone just needs to make sure she doesn’t forget it.”
“So you’ve already assigned my responsibilities.”
“I haven’t assigned anything.”
Ksenia silently pointed at his phone.
Artyom clenched his jaw.
“Mom isn’t helpless.”
“I know.”
“She can walk by herself.”
“I know that too.”
“Then you’re exaggerating.”
“Is that why you’ve spent three months looking for someone to help her?”
 
He did not answer.
Ksenia stood. Her light-colored coat was draped over the back of the armchair. She picked it up but did not put it on yet.
“Did you tell your mother I had agreed?”
“Not in those exact words.”
“Which words did you use?”
“I said that after the wedding you’d treat her differently.”
“How?”
Artyom clearly regretted that the conversation had begun at all.
“Like family.”
“Go on.”
“There’s nothing more.”
Ksenia did not believe him.
“Artyom.”
He sighed irritably.
“I said there was no point paying a stranger when we could manage on our own.”
At last, everything fell into place.
He had not forgotten about hiring help. Nor had the search been too complicated. Artyom had simply decided that, after the wedding, his mother would receive for free a service that otherwise would have cost money.
“Who exactly is ‘we’?”
“Here you go again.”
“I’m asking a specific question. You’re at work all day. Your mother will be at home with me. Which one of us becomes this convenient ‘we’?”
Artyom looked at his watch again.
“The ceremony is in twenty minutes.”
“I can see that.”
 
“Can we stop this now, at least?”
Ksenia put on her coat.
He looked surprised.
“Where are you going?”
“Nowhere yet.” She fastened the bottom button. “I just feel cold.”
In reality, the room was warm. But the joy of the wedding had vanished as abruptly as if someone had switched off the lights.
Ksenia walked to the window. Several cars stood outside the registry office. Near one of them, a photographer was taking pictures of a newly married couple. The bride laughed as she held her veil against the wind.
That morning, Ksenia had imagined that by evening she and Artyom would also be looking at photographs, listening to congratulations, and arguing over who had ordered too much food.
Now she was trying to decide whether she intended to marry him in twenty minutes.
“I suggested hiring someone,” she said.
“I remember.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“Because it’s expensive.”
“Did you check?”
The pause lasted long enough to answer the question.
Ksenia turned around.
“Did you?”
“Yes.”
That was new.
“When?”
“Recently.”
“And once again, you didn’t tell me.”
“Why would I?”
 
“For three months, you said you hadn’t looked into it.”
“At first I hadn’t. Then I did.”
“And?”
Artyom shrugged.
“Regular visits add up to a considerable amount.”
Ksenia stepped closer.
“How regular?”
“Several times a week.”
“For how many hours?”
“It varies.”
“So you found out everything.”
“Yes.”
“And decided not to pay.”
 
“I don’t see the point if Mom is going to live with us.”
Again, the word “us” carried the same convenient vagueness.
Ksenia decided to remove it.
“Find a caregiver for your mother yourself. I’m becoming a wife, not an unpaid nurse.”
Artyom frowned sharply.
“That’s a disgusting thing to say.”
“Which part?”
“You know perfectly well that Mom doesn’t need a nurse.”
“Fine. Let’s call her a helper.”
“There’s hardly anything to do! Cook occasionally, clean, remind her about her pills, take her to the clinic. That’s all.”
“Excellent.” Ksenia picked up her handbag. “Then you can do it yourself.”
“I work.”
“Visit your mother before work. Bring groceries and clean after work. If she needs to go somewhere, take time off.”
Artyom looked at her as though the suggestion were completely detached from reality.
“You understand that I have a schedule, don’t you?”
 
“I do.”
“I can’t leave in the middle of the workday to go to clinics.”
“Exactly.”
“Exactly what?”
“You just listed duties you described as almost insignificant. Yet you can’t perform them yourself.”
“Your schedule is different.”
“I have a job.”
“You work from home twice a week.”
“Working from home means I am working, Artyom. It doesn’t mean I’m waiting around for household errands.”
He ran a hand irritably through his hair.
“Are we deliberately taking this to absurd extremes?”
“No. I’m trying to understand why something impossible for you became mandatory for me before I even knew about it.”
Footsteps sounded in the corridor. The door opened slightly, and a registry-office employee looked in.
“Artyom and Ksenia?”
“Yes,” he answered quickly.
“We’ll invite you in about fifteen minutes. Do you have your documents?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
The door closed.
Artyom immediately turned to Ksenia.
“That’s enough. Let’s stop. We’ll discuss it calmly tonight.”
“After we’re married?”
“Yes.”
“Is that why you kept quiet?”
He did not answer.
An unpleasant picture finally came together in Ksenia’s mind.
“Were you deliberately planning to tell me after the ceremony?”
 
“Not deliberately.”
“Then when?”
“Tonight, tomorrow… What difference does it make?”
“A great deal.”
“I just didn’t want to ruin the wedding with domestic problems.”
“So you decided to present me with a fait accompli once it was over.”
“I assumed you would take it more calmly then.”
The words escaped before he could stop them. Artyom immediately realized he had said too much.
Ksenia froze.
That was what she had been trying to uncover for the past twenty minutes—not how many belongings Galina Semyonovna had, nor where the bed would go, but why her fiancé had hidden everything until the last possible moment.
Now he had admitted the reason.
He wanted to formalize the relationship first. Then he would tell her that someone else was taking over the second room and that he had already invented a list of duties for his new wife.
“So before the wedding, I could still refuse.”
“Ksyusha, don’t.”
“But afterward, according to your calculations, I would be more accommodating.”
“That isn’t how I planned it.”
“It’s exactly what you just said.”
Artyom approached her.
“Fine. I made a mistake. I should have talked to you sooner.”
“You should have.”
“We’ve talked now. Mom isn’t moving in for the time being.”
Ksenia noticed the phrase “for the time being” immediately.
But the issue was no longer Galina Semyonovna.
Ksenia opened her handbag and checked her documents. Her passport was there.
“Where are you going?”
“To speak to the registrar.”
“Why?”
She looked at him.
“To cancel the ceremony.”
For several seconds, Artyom said nothing. Then he gave a short laugh, assuming she was trying to force one final concession from him.
“All right, I understand. Mom won’t move in.”
“I heard you.”
“Then why this performance?”
Ksenia opened the door.
“It isn’t a performance.”
The corridor was cooler. Ksenia found the employee who had spoken to them near the front desk.
“Excuse me.”
The woman looked up.
“Yes?”
“The ceremony will not be taking place.”
She studied Ksenia carefully.
“Are you certain?”
“Yes.”
“Both of you?”
Artyom had already come up behind her.
“Wait. We’re just—”
 
Ksenia interrupted him.
“I do not consent to registering the marriage today.”
The employee did not interfere. She calmly explained the administrative details and told them what to do next.
There was no dramatic scene. No one escorted Ksenia from the building. No one demanded an explanation. One signature in the right place and a few formalities were all it took for the slot that had been reserved for their wedding to become an empty space in the schedule.
Artyom refused to believe it until the very end.
“Are you really doing this?”
Ksenia called her mother, who answered immediately.
“Ksyusha, will you be here soon? Your father has already—”
“Mom, don’t go to the restaurant.”
“What happened?”
“The ceremony has been canceled.”
Silence followed.
“Where are you?”
“At the registry office. I’m all right. I’ll explain later.”
“Should we come and get you?”
Ksenia looked at Artyom.
“No. I’ll make my own way home.”
She ended the call.
Only then did the groom stop treating what was happening as a pressure tactic.
“You canceled our wedding because of my mother?”
“No.”
“Then why?”
Ksenia pulled on her gloves.
“Because of you.”
They went outside. The day was gray and windy. Near the steps, a photographer was still taking pictures of another couple. People walked past, some carrying flowers, others talking on their phones.
Life around them had not changed at all simply because Ksenia’s wedding had not happened.
Artyom caught up with her near the car.
“Wait.”
She stopped.
“Let’s postpone the ceremony.”
“Until when?”
“A month from now. Two months. Once everything settles down.”
“What exactly needs to settle down?”
“This situation.”
“It’s perfectly calm.”
“I promise Mom won’t move in without your consent.”
Ksenia looked at him.
“You still think the problem is her suitcases.”
“What else is it?”
“For two weeks, you discussed moving her into my apartment. You found out the cost of professional help and decided it was too expensive. You decided I would look after your mother. You told her about it. And then you chose to remain silent until the wedding because you thought it would be harder for me to refuse afterward.”
He frowned.
“I never said it would be harder for you.”
“You said I would take it more calmly after the ceremony.”
“I hoped you would understand.”
“And now I do.”
Ksenia opened the car door.
“Go to the restaurant and tell your family.”
“What about you?”
 
“I’m going home.”
“We live together.”
“For now, yes.”
He stared at her.
Ksenia was not going to decide their entire future in a single conversation—whether Artyom would pack his things that day, remain for a few more days, or whether they would try to save their relationship. Those decisions could wait.
She had already made the one decision that mattered today.
She would not marry him.
Artyom returned to the apartment at around nine that evening.
Ksenia had taken off her dress, put her jewelry back in its box, and placed the documents in a drawer. The dress hung from a hanger on the wardrobe door.
She did not hide it, nor did she want to throw it away. It was simply something she had bought for a day that had unfolded differently than expected.
Artyom entered the kitchen.
“I explained everything to my parents.”
“Good.”
“Mom knows too.”
Ksenia nodded.
“What did she say?”
“It’s better if I don’t tell you.”
“Agreed.”
He sat down.
“I’m going to visit her tonight.”
“Why?”
“We need to decide what to do next.”
For the first time all day, Ksenia thought he had said something sensible.
“Yes.”
“I called my cousin. She can visit on Wednesdays. I’ll handle weekends.”
“Good.”
“And tomorrow I’ll look at caregivers again.”
Ksenia said nothing.
Artyom waited for a reaction. In the past, she probably would have praised him for finally addressing the problem.
Today, she had no desire to do so.
He was taking care of his own mother. It was not an act of heroism.
“And what about us?” he asked.
“Nothing for now.”
“Nothing at all?”
“Artyom, this morning I thought we would be husband and wife within a few hours. Half an hour before the ceremony, I discovered that you had planned a new life for me and intended to tell me only afterward. Give me at least a few days in which I don’t have to decide anything.”
He nodded.
That evening, Artyom packed a small bag and went to stay with his mother.
Ksenia did not throw him out. He said himself that it would be better that way.
For the next several days, they barely spoke except when necessary. On Tuesday, Artyom collected his work clothes. On Thursday, he wrote to say he had hired a visiting helper.
Ksenia read the message and did not reply.
Meanwhile, Galina Semyonovna was given a proper schedule. On Mondays and Thursdays, a woman came to clean, change the bed linen, buy heavy groceries, and spend several hours with her. On Wednesdays, Galina Semyonovna’s niece visited. Artyom took responsibility for weekends and important appointments. They also began ordering some groceries for delivery.
Several things that had once seemed difficult to the family were solved with just a few phone calls.
At the end of the week, Galina Semyonovna called Ksenia herself for the first time.
“I never intended to become the cause of your argument.”
Ksenia stood by the window, watching a man load shopping bags into a car in the courtyard.
“You aren’t the cause.”
“Artyom said you didn’t know about the move.”
“I didn’t.”
Galina Semyonovna paused.
“I was certain he had discussed everything with you.”
“He hadn’t.”
“He said things would be easier after the wedding.”
That caught Ksenia’s attention.
 
“Easier for whom?”
“For everyone.”
The answer was predictable. Ksenia did not bother dissecting it.
“Has the help you need been arranged now?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
“It’s expensive, though.”
“That’s something you should discuss with Artyom.”
Her would-be mother-in-law understood.
“All right.”
The conversation ended there, without speeches about reconciliation or mutual accusations.
Nine days later, Artyom asked to meet. Ksenia agreed.
They met at the café where they sometimes had breakfast on weekends. He arrived first. Ksenia took off her coat and sat opposite him.
“How is your mother?”
“Better. She even walked to the nearby shop by herself.”
“That’s good.”
Artyom nodded. For several seconds, neither spoke.
“I still want to apologize,” he said.
Ksenia did not interrupt.
“Not for suggesting that she move in. That idea itself could have been discussed—I understand that now. I should have spoken to you first.”
“Yes.”
“And I should never have told her everything would work out when you knew nothing about it.”
Ksenia watched him.
That was closer to the heart of the matter.
“Why didn’t you tell me immediately?”
Artyom lowered his eyes to the table.
“Because I thought you would refuse.”
Ksenia tilted her head slightly.
“Exactly.”
“I know.”
“So you understood I wouldn’t like it.”
“Yes.”
“And that’s why you decided to marry me first.”
He did not argue.
“Probably, yes.”
Ksenia valued that admission more than all his previous attempts to explain the situation as concern for his mother. At least now he was not trying to wriggle out of the truth.
“Do you understand why I left?”
“I do now.”
“Good.”
He looked up.
“What happens next?”
Ksenia picked up her cup.
“I don’t know.”
“Do you want to try at all?”
“Possibly.”
Artyom was clearly hoping for more. He did not get it.
“I’m not setting another wedding date a month from now,” Ksenia continued. “Or two months from now.”
“All right.”
“And it’s too soon for you to move back in.”
He nodded.
“All right.”
This time, he did not bargain. That was new too.
Artyom continued living with his mother—not because Galina Semyonovna could no longer manage without him. On the contrary, with the visiting helper and tasks divided among relatives, her daily life became much calmer.
But her son finally saw the full amount of work he had intended to transfer quietly to Ksenia.
On Monday, someone had to collect medication. On Tuesday, a repairman came to inspect the washing machine. On Wednesday, his mother asked him to pick up an order. On Friday, she needed a ride to a medical examination.
 
Each task took little time on its own. Together, however, they demanded constant attention.
Two weeks later, Artyom met Ksenia after work. They walked together toward the parking lot.
“I understand something now,” he said.
“What?”
“Why caregivers charge money.”
Ksenia looked at him.
“At last.”
He gave a faint smile.
“Yes.”
“And?”
“And I was an idiot.”
“That’s far too convenient a description.”
“Fine. I was a stingy idiot.”
Ksenia laughed for the first time in two weeks.
Artyom laughed too.
He did not ask to come home. He did not mention another wedding date. He simply helped carry her bag to the car and left.
A month later, Galina Semyonovna was walking much more confidently. They kept the helper twice a week because the arrangement proved convenient for everyone.
Artyom moved into a rented apartment near his workplace. Ksenia did not invite him to move back in with her.
They met from time to time. Sometimes they spent weekends together. Once, Artyom brought groceries and cooked dinner at her apartment.
The second room remained an office. None of Galina Semyonovna’s boxes ever appeared there.
At the end of November, Artyom stopped by one evening to collect a phone charger he had left the previous day.
Ksenia was working at the desk in that very room. He stopped in the doorway.
“Am I disturbing you?”
“I’ll finish in ten minutes.”
“I’ll wait in the kitchen.”
He left without stepping into the room.
Ksenia finished her email, closed her laptop, and joined him. Artyom was sitting at the table, looking at his phone.
“Mom asked today when we’re going back to the registry office.”
Ksenia opened the refrigerator.
“What did you tell her?”
“That I don’t know.”
“Correct.”
“She didn’t like that answer.”
“She’ll survive.”
Artyom smiled.
“I’m learning.”
He stood, picked up the charger, and put on his jacket. At the door, he paused.
“See you Saturday?”
“See you Saturday.”
“I’ll pick you up at two.”
“All right.”
He left.
Ksenia closed the door and returned to the room for her laptop. On the armchair where Galina Semyonovna’s suitcase might have stood several months earlier, there was now a stack of work documents.
Her phone vibrated briefly.
It was a message from Artyom:
“Mom sent me her schedule of doctors’ appointments for December. This time, I’m checking my own calendar first.”
Ksenia read it and smiled.
“Progress,” she replied.
Then she put down her phone.