Luda looked at the snow outside the window and thought about her parents. All December, her father had been complaining of chest pains but refused to see a doctor. “It’ll pass on its own,” Sergei Petrovich would dismiss when his daughter brought it up. In the end, instead of a festive dinner for the New Year, there was a hospital room and urgent heart surgery. Her mother hadn’t left her father’s side, sleeping on a folding cot. Today, Sergei Petrovich was finally discharged and sent home.
Luda had always felt a special bond with her parents. From childhood, she had considered them her best friends, the most understanding and wise. It was from them that she inherited kindness and a desire to help others. Sergei Petrovich was a cardiologist, and Maria Vasilyevna was a therapist at the local clinic. They saved lives, heard patients’ gratitude, but never lived in luxury. “Health is the most important thing, everything else will follow,” her father liked to repeat. But at sixty-five, Sergei Petrovich himself had become a patient.
That evening, Luda made up her mind. She had always dreamed of giving her parents something important, significant, something more than a calendar or a tea set. Something that would make their eyes light up, something that would make their shoulders relax. Her parents needed rest, peace, the opportunity to be in nature. They needed a dacha. And in the spring, it would happen.
Pavel, Luda’s husband, entered the room and interrupted her thoughts:
“Lost in thought? How’s dad?”
“He was discharged today,” Luda turned to her husband. “Pasha, I’ve decided…”
“Sorry, I’m running late,” Pavel glanced at the clock. “Let’s talk about it tonight, okay?”
Luda nodded. Perhaps it was for the best. The idea of buying a dacha for her parents hadn’t fully taken shape yet, and she needed to think it through, to calculate the possibilities.
The next weekend, Luda spent her time looking for a suitable plot of land. Small, cozy, not far from the city. So that her parents could easily get there. With trees and room for vegetable beds—her father had long dreamed of growing tomatoes. The house could be old, but it had to be strong.
After two weeks of searching, she found an option in the garden cooperative “Romashka”—a modest wooden house with a terrace and six hundred square meters of land. The previous owners had kept the plot in good condition but had moved to another city and put the dacha up for sale. The price was substantial, but Luda had recently received a large bonus, and there were also some savings.
“Are you sure?” Pavel asked when Luda shared her plans. “It’s a significant amount.”
“It’s my money,” Luda shrugged. “Money from the bonus I earned.”
Pavel looked at her with a strange expression, muttered something like “your money, your business,” and didn’t return to the subject.
A month later, the paperwork was done. The dacha officially belonged to Luda, but from the very beginning, she knew—it was a gift for her parents. Of course, she didn’t re-register it legally, to spare the elderly from unnecessary hassles with taxes and utility payments. But she immediately said:
“Mum, dad, this is for you. Your house, your plot, your rest.”
Her parents were moved. Maria Vasilyevna even teared up, and her father hugged Luda tightly. In that embrace, Luda felt what had been the whole point of it all—gratitude, joy, the anticipation of a new life after a difficult trial.
“Sweetie, we… don’t even know what to say,” her mother whispered.
“Just take care of yourselves,” Luda smiled. “You both need air, sunshine, peace. As soon as it warms up, we’ll go, and we’ll settle everything.”
And indeed, with the first warm days, Luda’s parents went to settle into their new place. Maria Vasilyevna made a list of necessary items, Sergei Petrovich wrote down the names of seedlings he planned to plant from a gardening magazine. Life seemed to be filled with new meaning.
Luda hadn’t told any of her husband’s relatives about the purchase. Why? It was personal, family business. Besides, her relationship with her mother-in-law had always been complicated. Antonina Vasilyevna, Pavel’s mother, had evaluated Luda from the very first day they met. “What did you buy? What did you bring for my parents? Why did you get Pavel that shirt and not another one?”—these questions were constant. Any gesture of care for her husband’s parents was immediately compared to care for her own. And any advantage in favor of Luda was unacceptable. And a gift like a dacha… Luda just didn’t want to hear the comments and make public what had been done from the heart.
But one Saturday, Antonina Vasilyevna called her daughter-in-law:
“Ludochka, let’s meet, I need to talk. It’s important.”
Luda grew wary. Her mother-in-law rarely called just like that, usually about something unpleasant.
“Is something wrong?” Luda asked cautiously.
“No-no, nothing serious,” Antonina Vasilyevna’s voice had strange, conspiratorial tones. “Just need to discuss one matter. Can you meet me at the café on the corner in an hour?”
“Yes, okay,” Luda agreed, mentally going over the possible topics.
The café greeted her with a cozy half-light and the smell of coffee. Antonina Vasilyevna was already sitting at a table, well-dressed, with a perfect hairdo. In front of her were a notebook and some printouts.
“Ludochka, sit down,” her mother-in-law smiled warmly, which in itself was strange. “Would you like some coffee?”
“Yes, thank you,” Luda was growing more puzzled. What was this sudden kindness about?
When the coffee was served, Antonina Vasilyevna moved the notebook and printouts closer to her.
“I heard you bought a dacha for your parents,” she said. “Well, my husband and I decided—it’s now ours. The May holidays are coming up!”
Luda nearly choked on her coffee.
“Excuse me, what?”
“Yes, the dacha. Pasha told me you bought a house for your parents. Good for you, golden daughter,” Antonina Vasilyevna smiled, but there was coldness in her eyes. “And I thought, why not have a rest there with Igor Stepanovich for the May holidays? The city apartment is boring, we want to be in nature.”
Luda couldn’t find words. How did Pavel… Why did he tell her? And how on earth did her mother-in-law think she could claim it?
“Antonina Vasilyevna, that’s not a dacha for guests,” Luda cautiously began. “I bought it for my parents, my father had surgery, they need rest, fresh air…”
“Everyone has their own problems,” her mother-in-law waved her hand. “Igor’s blood pressure is all over the place. And what, are your parents now the only ones allowed to have the whole dacha to themselves? Are you greedy?”
Luda was struggling to make sense of what was happening. This was absurd.
“Greedy?” Luda asked. “What does greed have to do with this? I used my own money to give my parents a gift. The dacha is registered in my name, only my parents and I have keys. They’ve already planted seedlings and set up the vegetable beds.”
“Oh, come on!” Antonina Vasilyevna tapped her nails on the table in irritation. “You have two apartments, and now a dacha too—you could at least give us something. My husband and I decided—this is now our dacha.”
“Two apartments?” Luda asked in confusion. “I have one apartment, the one Pavel and I live in. The other belongs to my parents, and I have nothing to do with it.”
“But you’re registered there!” Antonina Vasilyevna triumphantly said. “So it’s yours. And Pavel, by the way, is only registered in one. So, you and your parents are rich, you have everything. And now you’re hoarding the dacha too.”
Luda started to get angry. This whole conversation felt like a farce.
“Listen,” Luda said firmly. “The dacha was bought with my money for my parents. I’m not going to ‘give’ or ‘not give’ it to anyone. Especially since my parents have already started settling in there.”
“Come on, don’t be selfish,” Antonina Vasilyevna pushed the printouts toward Luda. “Look, I’ve already picked out garden furniture and a barbecue. You just need to give us the keys to the gate. Don’t be stingy.”
Luda stood up from the table.
“I need to go. And let’s close this topic. There will be no keys.”
“Is that how it is?” her mother-in-law squinted. “Fine, I’ll call Pasha myself.”
Luda returned home in confusion. Pavel hadn’t come back from work yet, so there was time to think about what had happened. So it turns out Pavel had told his mother about the dacha, even though Luda had asked him not to. And now it wasn’t clear exactly what he had said, since his mother thought she had the right to claim someone else’s property.
When Pavel finally came home, Luda immediately asked:
“Did you tell your mother about the dacha for my parents?”
Her husband froze for a moment, then shrugged:
“So what? She asked where your parents were going for the May holidays, and I told her.”
“And what exactly did you say?” Luda tried to remain calm.
“Well, that you bought them a dacha,” Pavel walked into the room, taking off his tie. “What, is that a secret?”
“I asked you not to talk about it,” Luda reminded him. “Especially to your mother. You know what she’s like.”
Pavel sighed and rubbed his face tiredly.
“Listen, don’t exaggerate. So what, I told her. She just wanted to know what’s new with us.”
“Just wanted to know?” Luda shook her head. “Then why did she show up at the café today and announce that my parents’ dacha now belongs to her? Why did she bring catalogs for garden furniture and demand the keys?”
Pavel frowned:
“What? She couldn’t have said that.”
“She certainly could,” Luda opened her phone and showed her husband a message from her mother-in-law: “Waiting for the keys to the dacha by tomorrow. Don’t be selfish.”
Pavel shrugged:
“Well, Mom just wants to visit. What’s the big deal? There’s a dacha now, it’s a nice place, why not share?”
Luda silently took out the documents and the map from the drawer. She spread them out in front of her husband:
“Look. Here are the documents for the plot, it’s in my name. Here’s the receipt that I paid the full amount. Here’s the map of the cooperative. My parents have already moved seedlings there and set up beds. And your family won’t have the keys, and won’t ever get them. This is not a place for guests, Pasha. This is a gift for my parents, my care for them.”
Pavel turned red with anger:
“So, your parents can have everything, but mine can’t? Are you serious?”
“I bought the dacha with my money for my parents after my father’s surgery,” Luda answered calmly. “And your mother is demanding someone else’s property just because she wants it. Do you see the difference?”
Her husband turned away and muttered:
“You’re always dividing things. My stuff, your stuff. This is family, by the way. For normal people, it means sharing, not counting pennies.”
Luda didn’t answer. What was the point? Every conversation with Pavel about Antonina Vasilyevna ended the same way: Luda was left feeling guilty for not tolerating her mother-in-law’s whims.
The next morning, Luda’s phone erupted with new calls. Antonina Vasilyevna wasn’t giving up.
“Ludmila, this is just unacceptable!” her mother-in-law’s voice rang with indignation. “You have to give us the keys. You’re family, and that means you should share. It’s only fair!”
“Antonina Vasilyevna, the dacha was bought for my parents,” Luda firmly repeated. “And I alone get to decide who stays there.”
“Fine!” Antonina Vasilyevna’s voice became shrill. “Then at least give me the address and the gate code. We’ll handle it ourselves!”
“No,” Luda was unyielding. “I repeat: this is private property, not a family vacation home.”
“How can you… how can you…” Antonina Vasilyevna was gasping with outrage. “Pasha will find out how you’re treating us!”
Luda hung up the phone. Enough. Talking wouldn’t help—action was needed.
Half an hour later, Luda was sitting in the car, on her way to her parents. From there, straight to the dacha. On the way, she called her father and explained everything.
“Don’t worry, darling,” Sergei Petrovich answered calmly. “I’ll pick Igor up from work, and we’ll come over together. We’ll handle it.”
Igor, Luda’s younger brother, owned a small construction company. His help was just what they needed.
By evening, the dacha had turned into a little fortress. Igor and his workers had installed a camera at the entrance, put in a new iron door, and, following Sergei Petrovich’s suggestion, welded up the old lock. Now the only way to access the plot was with the key to the new lock, which only Luda and her parents had.
“There you go,” Sergei Petrovich put a hand on his daughter’s shoulder. “Let them try now.”
When Luda returned home late in the evening, Pavel wasn’t there. There was a note on the table: “Went to Mom’s for a couple of days. Need to cool down.”
Luda wasn’t upset. On the contrary, she now had time to think calmly about everything that had happened in recent days. A few hours later, she received a message from her husband: “You’re overreacting. You’re ruining relationships with the whole family. You need to learn to compromise.”
Luda thought about what kind of relationships these were. Where her husband thought it was normal to give away her property “for family needs,” and her mother-in-law decided she could take whatever she wanted? When did this strange distribution start—where my stuff becomes shared, and shared stuff stays only mine? And why, exactly, was it always Luda who had to “compromise”?
Pavel hadn’t appeared at home for three days. But he kept sending messages regularly, scolding her, hinting at her selfishness, her greed. “Family is when you share,” “Mom is so upset,” “Why are you so insensitive”—these phrases kept repeating in different variations.
The May holidays arrived. On this very day, Antonina Vasilyevna promised to “come to the dacha.” In the morning, the doorbell rang. Luda looked at the intercom screen and saw her mother-in-law’s angry face.
“Open up!” Antonina Vasilyevna shouted, pressing the doorbell. “I know you’re home!”
Luda didn’t open the door. She just watched the screen and listened to the shouts:
“You have to give us the key! We’re family, the plot should be shared! This isn’t just for your old folks, it’s for ours too! Can you hear me? Open up now!”
Luda stepped away from the door and sat on the couch. A strange feeling washed over her—not anger, not fear, but some kind of… freedom. It was as though Antonina Vasilyevna’s screams confirmed the correctness of the decision she had made.
The doorbell kept ringing for another fifteen minutes, then fell silent. An hour later, Luda received a message from Pavel: “Mom is in tears. How could you?”
Luda didn’t reply. What was the point? Whatever she said, it would be twisted, distorted, used against her.
A week later, Pavel came back home. He looked rumpled and tired, but his attitude was clearly geared toward reconciliation.
“Lud, let’s talk,” he sat across from her. “This has gone too far. I promise I’ll explain the situation with the dacha to my mom. She’s just upset, you know?”
“Upset about what?” Luda quietly asked. “That she couldn’t take someone else’s property?”
“Come on,” Pavel took Luda’s hand. “You’re wiser than this. We just need to find a compromise. Maybe we can let them visit sometimes? On weekends, for example?”
Luda silently looked at her husband. This was the same Pavel who hadn’t gone to defend the dacha, who had spent a week with his mother discussing how bad a wife Luda was, and now he was sitting across from her talking about compromises.
“You know,” Luda finally said, “I think it’s time we parted ways.”
“What?” Pavel jerked his hand away. “Because of the dacha?”
“No,” Luda shook her head. “Because you don’t see anything wrong with your mother’s behavior. Because you think it’s normal to impose your decisions on me. Because my opinion means nothing to you.”
The next day, Luda filed for divorce. Calmly, without any scandals, with cold calculation. When Pavel found out, he rushed home, shouting, threatening, promising that “his mother wouldn’t interfere anymore.” But it was too late. Luda had made her decision.
Now the dacha was peaceful. Sergei Petrovich and Maria Vasilyevna had planted vegetable beds and built a small greenhouse. Her father, gradually recovering from surgery, spent every day outside. Her mother had blossomed, taking care of flowers.
In the spring, lilacs and strawberries would bloom on the plot—the same strawberries Luda used to pick with her grandmother. “For continuity,” her father had said, and Luda understood that the gift had truly succeeded. Her parents now saw the dacha as their own—a place of strength, a place of joy.
And Luda? Luda had realized something important: where they say “we decided,” you can always say “I don’t.” And sometimes, one signature on a document gives more freedom than dozens of discussions about “family values.”
Others’ decisions are not a reason to divide your own. Especially when it’s a gift from the heart.