Svetlana woke up from a strange sensation — silence. Not just any silence, but such complete and dense silence that it seemed to buzz in her ears. She hadn’t paid attention to such silence in her own apartment for a long time, where every day began with Lisa’s crying and Misha’s stomping. But today was different. She lay still, listening to this unusual emptiness. Somewhere, she expected to hear, “Mooom!” but minutes passed, and the house remained motionless, like a held-back lake.
Suddenly sitting up in bed, Svetlana immediately noticed a neatly folded note lying on the nightstand. Pavel’s handwriting — short and businesslike:
“I took the kids to my parents for a week. Rest. By the way, Dad is feeling better — my sister told me. P.”
She looked around the bedroom. A week? A whole week without tantrums, diapers, school lessons, the crash of toys, and the endless, “Mom, help! He pushed me!” For the first time in many years.
Heading to the kitchen, Svetlana expected to see chaos as usual. But no — it was perfectly clean. No traces of cereal, no sticky juice trails, no pencils under the table. Habitually reaching for the stove to start breakfast for two children, she suddenly froze. Why? Today she could simply make coffee. Hot, strong coffee, which — like magic — wouldn’t cool down before being poured into cups.
With a cup in her hands, she sat by the window and, as if for the first time in many years, simply watched the yard wake up. The habit of always being on alert, listening to every sound, had not disappeared — even in this quiet, almost fairy-tale atmosphere. Svetlana tried to remember when was the last time she let herself just drink coffee in the morning — unhurriedly, without thoughts about upcoming duties.
She loved her work — as a translator in a publishing house, where each book opened a new universe. But then Misha was born, and a year and a half later — Lisa, and everything — like a snap — her world shrank to the borders of their three-room apartment, the nearest playground, and the 24/7 “Magnit” supermarket.
“You wanted this yourself,” she reminded herself in moments of exhaustion. “Dreamed of a big house, the laughter of children…”
Yes, she dreamed. Only the dreams didn’t include endless tantrums in shopping centers, sleepless nights, and that deep, piercing fatigue felt in every bone.
Her phone buzzed with an incoming notification. A message from Katya — an old friend, a classmate, the best friend from college days.
“I see Pavel posted pictures. Are you on vacation? Let’s meet! It’s been ages since we last saw each other!”
Svetlana smiled. Vacation… How to say that for the first time in four years she could simply reply: “Let’s.”
They met at an old cozy café where they used to spend evenings after lectures. Katya was the same: stylishly dressed, with flawless makeup and a confident sparkle in her eyes. Svetlana absentmindedly adjusted her old t-shirt — the only one in her wardrobe not covered with children’s stains.
“Svet, you look so dried out! And so pale. Are you okay?” Katya exclaimed, throwing up her hands.
“Just a little tired. Kids, you know,” Svetlana waved it off.
“Yeah, right,” Katya laughed. “I really don’t know. I have a career now, work, all that serious stuff. By the way, I just got promoted — now I head the entire translation department! Maybe you’d be interested? Remote work, good pay, very serious.”
Svetlana almost snorted silently: work when her whole day was scheduled between the sandbox and the cooking pot? But she only nodded:
“I’ll think about it, Katya.”
The house greeted her with the same strange silence. Soft light, cleanliness, silence — almost oppressive. On the table — a laptop, neatly stacked books in English. Pavel, as always thoughtful, had taken them out of the pantry: “Might come in handy.” Nearby — a folder labeled “Translations.” The last modification was a month before Misha was born.
Svetlana opened one of the books. At first, the letters blurred, the meaning slipped away — the language felt forgotten. But the further she read, the easier it became, her mind clearing, restoring the feeling of a familiar flow.
She came to herself only when dusk thickened outside the window. Eight in the evening! She had completely lost track of time — interviews, lunch, dinner. Only now did Pavel call.
“How are you? Have you eaten?” His voice was warm and caring.
Svetlana was a little embarrassed — she had really forgotten everything.
“All good. And how are the kids?”
Something tightened inside — jealousy, resentment, or just relief? She couldn’t figure it out herself. Everything mixed: gratitude for her husband’s care, aching loneliness, and a sudden, almost shameful feeling of envy. So, the family can live a whole week without her?
“Svet,” Pavel paused as if choosing his words carefully, “Mom… she hinted. Says she’s ready to help seriously. Take the kids a couple of times a week so you can have free time.”
“And what do you think about that?” Svetlana blurted. It was important to hear not only his opinion but something more.
Pavel sighed, slightly hoarse:
“I think that you… are disappearing. That bright, passionate Sveta I once fell in love with — she got lost somewhere. Not because of the kids, but because you stopped taking care of yourself. Completely.”
After the conversation, Svetlana sat alone in the dark kitchen for a long time, left with herself. Fragments of her past life floated through her thoughts — that confidence, dreams, plans that once seemed real. She wondered: had the old Sveta disappeared forever or just hidden deep inside, waiting to be found someday?
The next days flew by quickly. Svetlana worked like obsessed — translating nonstop as if trying to reclaim lost years. She contacted old colleagues, joined a gym (her muscles really “went on vacation” over those four years), read books that had once been only a token on the shelf. And with each passing day, she felt that somewhere inside, the old Svetka was waking up — alive, real, with a spark in her eyes.
On the fourth day, her husband called:
“Misha asks when you’ll be back. He says he doesn’t really like grandma’s pancakes.”
Her heart tightened — before her inner gaze appeared her son, serious and thoughtful, and Lisa, with her endless stream of questions.
“Tell them I love them more than anything in the world and miss them very much.”
“I’ll tell them for sure. By the way, I sent your trial translation to an editor. He’s impressed! The cooperation offer is still on the table — all remote, as agreed.”
In the evening, entering the nursery, Svetlana felt an unusual emptiness. Cars, soft toys, drawings on the wall — everything was in place, but the silence no longer seemed cozy. It was foreign, almost burning. Svetlana opened her phone and wrote to her mother-in-law:
“Thank you so much for taking the kids. Is your offer of help still valid? If yes — I agree. I need time not for rest… but for myself. For work. For life.”
The reply came almost immediately:
“Of course, dear. Always. I went through this myself — I know how important it is not to lose yourself.”
Two days later, the house was filled with noise again. Mishka was the first to burst in, telling about Grandpa’s garage. Lisa hung on her neck, chirping about her adventures with the chickens at the dacha. Pavel silently hugged his wife, pulling her close.
“You smell like happiness,” he whispered into her hair. “Haven’t felt this in so long.”
At dinner, when someone spilled the compote, the air was filled with the scent of baby cream, and the children quarreled over the last spoon, Svetlana suddenly realized: she hadn’t fallen out of love with her family. She had just lost herself in this noise and laughter, in this noisy happiness.
“Mom, why are you always smiling?” Misha asked cautiously.
“Because I’m happy that you’re here. Very,” she answered simply. “With all of you.”
Late at night, when the kids were asleep, Svetlana sat down at her laptop — a new letter from the publishing house, a complex text, far from childish. The very thing she once could stay awake all night for.
Pavel looked over her shoulder:
“Working?”
“Yes,” she smiled — for the first time in a long time, wide and sincere. “You know, it turns out you can be both a mother and a professional. All these years I thought you had to choose. But that’s not true.”
“No need,” Pavel nodded and gently kissed her on the crown of her head. “Hello, Svetka, with fire in your eyes.”
Outside, the evening city buzzed, the children breathed peacefully in the nursery, and on the screen, like new horizons, awaited lines of translation. Svetlana felt whole, real, herself. The very Sveta Pavel once loved — just the way she wanted to be.
And in this week of silence, she realized something important: to give love to others, you must first fill yourself with it. That true motherhood isn’t about self-sacrifice, but about finding balance between family and yourself.
Her phone blinked with a message from Katya:
“So, how’s work?”
Svetlana smiled and typed:
“Already working. Dreams don’t fade if you keep them inside. Sometimes it’s enough just to dust them off — and start again.”