Some ‘homemaker’ you are,” the mother-in-law sighed loudly. “When Dima was sick, everything in my house sparkled. Have you even picked up a rag in your life?”
“Now is not the time to clean, the child has a fever of almost forty,” Veronica replied.
“A fever is not the end of the world,” Antonina Andreyevna retorted. “Besides, you knew I was coming. You could have made an effort.”
One overcast morning, Veronica woke up and immediately understood — this day wasn’t going to go well. Her daughter Yulia had complained the night before about not feeling well, and now she was literally burning up. Her cheeks were flaming, her eyes were glassy, and she was very weak. The thermometer confirmed Veronica’s fears — 38.9.
“Well then… We’re not going to kindergarten today…” Veronica whispered, tucking the blanket around her daughter. “Lie down, sweetheart. I’ll give you some fever medicine now.”
Veronica called her boss and explained everything, that she would be taking sick leave to care for her child, even though she knew the manager would be displeased. But her child was more important than anything in the world.
Her husband Dmitry, as usual, had a quick breakfast and left for work — lately he hardly ever lingered at home in the mornings. As always during the cold season, sales increased, which meant more work.
On his way to work, just as he stepped into the office, Dmitry got a call from his mother. He didn’t even look at the screen before answering — he already knew who it was.
“Good morning, Mom,” he said stiffly, settling down at his desk.
“What’s good about it?” came his mother, Antonina Andreyevna’s, familiar heavy tone. “I didn’t sleep all night. My heart was stabbing, my blood pressure was jumping… I thought that was it, the end. And you don’t even bother to ask how I am.”
Not a single day passed without such monologues. Antonina Andreyevna had long since stopped working, but out of habit she still got up at the crack of dawn — as if on purpose, to call her son when he had just “torn himself away from his family.”
Dmitry listened with half an ear, nodding mechanically while looking at the monitor, where his work programs were opening.
“Oh… it was hard for me… so hard. So how are you there?”
“Yulia got sick today. High fever, Veronica took sick leave.”
“Really?” the woman fell silent for a second. “Well, it happens. Anyway, I’m telling you I probably need to call a doctor for myself, my heart’s aching more and more often…”
She seemed not to have heard at all that her granddaughter was ill. She continued along her pre-rehearsed script. At that moment Dmitry’s phone beeped — Veronica was calling him at the same time.
“Mom, hold on a minute, Veronica’s calling. It must be something urgent. I’ll call you back.”
“Of course! Your mother doesn’t matter anymore,” snapped Antonina Andreyevna. “Everything is urgent now, if it’s her.”
Dmitry didn’t argue, he just switched to the other line. Veronica was speaking quickly and anxiously:
“The fever won’t go down. I called the doctor, but it’s not clear when he’ll get here. They say they’re swamped with patients. Some kind of virus is going around…”
“Okay. Don’t worry, everything will be fine. If you need something, I can ask Mom and she’ll bring it,” her husband suggested.
“Well… actually, I do need something. Fever medicine…” Veronica replied hesitantly. “But I didn’t think Antonina Andreyevna would agree to that.”
“Don’t worry. She’ll agree. Okay, talk to you soon.”
When he switched back to his mother, she was already breathing loudly and demonstratively into the receiver.
“So what terrible thing has happened over there?” she asked coldly. “The child caught a bit of a runny nose and everyone’s acting like it’s a tragedy. I used to take you to the hospital, and nothing — I didn’t whine.”
“Mom,” Dmitry said wearily, “a child doesn’t choose when to get sick…”
His mother just sighed heavily, and Dmitry went on.
“Veronica needs your help.”
“Veronica has her own mother. Let her help.”
“You know very well that Svetlana Grigoryevna works.”
“So what? I’m the one who has to be the scapegoat now?”
“No. I just want to ask you to buy some fever medicine for your granddaughter. Your help is really needed right now.”
“All right, send me the name,” Antonina Andreyevna answered and hung up.
Veronica was wiping her daughter with a damp cloth, trying to bring the fever down at least a little. The temperature would drop a bit, then shoot up again.
“Hang in there, baby, the doctor will be here soon,” Veronica whispered, gently squeezing her daughter’s small hand.
She felt completely drained — her eyes burned with fatigue, and her head buzzed with anxiety. She really should at least make the bed and clear the breakfast dishes from the kitchen table, but Veronica couldn’t leave her daughter’s bed for more than a couple of minutes. It seemed to her that Yulia was only getting worse.
Suddenly the doorbell rang sharply. Veronica flinched — the doctor couldn’t possibly have come this early. But she still hoped… She carefully opened the door — and there was Antonina Andreyevna on the threshold. A handbag, a coat, and a displeased expression on her face. In her hand — a pharmacy bag.
“Here,” she said coldly, handing over the medicine. “Dima asked me to buy it.”
“Thank you,” Veronica said, taken aback. “Please, come in…”
Her mother-in-law didn’t need a second invitation. She stepped confidently into the hallway and immediately looked around.
“Just look at you…” she drawled, full of disapproval. “Is this how you’re planning to receive the doctor?”
Veronica glanced around, not immediately grasping what she meant.
“And what happened here, a hurricane passed through your apartment?”
The place really was a mess: mugs with tea dregs on the table, damp towels, toys, a thermometer, the blanket tossed on the floor. All morning Veronica hadn’t left her daughter’s side; she just hadn’t had the time or energy to tidy up.
“I… I’ll clean up later,” Veronica mumbled, lowering her eyes.
But Antonina Andreyevna walked around the room, peeked into the kitchen, then into the living room, as if searching for proof that she’d been right all along.
“Some ‘homemaker’ you are,” she sighed loudly. “When Dima was sick, everything sparkled. Have you even picked up a rag in your life?”
“Now is not the time to clean, the child has a fever of almost forty,” Veronica said calmly.
“A fever is not the end of the world,” her mother-in-law parried. “You could still straighten things up at least a bit. Your husband will come home — what is he supposed to think? Besides, you knew I was coming. You could have tried.”
Having said this, Antonina Andreyevna finally sat down at the table, shifted irritably in her chair and said:
“So, is anyone going to pour me some tea? I didn’t walk those two bus stops to your place for nothing. It’s cold out there, you know, only seven degrees.”
Silently, Veronica boiled some water, quickly set a mug of tea in front of her and a plate of candy. Her mother-in-law started rustling the wrappers, glancing around.
“And I see you haven’t even ironed the curtains. Always ‘no time’, right?”
Veronica just took a deep breath in response.
“Don’t argue. Let her talk herself out and leave,” she tried to convince herself.
From time to time she got up to check on Yulia to make sure everything was okay. Sometimes work called, asking her to clarify details about her tasks. Antonina Andreyevna watched all this with an increasingly irritated expression.
The third time Veronica stood up from the table, her mother-in-law suddenly grabbed her arm sharply. Her fingers dug into Veronica’s skin, her gaze turning cold and demanding.
“Sit down already.”
“But I need to check on Yulia,” Veronica said quietly, trying to pull away.
“I said sit!” snapped Antonina, in a tone that brooked no argument. “How long are you going to run back and forth? You’re the one who’s nervous and you’re scaring the child.”
“She has a fever, I can’t just sit here!” Veronica burst out.
“Nothing will happen to her,” the older woman said crisply. “You’ve spoiled her too much. Dima was sick as a child and he never whined.”
Veronica felt anger boiling up inside. Her chest tightened, her eyes stung, but she held herself back.
“She’s my child,” she said quietly but distinctly, looking straight into her mother-in-law’s eyes. “And I’ll decide myself how to take care of her.”
Antonina turned pale, let go of her arm, and leaned back in her chair, narrowing her eyes.
“Well, well…” she said with a faint smirk. “You’ve learned how to raise your voice. I see life with my son hasn’t passed you by for nothing.”
At that moment a weak cough and a soft whimper came from the bedroom. Veronica pulled her arm free without another word and hurried to her daughter.
Behind her she heard a cold, almost hissing comment:
“No manners at all…”
Ten minutes later the doorbell rang again. Veronica hurried to open it — this time it really was the doctor. A young woman in a protective mask slipped on a gown and quickly stepped into the apartment, nodding:
“So, where’s our little patient?”
“In the bedroom,” Veronica answered quietly, but before she could take a step, an annoyed voice sounded from the kitchen:
“And I thought at least you’d say hello!” Antonina appeared in the doorway, holding her cup of tea. “How can you just barge in like that without even asking who opened the door?”
The doctor froze for a second, gave a polite smile, and introduced herself.
“I’m the on-duty pediatrician for your area, Anna Vladimirovna.”
“So I figured,” the older woman replied with contempt and immediately followed after her. “Only, you know, I raised two children myself, so I know perfectly well how to treat them. These days doctors just love to prescribe antibiotics, and they’re harmful! I used to give little Dima raspberry compote, and he was running around again in a day.”
The doctor nodded, trying not to react. She’d seen just about everything in the course of a workday.
“All right, but let me examine the child first, okay?”
“Go ahead, but it won’t help much,” muttered Antonina, going into the bedroom ahead of the doctor, as if showing the way.
Veronica followed them, feeling her ears burn with shame as her mother-in-law kept talking nonstop:
“You young people treat everything out of books and instructions, but we used to treat by experience! No need to give the child pills, the body should fight it off on its own!”
The doctor calmly examined Yulia, listened to her breathing, looked at her throat, and took her temperature.
“She has tonsillitis,” she said at last. “Her condition is moderate, but nothing too serious. The main thing is to start treatment in time.”
“Tonsillitis? Nonsense!” the mother-in-law cut in at once. “A couple of gargles and it’ll be gone! Why are you scaring people?”
At that moment Veronica wanted to sink through the floor.
“Please,” she whispered, “the doctor knows better…”
“Oh, I know your doctors,” Antonina waved her off. “For them it’s always tonsillitis or bronchitis.”
Then the doctor looked at Veronica calmly and said gently:
“Could I talk to you in the kitchen for a minute? I’ll explain what needs to be done.”
They went to the kitchen. There, in a short conversation, the doctor explained which medicines to give, on what schedule, which spray to buy, and how to monitor Yulia’s condition. Veronica carefully wrote everything down in a notebook.
“Don’t worry,” the doctor said as she left. “With proper care she’ll get better quickly. And don’t forget to make an appointment to see me next week.”
Veronica thanked her and walked her to the door. But when she went back to the bedroom, she froze. Antonina was sitting by the bed trying to make Yulia sit up, though the girl could barely keep her eyes open.
“Come on, sweetheart, tell Grandma a poem you learned at kindergarten! Come on!”
“I don’t want to…” Yulia croaked, her eyes filling with tears.
“What are you doing?!” Veronica cried out, rushing to the bed. “She’s sick, it’s hard for her even to talk!”
“Oh stop babying her!” her mother-in-law snapped. “A child needs attention, not just lying around doing nothing!”
Veronica gently laid Yulia back down, adjusted her pillow and pulled the blanket up around her.
“That’s enough, Antonina Andreyevna. Please go home now.”
“What?!” her mother-in-law’s eyebrows shot up. “You’re throwing me out? I came here to help!”
“You’re not helping,” Veronica said firmly. “You’re only making things worse.”
“Well, I see how it is…” drawled Antonina, getting to her feet. “So I’m just in the way, am I? We’ll see what Dima has to say about that.”
“Say whatever you want,” Veronica sank down on a chair, exhausted. “Just leave now.”
Her mother-in-law smiled spitefully, as if she’d gotten exactly what she wanted. She left, slamming the door loudly, and barely stepping onto the landing, she immediately pulled out her phone.
“Dimochka, you can’t imagine what’s going on in your apartment,” she hissed into the receiver. “Your wife threw me out! Yes, out into the street! I came to see my granddaughter with the best intentions, and she… she started yelling! So much for a mother and a wife…”
Meanwhile, in the apartment, Veronica sat by her daughter’s bed, listening to her quiet, even breathing as she slept.
Dmitry listened to his mother in silence. At first, out of habit, he nodded along, inserting short “uh-huh” and “I see.” He knew this script by heart: first outrage, then hurt, tears, and finally the closing line — “And I only wanted what’s best.”
But this time something clicked inside him. He remembered how it had always been. How many times his mother had “accidentally” pushed Veronica into a quarrel and then called him in tears, telling him how disrespectfully she’d been treated.
How many times Veronica had cried at night when Dima defended his mother instead of her. And how, seven years ago, right after the wedding, Antonina had said that Veronica was not a match for him.
Back then he’d just waved it off. That had been a mistake — because from that moment on, his mother seemed to set herself a goal: to prove she was right. Now Dmitry could see it clearly. The same thing happened over and over: provoke, complain, take offense, make him feel guilty.
And all for one reason: to be at the center of her son’s attention again.
“Mom,” he said calmly, cutting her off mid-sentence. “I heard you, but I know Veronica very well. She would never behave rudely for no reason. So most likely, you pushed her to it.”
There was silence on the line.
“What are you saying?” Antonina finally exclaimed. “I’m your mother! I don’t wish you any harm!”
“I know,” he answered gently. “But maybe sometimes, precisely because of that, it ends up hurting. Veronica did the right thing. She was protecting our child.”
“Oh, I see…” his mother’s voice turned icy. “So now it’s all my fault? Well then… live however you want.”
And without waiting for his reply, she hung up. For the first time in many years, Dima didn’t feel the usual anxiety after such a conversation. He simply exhaled and went back to his work. The next day Antonina didn’t call. Nor the day after.
A week passed — still silence. And suddenly Dima realized how long it had been since he’d started his morning peacefully, without grating complaints and endless lamentations. The office seemed quieter, and his head felt clearer. He even started getting more done, and his colleagues wondered where this new lightness in him came from.
At home, Veronica gradually calmed down. Yulia was almost fully recovered, running around the apartment with a book, now and then wrapping her toy bear in a scarf and announcing:
“He has a fever, Mommy! I’m going to treat him just like you!”
Dima watched them and smiled. That evening, for the first time in a long while, he came home early. He brought Yulia a pastry and a soft stuffed bunny, and for Veronica — a bouquet of white roses.
The three of them sat on the couch together, watching cartoons, and the apartment was filled with a warm, peaceful quiet they hadn’t felt in a long time. And somewhere in another apartment, behind a closed door, Antonina Andreyevna sat in an armchair, clutching her phone. She had been living for a week in anticipation of her son’s call — hoping he would be the first to give in.
But the phone stayed silent.
So she convinced herself that she was the one who was right. That everyone around her was ungrateful, and she alone truly knew how things should be. Only, for some reason, that didn’t make her feel any better.
And in Dmitry and Veronica’s home, it finally became truly peaceful.