“We’ve decided we’re coming to your place for New Year’s,” her mother declared, almost ceremonially. “So start preparing. Five days, at the very least.”
“Hold on… what? For New Year’s? To our place? But… we agreed with our friends a month ago… We’re all celebrating together.”
Veronika was standing at the stove, stirring soup. In the next room, her daughters—Alina and Masha—were breathing quietly in their sleep. Both had been ill. Both were still too weak to go back to school and kindergarten.
Just a normal evening.
Her phone vibrated on the table. Veronika glanced at the screen: Mom—Svetlana Ivanovna. Talking to her when you had no strength and no desire was the last thing Veronika wanted. Still, she wiped her hands and tapped to answer.
“Yeah, Mom… hi.”
Svetlana Ivanovna got straight to business.
“I miss the girls. Come this weekend. Your father and I are waiting.”
Veronika shut her eyes. She knew exactly what that meant: a full day on the road, and then hours of remarks, comparisons, and commentary about everything—how she raised the kids, how she looked, how tired she seemed, how pale she was… or, on the contrary, how she looked “too good.”
And the main thing: two daughters who had only just stopped running a fever and were finally starting to recover.
“Mom,” Veronika said, choosing her words carefully, “honestly, this month has been hard. Alina and Masha got sick one after the other—now they’re only just getting better. I caught it a bit too. And I’ve got reports at work… I’m truly exhausted, and I don’t want to waste that much time traveling.”
The pause was brief. Then came the familiar line:
“So you just don’t respect your father and me! And you’re keeping the girls from seeing their grandma and grandpa!”
Veronika curled her fingers around the edge of the table. This was her mother’s lifelong method—pressure and blame. In that moment Veronika was six again, not thirty-five: a little girl in a green sweater trying to draw a kitten while her mother looked down and said:
“What a mess. Dear God, why are you so hopeless? Look at Aunt Masha’s neighbor’s son—now that’s real talent!”
Back then Veronika would silently crumple the drawing and throw it away, just to make the criticism stop. Decades had passed, but talking to Svetlana Ivanovna still felt the same: like Veronika was being shoved into a corner for not living up to her mother’s standards.
But now… now she had her own children and her own home. And a husband who didn’t let her doubt herself.
Veronika drew a deep breath and spoke firmly:
“Mom, respect isn’t about making trips to visit. Respect is listening. I told you the girls are sick, and I am too. We’re not coming. Please accept that.”
On the other end she heard a sharp, angry hiss—like her mother couldn’t believe her daughter had dared to talk back.
“You’ve changed. You’ve become selfish. Just like your husband. He’s twisted your head. But listen to me, girl: in our family, the oldest woman decides! And if you don’t do what I tell you, you’ll ruin your relationships with all the relatives. Remember my words!”
“Mom, enough,” Veronika answered. “We’ll talk later.”
And she ended the call before the next wave of accusations could pour out. The phone buzzed again instantly, but Veronika switched it to silent.
For the first time in many years, she didn’t feel guilty. She looked toward the children’s room—Alina and Masha were sitting cuddled together, watching New Year cartoons.
That night Ivan came home—tired, his jacket unzipped, but with the same warm smile he always had. The apartment was already quiet. The girls were asleep.
Veronika turned off their cloud-shaped nightlight and softly closed the door.
Ivan noticed right away that something was weighing on her. He sat down to eat, and after a while he looked up and asked:
“Did something happen?”
Veronika stayed quiet, then finally said:
“Mom called… She wanted us to come to them. And I didn’t want to. There’s so much to do—home, work. And this cold… And she…”
Then she told him the whole conversation—without drama, without exaggeration, simply as it happened. Ivan listened silently, but when he stopped eating, Veronika understood it hit him too. He hated it when her mother tried to bulldoze everyone.
“You did the right thing,” he said calmly. “There’s no reason to drag yourselves around in the cold. First, the girls haven’t fully recovered. Second, the weather is awful—snow, ice. And work is a mess. I might even have to work this Saturday, or we won’t close the plan by month’s end. And who would even drive you?”
“Yeah… you’re right. I didn’t think of that,” Veronika admitted.
Ivan leaned closer.
“And anyway—New Year’s is soon. I need you healthy and happy, not drained from traveling and worn out by your mom’s ‘lessons’ and demands.”
Veronika rested her elbows on the table and rubbed her temples.
“That’s exactly it, Vanya. But she refuses to listen. She only sees it from her side… her selfish side.”
“Let her,” he shrugged. “You’re not a kid anymore. You don’t have to explain obvious things to her.”
After talking to him, Veronika felt some of the tension loosen. Still, the sour weight of the call lingered—like something you couldn’t shake off quickly.
A few days later life returned to routine. Alina and Masha were officially cleared, and they happily went back to school and kindergarten. The house settled into quiet daytime normality again.
Veronika buried herself in work. After the forced break, tasks had piled up, and she was catching up at double speed. Everything was fine—until Svetlana Ivanovna called again.
Veronika sighed, but answered.
“We’ve decided we’re coming to you for New Year’s,” her mother announced grandly. “So be ready. Five days, minimum. You yourself said the drive is long. Why should we do a useless one-day trip there and back?”
Veronika was so stunned she didn’t find her voice immediately.
“Wait… what? New Year’s? To us? But we agreed with friends a month ago… Their kids are the same age as Alina and Masha. We’re all celebrating at our place.”
“What friends?” her mother snapped. “Family matters more! You’re obligated to be with your parents. We’ve already decided. Don’t forget who has the final say in this family.”
Veronika pushed back from her desk and exhaled.
“Mom,” she said at last, “we’re not changing our plans. And we’re not going to let other people down—we made arrangements.”
“And I don’t understand—when did you become such a brat?” Svetlana Ivanovna shot back. “This is all your Ivan. He’s turning you against your family!”
“Don’t say ugly things about my husband. It was only with him that I learned what it means to be truly happy—and free.”
“Free?” her mother barked out a laugh. “With two children? We’re coming, and that’s that.”
She hung up. Veronika stayed sitting there, staring at the phone, still in disbelief.
Svetlana Ivanovna, pleased with her own decision, walked into the living room. Igor Petrovich was in his armchair watching TV. He loved quiet, routine, predictability—especially being left alone.
“Igor!” his wife practically shouted, not hiding her excitement. “This year we’re going to the city for New Year’s—to Veronika’s. I already told her.”
Igor Petrovich sighed as heavily as if someone had just announced a five-day hike in the mountains without water.
“Sveta… why?” He laid the newspaper on his knees. “It’s far. It’s cold. The city is all slush and traffic…”
“So what?” she cut him off. “That’s our daughter. She lives in a three-bedroom apartment. You’re telling me there’s no space for us?”
Igor Petrovich shifted uneasily. Svetlana Ivanovna could sound extremely convincing. And if someone didn’t give in, life became very unpleasant for them.
“Maybe… you go alone?” he tried cautiously. “And I’ll stay here… keep an eye on things.”
His hope lasted exactly two seconds.
“Have you lost your mind?” Svetlana Ivanovna’s eyes narrowed. “You want the neighbors talking about why I went to my daughter alone? You want me to look like a woman who was abandoned?”
Then she lowered her voice to an icy whisper:
“If you start trying to stand up to me… you can pack your things and go wherever you please. I’m not holding anyone by force!”
Igor Petrovich went pale. She knew where to press. And he… he was afraid. Afraid of court, of divorce, of losing the house, the car, the land. Everything had long been registered in Svetlana Ivanovna’s name. Igor Petrovich didn’t know the laws, and she used that.
“Fine…” he muttered. “We’ll go. Whatever you say.”
Svetlana Ivanovna gave a satisfied little sniff.
“That’s better.”
The plan had been announced—meaning it had to happen.
Meanwhile, Veronika sat on the couch, gripping her phone. When Ivan came home that evening, she told him before he even took off his shoes:
“Mom called again.”
“What now?” he asked, exhausted.
“They decided they’re coming to us for New Year’s. For five days.”
Ivan went to the kitchen, poured water, took several long gulps, then returned.
“If she’s decided something, it’s impossible to talk her out of it…”
Veronika nodded. Tears were already shining in her eyes.
“So we have to cancel with Zhenya?”
“No. Why?” he said. “We’ll do something much easier—and step away from the problem.”
“How?” Veronika frowned.
“We’ll celebrate at Zhenya and Anton’s,” Ivan said. “We’ll move the holiday to their place. And our apartment can stay empty.”
Veronika opened her mouth to argue, but then… she smiled. It really did sound like a good plan.
“You think… Zhenya will agree?” she asked.
“Ask her and find out,” Ivan replied. “You’re friends. I’m sure she’ll meet you halfway.”
Five minutes later Veronika was dialing. Zhenya picked up immediately, like she’d been expecting the call.
“Zhenya, hi,” Veronika said.
She told her everything honestly and asked for help. Zhenya didn’t stay silent for long, then laughed warmly.
“Then come to us! We were just about to show you our new Christmas tree. It’s incredible—huge and fluffy. Anton practically fell in love with it when we set it up.”
And she added right away:
“Seriously. Don’t think for a second. Come over. We’ll set the table together, buy the kids party poppers. It’ll be great!”
“Really? We can?” Veronika almost whispered. “You’re not upset?”
“Are you kidding? It’s totally fine!” Zhenya reassured her. “We’ll be happy. And we’ll even clear more space if we need to!”
Veronika ended the call, held the phone with both hands, and let out a deep breath.
December 31st felt almost magical—quiet snow, soft flakes drifting down, as if someone up above had decided to decorate the world for the holiday.
Zhenya and Anton’s place was warm and cozy, and the whole apartment smelled of tangerines. After a quick family “council,” the men and kids were sent outside to walk and slide down the hill—“to freshen up before the celebration,” as Zhenya put it.
In the kitchen, the two hostesses finally got five minutes of quiet—Zhenya and Veronika. Zhenya skillfully sliced a roll, dressed salads, and glanced at her friend.
“Why are you spinning like a top? Calm down. Everything’s great. You see it yourself—we’ll get it all done!”
“I do…” Veronika set her signature herring-under-a-fur-coat salad on the table. “It just feels like… none of this is real. You agreed so easily to move the celebration to your place. I still feel awkward.”
Zhenya snorted, hands on her hips.
“I’m already tired of your ‘awkward.’ Want me to record it for you? ‘Zhenya wanted you to come. Zhenya is happy. Zhenya loves the tree. Zhenya can’t imagine New Year’s without you.’ Now go hug your friend and stop torturing yourself.”
Veronika laughed and hugged Zhenya tight. The tension of the last few weeks seemed to dissolve into the air.
By ten o’clock everyone was already gathered around a beautiful festive table. The children kept jumping up to play with new toys, the men talked about work, and the women kept saying how wonderful the evening was.
And right then—when the wine in the glasses shimmered like rubies, and the first scattered pops of fireworks sounded outside—Veronika’s phone started ringing. Once, twice, three times. She looked at the screen and felt her heart speed up.
“Mom.”
She hit decline again and again.
“Maybe you should answer,” Ivan suggested carefully. “She won’t stop…”
Veronika shook her head. She could already hear exactly what would be on the other end.
A minute later a message arrived:
“Open the door. We’re at your apartment.”
Veronika closed her eyes. Then she typed slowly:
“We’re not home. We’re celebrating New Year’s with friends—just like we planned.”
And she placed the phone face down.
“Good,” Ivan said softly. “That’s the right choice.”
And Svetlana Ivanovna?
She was standing in the entryway of a ten-story building, looking around as if she expected hidden cameras to jump out. She read her daughter’s message out loud—so that Igor Petrovich and even the walls could hear.
“So that’s how it is! They’re not home! Oh, she… ungrateful! I raised her, I raised her, I didn’t sleep at night! How much money we poured into her!”
In a burst of anger, she threw two bags of discounted New Year candies meant for the granddaughters onto the floor. The bags tore like balloons, and candy scattered across the stairwell.
Two boys running upstairs spotted the sweets and happily began stuffing them into their pockets.
“Those are my candies!” Svetlana Ivanovna screamed. “Who gave you permission?! What are you—little thieves?!”
The boys panicked and ran off.
Igor Petrovich quietly tried to pick up a few candies.
“Sveta… come on… let’s go home.”
“It’s all your fault!” she suddenly shrieked. “You never support me! Never!”
He only shrugged—tired, resigned, without a fight. Then the two of them went downstairs and sat on the bench by the entrance.
“What are we going to do?” Igor Petrovich asked timidly.
Svetlana Ivanovna clenched her fists.
“Find her! And tell her everything I think! And if she dares—if she dares…”
But she had no idea where Veronika was spending New Year’s. And that was their salvation.
When the snowfall grew heavier, Igor Petrovich stood up.
“Let’s drive back. The road will be buried soon. Who’s going to clear it on New Year’s?”
“Home…” Svetlana Ivanovna drawled, as if it were the worst punishment imaginable.
But there was no other option. Five minutes later their car was pulling out of the yard.
Meanwhile, at Zhenya’s it was warm, loud, and full of life. The kids shouted, “New Year! New Year! New Year!” Anton poured champagne into glasses. When the clock struck midnight, they raised their flutes, hugged, and congratulated one another. The girls giggled, Zhenya watched the children with tears of joy, and the men were already getting ready to go set off fireworks.
Veronika made only one wish: to stay close to the people who loved her without conditions.
And at that moment the first firework flared outside the window.
Somewhere out on a forest road, Svetlana Ivanovna’s old car was spinning its wheels in a snowdrift. The clock read 12:04 a.m. They greeted the New Year in complete darkness in the middle of nowhere.
That’s how it always goes: if you weren’t invited and you’re not welcome—don’t force your way into someone else’s life. You’ll only end up embarrassing yourself anyway.