“No, my dear, I am not a carer!” Anastasia hissed through clenched teeth. “With all due respect to Olga Timofeevna, she is not my mothershe has her own children! Three of them!”
“Anastasia, whats gotten into you?” Gennady replied, baffled. “We wont help Mum recover if we treat her care like this. The doctor said a lot depends on us now.”
“It depends on *you*,” Anastasia shot back, “not on me!”
Anastasia listened uneasily as her husbands voice murmured through the phonehe was speaking to his sister. She stood in the kitchen, chopping salad, while Henry paced the living room. She didnt like his tone. Or perhaps she was imagining things?
No. Her sharp ears and intuition never deceived her. A minute later, he appeared in the doorway, his face pale, hands trembling.
“Whats happened, love?” she gasped, rushing to him.
“Its Mum,” Henry muttered. “Shes had an attacktaken to hospital, might need surgery. Thats what Nina said, anyway. Shes in hysterics, can barely string two words together.”
“I understand,” Anastasia nodded, recalling the terror she’d felt last year when her own mother had heart trouble. Bedridden for weeks, she and her sister had taken shifts caring for her.
Anastasia offered to drive him to the hospitalHenry was in no state to take the wheelbut he refused. His sister would collect him tomorrow, he said. Theyd go together.
For a week, Olga Timofeyevna, Anastasias mother-in-law, remained under hospital care. Henry visited daily, as did his older sister Nina, and his brother Anatoly with his wife Svetlana.
Anastasia cooked for the invalid. The hospital food was dreadful, so Olga begged for homemade broth, steamed chicken cutlets, something fresh. After work, Anastasia stopped by the market, picked the ripest tomatoes for salads.
Sometimes she drove Henry to the hospital but never entered the wardno need for a crowd of visitors.
“Theyre discharging Mum soon,” Henry announced one evening. “We can finally breathe.”
“Yes, the worst is over,” Anastasia sighed, “but shell need long-term care. Constant attention.”
“That wont be a problem,” Henry shrugged. “I told Nina you could cook in advance, pop by before work, stay a couple hours after. Bathing, feeding, medsyoull figure it out.”
He said it so casually, it took Anastasia a moment to grasp his meaning. Only after a full minute did she realiseher husband had just offloaded his mothers care onto her.
“Henry,” she said quietly, “I work. She needs full-time carenot once a week, but daily. At least twice a day.”
“Of course I know that!” he replied, undaunted, almost cheerful. Proud, even, as if hed cleverly solved a tricky problem.
Anastasia leapt up, pacing the room, nerves fraying. She hated conflict, had a gentle naturebut she wouldnt be trampled.
“Darling, last year when *my* mother was ill,” she reminded him, “you remember Elena and I took shiftscooking, washing, massages. It was exhausting!”
“I know, love,” Henry said warmly. “Thats why Im sure youll manage. I told Nina and Anatolymy wife is a treasure, practically a professional carer!”
The “compliment” enraged her. So this was how her beloved saw her? And his siblings had happily endorsed this “honour”?
“No, my dear, I am *not* a carer!” Anastasia spat. “Olga Timofeyevna is not my mothershe has *three* childrenyou, Nina, and Tolya. And Tolya has a wife!”
“Anastasia, whats wrong with you?” Henry said, bewildered. “We wont help Mum if we treat her care like this. The doctor said”
“that it depends on *you*,” she cut in, “not me!”
Henry shook his head. “I never expected such heartlessness from my own wife! Ninas son is tenhomework, meals, her job. Tolya and Svetlana have kids too.”
“I have a job too,” Anastasia said. “And a sonEugene, remember?”
“I havent forgotten,” Henry grumbled, irked by her rebellion.
His mothers stomach was delicate, he addedshe couldnt just eat instant noodles. Who but Anastasia would make her fresh chicken soup? Cook her porridge?
“Im sure Nina and Svetlana can manage soup and porridge,” Anastasia said. “Ill print recipes for you and Anatoly. Youll cope.”
She was seething. When *her* mother came home from hospital, she and her sister had stepped up without argument. No haggling over who did less. What was wrong with Henrys family?
“Darling,” Henry sighed, tired of arguing, “weve already discussed this with my siblings. No objectionsuntil you ruined everything!”
“Im sorry to ruin your plans,” Anastasia said slowly, “but you didnt discuss them *with me*.”
“Theres nothing to discuss! They have jobs, kidsthey *cant*!” Henry snapped. “And youyouve got holiday leave next month!”
Anastasia smiled bitterly. Shed planned that fortnight for Eugenea trip to the Lake District, weekends at her mothers cottage.
“The Lakes, Mummys cottage,” Henry sneered. “A womans life hangs in the balance, and youre thinking of *holidays*!”
Anastasias breath caught. His contempt for her time, her wishesoutrageous. His siblings convenience mattered; hers didnt.
“Talk to Nina and Anatoly yourself,” Henry muttered, burying himself in his phone. Conversation over.
Oh, how she longed to refuse outrightleave Olga to her own children. But she couldnt. She cared for the woman, truly. She just
In a flash, she decided. Tactfully, she spoke to each in-law, mapped their schedules, even uncovered Ninas seaside plans.
Within an hour, shed drafted a fair, colour-coded rotaprinted neatly, handed to Henry.
“Whats this?” he scowled.
“Your mothers care schedule. Mornings, eveningsbathing shifts marked separately.”
“*My* names here!” he spluttered. “And Anatoly! Even his wife!”
Anastasia nodded. “Her children should care for her first. Why should I exempt you?”
“And Svetlana? Shes not Mums daughter!”
Anastasia stared. Was he truly this dense? “*Im* not her daughter eitheryet you dumped full responsibility on me!”
“Nina wont follow this,” Henry declared. “Shes got plansa seaside trip soon.”
“Then shell have to cancel,” Anastasia shrugged. “This isnt five daysits a *month*.”
Henry was aghast. The rota meant *hed* have to visit daily. No more of Mums pies, her borscht. No lounging in Dads old armchair, basking in her doting.
He wanted to stomp, ragebut couldnt. The rota *was* fair. Anastasia hadnt exempted herselfcooking, regular visits. But he hated it.
His last hope? Nina. Shed sort this mess.
Anastasia made a family group chat, posted the rota. Chaos eruptedoutrage, insults. “Like the parents group at Eugenes school,” she thought, amused.
No one liked it. Yet it accounted for *all* their schedules.
“I wont dance to your tune!” Nina snapped. “Ive got a child, a job, *plans*. Why am *I* on this list?”
“Dance to your own,” Anastasia replied coolly. “But this is the only way to share your mothers care. Refuse? Handle it alone. Ill send diet recipes.”
Henrys family turned on her. He even threatened divorceshocked by her “cruelty.”
Anastasia didnt protest. “Fine,” she sighed.
Next day, Olga was discharged. Someone had to cook that broth. Henry fell silent, didnt mention divorce again.
They rejected the rota, scorned Anastasia. Nina swore shed never speak to her again. Their loss.
Anastasias hands itched to helpbut she held firm. Offer a finger, and Henrys clan would bite it clean off.
What do you think? Did Anastasia act rightly? Whos in the wrong? Share your thoughts below.
