“No, darling, I am *not* a carer!” Anastasia hissed through gritted teethan impressive feat given how tightly they were clenched. “With all due respect to Olga Timofeevna, she is *not* my mother, and she has her own children! Three of them!”
Gennady blinked, baffled. “Anastasia, come nowwell never manage Mums recovery if we approach home care like this. The doctor said a lot depends on us now.”
“Ah yes, *us*,” she shot back, arms crossed. “Funny how us somehow means *me* and not *you*.”
Anastasia listened uneasily as her husband murmured into the phone from the living room. She was in the kitchen, shredding lettuce with slightly more force than necessary. There was something in Gennadys toneor was she just imagining it?
No. Her instincts rarely lied.
A moment later, he appeared in the doorway, pale and trembling.
“Whats wrong, love?” she gasped, rushing to him.
“Its Mum,” he muttered. “She had some kind of attackambulance took her in. Might need surgery. Ninas beside herself, barely making sense, just wailing down the phone.”
Anastasia nodded sympathetically, remembering how terrified shed been when *her* mother had a heart scare last year. Bed rest for weeks, and she and her sister had taken shifts caring for her.
She offered to drive Gennady to the hospitalhe was in no state to get behind the wheelbut he refused. His sister would pick him up tomorrow, he said, and theyd go together.
Olga Timofeevna, Anastasias formidable mother-in-law, spent a week in hospital under strict supervision. Gennady visited daily, as did his elder sister Nina, and his brother Anatoly with his wife, Svetlana.
Anastasia cooked. Hospital food was, according to Olga, “an insult to taste buds,” so she requested delicate homemade chicken broth, steamed cutlets, and something fresh.
After work, Anastasia stopped at the market for the ripest tomatoes, tossing them into salads for her mother-in-law. Sometimes, she accompanied Gennady to the hospitalbut never inside. No need to crowd the ward.
“Shes being discharged soon,” Gennady announced one evening, relief palpable. “We can breathe easy now.”
“Yes, the worst is over,” Anastasia agreed. “But shell need long-term care. Someone will have to look after her.”
Gennady shrugged. “No issue. Ive told Nina youll handle the evening meals, pop in before work, maybe stay a couple hours after. You knowwashing her, feeding her, meds. Youll figure it out.”
He delivered this bombshell with such casualness that it took Anastasia a full minute to process. When she did, she nearly dropped her tea.
“Gennady,” she said very slowly, “I *work*. Caring for your mother isnt a pop in job. Shell need help *daily*twice, at least!”
“Obviously!” he replied, beaming as if shed just praised him. “Thats why I told Nina and Anatolyyoure a natural! Practically a professional carer!”
The sheer *audacity* of this “compliment” made her blood boil. So this was how her beloved husband saw her? And his siblings had happily rubber-stamped this grand title for her?
“No, *darling*,” she seethed, “I am *not* a carer! Olga Timofeevna is *your* mother, and she has *three* childrenyou, Nina, and Anatoly. And Anatoly has a *wife*!”
Gennady frowned. “Anastasia, we wont get Mum through this if were selfish about care. The doctor said its on *us* now.”
“On *you*,” she corrected sharply. “Not *me*.”
Gennady shook his head, disappointed. “I never thought my own wife would be so cold. Ninas got a ten-year-oldhomework, meals, *and* a job. Anatoly and Svetlana have kids too.”
“I *also* have a job,” Anastasia reminded him sweetly. “And in case youve forgottenwe have a son. Remember Zhenya?”
Gennady huffed. He didnt like her arguments, which were, annoyingly, *fair*.
To guilt-trip her, he mentioned his mothers delicate digestive issuesno instant noodles for *her*! Who would make Olga her fresh chicken and noodle soup? Her porridge?
“Nina and Svetlana can manage soup and porridge,” Anastasia said brightly. “Ill even print you all step-by-step recipes. Youll be *fine*.”
She was fuming. When *her* mother had been ill, she and her sister had shouldered the care without a single argument. No bargaining, no dumping it on one person. What was *wrong* with Gennadys family?
“Darling,” Gennady sighed when he tired of arguing, “weve all agreed. No objections until *you* derailed everything!”
“How odd,” Anastasia mused, “because *I* wasnt included in this little agreement.”
He scoffed. “Whats to discuss? Theyve got kids and jobsthey *cant*. Besides, *you* have holiday time next month!”
Anastasias smile was icy. Her two-week break was earmarked for *Zhenya*a long-awaited hiking trip, then lazy days at her mothers countryside cottage.
“The Lakes, Mums cottage,” Gennady sneered. “A womans *life* is at stake, and youre fussing over *holidays*?”
She nearly choked. The *nerve* of himcoddling his siblings convenience while treating *her* time as expendable.
“Talk to Nina and Anatoly yourself,” Gennady snapped, burying himself in his phone.
Anastasia *ached* to say no outrightlet his family handle Olga. But she *loved* her mother-in-law. She just refused to be their doormat.
An hour later, shed drafted a *very* colourful rotaprinted, highlighted, and impossible to ignore.
Gennady glared. “*What* is this?”
“Your mothers care schedule,” Anastasia chirped. “Morning visits, evening visits, bathing shiftsall *fairly* divided. Including *you* and Anatoly. And Svetlana.”
“Svetlana? Shes not Mums daughter!”
Anastasia stared. Was he *serious*? “Neither am I, yet you tried to dump *everything* on me. Hypocrisy much?”
“Nina wont follow this,” he grumbled. “Shes got plansa seaside trip soon.”
“Then shell *cancel*,” Anastasia said flatly. “This isnt a weekend favourits a *month*.”
Gennady paled. The rota meant *hed* have to visit daily. No more Mums pies, no more lounging in Dads old armchair while she doted on him.
He wanted to rage, butblast itthe schedule *was* fair. Anastasia had even included herself (cooking, occasional visits). But he *hated* it.
His last hope? Nina. *Shed* sort this mess.
Anastasia created a family group chat. The rota, now immortalised in digital glory, sparked *outrage*.
“Sounds like Zhenyas school parents group,” she muttered, amused.
No one liked it. Shame, reallyit accounted for *all* their schedules.
“I wont dance to *your* tune!” Nina spat. “Ive got a child, a job, *plans*! Why am I even *on* this list?”
“Dance to your own, then,” Anastasia replied. “But this rota is the only way *all* of you step up. Dont like it? Handle Olga *yourselves*. Heres a diet recipe bookgood luck!”
The family revolted. Gennady even threatened *divorce*, accusing her of cruelty.
Anastasia just sighed. “Fine.”
Olga was discharged the next day. Suddenly, *someone* had to make her broth. Gennady shut up about divorce and meekly asked for soup.
The family scorned the rota, vilifying Anastasia. Nina declared shed *never* speak to her again.
Their loss. Fairness refused? Consequences delivered.
Anastasia *itches* to help Gennadybut shell hold firm. Give an inch, and hell take *everything*.
Sodid she do right? Whos the villain here? Thoughts below!
