SCT1

Since you’re just loafing around on your day off anyway, go work my shift—it’s only one day,” her husband grumbled, chewing the last of his dinner as though it were perfectly ordinary, brazenly piling more tasks onto the shoulders that already carried everything.
Victoria Semyonovna was one of those women people say would walk through fire or stop a galloping horse with her bare hands. That’s exactly why her husband, Nikolai, had absolute faith in her—he knew she could handle anything and kept loading her with new responsibilities.
Their daughter, Masha, also treated her mother as an unbreakable pillar. So every day, loaded with shopping bags after work, Victoria dashed to Masha’s place—three transfers on public transport—to cook lunch, pick up her grandchildren, Mishutka and Nastenka, from school, feed them, change their clothes, and shuttle them to their activities.
On Tuesdays it was art class, on Thursdays vocal lessons, and on Wednesdays and Fridays tennis. After the classes came a walk, homework, and delivering the neat, well-fed children back to their parents.
“Thanks, Mom, you’re a treasure! But why is there so little potato? Seva wants to invite friends over… How are we going to feed them?”
“I fried as much as I could carry,” Victoria spread her hands. “Your fridge is always empty—barely a thing in it.”
“I never have time for shopping, Mom…”
“Then let Seva stop at the store. How is that my problem?”
“Don’t be mad,” Masha hugged her mother like a sly old fox from a fairy tale. “Seva and I are both busy, and you’re a free bird… Dream job—half a day at work and then you can do whatever you like.”
Victoria just sighed. When was the last time she’d done something she actually wanted? Thirty years ago, at least. And that “dream job” wasn’t easy at all—an online shop, handing out orders, heavy boxes, customers in every mood…
“Oh, we’re even out of milk! And I’ve got a manicure in half an hour,” Masha flitted around the kitchen.
“I used everything I brought. All right, go, I’ll make pancakes without milk—they’ll be even tastier.”
“You’re a marvel, Mom! With meat, please. There’s mince in the freezer—defrost it, you know what to do. Six people coming, all starving after work,” Masha shouted as she ran out.
Victoria rolled up her sleeves and set to work. Her granddaughter helped—whisking eggs with sugar—while Mishutka ran around, hugging his grandma.
“It’s no trouble… It’s all a joy,” Victoria told herself. Forty minutes later a fragrant stack of pancakes towered on the table, the house filled with warmth and comfort—though Victoria herself could barely stay on her feet.
“Wow, pancakes! Thanks, Victoria Semyonovna!” Seva burst in and snatched a couple on the fly. “I was afraid I’d have nothing to treat my friends with…”
“Enjoy. I’m off.”
“Maybe you could stay the night?” Seva asked hopefully, counting on his mother-in-law to watch the kids while he relaxed with his friends.
“No. My husband’s hungry—he’s called ten times already.”
“Fine… we’ll give the kids phones with cartoons,” Seva thought.
Victoria dragged herself home exhausted. Nikolai was already waiting in the kitchen, spoon in hand. She fed him the pancakes she’d brought—she had no strength left to cook fresh ones.
“Why do you look like you’ve run a marathon?” Nikolai asked in surprise.
“Worn out. Tomorrow’s Saturday—at least I’ll get some rest,” she poured herself water. All day she’d had only a sandwich on the run.
“Listen… Vik… I’ve got a problem.”
“What happened?”
“I argued with Valya. I can’t stand her! Don’t know why Vitya married her…” Nikolai threw up his hands. He’d never gotten along with his brother’s wife, and now that he worked in her flower shop it was even worse.
“Make up—it’s family.”
“Exactly, family! I’m afraid she’ll fire me, and I can’t lose my job…”
“I understand.”
“Tomorrow’s a slow day, but she’s already on edge before the holidays. I’m afraid I’ll snap. Will you help me out? Cover for me just one day? I’ll do everything at home. You love flowers, and you get along with Valya. For you a shift there is like a rest.”Victoria was stunned. This was definitely not the weekend “gift” she’d expected.
“So, deal? I’m off to bed—tough day,” Nikolai said, dumped his dirty dishes in the sink, and left.
Victoria exhaled heavily. Once again, no rest. She glanced at her husband, at the sink… and went to bed.
“Vik, why’s the kitchen still a mess?” Nikolai asked in the morning.
“You said you’d play housekeeper today. Start there,” Vika smiled. The clock read 9:00—twenty minutes left to get ready.
“But I only promised for today. That stuff is from yesterday!”
“Perfect—start with yesterday. Fair’s fair.”
“And breakfast?”
“Breakfast is your job too. And lunch, and dinner. Bake an apple cake for tonight—Masha and Seva are bringing the grandkids. Mishutka loves it. And make a cheese pastry for Nastenka.”
“What?” Nikolai froze. “I don’t know how!”
“The internet’s your friend—everything’s there. Good luck, dear. I’m off to ‘Flower Paradise.’”
She’d purposely got up late. Didn’t even drink tea—so she wouldn’t fall back into the habit of handling everything herself. He’d promised—let him feel it.
Outdoors smelled of spring. For the first time in ages Victoria felt light. Maybe working in the shop really was a great idea—a way out of the endless whirl of chores…
She ducked into a café, treated herself to a croissant and a cup of aromatic coffee.
“Mmm… delicious…” She closed her eyes with pleasure, her mood lifting by the second.
Time to go. She glanced at her watch and, without hesitation, ordered a taxi.
“I’m fifty-five, and I deserve some comfort,” she thought with a gentle smile.
Continued in the comments

A loving wife had been taking care of her sick husband until she overheard his conversation with his mother.
The chilly autumn wind drove yellow leaves down the village street when Alina got off the bus. Her legs ached after the long journey, and her heart felt heavy—saying goodbye to her grandfather hadn't been easy.
She had barely taken a few steps from the stop when she heard a familiar, slightly hoarse voice: "Alinushka, my dear, how was your trip?"
Nina Petrovna, the local paramedic, hurried toward her, waving her hands. A plump woman in a worn medical coat over a warm sweater, Nina was one of the few people in this village who could understand and support Alina.
Although her husband, Pavel, didn’t have a high opinion of the medic and constantly teased her about her professionalism, calling her a "country healer," Alina felt warmth and trust toward Nina Petrovna.
"More or less, Nina Petrovna," sighed Alina, slowing her pace. She didn’t want to talk about the trip, but she knew the conversation was inevitable. "But I couldn’t make peace with grandfather before his passing. He took his grudge with him…"
"Ah, my girl," Nina Petrovna shook her head, adjusting a gray lock of hair that had slipped out from under her cap. "Your grandfather was a stubborn, proud man. With such a character, even if you wanted to, reconciliation wouldn't always be possible. May he rest in peace." After a pause, she asked with concern, "And how is your husband? Still sick?"
Alina sighed again, fiddling with the handle of her worn bag. "He’s lying there without strength. No appetite, no energy. We’ve seen all the doctors—no one can help. He’s already preparing for the worst... He says he feels like his time has come."
"What do you mean, sick?" Nina Petrovna suddenly snorted, her eyes flashing with indignation. "Your Pavel’s putting on quite the show! The great actor is waking up in him! The performance he’s putting on—Stanislavsky himself would envy it!"
"Why are you saying that?" Alina felt disheartened, though doubts had already begun creeping in deep inside. "Pasha really is suffering. How can he be at fault if the doctors can’t find a diagnosis?"
"Oh, young one…" The paramedic waved her hand dismissively. "The doctors don’t see anything because there’s nothing to see. But you’ll understand everything yourself," she said meaningfully, giving Alina a glance before disappearing into an alley, leaving the girl in a whirl of troubling thoughts.
Alina had no desire to go home. She headed toward the river, sitting on a fallen tree that the locals used as an improvised bench. A scene from their farewell before her trip to the funeral came to her mind.
When Pavel heard about her intention to leave, he theatrically sighed, closing his eyes with a hand as thin as wax:
"Of course, go, my dear. I understand everything… Just remember, inheritance doesn’t lie on the road. When I die, there won’t be money for my funeral either."
Now those words tasted bitter in her soul. Alina remembered how it all started. After graduating from the music school, she had categorically refused to continue her career as a violinist, contrary to all her grandfather’s hopes.
"I’ll never touch this instrument again!" she had said back then, placing her red diploma and the violin her grandfather gave her when she was twelve on the table.
"What do you mean, you won’t?" her grandfather turned red with anger, his hands, roughened by hard labor, clenched into fists. "I dedicated my life to make you a musician! Or now, are you going to twist cow tails instead?"
"Better twist cow tails than play the violin!" she blurted out, and immediately...
Continued in the comments

— Quite the spacious apartment you've bought. So, when are we moving in? — said her mother-in-law with a hint of suggestion.
Ulyana slowly ran her hand along the freshly painted wall. The empty room was bathed in the warm glow of the setting sun, casting long shadows across the perfectly smooth floor. It was going to be the nursery. Still empty for now, but already theirs. A wave of warmth spread through her body. Five years. She had left five whole years of her life behind for this moment.
— The crib will go here, — Ulyana pointed to the corner near the window. — And later, when the baby grows up, we’ll put a desk here.
Arseniy nodded, leaning against the doorframe. A faint smile played on his lips, but his eyes remained thoughtful. He watched as his wife moved around the room, as if sketching out the future furniture in the air.
— You’re right. It’s bright in here, a good place to study.
Ulyana heard support in his voice, but not the kind she’d hoped for. Not the real kind. For the past five years, she had worked like a horse — picking up side jobs, scrimping on everything from clothes to food. Owning their own apartment had become an obsession, a goal she had poured her life into. And here was the result — a three-room unit in a new building, bought on a mortgage. In her name only.
Sure, Arseniy worked. But his salary as an electronics store sales assistant barely covered groceries and utilities. He never aimed for more, living as if there were no tomorrow. When it came time to make the down payment, he only shrugged awkwardly — this is what I’ve got. The sum was so insignificant that Ulyana mentally waved it off. By then, she had already saved most of the money herself.
— I think we should start with the kitchen, — Ulyana walked out of the nursery and into the largest room in the apartment — a spacious kitchen with access to the loggia. — A table, fridge, stove. Then we’ll move on to the bedroom.
— Agreed, — Arseniy followed, eyeing the bare walls. — I should call my parents, let them know we’ve finally moved in.
Ulyana paused for a second, then nodded. Of course, they had to call. His parents, too. Though the memory of her last conversation with her mother-in-law stirred a bit of unease.
That evening, Arseniy called his mother via video, showing her the apartment. Ulyana stood beside him, watching Elena Vasilievna’s face on the screen — round, with small eyes and tightly pressed lips.
— Oh, finally we’ll get to live like normal people, — the mother-in-law commented, inspecting the kitchen through the phone.
Ulyana raised an eyebrow in confusion but said nothing. “We”? Surely she meant “you.” Or maybe she was speaking generally, like the whole family now had an apartment. Still, the phrasing stuck with Ulyana, leaving a strange sense of unease.
A week after the move, when Ulyana and Arseniy had only managed to buy the essentials and hadn’t even unpacked all the boxes yet, the doorbell rang. Elena Vasilievna stood on the threshold with a huge bag of fruit.
— Came to check on the new homeowners! — she declared cheerfully, squeezing into the hallway. — Show me how you’ve settled in?
Arseniy welcomed his mother in with a smile, while Ulyana went to the kitchen to put on the kettle. Soon, she heard her mother-in-law’s heavy footsteps as she methodically inspected every room.
— Very nice, very nice, — Elena Vasilievna murmured, opening and closing the doors of the newly assembled wardrobe in the bedroom.
Once they had all gathered in the kitchen, the mother-in-law casually opened a few drawers, checking their contents.
— I could put a little table here. I’m always stuck cooking in some corner somewhere, — she said, gesturing to the space near the window.
Ulyana froze with a cup in her hand. Odd phrasing. Why “I”? Why “cooking”? It was as if Elena Vasilievna was mentally placing herself in the apartment. Arseniy didn’t seem to notice anything unusual and kept talking about renovation plans.

瓦那🐼, [4/24/2025 4:44 PM]
The following weekend, the mother-in-law returned — this time with her husband, Pavel Nikolaevich. The elderly couple strolled through the apartment, actively discussing furniture arrangement.
— The bed would be better against that wall, — Pavel Nikolaevich suggested in the bedroom.
— Yes, and we’ll need to move the wardrobe, too, — Elena Vasilievna chimed in.
Ulyana forced a polite smile but grew increasingly tense. This was starting to feel surreal. They were rearranging someone else’s furniture like they were planning to move in themselves.
After the guests left, Ulyana couldn’t hold it in any longer:
— Arseniy, is it just me, or are your parents acting a little strange? Like they’re… trying to move into our apartment?
Continued in the comments