“No, my dear, I’m not a carer!” Anastasia hissed through clenched teeth. “With all due respect to Olga Timofeevna, she isn’t my mother, and she has her own childrenthree of them!”
“Nastya, whats gotten into you?” Gennadiy replied, baffled. “We wont manage Mums care if we approach it like this. The doctor said much of her recovery depends on us now.”
“Depends on *you*,” Anastasia shot back, “not me!”
She listened uneasily to her husbands voice as he spoke to his sister on the phone. She stood in the kitchen, chopping salad, while Gennadiy paced the living room. Something about his tone unsettled heror was she just overthinking?
No, her instincts were sharp. A minute later, he appeared in the doorway, his face pale, his hands trembling.
“Whats wrong, darling?” she cried, rushing to him.
“Mums taken a turn,” he said. “Shes had an episodetheyve rushed her to hospital, possibly for surgery. Ninas beside herself, barely making sense.”
Anastasia nodded sympathetically, remembering how terrified shed been last year when her own mother fell ill. She and her sister had taken turns caring for her.
She offered to drive Gennadiy to the hospitalhe was in no statebut he refused, saying Nina would collect him tomorrow.
Olga Timofeyevna remained in hospital for a week, visited daily by Gennadiy, his elder sister Nina, and his brother Anatoliy with his wife, Svetlana.
Anastasia cooked for her mother-in-law, who disliked hospital foodclear chicken broth, steamed cutlets, something fresh. She stopped at the market after work for ripe tomatoes to make salad.
She accompanied Gennadiy on visits but never entered the wardtoo crowded with other patients.
“Theyre discharging Mum soon,” Gennadiy announced one evening. “We can breathe easy now.”
“Yes, the worst is over,” Anastasia sighed, “but shell need long-term care.”
“No problem,” he shrugged. “I told Nina you could cook in the evenings, pop round before and after workbathe her, feed her, give her meds. Youll figure it out.”
He said it so casually, it took her a moment to grasp his meaning. Hed just handed her full responsibility for his mothers care.
“Genya,” she said quietly, “I work full-time. This isnt a weekly visitits daily, twice at least.”
“Of course I understand!” he said cheerfully, sounding pleased with his solution.
Anastasia stood abruptly, pacing the room. Conflict wasnt in her nature, but neither was unfairness. She knew exactly what burden he was placing on her.
“Last year, when my mum was ill,” she reminded him, “my sister and I took shifts cooking, washing her, massaging her. It was exhausting!”
“I know, love,” he said warmly, “thats why Im sure youll manage. I told Nina and Tolyamy wifes a gem, practically a professional carer!”
The “compliment” enraged her. So this was how her husband saw her? And his siblings had happily endorsed it?
“No, darling, Im *not* a carer!” she spat. “With all respect to your mother, she isnt mine. She has three childrenyou, Nina, and Tolya. And Tolya has a wife!”
“Nastya, really,” Gennadiy said, affronted. “We wont manage Mums care with this attitude. The doctor said its up to us now.”
“Up to *you*,” she corrected.
Gennadiy shook his head. “I never expected such indifference from my wife! Ninas son is tenhe needs help with homework, meals. Tolya and Svetlana have their kids too.”
“I have a job,” Anastasia said pointedly, “and a sonremember Zhenya?”
“I havent forgotten,” he muttered, irritated by her defiance.
He tried guilting herhis mothers stomach issues meant no instant meals, no shared table. Whod make her fresh chicken soup? Whod cook her porridge?
“Nina and Svetlana can manage soup and porridge,” Anastasia said. “Ill print recipes for you and Tolya.”
She was furious. When *her* mother fell ill, she and her sister had stepped up without argument. What was wrong with her husbands family?
“Listen, darling,” Gennadiy snapped, “weve already agreed on this. Youre ruining everything!”
“Im sorry to disrupt your plans,” she said coolly, “but you never discussed them with me.”
“Theres nothing to discuss! They have jobs and kids. And youyouve got holiday coming up!”
She smiled sadly. Shed planned that fortnight with Zhenyaa trip to the Lake District, then her mothers cottage.
“The Lakes? Your mums cottage?” Gennadiy scoffed. “This is about life and health, and youre thinking of fun!”
Her breath caught. How dare he dismiss her time, her plans? He cared about his siblings conveniencebut hers?
“Talk to Nina and Tolya yourself,” he said, turning to his phone.
She longed to refuse outrightlet his mothers children handle it. But she couldnt. She cared for Olga Timofeyevna. Still
An hour later, shed drafted a rotacolour-coded, fair. She handed it to Gennadiy.
“Whats this?” he scowled.
“Your mothers care schedule. Morning and evening visits, bathing shiftseveryones included.”
“My names here!” he spluttered. “And Tolyas! And his wife!”
“Her children come first,” Anastasia said. “Why should you be exempt?”
“But Svetlanas not her daughter!”
Anastasia stared. Was he truly this oblivious?
“Neither am I,” she said sharply. “Yet you expected me to take it all on. Does *that* not bother you?”
“Nina wont follow this,” he muttered. “Shes got plansa seaside trip.”
“Then shell have to cancel,” Anastasia said. “This isnt five daysits a month.”
Gennadiy paled. The rota meant daily visits. No more mums pies, her borscht. No lounging in Dads old armchair, basking in her care.
He wanted to ragebut couldnt. The schedule *was* fair. Shed even included herselfcooking, some visits. But he hated it.
His last hope was Nina. Shed fix this.
Anastasia made a group chat, shared the rota. Chaos erupted.
“Like a parents WhatsApp group,” she thought wryly.
No one liked it. Yet it accounted for everyones commitments.
“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 calmly. “But this is the only way to share your mothers care. Refuse? Handle it alone. Ill send diet recipes.”
Gennadiys family turned on her. He threatened divorce, accusing her of cruelty.
She sighed. “Agreed.”
Next day, Olga Timofeyevna was discharged. Suddenly, *someone* had to make broth. He dropped the divorce talkjust asked for some of her homemade soup.
The family rejected the rota, scorned Anastasia. Nina swore shed never speak to her again.
Their loss. Fairness refused, they got what they deserved.
Anastasia itched to helpbut held firm. Offer a finger, and theyd take the whole arm.
Was she right? Whos the fair one here? Share your thoughts below.
*The lesson?* **Boundaries protect kindness. Without them, generosity becomes obligationand resentment follows.**
