“Can you imagine? My husband secretly bought not three vouchers like we had agreed, but five. When I arrived at the resort, I simply closed the taxi door and went to a different hotel. You should have seen his face at that moment…”
“That’s not even up for discussion,” Andrey said calmly but firmly, in that tone that allowed no objections.
I was sitting with my laptop, looking through photos of the hotel where I was planning to book a room for the three of us. White balconies, the azure sea, and lush greenery all around the grounds — it was a beautiful sight and already put me in the mood for a vacation. There were only two weeks left before our trip.
I imagined how we would spend that time — me, my husband, and our son. I could almost taste the salty sea air already, hear my son running barefoot by the pool, slapping his little feet against the warm tiles.
“What exactly is not up for discussion?” I asked, still not understanding what he was getting at.
“Sashka and Danya are coming with us. Mom said Olena can’t afford the trip, and the boys need the sea and the sun. Besides, Lenka herself needs to sort out her personal life. She’s still young and attractive, after all, and she doesn’t have a husband.”
Sashka and Danya are Andrey’s nephews, eight and ten years old. And they’re not children — they’re natural disasters. After their visits, our apartment looked like a hurricane had swept through it. Flowerpots overturned, things scattered everywhere, and one time they even managed to knock over a bookshelf.
“Andrey,” I said, closing the laptop, “we’ve been saving money for this trip for six months. I want to rest. Just rest, without any extra worries. I dreamed of spending this time with you and Misha. I don’t want to be a nanny for other people’s children!”
“They’re not other people’s children!” he snapped. “They’re my own sister’s kids! My nephews! What, in your opinion, do they not deserve a vacation?”
“They do,” I answered calmly. “But they are not my children. And not my relatives. To me, they’re simply strangers.”
Andrey looked at me with obvious irritation, even reproach, but he didn’t continue the argument.
Instead, some time later, his mother called — Galina Petrovna. Apparently, Olena had already managed to complain that I was supposedly turning her brother against the family.
As usual, my mother-in-law began her familiar old song:
“Veronika, you’re a mother, you should understand…”
Yes, I understood perfectly well. I understood that her daughter, at thirty-five, still hadn’t learned how to work properly or build a normal life. She couldn’t keep her family together and barely took care of her children.
Every summer, the boys are “dumped” on one relative or another, like unwanted suitcases. And apparently this time it was our turn.
“They’re not strangers!” Galina Petrovna kept protesting. “They’re your own flesh and blood!”
“Can you imagine it? My husband secretly bought not three tickets, but five. And once we got to the resort, I simply slammed the taxi door and left for another hotel. You should have seen the look on his face at that moment…
March 11, 2026
“My husband secretly bought five tickets instead of the three we had agreed on. And when we arrived, I just got into a taxi and went to stay separately. The look in his eyes at that moment was something else…”
“That’s not even up for discussion,” Andrey said calmly but firmly, in the kind of tone that left no room for argument.
At that moment, I was looking through photos on my laptop of the hotel where I wanted to book a room for the three of us. The snow-white balconies, the azure sea, and the lush greenery all around created a feeling of comfort and peace. There were only two weeks left until our vacation.
I was already there in my mind: I could feel the salty taste of the sea air, picture our son running barefoot across the warm tiles by the pool.
“What exactly is not up for discussion?” I asked, still not understanding where he was going with this.
“Sashka and Danya are coming with us. Mom said Olena can’t afford the trip right now, and the kids need a vacation. Besides, Lena needs to sort out her personal life.”
Sashka and Danya were Andrey’s nephews, eight and ten years old. Real hurricanes. After their visits, the apartment looked as if a squad of wreckers had swept through it: flowerpots overturned, furniture shoved out of place, and once they had even brought down a bookshelf.
“Andrey,” I said, closing the laptop, “we’ve been saving for this vacation for six months. I want to rest. Just rest. With you and Misha. I’m not going to look after someone else’s children!”
“They’re not someone else’s!” he snapped. “They’re my nephews! My own blood! Don’t they deserve a vacation too?”
“They do,” I answered calmly. “But they’re not my children. And not my nephews. To them, I’m just an outsider.”
He looked at me with irritation, but he didn’t continue the argument.
Instead, his mother called soon after — Galina Petrovna. Apparently, Olena had already complained.
My mother-in-law launched into her usual speech:
“Veronika, you’re a mother, you should understand…”
Oh, I understood perfectly well. I understood that her daughter, at thirty-five, still hadn’t learned how to hold down a proper job or build a family. And she barely took care of her children either — every summer she sent them off to relatives like suitcases without owners.
“But they’re family!” Galina Petrovna protested. “They’re not strangers!”
Those “family” members had smashed my antique perfume bottle the last time they visited. Then Olena herself called, her voice plaintive:
“Veronika, I would go with them myself, but you know I’m having a hard time right now…”
To be honest, she was always having a hard time.
“And besides, the boys adore you, they have so much fun with you…”
Yes, I knew how to get along with children. But with one child — my own son. He was well-mannered, calm, and didn’t leave destruction in his wake.
“Olena,” I told her, “I am not going on vacation with your children. That is my final decision.”
She burst into tears, and suddenly I felt guilty, even though I was simply defending my boundaries.
That evening, Andrey silently showed me the tickets. Five of them. Despite all my objections.
“We only had enough money for three,” I said. “Where did you get the rest?”
“I added my own,” he replied shortly. “Stop arguing with the family already.”
“So my opinion just doesn’t count?”
He said nothing.
Mishka stood quietly behind the door, watching. His serious eyes showed that he understood far more than a child his age should.
That night, I couldn’t fall asleep for a long time. And then it hit me: after twelve years of marriage, we still hadn’t learned how to hear each other.
In the morning, I got up, made breakfast for my son, braided my hair, and sat down at the laptop. I booked another hotel — nearby, but separate. Just for the two of us.
On the plane, we all flew together. Sashka managed to spill soda on someone already at the airport, Danya whined, and Andrey looked at me smugly.
I just smiled. Mishka held my hand.
When we arrived, the air was warm and filled with the scents of the south. I took my son by the hand.
“Come on.”
“What about Dad?”
“Dad will catch up.”
I got into a taxi. At first Andrey didn’t understand what was happening. Then he did.
“Veronika! What are you doing?!” he shouted, pounding on the window.
I drove away.
A little later he called. First he shouted, then he fumed:
“You did this on purpose?!”
“No,” I answered calmly. “I simply decided to have the vacation I had planned.”
“But they’re family too!”
“They’re your family. I just want to be heard.”
I hung up.
“Mom, is it just us now?” Mishka asked quietly.
“We’re together,” I said. “And that’s enough.”
Those two weeks were the best we’d had in a long time. We walked, swam, built sandcastles, read books. We simply lived.
Andrey called every day. First he was angry, then he asked us to come back, then he complained that he couldn’t cope.
When we returned, he looked exhausted.
“It feels like we spent our vacations in two different realities,” he said.
“Seems that way,” I replied.
He sighed.
“I get it now. It was a bad idea.”
I poured him some tea.
“Next time,” I said calmly, “just take my opinion into account.”
Mishka ran up and hugged his father.
And after that incident, I changed. I knew one thing for certain now: if you don’t protect yourself, no one else will.”
