Andrey Viktorovich Sokolov, thirty-eight years old, a construction foreman with fifteen years of experience, was sitting in his pickup truck near the unfinished residential complex “Rechnoy,” staring at his phone. Another message from his cousin: “Hey, Andryukha, hi! Listen, I need to redo the bathroom. You can get tiles at a discount, right? You know, as family.”
He smirked and placed the phone on the dashboard.
Family.
Over the past few years, that word had taken on a special meaning for him — something between a warm childhood memory and a restaurant bill that everyone conveniently forgets to pay.
It had all started a long time ago. Back when he had just gotten his first job on a construction site as an assistant foreman, his mother proudly told all the relatives, “Our Andryusha works in construction now!”
At first, it sounded like simple news. But over time, the phrase acquired an inevitable continuation: “Couldn’t you maybe…,” “Maybe you could help…,” “Since you’re already there…”
At first, Andrey helped gladly. He found Uncle Volodya a crew to build an addition to his house — they charged little and did quality work. He got plumbing fixtures for his sister Olga at wholesale price — she saved about thirty thousand. He arranged leftover laminate from one project for Svetka’s brother — practically for free. He felt useful, needed. His relatives thanked him, praised him, invited him to family celebrations, where they always raised toasts in his honor: “To our Andryukha, a golden man!”
But gradually, the words of thanks became shorter, while the requests grew longer and more demanding.
“Andrey, you can send your workers over, right? At least for the weekend,” Aunt Lena would ask.
“Andryush, get me some bricks. No, not those, the more expensive ones. Come on, it’s for your own people!” Uncle Sasha demanded.
“Listen, why did you bring me cement that cost more than Volodya’s?” Gena, his second cousin, complained.
Andrey kept helping because he did not know how to refuse. Because he had grown up in a family where kinship meant a great deal. Because his mother had always drilled into him, “We have to stick together. We’re family.”
And he stuck together, though sometimes he felt less like a member of the family and more like a free construction cooperative.
That evening, when his mother called, Andrey was going over estimates for a new project. Her voice sounded unusual — with that special tone that foretold not a simple conversation, but a request.
“Andryushenka, hello. How are you? Not too tired?” she began from afar.
“I’m fine, Mom. What happened?”
“Well, Katya — you remember Katya, my sister… Anyway, she’s decided to rent out her old apartment. It needs renovation. You know, it hasn’t been done in ages, the wallpaper is old, the floors creak. And I thought — maybe you could help? She is your aunt, after all.”
Andrey rubbed the bridge of his nose.
Aunt Katya. Fifty-six years old, a retired nurse, eternally dissatisfied and principled. He remembered her from childhood — she had always known exactly how children should be raised, though she had never had any of her own; what should be cooked, though she cooked rather poorly; and how one ought to live, though her own life had not gone particularly well. After her husband died three years earlier, she had moved into his apartment, which was bigger and more comfortable, and decided to put her own one-room apartment to use.
“Mom, what’s the scope of work?” Andrey asked cautiously.
“Well, I don’t know… Cosmetic repairs. Even out the walls a little, hang wallpaper, floors, maybe linoleum. Katya says it should look decent so she can rent it out properly.”
“So, bring it up to rental condition?”
“Well, yes. Andryush, you’ll help, won’t you? She’s my sister. It’s awkward for me to refuse.”
Andrey sighed. He had already imagined the apartment — a typical one-room flat in an old building, where the walls under the wallpaper were surely crooked, the wiring ancient, and the bathroom tiles probably held on by sheer willpower.
“All right, Mom. I’ll take a look.”
“Thank you, son! I knew I could count on you!”
The next day, Andrey went to inspect the apartment. Aunt Katya met him at the door, wearing a house robe and a displeased expression.
“Ah, Andrey. Come in, take off your shoes.”
The apartment turned out to be exactly what he had expected. Thirty-two square meters of sadness: wallpaper from the perestroika era, peeling and faded in places; linoleum worn through to holes; an old wooden window swollen from dampness; in the bathroom, a rusty claw-foot tub and tiles, half of which were hanging on by a thread. In the kitchen stood an ancient gas stove and peeling cabinets.
“Well?” Aunt Katya asked, clearly expecting him to exclaim, “Oh, this is nothing!”
“Aunt Katya, this needs serious renovation,” Andrey said honestly. “Not cosmetic repairs, but a full overhaul. The walls need leveling, the wiring needs replacing, all the plumbing, the windows need to be changed.”
“Oh, come on,” she waved him off. “You’ll do some cosmetic work and it’ll be fine. The main thing is that it looks clean and neat.”
“Aunt Katya, if it’s going to be done, it needs to be done properly. Otherwise, in six months or a year, everything will have to be redone.”
“Well, you’re the master. You’ll think of something,” she said, patting him on the shoulder. “I’m counting on you. And how long will it take?”
“At least two months, if I find a good crew.”
“Two months?” She frowned. “Can it be faster? I’ve already posted the ad. People are calling.”
Andrey said nothing. He already understood that he had gotten himself involved in a story that would not end well.
But it was too late to back out. He had promised his mother, and Andrey tried to keep his promises. So the following week, he brought Mikhailich’s crew to the apartment — an experienced foreman he had worked with for years — along with three workers, golden hands, quick and careful.
“Look, Mikhailich, she’s my aunt, and she has a difficult personality,” Andrey warned him. “Do good work, but no unnecessary extras. Budget-friendly and clean.”
“Got it, Andreyevich. We’ll turn it into candy.”
And they did.
Andrey bought the materials himself — inexpensive but decent ones. Paint, paintable wallpaper, mid-range laminate, new plumbing fixtures — not premium, but reliable. They installed plastic single-chamber windows. In the bathroom, they laid simple white tile and installed a new bathtub, sink, and toilet. In the kitchen, they assembled an inexpensive but functional cabinet set.
Aunt Katya came every week, inspected everything, gasped, lamented (“Oh, why so much putty? Oh, isn’t that too expensive?”), but overall she was pleased. Andrey explained every stage, showed receipts, calmed her down. Mikhailich patiently endured her nitpicking and worked like clockwork.
Two months later, the apartment was transformed. Light walls, even wood-look laminate, modern plumbing, a new kitchen. Everything was modest, but tasteful. Andrey himself was surprised at how well it had turned out on such a budget.
When Aunt Katya came for the final inspection, she gasped.
“Oh, Andryush! I don’t even recognize my apartment! How beautiful! How clean!”
She walked through the rooms, touched the walls, opened the cabinets, turned on the water.
“Mikhailich, boys, thank you so much!” she thanked the workers. “Golden hands!”
Andrey stood off to the side and smiled. This was that very feeling — when the work was done well and people were happy. Moments like that were why he loved his profession.
“Well, Aunt Katya, do you like it?” he asked.
“Of course I do! It’s an absolute miracle! Now I’ll definitely be able to rent it out well, for good money.”
“That’s excellent. So the renovation will quickly pay for itself.”
“Yes, yes, of course.”
She walked around the apartment a little longer, then turned to him.
“Well, Andryush, thank you very much. You did well.”
“You’re welcome, Aunt Katya.” He took a sheet with calculations out of his folder. “Here’s the estimate. Materials, labor, everything according to receipts. It comes to exactly three hundred thousand.”
Aunt Katya took the sheet, looked at it, then at Andrey. An expression of bewilderment appeared on her face.
“What is this?”
“Well, the estimate. The cost of the renovation.”
“What three hundred thousand? Have you lost your mind, charging family money for repairs?” Aunt Katya asked in surprise.
Andrey was taken aback. He had expected anything — bargaining, a request for installments, even outrage over the amount. But not this.
“Aunt Katya, how can that be… This is work. People worked hard for two months, materials were bought…”
“You are my nephew!” she raised her voice. “We are relatives! And you’re shoving papers at me!”
“Aunt Katya, but this is normal. Work should be paid for.”
“What work?” she completely lost her temper. “You can’t help your own aunt? Am I a stranger to you?”
Andrey felt irritation beginning to boil inside him. All these years he had helped, given discounts, obtained materials at a loss to himself because they were “relatives,” “family,” “his own people.” And here it was — gratitude.
“Aunt Katya, I did help. I organized the renovation, found the crew, bought the materials myself at the lowest possible price. But people worked. They need to be paid. Materials cost money. I’m not taking three hundred thousand for myself. That’s the cost of the renovation.”
“Have you gone completely shameless?” she pressed her lips into a thin line. “I thought you would help as family! And here you are doing business!”
“I’m not doing business. I’m working!”
“Exactly, you’re working! Making money off your own aunt!” She jabbed a finger into his chest. “You have no conscience! I remember you as a little boy, I brought you candy, and now you’re demanding three hundred thousand from me!”
Andrey took a deep breath, trying to stay calm.
“Aunt Katya, let’s talk like adults. You wanted to renovate the apartment for renting. We did it. We did it well. Now you’ll be able to rent it for at least twenty-five thousand a month. In a year, that’s three hundred thousand. So the renovation will pay for itself in a year. It’s a profitable investment.”
“Oh, an investment!” she threw up her hands. “Do you hear that, Mikhailich? He’s lecturing me about investments! His own aunt!”
Mikhailich and his workers stood awkwardly in the corner. They exchanged glances but said nothing.
“Aunt Katya, people worked. They need to be paid.”
“That’s your problem! You brought them here, so you pay them!”
“But this is your apartment! You’re the one who’s going to earn income from it!”
“I don’t owe anyone anything!” she snapped. “I thought you were helping me as a nephew. But you turned out to be…” She stumbled, searching for a word. “A speculator!”
“Aunt Katya…”
“That’s it! Conversation over!” She grabbed her bag. “Get out of here! And I don’t want to see you again!”
She rushed out of the apartment, slamming the door loudly behind her. Andrey stood in the middle of the freshly painted room and stared at the closed door. Mikhailich cleared his throat.
“Andreyevich, well… this is…”
“Mikhailich, I’ll pay you. Don’t worry.”
“We’re not worried. We know you’re reliable. But this… How is this even possible?”
“I don’t know, Mikhailich. I don’t know.”
That same evening, his mother called. Her voice was strict and upset.
“Andrey, what happened between you and Katya?”
“Mom, I…”
“She just called me, crying! She says you’re demanding money from her! For family help!”
“Mom, it isn’t three hundred rubles, it’s three hundred thousand! That’s the cost price of the renovation!”
“Andrey, how could you? She’s your aunt!”
“Mom, what does her being my aunt have to do with it? People worked for two months!”
“You should have done it for free! For your own!”
“Mom, are you serious? For free? With what money? The workers need to be paid, materials cost money!”
“Well, you could have come up with something! You’re a foreman, you have connections! You could have paid yourself, or gotten some kind of discount…”
“Mom!” Andrey raised his voice. “I can’t pay for other people’s renovations out of my own pocket! I have my own mortgage, my own family!”
“Other people?” His mother’s voice turned cold. “So Katya is other people to you?”
“Mom, that’s not what I meant…”
“You know what, Andrey? I’m disappointed in you. Very disappointed. I raised you to be a completely different kind of person. But you turned out petty and greedy.”
“Mom…”
“Decide for yourself what to do. But I believe you acted wrongly.”
She hung up.
Andrey sat in the kitchen, looked at his phone, and thought about how he had ended up in such a situation. His wife, Sveta, came out of the room and sat beside him.
“What happened?”
He told her. Sveta listened in silence, then sighed heavily.
“And what now?”
“I’ll pay Mikhailich from my own money. What else can I do?”
“Andrey, that’s three hundred thousand!”
“I know. But I can’t cheat people. They worked honestly.”
“What about us? We have a mortgage, Danka starts school in September, he needs a uniform, textbooks…”
“We’ll manage, Sveta. Somehow, we’ll manage.”
She hugged his shoulders and pressed herself against him.
“You’re too good for this world, you know?”
“Or too stupid.”
The next day, Andrey gave Mikhailich the money. The man took it reluctantly, clearly embarrassed.
“Andreyevich, maybe you should talk to her again?”
“It won’t work, Mikhailich. She thinks I should have done it for free.”
“Well then… Relatives, huh. We thought she’d at least give you half.”
“So did I, Mikhailich. So did I.”
The following weeks were hard. Andrey worked more than usual, took on extra jobs to somehow fill the hole in the budget. His mother did not call, which was even worse than silence. Aunt Katya, as he learned from other relatives, rented out the freshly renovated apartment for thirty thousand a month and was very pleased.
And then the new requests began.
“Andryukha, I need to panel my garage…” Uncle Volodya.
“Listen, could you take a look at why our taps are leaking?” Sister Olga.
“Andrey, can you get some linoleum?” Cousin Gena.
Each request sounded as usual — with the same ease, the same certainty that of course he would help, because he was a foreman, it was no trouble for him, and besides, they were family.
And every time, Andrey remembered Aunt Katya’s apartment. The fresh walls, the new laminate, the gratitude that had instantly turned into accusations. The three hundred thousand he had paid out of his own pocket. His mother’s words: “Petty and greedy.”
“No,” he said to Uncle Volodya.
“What?” the man did not understand.
“No. I won’t help with the garage.”
“Andryukha, what’s wrong with you? We’re…”
“Family. I know. That’s exactly why — no.”
“Are you offended because of Katya? Come on, you know what kind of character she has…”
“This isn’t about being offended, Uncle Volodya. It’s about the fact that I’m tired of being a free construction cooperative for the whole family.”
“What are you saying? We’ve always…”
“What? What have you always done for me? Said thank you? Made toasts? And then demanded more and more?”
“Andrey, you understand…”
“I do. I understand everything. That’s why the answer is no.”
He hung up. He also refused Sister Olga. And cousin Gena. And everyone else who called in the following days.
His relatives took offense. They said he had become arrogant, that money had spoiled him, that he had forgotten where he came from. His mother did not speak to him for three months.
But Andrey did not give in. He worked, came home to his wife and son, and spent weekends with them instead of sorting out other people’s construction problems. He paid the mortgage, saved money for Danka’s school, planned a vacation.
Six months passed. At a family celebration — his grandmother’s birthday — the whole family gathered. Andrey came with Danka and Sveta and kept to the side. Aunt Katya sat at the other end of the table, demonstratively not looking in his direction. His mother was deliberately cold. The other relatives whispered and cast sideways glances at him.
After the feast, Uncle Volodya approached him in the kitchen, where Andrey was washing his hands.
“Listen, Andryukha, maybe it’s enough already? Stop sulking.”
“I’m not sulking, Uncle Volodya.”
“Well, you understand, Katka didn’t mean any harm. That’s just her character. She could have paid, but… Well, she got offended.”
“What was she offended by? That I asked her to pay for people’s work?”
“Well, you could have done it somehow differently…”
“How? For free? At my own expense?”
“Well, after all, we’re family.”
Andrey looked at him for a long moment.
“Uncle Volodya, do you know how much money I’ve lost over the years helping ‘family’? Discounts, free consultations, work at a loss to myself. I never even counted. I thought that was how it should be because we’re relatives. And then Aunt Katya explained to me that I was actually supposed to pay workers and renovate her apartment for free for two months. And you know, I understood one thing.”
“What?”
“That to you, I’m not a nephew. I’m a free resource. Something you can use and then get offended at if it suddenly asks for something in return.”
“Andryukha, you’re wrong…”
“I’m wrong? I worked hard, helped, did everything you asked. And the only thing I asked in return was that real work by real people be paid for. And for that, I was called greedy, petty, a speculator. Mom didn’t speak to me for three months. So who’s wrong, Uncle Volodya?”
Uncle Volodya was silent. Then he nodded.
“Maybe you’re right. But it’s still a shame. We’re family.”
“We were, Uncle Volodya. We were.”
Andrey went out onto the balcony, where Sveta was rocking sleepy Danka in her arms.
“Shall we go home?” she asked quietly.
“Yes. Let’s go.”
They put on their coats, said goodbye to his grandmother — the only one who hugged Andrey with real warmth — and went outside. The night was warm and starry. Danka breathed softly in Sveta’s arms.
“Do you regret it?” his wife asked when they got into the car.
“Regret what?”
“Refusing them.”
Andrey started the car and drove out of the courtyard.
“No, Sveta. I don’t regret it. For the first time in many years, I don’t regret it.”
They drove home through the night city, past construction sites and new apartment blocks, past houses with glowing windows, past other people’s lives. And Andrey thought that building was not only about houses. You could build relationships, your own life. And sometimes, to do that, you simply had to learn to say no. Even to relatives. Especially to relatives.
Because real family is not those who demand endless sacrifices from you. It is those who value your help, respect your work, and understand that in a family, there are not only rights, but responsibilities too.
And he no longer felt guilty.
He felt free.
