Fyodor couldn’t shake the sense of dread that crept over him as Sveta’s voice trembled through the phone. Her father’s condition was critical, and now, her desperation was enough to pull him back into the same pattern of selflessness he had experienced all his life. But something inside him snapped. He had already given so much—sacrificed his own peace, his own happiness—for others, especially his family. Yet, every time, he was left feeling empty, like a tool to be used, never loved or valued.
As he stared at his phone, contemplating whether he should allow Sveta to use his name for a loan application, his mother’s earlier words echoed in his mind. “Take the blame for your brother,” she had pleaded, “His wife is pregnant, and no one will worry about you.” Those words, dripping with manipulation, stung him deeply. His mother, the woman who had never truly shown him affection, always seemed to favor Alexei. And now, she had made it clear once again: his worth only existed in his ability to provide.
With a deep sigh, Fyodor put his phone down and stood up. He needed to think. He walked over to his window and gazed out at the cold, gray streets below. The city was bustling with life, yet here he was, stuck in a perpetual cycle of unreciprocated love and sacrifice. The overwhelming weight of his family’s demands—his mother’s selfishness, his brother’s irresponsibility—had finally crushed him.
He remembered his childhood: the hours spent alone, the harsh words from his mother, the constant comparison with Alexei. How could he have been so blind? How could he have convinced himself that they cared for him, that he was worth something to them? His entire life had been spent seeking validation from people who only saw him as a resource to exploit.
“No more,” he muttered to himself, his voice barely audible. “I won’t do it anymore.”
That evening, Fyodor made the decision to call Sveta. But instead of lending his name to her loan application, he decided to stand up for himself.
“Sveta,” he said softly, his voice steady, “I can’t help you. Not like this.”
There was a pause on the other end of the line. He could hear the disbelief in her silence.
“I know it’s hard,” Fyodor continued, “but I’ve been giving everything I have to my family for years, and I’ve never gotten anything back. I can’t keep living like this, constantly giving and getting nothing in return. I’m sorry, but I need to put myself first.”
Sveta’s voice cracked as she responded. “Fedya, I understand. I never wanted to put this on you. But… I don’t know who else to turn to.”
Fyodor’s heart ached as he listened to her, but he knew it was time to change. He had spent too many years being manipulated, sacrificing his own happiness for the sake of others. It was time to stop being the one who carried everyone else’s burdens.
The following week, Fyodor took a step back from his family. He stopped answering his mother’s calls, stopped sending money to Alexei. He told himself that it was the right thing to do, but it felt like ripping off a bandage from a wound that had never fully healed. He was scared. He didn’t know what his family would say, how they would react. But for the first time, he was taking control of his own life.
Weeks passed, and the silence between him and his family grew. His mother never called again, and Alexei didn’t reach out. It felt strange, but also liberating. Fyodor had finally let go of the illusion that he needed to be the one to save them.
One evening, as he sat alone in his apartment, there was a knock on the door. When he opened it, he found Sveta standing there, her eyes red from crying.
“I don’t know what to do,” she said, her voice weak. “Dad’s surgery… we got the loan, but I’m still scared. I’m so sorry to bother you, Fedya. I just…”
Fyodor stepped aside to let her in. “You don’t have to apologize, Sveta. I care about you. But you also need to understand something. I’m no longer going to sacrifice everything for others. I want to be there for you, but I can’t do it at the cost of my own peace anymore.”
Sveta looked at him, her face a mixture of relief and guilt. “You’ve been so good to me, Fedya. I understand now. I just… I’ve never seen you stand up for yourself before.”
Fyodor smiled softly. “It’s a new beginning for me, Sveta. I’m done trying to please people who don’t care about me.”
They sat together in silence, and for the first time in a long while, Fyodor felt a sense of clarity. He didn’t need to be the martyr anymore. He could still care for people, still love, but only if it was healthy, only if it was mutual.
As the days passed, Fyodor learned how to say no without guilt, how to protect his own well-being. And in doing so, he began to realize that the love and respect he had been searching for all these years was not something to be earned by endless sacrifice. It was something he needed to give to himself first.