A Tense Dialogue Between Vadim and Nastya
“Nastya, I have something serious to discuss with you,” Vadim began, trying to maintain a calm tone. “Please, hear me out completely, alright? No interruptions…”
“What’s it about?” Nastya asked quietly. “Has something happened?”
“See!” Vadim snapped, pointing his finger irritably. “I just told you not to interrupt. And yet you did right away…”
“Sorry,” Nastya replied with a restrained smile. “I thought you already started to get to the point. Go on.”
“I don’t even know wher to begin… It’s a complete nightmare over there. Dimka insists that Mom moves out of the apartment.”
“He demands that?” Nastya raised her eyebrows in surprise. “Is he really kicking his own mother out of her home? Are you serious?”
“I’m just as shocked,” Vadim sighed. “And honestly, I don’t want to intervene. You know how he is.”
“If my brother had tried to throw Mom out, I would have snapped his neck,” Nastya snorted. “What about your mother?”
“She’s silent… I’m afraid she might soon end up on the street. That’s why I thought…”
“Don’t tell me you want to bring her here,” Nastya interrupted abruptly, her voice turning cold.
“That’s exactly what I wanted to talk about,” Vadim looked her in the eyes.
Nastya raised her hand sharply as if erecting a barrier against the conversation.
“Are you out of your mind? Why not just evict your Dimka? There are laws, courts, guardianship authorities. Let Mom file a complaint!”
“She would never do that. You know her…”
“Of course, I do. That’s the same woman who kicked you out on the street right after you returned from the army, when you had no job! And now she protects her idle son like a treasure!”
“Nastya, this is their personal matter. I don’t want to get involved, but I can’t leave her in trouble. She’s still my mother…”
“Vadim, I’ll be frank: I’m against it. If she moves here, our peaceful life will be over. And I’m sorry, but I’m not ready to sacrifice myself for your mother.”
“But I love her no matter what. I can’t just abandon her!”
“Well, I love myself!” Nastya stared into his eyes. “Myself and my peace. And I won’t endure another dictator under our roof. That’s it, Vadim. This conversation is over.”
Disappointed, Vadim chose not to argue. He had hoped for understanding, but the outcome was different. Nastya had always been straightforward, yet he did not expect such a resolute refusal.
The Next Day
At work, Vadim called his mother. His heart tightened.
“Mom, hi… I talked to Nastya. She’s against it… I don’t know how to convince her. Maybe I should talk to Dimka man-to-man?”
“Don’t you dare touch my son!” Svetlana Viktorovna snapped instantly. “I won’t let anyone harm him!”
“Then what do you want from me? Live with him if he’s more precious to you.”
“Don’t shout at your mother!” she barked irritably. “Tell me, who rules your house? You or Nastya?”
“Mom, it’s not about that…”
“It is, son! If you’re a man, you decide, not seek your wife’s permission! What kind of weakness is that?”
“I don’t want scandals, Mom. If I bring you here, she’ll start a fight. I can’t handle that…”
“You’re a weakling, that’s who!” she hissed. “Thanks for your gratitude, son. When I end up on the street, it’ll be your fault!” And she hung up.
Vadim tried calling several times, but she ignored him. Then he opened his brother’s contact intending to call, but hesitated and put the phone down.
Evening at Home
That evening was tense. Nastya cooked silently while Vadim sat with his phone, glancing at her occasionally.
“Nas…” he began quietly. “Maybe, just for a week or two… until I explain things to Dimka?”
“No,” she cut him off without turning.
“You know I can’t just abandon Mom…”
“And I don’t intend to lose my peace. I spent years building this sanctuary only for her to turn it into hell.”
Vadim fell silent, recognizing Nastya’s point, yet the guilt gnawed within him.
Two Days Later
Vadim finally went to see his mother. She opened the door with tears streaming.
“I can’t take it anymore, Vadik. He yells, insults, threatens to burn papers.”
“Mom, go to court or call the police.”
“I can’t, he’s my son…”
“And what am I, if not your son?”
She said nothing. Vadim looked at her with bitterness.
“Then there’s nothing I can do. Nastya won’t accept you. You’ve ruined everything with her and us. Now you have to choose: protect yourself or keep sacrificing everything for Dimka.”
“Go away, Vadim. You’ve betrayed me too.”
He left, standing outside, smoking. Later, he returned home.
A Week Later
Vadim gave up. He contacted a lawyer and learned the apartment could be shared legally if certain conditions applied. His mother panicked but eventually agreed. He insisted she at least secure her rights and seek eviction.
Dimka reacted angrily, came to Vadim’s place threatening violence. Nastya called the police. Though noisy, nothing severe happened.
After this, his mother called again.
“You chose your wife, son. Live with that.”
“And you chose helplessness, Mom. I offered help but not at the cost of destroying my family.”
He hung up and this time did not call back.
Two Months On
Dimka was forced to leave. Despite his threats and tantrums, authorities and legal measures prevailed. Mom was alone. At first hurt, then she called.
“Vadik, you were right. Forgive me. I was just afraid.”
Vadim invited her for a day visit. Initially, Nastya opposed but later gave in.
“Just one evening. No more.”
Svetlana Viktorovna arrived bearing pies, new perfume, and apologies.
“Forgive me, Nastya. I behaved badly. I want us to have good relations.”
Nastya nodded silently. The dinner passed peacefully without reproaches or snide remarks.
“This was a new beginning.”
Half a Year Later
Vadim’s mother relocated to a rented, cozy apartment. She started managing her legal affairs independently, avoiding contact with Dimka.
Relations with Vadim improved gradually, and with Nastya, cautiously but without hostility.
One day, she visited and quietly expressed gratitude.
“Thank you both for not abandoning me, though you could have.”
That evening, Nastya smiled warmly at Svetlana Viktorovna for the first time.
Spring passed. Summer proved intense—both in weather and within Vadim’s family. Although on the surface relations seemed to warm, the fragile peace masked underlying tensions.
His mother genuinely attempted change: rare visits with gifts, gentle words in conversations with Nastya. Vadim felt relief at the calm between the two important women in his life.
However, Nastya sensed that behind the politeness hid pride, resentment, and a need for control.
“Vadim, have you noticed how she watches me every time I speak? Like she’s checking if I’m ‘bossing’ you around,” Nastya remarked one evening during dinner.
“You’re exaggerating,” Vadim shrugged. “She’s just careful now, afraid to slip up. That’s good.”
“She’s cautious not because she changed, but because she fears you turning your back on her again. It’s a facade, Vadim.”
Vadim stayed silent, reluctant to face the truth in his wife’s words.
A Sudden Turn
In mid-August, Vadim received a call from the clinic: his mother had a hypertensive crisis. Dropping everything, he rushed to the emergency.
Svetlana Viktorovna lay pale, subdued, wearing an oxygen mask.
“Mom, how are you?” Vadim took her hand.
“I’m alright,” she whispered faintly. “Just overdid the Validol… pressure spiked.”
“Why didn’t you tell me? Why not call?”
“What for?” she smiled sadly. “I only get in your way. I understand everything, even if you don’t say it outright.”
“Enough, Mom. Don’t dramatize. I’m still your son.”
That night, he sat by her bed. Memories swirled—childhood, school meetings when she defended him, how she raised two boys alone, her hardworking hands, and now her loneliness.
He returned home burdened.
“What happened?” Nastya asked anxiously as he entered.
“Mom’s in the hospital. Blood pressure. I want her to stay with us for a week or two after discharge to recover.”
Nastya paled.
“Vadim… You promised…”
“I know. But this is an exception. She’s really unwell. I’m not asking for forever. Just to regain strength.”
“What if later you still can’t tell her ‘go away’?” Nastya asked quietly, almost painfully. “You’ll let us drown in this again.”
He was silent. His silence spoke volumes.
Does Illness Unite?
Svetlana Viktorovna arrived on the fourth day post-discharge. Nastya received her Coldly but politely. No hugs, no tea—just a room and a brief instruction about the medicine cabinet.
For the first two days, everything was calm. Grandma lay reading, occasionally going to the kitchen, then returning to her room. On the third day, Nastya noticed Vadim waking earlier than usual to make oatmeal, bring water, and check medications.
Deep inside, Nastya felt she was once again second place.
“I’m not your nurse, Vadim. Don’t expect me to run around her,” she said one evening when he returned from pharmacy with a blood pressure monitor.
“I’m not asking. I’ll manage myself.”
“Then do it. But don’t forget you’re a husband and father too, not just a son.”
Vadim pressed his lips, exhausted. He felt trapped between two walls about to close in.
The Old Tune
Everything collapsed on the sixth day. Nastya served borscht deemed too salty by Svetlana Viktorovna.
“Who cooks like this? It’s porridge, not soup. Didn’t you add water?”
Nastya silently set down her spoon and left the kitchen.
“Mom! You promised!” Vadim hissed.
“What did I say? I just…”
“Enough!” he exploded. “If you say that again, you’re going home immediately!”
Nastya sat crossing her arms, eyes shimmering with withheld tears.
“I knew it would come to this. I knew.”
“She’s tired, unwell… Forgive her.”
“And who will forgive me?”
Vadim didn’t answer.
The Resolution
The next day Svetlana Viktorovna packed.
“I’m leaving. I don’t want to ruin your family. Vadim, thank you. But apparently, I’m a stranger here.”
Vadim remained silent, only helping her to the car.
“You didn’t tell her to stay,” Nastya said when he returned.
“Because she was right. You won’t forgive her. And I won’t force you.”
“Because she hasn’t changed, Vadim. Only grew tired of pretending.”
Epilogue: Six Months Later
Mom now lived quietly in a small town with her aunt. Calls became less frequent, brief, and free of reproach.
She avoided Dimka.
Nastya and Vadim purchased a vacation voucher to Sochi—their first holiday in five years.
Before leaving, Vadim wrote to his mother:
“Mom, thank you for everything. I remember how hard you tried. Now it’s my turn to be a husband and father. I hope you understand.”
No immediate reply came. Two days later a message arrived:
“I understand, son. Take care of Nastya. She is strong. Stronger than me.”
Nastya sat on the beach reading a book. Vadim joined her, silently taking her hand.
This time, it was genuine peace—no masks, no coercion, no alien voices between them.
Reflecting on the Journey
Nearly a year has passed since Svetlana Viktorovna moved to her sister’s. Life seemed to settle. Nastya and Vadim grew closer, with fewer conflicts, overcoming the crisis that could have broken even the strongest marriage.
One evening, Vadim returned home troubled.
“Something wrong?” Nastya asked, offering tea.
“Mom… they found a tumor. Benign, apparently, but she needs surgery.”
Nastya put down her cup silently, sensing the difficulty of the upcoming conversation.
“She wants me to come. She’s afraid to go into hospital alone.”
“Of course, go. I wouldn’t stop you. You’re her son.”
“She asked me to stay after surgery, at least a week, maybe longer.”
“You should. It’s the right thing,” Nastya nodded. “Just promise me one thing.”
“What?”
“That you won’t return thinking maybe Mom should move in permanently.”
Vadim sighed deeply, understanding how well she grasped the situation.
Nastya wasn’t cruel or heartless—she merely protected the boundaries of their shared life and home.
With Aunt Olya
Svetlana Viktorovna greeted him in hospital pajamas, but made-up and neatly groomed. She had prepared for his arrival.
Aunt Olya, her younger sister, was there too—loud, blunt, but kind-hearted.
“Well, the hero has arrived!” she exclaimed, hugging her nephew. “We thought you forgot about the old ladies!”
The hospital stay was calm. Vadim never left his mother alone. He helped her up, fed her, distracted her with talk. At night, he sat in the ward with a book, reflecting on childhood.
“You’re a good son,” his mother whispered one early morning. “Sorry I didn’t appreciate you.”
“Mom… let’s leave it. It’s in the past.”
“No, Vadim, it hasn’t passed. I learned a lot. Nastya… she’s strong and wise. I lacked the wisdom to accept her. I kept fighting—for what, I don’t know…”
Vadim was silent, then gently said, “You don’t have to be friends with her. But you shouldn’t have put me between you.”
Svetlana nodded, then tears came.
A Week Later
His mother improved. Vadim prepared to leave. Saying goodbye, she hugged him tightly.
“Don’t be afraid. I’ll manage. Now you are responsible for your family. You’re doing great.”
Vadim boarded the train feeling both relief and sadness. Something had changed. This might have been the last chance to reclaim the past. Mom was aging swiftly, no longer the same.
At Home
Nastya met him at the door, embracing silently. He held her close and whispered, “Thank you for letting go.”
“Thank you for coming back the same,” she replied.
They talked long into the night.
“She really changed,” Vadim said. “She softened, realized how much she destroyed.”
“That’s good. Maybe one day I can speak with her calmly.”
“She said she doesn’t want to stand between us anymore. Just to be near, differently, without demands.”
“We’ll see. Let her recover. Meanwhile, we live.”
A New Blow
Two months later, as autumn approached, Vadim received another call from Aunt Olya.
“Vadim… come quickly. Mom’s condition worsened sharply. Metastases. Doctors say she has only months.”
He kept this from Nastya and left quietly. The trip was hard. Upon entering the ward, Svetlana barely spoke, only looking at him with eyes full of pain and forgiveness.
“Mom…” he dropped to his knees. “I’m here.”
She weakly squeezed his hand.
“Forgive… Nastya… for everything… Tell her… I’m grateful… for you…”
Those were her final words.
Farewell
The funeral was modest. Nastya stood by Vadim’s side, holding his hand. Tears did not fall, but her eyes held a silent understanding.
After the service, Vadim knelt by the grave.
“Forgive me, Mom. I loved you. But I had to protect my family too. I hope you know I tried to be both son and husband as best I could.”
A Year Later
Vadim recalled his mother more often, but without anger or resentment—only sadness and gratitude. He frequently shared stories about grandma with his son, showing photos and recounting how she supported him in school and baked Sunday pancakes.
Nastya listened, sometimes smiling slightly, sometimes quietly reflective, but always with respect.
The End
One day returning from a summer home, Nastya suddenly said, “You know, Vadim… I think I could have been friends with her if only we had a little more time and less stubbornness—on both sides.”
He nodded, staring out the car window before taking her hand.
“You’re still the best. Even if she never said it, I’m sure she knew.”