Early on a humid August Monday, Natalia was abruptly awakened by the persistent ringing of the telephone. The clock showed it was nearly eight o’clock. Beside her, Vitaly grumbled drowsily and buried his head beneath a pillow.
“Hello?” Natalia’s voice was thick with sleep.
“Natalya, dear, this is Valentina Ivanovna, your mother’s neighbor,” spoke the worried elderly lady. “My dear, you must be strong… your mother’s heart stopped last night. An ambulance was called immediately, but sadly it arrived too late…”
The phone slipped from Natalia’s grasp as the room seemed to blur before her eyes. Her mother was gone. It had been a mere three weeks since their last phone call, where her mother spoke of the summer heat, her garden, and the freshly picked apples.
“What’s the matter?” Vitaly muttered without opening his eyes.
“Mom has passed away,” Natalia uttered, disbelief echoing in her own words, as if this tragedy belonged to someone else.
Her husband propped himself up on an elbow, staring at her expressionlessly.
“I see. My condolences,” he said, then turned away and lay back down.
Natalia pushed herself out of bed despite weak legs. She needed to act swiftly—funeral arrangements, documents, and countless errands overwhelmed her mind. Retrieving a travel bag from the closet, she carefully packed a black dress, shoes, and necessary papers.
Meanwhile, Vitaly sat up and pulled out his phone, scrolling casually through the news feed.
“Where exactly do you intend to go?” he asked disinterestedly, eyes still glued to the screen.
“To the village. To attend my mother’s funeral.”
“What village? That place three hundred kilometers away?”
“Vitaly, my mother has died. What difference does distance make?”
He grimaced as if disturbed by the thought.
“Listen, Natasha, I have a critical presentation this week. Management from Moscow is visiting. I can’t just drop everything to travel to the countryside.”
Natalia paused, clutching a blouse, and slowly turned to face him.
“I don’t expect you to quit your job. But this is my mother’s funeral.”
“So what? The deceased don’t care who attends. Besides, I’m focused on building my career. Don’t forget we have a mortgage to pay.”
She silently continued packing. Over fifteen years of marriage, Natalia had forgiven many things—his temper, frugality, unwillingness to share household duties. But now, it felt like the last bond between them had been severed.
“How long will you be gone?” Vitaly asked, getting up and heading to the kitchen.
“Three or four days. I need to handle everything—the funeral and paperwork.”
“Just don’t overspend. We have enough expenses already.”
Natalia bit her lip. What expenses did he mean? His new eighty-thousand phone? Or the fishing trips every weekend with his friends?
- Funeral preparations required immediate attention.
- Vitaly’s indifference contrasted sharply with Natalia’s grief.
- Financial concerns overshadowed the emotional loss.
Two hours later, Natalia stood at the bus station clutching her bag. Vitaly had refused to drive her, claiming he was headed in the opposite direction. He neither hugged her goodbye nor offered any comforting words.
“Let someone else dig the grave,” he muttered bitterly. “Let the locals take care of it.”
On the bus, Natalia gazed thoughtfully out the window as golden fields rushed by under the scorching August sun. The harvest of grain was complete, and stubbled land gleamed warmly. This season was her mother’s favorite—she believed August symbolized nature’s generous reward for a year’s hard work.
Next to her, a plump woman with a kind expression noticed her sadness.
“Are you off on vacation?” she inquired gently.
“To a funeral. My mother has passed away.”
“May her soul rest peacefully. Losing a parent is one of life’s heaviest burdens.”
Natalia nodded quietly, reluctant to speak. Vitaly’s cruel words echoed relentlessly: “I can’t be bothered to go out to the sticks.” How could he be so heartless? Her mother had always treated him kindly, sending homemade pickles and knitted socks, even caring for him for a whole month when he broke his leg five years prior.
The village welcomed her with silence and the fresh scent of cut grass. The family house stood at the town’s edge, freshly whitewashed with blue-trimmed windows. Every spring, her mother renewed the paint, insisting a home should always look festive.
Valentina Ivanovna greeted Natalia at the gate.
“Natalya dear, how could this happen? Yelena Pavlovna never complained; she was lively, tending the garden from dawn to dusk.”
“Where is she now?” Natalia asked.
“In the house. We washed and dressed her, the ladies and I. She’s wearing that blue dress she loved so much. Petrovich made the coffin, he’s an excellent craftsman.”
Inside, Natalia saw her mother lying peacefully in the coffin lined with white cloth. The wrinkles had softened; her face looked youthful. Kneeling beside the coffin, Natalia finally allowed herself tears to flow freely.
The funeral was scheduled for the following day. Natalia notified their few relatives—a cousin from the district center and a nephew from the neighboring area—all of whom promised to attend.
That evening, Alexander Petrovich, the village council leader, an elder with a gray beard familiar with everyone’s affairs, paid a visit.
“My deepest sympathies, Natalia Sergeevna. Yelena Pavlovna was dearly respected by the whole village.”
“Thank you, Alexander Petrovich.”
“I came regarding some matters related to your mother—there are documents you should see.”
He produced papers from a worn folder.
“About a year ago, your mother came to me to notarize a copy of her savings book. She had a bank deposit under your name. She was saving for you.”
Natalia was stunned. Her mother had never mentioned such a deposit, living modestly on a pension as a rural teacher.
“The amount is significant,” Alexander Petrovich explained. “Approximately eight hundred thousand. She saved for many years, and the interest accumulated.”
Unsure how to react, Natalia realized such money could clear much of their mortgage, renovate their home, and even buy a better car.
“Yelena Pavlovna also left you the house. There’s a will with the district notary. She planned everything,” he said with admiration.
After his departure, Natalia sat on the steps for a long time as the sunset painted the sky pink. Far off, cows lowed returning from pasture. Her mother treasured evenings like this, often sipping tea there.
Her phone remained silent—Vitaly hadn’t contacted her once. He never inquired about the trip, her feelings, or offered assistance. Eventually, Natalia dialed him.
“Yes?” His voice sounded annoyed.
“Vitaly, the funeral is tomorrow at two o’clock.”
“So? I already told you I’m not attending.”
“That’s not what I mean. It’s just… Mom left a bank deposit in my name worth eight hundred thousand.”
There was a long pause before Vitaly cleared his throat.
“Eight hundred thousand? Are you serious?”
“Yes, and she left me the house.”
“That’s great news! Maybe I should come then? Help with the paperwork?” his tone softened.
“No need. I’ll handle it myself.”
“Natalia, why do you act like I’m a stranger? I’m your husband — I should support you during difficult times.”
A bitter laugh escaped Natalia. In hardship, Vitaly had been absent, but money made him appear dutiful.
“The funeral is tomorrow. Come if you want; if not, stay home.”
He never showed up. The funeral was attended by family and neighbors only. They honored Yelena Pavlovna with warm words, tears, and a modest feast, reflecting the love felt for this humble rural teacher.
Four days later, when Natalia returned to their apartment, the door lock resisted—Vitaly likely forgot to oil it. Inside, dirty sneakers lay in the hallway, and a jacket was carelessly tossed. The living room was littered with beer cans and cigarette butts; cushions scattered across the floor.
The kitchen fared no better: piles of unwashed dishes, dried food on the stove, and an overflowing trash bin. Just four days without Natalia turned the home into chaos.
Vitaly lay in the bedroom engrossed in his tablet, not lifting his gaze.
“You’re back? I’m hungry,” he remarked briefly.
Natalia paused at the doorway, studying her husband. Unshaved, wearing a wrinkled shirt, greasy hair—was this really the man she had shared fifteen years with?
“Vitaly, did you wash a single dish while I was gone?”
“I didn’t have time. Work’s been hectic.”
“Today is Sunday.”
“So what? I’m entitled to relax too.”
In silence, Natalia began washing the dishes, her hands moving mechanically while her mind wandered—thinking about her hardworking mother who saved for her future, and about the husband who hadn’t taken out the trash in four days.
The thought of decades possibly ahead in this life was daunting.
“Happiness isn’t measured by money, but by freedom to live your own way.”
Unexpectedly, that evening Vitaly returned bearing a large bouquet of scarlet roses and a pastry bag filled with Natalia’s favorite éclairs.
“Darling, I’ve been reflecting… I behaved selfishly. Your mother passed away, and I didn’t support you.”
He placed the flowers in a vase, opened the éclairs, and brewed tea. His expression was heavy with genuine remorse.
“Forgive me, Natasha. I should have been there. Yelena Pavlovna was a remarkable woman. Remember how she first brought us together at that village fair, selling pickles with you?”
She recalled those times when Vitaly was cheerful, attentive, and devoted. Where had that man gone?
“I was considering… the inheritance needs careful management. We should visit the notary and bank together. I can take a day off to help. It’s a large sum, and we must be cautious of fraud.”
“Thank you, but I can handle it.”
“Natalia, come on. I want to assist. We should make decisions about investing the money wisely. I have a friend experienced in investments…”
“Vitaly, this is my mother’s legacy. I will decide what to do with it.”
His frown appeared but he quickly masked it.
“Of course. But remember, in marriage, everything is shared. We have been paying the mortgage together for years.”
“Which you signed in your name,” Natalia reminded.
“That was just a formality! The apartment belongs to both of us; you are registered there…”
“There is a difference between registration and ownership, Vitaly.”
He jumped from the table, his facade slipping.
“What does that mean? Are you refusing to share with me?”
“I’m not deciding anything yet. My mother just passed away. Please give me time.”
“Time? When I needed money for a car, you didn’t ask for time! You said there was no money!”
“There really was none—we barely managed the mortgage.”
“But now there is! Eight hundred thousand! We can buy a car and have a real vacation instead of that rundown resort last year!”
“That ‘rundown resort’ was all we could afford, and I saved for it for six months.”
Vitaly slammed his fist on the table, causing the rose vase to wobble.
“Enough! I’m your husband! I deserve half of everything you receive!”
“No, you don’t. Inheritances are not community property.”
“Where did you hear that?”
“I looked it up on the bus. I also learned I can file for divorce alone.”
Vitaly froze, then slowly sat back down.
“Are you considering divorce?”
“I’m thinking about it. Vitaly, look at us. We’ve become strangers. You skipped my mother’s funeral out of indifference but suddenly display grief when money comes into play.”
“That’s not true! I’m genuinely sorry! Work stress distracted me.”
“Don’t lie. You didn’t care about my mother or me. Only the money matters to you.”
Vitaly stood up, face flushed.
“How dare you! I’ve worked hard for you for fifteen years!”
“Worked hard? Did you cook, wash dishes, or help even once? I work as much as you do, yet household chores are solely mine!”
“That’s women’s work!”
“And men’s work is? To protect and support? Where were you when I needed that?”
Angrily, he grabbed the vase and threw it at the wall. Roses scattered, glass shards glittered on the floor.
“Ungrateful woman! I dragged you from that village to build a life!”
“I studied and worked in the city. What part did you play?”
The quarrel escalated, Vitaly shouting and flailing. Natalia wondered how she endured his outbursts all these years, excusing them as fatigue and believing things would improve someday.
“You know what?” Natalia rose and moved to the hallway. “Leave.”
“What? This apartment is mine!”
“No, this is the bank’s apartment—we pay the mortgage. I pay half. If you want, we can call the police about your outburst.”
She grabbed his keys and held them out.
“I’ll pack your belongings and put them on the landing. Take them and leave.”
“You have no right!”
But Natalia opened the door. Their neighbor, Nina Vasilievna, appearing after hearing the noise, stood on the landing.
“It’s alright, Nina Vasilievna. Vitaly is leaving.”
She observed Vitaly briefly before nodding at Natalia.
“If you need help, call me. My Petrovich is home; he can help carry boxes.”
Realizing defeat, Vitaly avoided confrontation and hurried out the door.
“You’ll regret this!” he shouted from the stairs.
Natalia closed the door, hands trembling yet feeling inexplicably relieved, as though the heavy burden she’d carried for years had finally been lifted.
The following day, she packed his belongings and set them out in the hallway, changed the locks, and warned the concierge not to grant Vitaly access anymore.
A week later, Natalia filed for divorce, stating no children or property disputes existed. Vitaly tried to contest, claiming rights to her mother’s deposit, but the court affirmed inheritances are not division assets.
Within another month, all inheritance matters were finalized. The eight hundred thousand rubles were deposited into her personal account, and ownership of the village house transferred to her. Taking a vacation, Natalia returned to the family home to organize and sort through her mother’s belongings.
Standing on the steps, watching the sunset, the warm August air filled with apple orchard scents and distant neighbors’ voices, Natalia experienced tranquility for the first time in years.
Her phone rang; it was Vitaly. She declined and blocked the caller. The past was behind her. Ahead stretched a fresh path — free from humiliation, pretense, and the indifference of a man who had vowed to love and cherish her.
In the end, Natalia grasped what her mother had always said: true happiness lies not in wealth but in the freedom to live according to one’s own will. Now, she finally embraced that liberty.