Galina Petrovna’s Dacha

Galina Petrovna heard the familiar slam of car doors and instinctively tensed. Friday evening, exactly six-thirty. Like clockwork. She didn’t need to check the window—she already knew the scene by heart. First, there would be Nikolai’s dusty blue Logan pulling up into the gravel drive, disgorging his entire family one by one. Right behind it, rattling up the lane, would be Svetlana’s battered old Lada, overloaded with children and bags.

The weekend invasion had begun.

“Aunt Galya!” called her niece’s cheerful voice from the yard. “We’re here!”

Galina Petrovna slowly put down her book and rose from her armchair with a resigned sigh. Just an hour ago, she had been comfortably settled on the veranda with a detective novel and a freshly poured cup of tea. It had been shaping up to be a quiet, restorative evening—just how a 58-year-old widow liked to spend her time. But now, that peaceful vision had dissolved like sugar in hot water.

She walked slowly to the kitchen, already bracing for the noise.

“Hi, Galya!” Nikolai burst through the door, tracking dirt across the floor in his boots, as always. Behind him came his wife Marina, and their two children who immediately scattered in different directions.

“How are you? Feeling okay?” he asked.

“Fine,” Galina replied curtly, watching as ten-year-old Maxim headed straight for the fridge like a homing missile.

“Staying long?”

“Until Sunday, same as usual,” Marina chimed in. “The kids missed the dacha. And it’s more fun for you when we’re here, right?”

“More fun,” Galina echoed with a stiff nod and went to put the kettle back on.

A minute later, Svetlana appeared, followed by her husband Sergey and their three children. Within moments, the house filled with voices, clattering feet, and the scraping of chairs and bags being moved across the floor. All tranquility was instantly drowned in domestic chaos.

“Aunt Galya, got anything to snack on?” Marina asked as she made herself at home in the kitchen. “We’re starving.”

“We’ll see,” Galina muttered, opening the refrigerator. Inside were the makings of a simple weekend: some sausage, thawed chicken for tomorrow’s lunch, eggs, vegetables. Plenty for one. Not even close to enough for eight.

“Is there any bread?” Sergey asked from the hallway.

“Half a loaf.”

“Mama, I’m hungry too,” Anya, Svetlana’s daughter, whined.

“Soon, sweetheart. Aunt Galya will feed us.”

Galina felt the familiar weight settle on her shoulders. Of course. She’d feed them. Who else?

“I’ll go to the store,” she said, removing her apron.

“You want me to come?” Svetlana offered, without much conviction.

“No need. I’ll be quick.”

The store was a twenty-minute walk away along a dusty country road lined with overgrown hedges and the occasional creaky fence. Galina walked slowly, calculating expenses in her head: more bread, milk, fruit, sausages, something for breakfast. At least 1,500 rubles, and that wouldn’t even last till Sunday.

At the store, she bumped into her neighbor, Anna Dmitrievna.

“Galya, they showed up again?” Anna eyed her full cart knowingly.

“They did,” Galina replied, not meeting her gaze.

“Every weekend, like a ritual. You’d think they could bring something for once.”

“Well… they’re family.”

“Family?” Anna scoffed. “I have family too, but at least they ask if I need help.”

Walking back, Galina mulled over Anna’s words. Over the last three months—since early May—not one of them had asked if she needed anything. They came with empty hands and full stomachs, as if the fridge magically restocked itself.

When she got home, the same scene awaited her: children shrieking in the yard, men on the veranda smoking and laughing, women in the kitchen sipping tea and chatting.

“Galya, you took forever,” Marina said. “We thought you got lost!”

“There was a line,” Galina lied, setting the bags on the counter.

“Oh, sausages!” Svetlana exclaimed. “Perfect for the kids.”

“And apples!” Marina added. “Maxim wouldn’t stop asking for apples in the car.”

Galina said nothing, slicing the bread. Apples. They’d driven right past a fruit stall and hadn’t thought to stop.

The rest of the evening unfolded in its usual rhythm. The kids tore through the house like a storm. The adults chatted, asked for tea, asked for snacks, asked what there was to eat. Galina cooked, served, washed dishes. By ten, she was exhausted.

“Where will we sleep?” Svetlana asked.

“Sofa in the living room. Folding bed on the veranda. Sleeping bags in the closet.”

“What about the kids?”

“Wherever they’ll fit.”

Galina retreated to her room and locked the door. Laughter, footsteps, and muffled voices leaked through the thin walls. She fell asleep close to midnight.

At six-thirty the next morning, she was woken by a knock.

“Aunt Galya?” Marina whispered. “Sorry—it’s Maxim. He woke up early and got the others up.”

“I’m coming,” Galina groaned.

Breakfast. Lunch. Afternoon snack. A never-ending stream of “What’s there to eat?” and “Can the kids have something sweet?” By Saturday night, the fridge was nearly empty again.

“I could go to the store,” Nikolai offered half-heartedly.

“No. I know what we need.”

“You want money?”

“No,” Galina replied, though her wallet was thinning fast.

Sunday was the worst. The kids were cranky, the adults were already discussing plans for next weekend.

“Maybe we come earlier next time,” Svetlana suggested.

“Maybe midweek?” Marina added. “The kids are on summer break anyway.”

Galina stirred the soup, silent.

“Aunt Galya, what’s for dinner?” Maxim asked.

“Soup.”

“And what else?”

“Nothing else. The food’s gone.”

“How’s it gone already?” Marina asked.

“We just went shopping yesterday.”

“It’s gone,” Galina said flatly.

“Then we’ll go again. The kids need to eat.”

“You go.”

A pause.

“What do you mean, we go?” Svetlana asked, confused.

“I mean exactly that. The store is open. You know the way.”

“But… we don’t know what to buy.”

“Buy what you eat. Milk, bread, something for dinner.”

“Galya, you’re kind of…” Nikolai began.

“What?”

“Well… different. You always used to go.”

“I used to be a fool,” Galina said calmly.

Silence fell like a curtain. Even the children stopped talking.

“Aunt Galya, are you mad at us?” Anya asked.

“No, sweetheart. I’m just tired.”

“Tired of what?” Sergey asked. “We help. We wash dishes. We clean.”

“You clean?” Galina turned to him. “Look around. Dishes in the sink. Towels on the floor. Crumbs on every surface.”

“Well… we’re guests. We’re just relaxing.”

“Guests. Every weekend. For three months.”

“Mama, I’m hungry,” Petya whined.

“Aunt Galya, what’s wrong?” Svetlana asked, alarmed. “We’re family.”

“Family,” Galina repeated. “Tell me, Sveta, how much did you spend on groceries this weekend?”

“I… don’t know. Why?”

“I know. I spent 3,400 rubles. That’s almost a full week of my pension.”

“But we didn’t ask…”

“Didn’t ask?” Galina set the ladle down with a thud. “Is ‘What’s for dinner?’ not asking? ‘Do you have something sweet?’ Is that not a request?”

“We thought…” Marina began.

“You thought the fridge fills itself? That food costs nothing?”

“Galya, don’t take it the wrong way,” Nikolai said. “You should’ve told us.”

“Well, I’m telling you now. I’m tired. I spend half my monthly budget feeding you. I cook nonstop. I clean after eight people. I’m fifty-eight. I want peace.”

There was a long silence.

“Aunt Galya,” Svetlana said quietly. “We didn’t know… We just thought you liked the company.”

“Company?” Galina smiled bitterly. “Have you ever invited me to your home?”

“Our place is small…”

“And mine is huge? This is one room and a veranda.”

Maxim tugged at her sleeve. “Aunt Galya, is there anything to eat?”

Something in her snapped.

“You came empty-handed—drink water!” she shouted. “Here! Cups! Water!”

The silence was stunned.

“Why are you yelling at a child?” Marina demanded.

“Because I’ve had enough!” Galina sat down and put her head in her hands. “I can’t do this anymore. I dread Fridays. I don’t rest—I work like a maid.”

“But we don’t force you,” Sergey said.

“You don’t ask. You assume. You take and take and think it’s nothing.”

“We thought you were happy to host us,” Svetlana murmured.

“I was. For a time. Now I’m just exhausted.”

Galina stood up and walked around the kitchen.