💔 Vera’s Quiet Storm: A Story of Love, Disappointment, and Rediscovery

Vera was washing dishes after dinner when Igor, her husband of seventeen years, wrapped his arms around her from behind. Normally, this gesture would have brought comfort. But tonight, it made her uneasy. She had learned to read the subtle cues in his voice, his posture, the way he hesitated before speaking. Igor was up to something.

“Verochka, remember I told you about the vacation?” he asked, his voice unusually soft.

“I remember,” she replied, still scrubbing the frying pan. “We planned to go to Sochi for the May holidays.”

Igor let go and sat down at the table. “Well… the guys at work organized a trip to Turkey. All-inclusive. Great hotel. Just two weeks.”

Vera turned, drying her hands. “Sounds lovely. When are we going?”

Igor rubbed his neck — his telltale sign of discomfort. “It’s a guys-only trip. Just department employees. No wives.”

Vera felt the familiar sting of disappointment. “So you’ll go on vacation, and I’ll stay home?”

“It’s a work trip. Team building. Management’s paying. It’s awkward to refuse,” he said, trying to sound reasonable.

“Team building at a five-star resort?” she raised an eyebrow.

“Mixing business with pleasure,” he smiled weakly. “But in summer, we’ll go wherever you want. I promise.”

She’d heard that promise before. Last summer, he said the same. But work, car repairs, and excuses always got in the way.

“Alright,” she sighed. “When do you leave?”

“May third,” he said, relieved. “Thanks for understanding, kitten.”

He kissed her cheek and went to watch football. Vera stayed in the kitchen, staring at the sink. “Understanding kitten,” she thought bitterly. “Always understanding. But when will someone understand me?”

The following days passed in a blur. Igor buzzed with excitement — buying swim trunks, sunscreen, even booking a haircut. Vera watched silently, her irritation growing.

Then, on Friday evening, the doorbell rang. Vera opened it to find her father-in-law, Nikolai Petrovich, swaying drunkenly in the doorway.

“Vera, daughter, let the old man in,” he slurred.

“Nikolai Petrovich, not again…” she began, but he pushed past her.

“Igor!” he bellowed, stumbling into the living room.

Igor appeared, his face darkening. “Dad, you drank again? We agreed!”

“We agreed?” Nikolai mocked. “I’m an adult. I do what I want!”

Vera leaned against the wall, exhausted. This was the fourth visit this month. Since his wife died three years ago, Nikolai had spiraled — drinking heavily, alienating neighbors, and turning his apartment into chaos.

“Ver, make Dad some strong tea,” Igor said.

“Of course,” she thought sarcastically. “Make it, brew it, serve it, clean up.”

She returned with the tea. Nikolai was already dozing on the couch. Igor sat beside him, looking grim.

“This can’t go on,” he muttered.

“Maybe rehab?” Vera suggested.

“He won’t agree. I tried,” Igor sighed. “Listen… I have an idea.”

Vera tensed. Igor’s ideas rarely meant anything good for her.

“What if… while I’m in Turkey, Dad stays here? Under your supervision, he won’t drink. And when I return, we’ll figure out what to do.”

Vera froze. “You want me to babysit your alcoholic father while you’re sunbathing in Turkey?”

Igor looked away. “Just for two weeks. Please.”

Vera stared at the man she had built a life with — the man who once promised her the world, now asking her to carry his burdens while he escaped them.

She didn’t answer right away. That night, she sat alone on the balcony, watching the stars. Her heart ached, not just from Igor’s request, but from years of quiet sacrifices. She had given so much — her time, her dreams, her youth — and now, even her peace was being asked of her.

But somewhere in that silence, she made a decision. Not just about Nikolai. Not just about Turkey. But about herself.