“What do you want from me now, Mom?” Victoria asked tiredly, pressing the phone against her ear. “Is it sympathy you want? Because I already feel it — for all of you.”

Lyudmila Petrovna paused on the other end, choosing her words carefully.

“You could lend Sasha a hand while she’s going through a rough patch,” she finally said with emphasis. “You’re earning a stable income, but your sister is struggling financially.”

Growing up, Vika had always been called “rebellious” — not in a fond way, but with frustration. Because Alexandra, the eldest, was the family’s pride and joy. Polite, practical, and polished. The ideal daughter. Vika, on the other hand, was imaginative, laughed at inconvenient times, and dreamed of things her mother considered useless.

Their father passed away suddenly from a heart attack just as the girls were nearing graduation. Sasha was in her final year, and Vika was two years behind. Still, their paths remained unchanged: Sasha went on to pursue economics, while Vika applied to art school.

Vika had long dreamed of becoming a designer and had thrown herself into preparing for her entrance exams. She got in, earned her diploma, but didn’t work for long — she met Denis, fell hard, and quickly got married.

“That was the most ridiculous thing you’ve ever done,” Lyudmila said at the time. “You never listen to logic. You should’ve followed in Sasha’s footsteps.”
“Mom, we’re in love,” Vika had responded.

“Love won’t pay the bills. Denis doesn’t seem dependable, and frankly, you’re too immature for marriage.”

Meanwhile, Sasha was dating Maxim — well-educated, financially secure, and well-connected. Their mother couldn’t be happier about the match. Denis, with his modest income and old one-bedroom flat, only rubbed her the wrong way.

Despite the disapproval, Vika felt content during the first year of marriage. Even the pregnancy didn’t diminish her joy. But when they learned they were expecting twins, Denis seemed overwhelmed.

“We’re going to be packed in like sardines,” he muttered, surveying the tight space they called home.

There was no one they could turn to. His parents lived far away and had their hands full. Lyudmila simply shrugged:

“Didn’t I warn you? You should’ve chosen wisely. Sasha will have her own house, and Maxim will make sure his family lacks nothing.”

She made no attempt to retract her harsh words, effectively branding Denis as unwelcome.

After the twins — Daria and Sofia — were born, Lyudmila showed up when Denis wasn’t home.

“This won’t be easy,” she said plainly. “Don’t expect much from your husband. And I’m too busy — Sasha’s wedding is right around the corner.”
“I’ll manage, Mom,” Vika said, trying to sound confident.

In truth, she was barely functioning. At first, Denis helped out, but he soon claimed work overload and started coming home only to sleep — in the kitchen, no less, because the babies made it impossible to rest in the bedroom.

He handed over money faithfully but occasionally muttered about being drained dry. Vika tuned it out — she had more pressing things on her plate.

Then one day, Denis said he was heading to a friend’s country cottage to “unwind” for a few days. Vika didn’t argue — she welcomed a break from his constant grim expressions.

But while out walking the twins, a neighbor casually commented:

“Olenka, I thought you went away with Denis! I saw him getting into a car with some woman. They were really close… Wait, that wasn’t you?”

Vika’s chest tightened. Furious, she phoned her husband’s friend. Over the line, she heard clinking glasses, feminine laughter — and Denis’s unmistakable voice.

When he returned, she confronted him.

“I’ve had enough!” he snapped in a hushed tone, careful not to wake the kids. “Yes, I’m seeing someone else. I’m sorry, but this isn’t the life I imagined! It’s a zoo here!”
“These are your children,” Vika whispered in disbelief.

She expected shame, regret, maybe even an apology. Instead, he shrugged:

“That doesn’t give you the right to ruin my life. You wanted kids, and you decided everything on your own!”

And just like that, Vika realized — he meant every word. The kids annoyed him. And so did she.

She wanted to leave right then, but where would she go? The next morning, after Denis silently left for work, she called her mother.

“If you’re thinking of moving in with me, forget it,” Lyudmila said without hesitation. “I started my marriage alone and handled it. I can’t deal with screaming children at my age. I need peace.”
“Mom…”

“Well,” her mother interrupted, “there’s the room in the shared apartment. A cousin left it behind. It’s been empty a while. You can stay there for now — if you really have no other choice.”

Vika waited a few more days — maybe Denis would apologize, come to his senses. But instead, he withdrew completely, barely speaking to her.

Her friend Anya helped clean the small room, hang fresh wallpaper, and set up a bed and table. That marked the beginning of a new chapter.

She didn’t pursue child support legally — Denis promised to help voluntarily. He did, for about six months. Then he vanished. Word had it he moved to another city.

Vika knew better than to rely on her family. Lyudmila rarely called, and when she did, it was only to briefly ask about the girls before launching into stories about Sasha’s latest accomplishments. Occasionally, she sent small transfers labeled “for the kids’ porridge.”

Anya was her rock. She urged Vika to apply for remote design jobs and eventually found her a client. When Vika was hired, Anya even gifted her a laptop.

“You didn’t have to…” Vika started.

“Stop. You need it for work. I’ll live without Netflix for now,” Anya replied.

How they made it through until the kids started kindergarten, Vika couldn’t later recall. She worked freelance, building experience. She was grateful her mother never asked for the room back, and the neighbors were kind.

Lyudmila would drop by occasionally, speaking in a condescending tone with the twins while slipping in comparisons:

“Maxim just bought Sasha another car. I told him it was unnecessary — her old one isn’t even a year old. He said, ‘I can’t have my wife driving anything less.’”
Or:
“Your girls look pale. Aren’t you feeding them properly? Sasha takes her son to the sea — fresh air, vitamins.”
Or:
“Sofia isn’t speaking clearly… Sasha had her son with a speech therapist in no time. Expensive, but worth it! She’s also enrolled him in tennis — great for development.”

One day, Vika snapped.

“You know what, Mom? I’m glad Sasha’s doing well. But stop criticizing my kids! Her husband’s wealthy, she doesn’t have to work, and spends money like water. I’m doing my best, and we’re managing just fine. So stop telling me how I should live!”

“Well, I never…!” her mother gasped. “I suppose I’ll leave. No gratitude, as always. If not for me, you’d be on the street!”

Chin high, Lyudmila left. Vika cried, briefly — but never in front of the children.

For three years, her mother neither called nor visited. Vika worked relentlessly, saved, and eventually put down money on a mortgage. They moved into a two-bedroom apartment.

The celebration included only Anya and her husband, who helped Vika land a job at a major company. By the time the girls turned twelve, the mortgage was fully paid, and the family enjoyed their first vacation abroad.

Lyudmila eventually resumed contact and visited twice, but never offered praise. She still talked about Sasha’s “successes” — until one call changed everything:

“Sasha’s divorced,” her mother said gravely.

“Sorry to hear that,” Vika responded coolly.

“Maxim turned out to be terrible! He left them with almost nothing — a small flat and a single car. Can you believe it? A prenup! I had no idea she signed anything!”

“He pays just above minimum support. How are they supposed to live?”

“Sasha can work,” Vika replied calmly. **“What’s the issue?”

“Who will hire her now? She’s an economist without experience. And the child needs attention! Clubs, school, the trauma of it all…”

“What do you want from me, Mom?” Vika sighed. “Pity? I have it. But that’s not enough.”

“You could help your sister. You make good money — she doesn’t. Maybe Maxim will come around…”

“He won’t,” Vika said firmly. “I have to get dinner ready. Bye, Mom.”

She ended the call, resisting the flood of memories — of nights with crying babies, no support, no partner, no family. That was the past.

And Sasha? She’d survive — she had their mother. Vika wasn’t needed.

And finally, she didn’t feel guilty about that anymore.