— Hey, Lena! So when are you coming over? — Sveta’s voice, Andrey’s wife, sounded far too cheerful for an early Saturday morning.
I was lying in bed, trying to wake up, and reached for my phone.
— I was planning to come in a week. Why? What’s going on?
— Oh, nothing special, — there was a rustling sound on the line — sounded like she covered the microphone with her hand.
— We decided to chill at your dacha for a bit with the kids. Hope that’s okay?
I sat up abruptly. What do you mean, “decided”? And how did they even get in?
— Sveta, I didn’t invite you. I didn’t give anyone a key.
— Oh come on, we’re family! — she laughed.
— Andrey said there was a spare key under the stone by the porch. We’ll stay a week and then leave. The kids are having a blast!
My heart clenched. The dacha was left to me by my grandmother three years ago.
It was my refuge — especially now that Maksim was away on a shift in the taiga.
Two months without contact — that was the agreement. No satellite phones, no internet.
— Sveta, this is my property. You had no right…
— Okay, gotta go, the kids want breakfast. Come in a week — we’ll be out by then! — and she hung up.
I stared at the phone screen as it went dark. I called back — long tones.
Second time — she declined it after the first ring. Sent her a message — it was read, but no reply.
All day I paced back and forth. Go right now? But tomorrow I had a critical work presentation — one I’d been preparing for half a year.
To cancel it would mean losing my chance at a promotion. And Sveta and Andrey… they were the type you just didn’t want to mess with.
I remembered how they once showed up at my housewarming uninvited — with three kids and a dog.
The dog peed on the carpet, the kids scribbled on the bedroom wallpaper, and Sveta just giggled: “Oh come on, they’re just having fun!”
I decided to wait the week. After all, what could they possibly do in seven days?
Swim in the river, grill some meat. Just don’t burn the house down.
The week dragged unbearably. The presentation went well — they even hinted at a bonus, but I couldn’t feel any joy.
Every evening I dialed Sveta’s number — phone off. Messaged Andrey — no response.
Friday evening, I started packing. Morning train, then a bus to the village.
All the way there, I thought about Grandma’s garden. Two apple trees by the fence — White Naliv and Antonovka.
Planted the year I was born. “You’ll grow up — and so will they,” Grandma used to say.
From the bus stop to the dacha was a fifteen-minute walk. I was walking, and something felt wrong.
Usually, the tops of the trees were visible above the fence from this point. But now — nothing.
I quickened my pace. Turned the corner — and froze.
The gate was wide open. Black scorch marks dotted the lawn where they had lit bonfires.
The grill stood in the middle of what used to be a peony bed — now trampled soil and broken stems.
But that was nothing. I looked at the spot where the apple trees used to be.
There were two neat stumps now. Fresh. The sawdust hadn’t even darkened yet.
— Oh, Lena’s here! — Sveta came out of the house with a glass of wine.
The kids ran out after her with ice cream. — You’re early, we’re not packed yet.
I stood there, staring at the stumps. My throat tightened, eyes filled with tears.
Those trees had been growing for thirty years. Thirty years.
— What did you do? — my voice trembled.
— Oh, that? — Sveta waved her hand dismissively. — We cut down your apple trees.
They were in the way, and you weren’t here anyway.
— In the way?.. — I repeated, unable to believe it.
— Yeah. Old, dry, casting shade. We wanted to clear space for a pool.
— A pool?! — I could barely breathe. — You cut down Grandma’s trees for an inflatable pool?
— It wasn’t on purpose, — she took a sip. — They were seriously in the way.
And besides, the apples were sour. We’ll just buy better ones at the store.
Andrey came out of the house with a bottle in hand.
— Lena, why do you look so pale? It’s fine. The trees were old, would’ve fallen soon anyway.
We cleared the lot for you — practically did you a favor.
— A favor?! — I clenched my teeth. — You broke into my home, destroyed my trees, trashed my property, and call it a favor?
— We didn’t trash it, — Sveta snorted. — Just relaxed a little.
You hardly come here anyway. The grass was knee-high when we arrived.
— That’s none of your business. It’s my property!
— Oh, relax, — Andrey waved it off. — We’re family.
Why are you acting like this? Maksim wouldn’t throw a fit.
That was the final blow. Maksim loved those trees as much as I did.
Every autumn we’d harvest apples, make jam, dry slices. And now…
— Pack your things, — I said quietly. — Now.
— What for? — Sveta protested. — We planned to stay until Sunday…
— Pack. Or I’m calling the police, — I said firmly.
— I have photos of the property before you arrived. And witnesses who’ll confirm you weren’t invited.
— You’re serious? — Andrey frowned. — You’d call the cops on family over a couple of trees?
— They weren’t just trees. But you wouldn’t understand.
Sveta scoffed:
— What a fool. Let’s go, Andrey. Nothing for us here. She’s just greedy — throwing a tantrum over some old stumps.
They took two hours to pack. On purpose. Loudly complaining, slamming doors.
The kids whined, begged for one more swim.
Sveta theatrically wandered through every room “looking for stuff,” obviously trying to leave traces behind.
I stood by the stumps, remembering: how Grandma taught me to graft cuttings, how Maksim and I camped under these trees the summer after our wedding.
How he promised to build a treehouse for our future kids.
— You’re overreacting, — Andrey came over with the last suitcase. — Maksim won’t like this when he finds out.
He knows we’re simple folks, no drama. So we cut the trees — big deal! You’ll plant new ones.
— The new ones will bloom in thirty years, — I replied without turning.
— I might not even be around by then.
— Always the drama queen, — he lit a cigarette. — When Maksim’s back, we’ll tell him how you kicked us out. Let’s see what he says.
I turned and looked him straight in the eyes:
— Do. Tell him how you broke into someone else’s house.
How you destroyed the trees his wife inherited from her beloved grandmother.
How you turned the place into a dump. Tell him everything.
Andrey looked away.
— The keys, — I held out my hand.
— What keys?
— To the dacha. All copies.
— We don’t have any…
— Andrey, I’m not playing. Keys or police.
He grumbled, dug in his pocket, and handed me a set. I instantly recognized Grandma’s keychain — a little wooden apple tree. My heart ached.
Sveta and the kids were already in the car, her head sticking out the window like a martyred saint.
— One more thing, — I said as Andrey pulled the driver’s door.
— Tell the whole family: none of you are ever stepping foot in this house again. Never.
— That’s just talk…
— No. That’s my decision. And I won’t be changing it.
The car disappeared around the bend in a cloud of dust. I returned to the stumps, sat beside them, ran my hand across the fresh cut — each ring a year, a piece of history severed by a chainsaw.
I pulled out my phone and opened my chat with Maksim. He wouldn’t read it for another month and a half, but I had to get it out:
“Maks, they cut down our apple trees. The ones you loved. I kicked them out and banned them from coming back.
I know you hate conflict, but I couldn’t take it anymore.
Those trees meant more to me than all those relatives put together.
I’m sorry if it upsets you. But I did the right thing. I love you.”
I hit send. Stood up, brushed the dirt off my jeans, went into the shed, and found a shovel. Came back to the stumps.
Dug two deep holes beside each one. Tomorrow I’ll go to the nursery and buy two saplings — White Naliv and Antonovka.
I can’t wait for them to grow. Maybe I won’t live to see it.
But someone will pick apples from them one day. And remember that other trees once grew here.
And that there are things you just don’t forgive.
You don’t open your door to toxic people.
Even if they’re family. Especially if they’re family.
That evening, I sat on the porch with a cup of tea. Without the apple trees, the yard looked bare, empty. But for the first time in years, I felt free.
No more justifying why I don’t want to see Sveta and Andrey.
No more enduring their rudeness for the sake of some mythical “family peace.”
No more smiling when I want to cry or scream.
The phone buzzed — a message from my mother-in-law:
“Lena, what have you done?! Andrey says you threw them out!
How could you? We’re family!”
I read it, smirked, and blocked the number.
Then paused, and blocked five more “relatives.”
Grandma was right when she said:
“Lena, remember — whoever doesn’t respect what’s yours, doesn’t deserve your time.”
It’s a shame it took two fallen trees for me to finally understand that.
But better late than never.
Tomorrow, a new life begins. With two little saplings, and one big word — “No.”
To everyone who mistakes my kindness for weakness.
