“Grandma!”
Galina Ivanovna had already crossed the threshold, had already taken off her coat, had already kissed the top of her granddaughter’s head. And Oksana looked at her and felt everything tighten inside her.
Six years. He endured this “control” for six years.
“I won’t stay long,” said Galina Ivanovna, looking around the corridor. “I’ll just check on the children and then I’ll go.”
But fate decreed otherwise.
It happened two hours later. Galina Ivanovna went out onto the veranda—she didn’t smoke in front of the children, and Oksana respected that—and didn’t notice the icy steps. Oksana heard a scream and a thud. When she ran out, her mother-in-law was sitting on the floor, sheet-white, holding her legs.
“Don’t move!” Oksana rushed over. “I’ll call an ambulance right away.”
The next four hours passed: hospital, X-ray, line at the trauma ward, smell of medicine. Broken ankle. Not complicated, but six weeks in a cast is no joke.
“He’s not going anywhere,” the young doctor said as he filled out the medical form. “At least a week of strict bed rest. Then crutches. You can’t take a train with a cast like that.”
Oksana nodded silently.
They didn’t talk in the car on the way home. Galina Ivanovna stared out the window, nervously turning the ring on her finger. Oksana drove, all she could think about was that the vacation was ruined forever.
Seven days. They should have been under one roof for at least seven days. Without Konstantin. Two. Or four, if you count the children. But children don’t count when it comes to quiet, family squabbles.
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