— he suggested uncertainly. — Just to have them take a look.
— What medical clinic? — Zoya Pavlovna was indignant. — In these rural clinics, they have paramedics who only know how to apply antiseptic. They’ll tell you such nonsense that we won’t sort it out by evening. Denis, I said: we’re going to the dacha, stop listening to her. She’s just manipulating you, as always.
Denis fell silent. He gripped the steering wheel tighter, and Alisa knew he had given up. He wouldn’t argue with his mother. Her pain, her fear—none of it mattered compared to the prospect of upsetting his mother.
Alisa leaned back in her seat and closed her eyes. Tears rolled down her cheeks—tears of pain, resentment, and helplessness. She was alone in this car with two people who couldn’t care less about her suffering. She remembered a year ago when Denis had a toothache. He had moaned all night, and in the morning, she canceled all her plans and drove him to the best dentist in the city, sat in the hallway while he had surgery, and then cooked pureed soups for him for a week. Back then, he called her “my guardian angel.” Where was that person now?
A new wave of pain washed over her, so strong that her vision darkened. She gripped the seat, suppressing a scream.
— Denis, please, stop. I’m sick.
She spoke through gritted teeth, each word a struggle.
— What on earth is it now? — Zoya Pavlovna couldn’t stand it. — You’re going to ruin our whole trip! Denis, don’t stop, this is a provocation.
But Alisa was no longer listening to her. She felt her body ceasing to obey her. Her breathing became shallow, her heart pounded somewhere in her throat. She curled up on the seat, becoming one solid ball of pain. At some point, she lost track of time. The car drove on, trees flashing by the window, while she was immersed in her own personal hell.
She thought about her brother. Misha would never have done this. If she told him she was in pain, he would turn the car around and race to the hospital, ignoring anyone’s objections. But Misha wasn’t here. Here was Denis, her husband, who feared his mother more than he feared losing his wife.
Alisa opened her eyes. She saw Denis’s worried gaze in the mirror.
— Alis, how are you? Really bad?
She could only nod.
— Mom, she’s completely white, — he told his mother.
— I can see that! — Zoya Pavlovna grumbled. — Fine, you win, you talked me into it. Denis, there’s a sign for some village over there, turn off. We’ll find a pharmacy there, buy her more pills. Something like No-shpa.
Denis turned off the highway onto a narrow country road. The car shook on the bumps, and every jolt sent a new flash of pain through Alisa’s abdomen. She bit the sleeve of her sweater to keep from screaming. Everything inside her was on fire. She felt that something terrible, irreversible was happening. This wasn’t just pain; it was a catastrophe unfolding inside her body. And her closest relatives were taking her not to a hospital, but to a village pharmacy for No-shpa.
She looked at her hands. Her fingers were trembling. She took her phone out of her handbag. The screen was dim, but she managed to unlock it. She wanted to call Misha, but what would she say? “Misha, come get me. My husband and mother-in-law are trying to kill me”? He wouldn’t believe it. Or he would believe it and rush over, and then there would be the scandal she so feared. No. Something else was needed. She opened her contacts and found the number for the ambulance. Just to have it ready. Just in case.
The car entered a small, almost deserted village. Leaning fences, boarded-up windows, a broken road. There was no pharmacy in sight.
— Where’s your pharmacy here? — Denis shouted to the only passerby, an old man in a quilted jacket.
— We don’t have one, sonny, — the old man mumbled. — Closed down a year ago. You have to go to the district center, about twenty kilometers from here.
Zoya Pavlovna cursed loudly.
— Well, here we are. Wasted time because of your whims, — she threw over her shoulder at Alisa. — Denis, turn around, let’s go to the dacha. Aunt Valya will definitely have something there.
— I can’t go on, — Alisa whispered. The pain was so intense she could barely breathe. — I need an ambulance.
— What ambulance? — her mother-in-law shrieked. — Are you out of your mind? Calling an ambulance for an upset stomach? Do you know how much a false call costs these days?
— It’s not an upset stomach. — Alisa struggled to prop herself up on her elbow. Her face was covered in a cold sweat. — I have… I think I have appendicitis.
She didn’t know why she said it. The word just popped into her memory from some medical show. “Sharp pain in the right side.”
Zoya Pavlovna burst out laughing. A loud, unpleasant laugh.
— Appendicitis? You’re something else, actress, diagnosing yourself. Are you a doctor now? Denis, do you hear this? She has appendicitis!
Denis was silent. He turned the car around and got back on the highway, but now he was driving slower. And Alisa could see him casting anxious glances at her in the mirror.
— Denis, please… — she pleaded. — Take me to a hospital. Any one. I’m scared…
Her voice broke. She could no longer hold back her tears. They streamed down her cheeks, mixing with sweat. She felt completely helpless, like a child who had gotten lost and couldn’t find her way home.
— Mom, she’s really sick, — Denis said, and a steely tone Alisa hadn’t heard in a long time entered his voice. — She’s not pretending. We have to do something.
— What to do? What to do? — Zoya Pavlovna started up. — I’ll tell you what to do. Drive to the dacha. Aunt Valya is there, she used to be a nurse, she’ll take a look. And if anything, we can call an ambulance from there. We’re not going to sit around in the middle of the highway.
— It’s another half hour to the dacha, — Denis objected. — What if…
— No what-ifs, — his mother cut him off. — I said: we’re driving. And don’t you dare argue with me.
Alisa listened to their argument as if in a fog. The words reached her from somewhere far away. She focused on the pain, which grew more all-consuming with each minute. She felt herself weakening, her consciousness beginning to drift. She took out her phone. Her fingers wouldn’t obey, but she managed to dial her brother’s number.
The rings were long, endless.
— Yeah, Alis, hey, — Misha’s cheerful voice came through the phone. — Are you there already?
— Misha, — she whispered. — I’m sick.
— What happened? — his voice instantly turned serious. — Where are you?
— I don’t know. In the car. We’re going to the dacha. My stomach hurts. A lot.
— What are Denis and his mother saying? — he asked quickly.
— They… They don’t believe me. They say I’m pretending.
Alisa heard her brother curse.
— Okay, listen to me carefully. Don’t hang up. Tell them that if they don’t take you to a hospital immediately, it’s a criminal offense. Leaving someone in danger. Got it? Tell them that as a lawyer, I guarantee it.
— They won’t believe me.
— They will. Say it firmly. And turn on your phone’s geolocation. I’m leaving now. Where are you approximately?
— We passed… a sign for… Vilnohirsk.
— Got it. Hang in there. I’ll be there soon.
The phone fell from her weakened hand. She curled up into a ball again, trying to find a position where the pain was even slightly less.
— Denis… — she called out.
— What? — he turned around.
— My brother… He’s a lawyer. He said that if you… don’t take me to the hospital, it’s a criminal offense. Leaving someone in danger.
Zoya Pavlovna, hearing this, exploded again:
— What? Now he’s threatening us, that brother of yours? Who does he think he is? Some shyster lawyer? I’ll sue him for slander myself.
— Mom, wait. — Denis slowed down sharply. — Alis, are you serious?
— He’s already on his way, — she whispered.
Denis pulled over to the shoulder and turned off the engine. The car became quiet. All that could be heard was Alisa’s ragged breathing and her mother-in-law’s angry sniffling.
— So what do you suggest? — Zoya Pavlovna broke the silence. — What are we supposed to do now? Turn around and take her to the city? What about the barbecue? What about Aunt Valya?
— Mom, what does the barbecue have to do with anything? — Denis slammed his palm on the steering wheel. — Alisa is sick.
— Yeah, she’s sick, she’s sick! She’s a faker! She set this all up on purpose to ruin our trip! And she got her brother involved!
— That’s not true, — Alisa whispered.
She felt nauseous. She threw open the car door, stumbled out, and bent in half. She threw up right onto the dry grass of the shoulder. Denis jumped out of the car, ran to her, and started stroking her back.
— Alishenka!
— Shh! Shh!
Zoya Pavlovna got out too. She stood with her arms crossed, looking at them with a disgusted expression.
— Well, there you have it. Now she’s going to get the car dirty.
Denis looked up and gave his mother a look Alisa had never seen from him before. A look full of cold rage.
— Mom, shut up! Just shut up, please!
He helped Alisa up, led her back to the car, and settled her in the back seat.
— We’re going to the hospital now, — he said firmly. — The closest one is probably in Vilnohirsk.
He got behind the wheel, started the engine. But Zoya Pavlovna blocked his way.
— I’m not going anywhere, — she declared. — I was going to the dacha, not to be dragged around hospitals. If you want to deal with her, deal with her. But take me to the dacha, as you promised.
Denis’s gaze darted from his wife’s pale, tormented face in the back seat to his mother, who stood before the hood, legs apart and hands on her hips, like a rock. The air in the car seemed to thicken, becoming viscous and heavy with tension…
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