“Just put the suitcases by the door…” – my son-in-law said. Then he simply left his own mother with me.
— You can just put the belongings by the door, Aunt Galina. Just be careful, there’s a mirror there… — my son-in-law Kosti said, stubbornly avoiding my eyes.
He carried one huge cardboard box after another, all tied up with string, into my tiny one-room apartment. Behind him, almost squeezed into the narrow hallway, stood his mother.
She was a small, fragile woman. She wore an old, worn-out coat, from underneath which the hem of a simple flower-patterned dress peeked out. She clutched a small bundle to her chest, and in her other hand she held an old, tired-looking ficus tree in a plastic pot.
— Well, Mom, from now on you’ll live here — Kosti said with exaggerated cheerfulness as he wiped the sweat from his forehead. — Aunt Katalin is a wonderful person, I’m sure you’ll get along well. And now we’ll finally have a little more space. Masha is expecting a baby… Four people can’t live in nineteen square meters.
I stood there in the middle of my own living room.
In my home.
The apartment I had worked for twenty years to keep.
And suddenly I felt… as if someone had simply taken over my life without even asking me a single question.
My daughter Masha had married Kosti two years earlier. They were renting a place and saving every penny for a mortgage.
Three months before, Aunt Galina had sold her village house and given the entire amount from the sale to her son as a down payment.
Kosti’s plan had been “brilliant.”
They would buy a bigger apartment.
His mother would move in with them.
Everyone would be happy.
But life had other plans.
The bank approved a smaller loan.
Property prices skyrocketed.
Masha became pregnant.
In the end, they could only buy a two-room apartment, one room of which had already been planned for the baby.
And where should the woman go who no longer had a home of her own?
Of course.
To her son-in-law’s mother-in-law.
To me.
Into a one-room apartment.
— I’m so sorry, Katalin… — Aunt Galina whispered with her eyes lowered. — I won’t be a burden… I only need a small corner…
Kosti quickly nodded.
He kissed his mother.
Then he casually said to me:
— Thank you, Mom! I’ll never forget this!
The next moment, the door had already closed behind him.
We were left there.
Two unfamiliar women.
In a single room.
My apartment had always been my island of peace.
I had lived alone since my divorce.
Everything had its own place.
In the mornings, I drank my coffee quietly.
In the evenings, I watched crime shows.
I loved walking around at home in my old, faded bathrobe.
And now…
In a single day, my own life had disappeared.
We divided the room in half.
My bed went by the window.
An old pull-out sofa was placed near the door.
Between us, we pushed in a huge wardrobe, which became a makeshift partition.
The first week was a silent war.
Aunt Galina moved almost without making a sound.
So quietly that it started to annoy me.
One night I woke up.
A dark figure was standing by the window.
I almost had a heart attack.
She was just looking at the moon.
She couldn’t sleep.
But the real battle began in the kitchen.
Five and a half square meters.
Two people simply did not fit there.
— Aunt Galina… — I sighed on the third day. — I’ll wash the dishes myself. I have my own way of doing things. And… please use a little less water.
The woman immediately stepped back.
— Oh, forgive me… In the village, this is how we do it…
The next day she cooked soup.
Thick.
Fatty.
Exactly the kind I had avoided my entire life.
— My liver can’t handle this — I said coldly.
I saw how hurt she was.
And yet…
My anger wasn’t really meant for her.
It was meant for my son-in-law.
He had made decisions for me.
He had taken control of my home.
And still, I had taken my anger out on the weakest person.
For weeks we barely spoke.
Only short sentences:
— The water is boiling.
— I’m going to the bathroom.
— Could you move your slippers?
Everything bothered me.
The way she stirred her tea.
The way her ficus occupied my window.
The way she carefully smoothed every tablecloth.
I deliberately turned the television louder.
She would quietly move to the kitchen.
And simply look out at the street.
After a month, I was certain:
we couldn’t live like this.
One Saturday, Kosti finally came to visit his mother.
He came alone.
He brought a bag of apples.
And a box of cheap tea.
He stayed for ten minutes.
Exactly ten minutes.
When he left, Aunt Galina watched his car disappear into the distance for a long time.
There was such pain in her eyes…
As if someone had taken her home away twice.
That was when I understood.
I wasn’t the real victim.
She was.
She had sold her house.
Sacrificed her entire life.
And her son had simply…
pushed her aside.
As if she were an unnecessary piece of furniture.
The turning point came in the middle of November.
It was a cold night.
I woke up because someone was crying.
Quietly.
Suppressing their sobs.
Behind the wardrobe.
I carefully looked over.
Aunt Galina was curled up on the bed.
She held an old framed photograph tightly against her chest.
She was trembling.
I didn’t say anything.
I went out.
I made chamomile tea.
Two cups.
I sat beside her.
— What happened?
She didn’t answer for a long time.
Then she only whispered:
— I dreamed about my home… About the apple trees… Kosti was still a little boy… I gave him everything… And now I have no house… no place in this world anymore…
Her voice broke.
And in that moment, all my anger disappeared.
There were only two aging mothers left.
Two women.
Who had given everything to their children.
And in return, they received the same thing:
loneliness.
That night we talked until dawn.
I learned that she had worked as a village paramedic for forty years.
Through storms.
Through snow.
Under the light of a kerosene lamp, she had helped deliver babies.
She could recite Yesenin’s poems by heart.
She loved the same old movies as I did.
By morning, the wardrobe was no longer a wall between us.
It was just a piece of furniture.
From the next day, everything changed.
I learned to love her hearty soups.
And she started making fried dishes with sunflower oil.
She repaired my old clothes.
She brought my wilted flowers back to life.
Her ficus stood beside my geranium.
Somehow…
we both began to grow roots beside each other.
At the beginning of December, Kosti and Masha came over.
They brought a cake.
Kosti happily ate Aunt Galina’s homemade pastries that she had baked early that morning.
Then he casually said:
— Mom… You don’t happen to have any money left, do you? We need about one hundred and fifty thousand for furniture…
The room froze.
The woman couldn’t even speak.
After all, she had already given him everything.
I slowly put down my cup.
— Now listen to me.
They both looked at me.
— You took this woman’s home away. You brought her here as if she were an old piece of furniture. In six weeks, you called your mother only twice. And now you come here, eat her pastries… and ask her for money too?
Kosti turned pale.
— From now on, Aunt Galina will live with me. As long as she wants. But every weekend you will come for her. You will take her to your home. Her grandchild has the right to know his grandmother. And you have a duty to remember who sacrificed her entire life for you.
Kosti wanted to protest.
But for the first time, his mother looked at him…
like a mother.
Not like someone afraid of losing her son’s love.
— Katalin is right — she said quietly. — I don’t need your money. I need your love.
Six months passed.
Their grandchild was born.
Kosti arrived every Saturday, exactly on time.
He no longer brought cheap tea.
He brought fresh fruit.
He did the shopping.
He fixed whatever was broken.
And every time he asked:
— Mom… Katalin… Do you need anything?
And every evening, we continued sitting together by the window.
We drank tea.
We watched the stars.
One day Aunt Galina gently squeezed my hand.
— When I moved here, I thought I had come here to die.
I smiled.
— Oh, Galina… Our lives have only just truly begun. Now give me the rusks! Our favorite show is about to start.
