Anna froze in front of the mansion’s front door—the same place where her family life once unfolded. Now she locked eyes with her former mother-in-law, Marina Petrovna, who was nervously fidgeting with the hem of her knitted jacket.
— Anna, dear, we need your support,
Marina Petrovna said in a trembling voice.
Anna gave the faintest of smiles. “Dear.” How quickly the tone changes when need knocks at the door.
— Support?
Anna repeated, crossing her arms over her chest. — It’s strange to hear that from people who, five years ago, threw me and my son out the door.
Marina Petrovna paled. — Anna, you must understand, we were in shock after Sergey’s death. We weren’t fully aware of our actions.
— Oh, you were perfectly aware of everything,
Anna countered. — So clearly that you even managed to change the locks while I was burying your son.
At that moment, from behind Marina Petrovna, Viktor Ivanovich—Sergey’s father—appeared. His once authoritative face had sagged, and deep exhaustion was evident in his eyes.
— Anna, let’s discuss everything like reasonable people,
he began.
Anna laughed sardonically. — Like reasonable people? And who were we five years ago? Unreasonable?
Viktor Ivanovich sighed heavily. — We made a terrible mistake. But now we truly need your help.
Anna cast a glance at them both. These people were once considered her family. Now they seemed completely foreign, almost hostile.
— What happened?
she asked after a pause.
Marina Petrovna and Viktor Ivanovich exchanged anxious glances.
— We… we lost everything,
Viktor Ivanovich said softly. — Our business failed, the bank took the house. We have nothing left.
Inside, Anna felt a surge of satisfaction at what had happened, but she quickly suppressed it.
— And how, in your opinion, can I help?
— We know that your restaurant is thriving,
Marina Petrovna began. — You’re successful…
— Without your help,
Anna interjected.
— Yes,
Marina Petrovna nodded. — We thought maybe you could offer us work? Or lend us some money until we can get through this situation?
Anna looked at them, hardly believing her ears. These are the same people who once kicked me out into the cold with my little child, and now they’re asking for help?
— You know,
Anna said slowly, — I remember that night perfectly. I remember begging you not to kick us out. How Misha cried from the cold. How you slammed the door in our faces.
Marina Petrovna lowered her eyes. Viktor Ivanovich stubbornly looked away.
— I remember how Misha and I spent the night on a station bench because I didn’t have enough money even for the cheapest hotel. I remember working three jobs just to feed my son. And you know what else I remember? Your words, Viktor Ivanovich: “You’ll never achieve anything without our support.”
Viktor Ivanovich flinched, as if struck.
— Anna, we were wrong,
Marina Petrovna whispered. — We… we apologize.
Anna stared at them for a long moment. Then she took out her phone and dialed a number.
— Hello, Misha? Yes, I’m at grandma and grandpa’s. No, everything’s fine. Listen, could you come over? Yes, right now. Okay, I’ll be waiting.
She ended the call and turned to the stunned parents of Sergey.
— Misha will be here in half an hour. I think you two have something to talk about.
Marina Petrovna and Viktor Ivanovich exchanged hopeful glances.
— So you’ll help us?
Viktor Ivanovich asked cautiously.
Anna shook her head. — No. I won’t provide you with either work or money.
— But… then why did you call Misha?
Marina Petrovna asked, bewildered.
— Because he has the right to know the truth about his grandparents,
Anna replied. — About how you treated us. And about how you are now asking for help. Let him decide for himself if he wants to help you.
Marina Petrovna and Viktor Ivanovich’s faces grew even paler, as if bleached by moonlight. In their eyes shone anxiety, mixed with the guilt they had long tried to hide.
— Anna, I beg you,
Viktor Ivanovich began, his voice trembling. — Don’t do this…
— Don’t do what?
Anna snapped. — Tell the truth? You took away Misha’s childhood filled with the care of his grandparents. You deprived him of the warmth of family holidays, support, and the memories that could have been his foundation. Now he will learn why things turned out this way.
At that moment, the sound of an approaching car was heard outside. A tall young man, whose resemblance to Sergey was striking, got out of the vehicle. He slowly approached the house, his steps hesitant—as if he sensed he had arrived in the epicenter of a long-brewing conflict.
— Mom?
he called as he stopped at the doorstep. — What’s happening?
Anna turned to her son, and a gentle smile, concealing deep pain, appeared on her face.
— Misha, meet them. These are your grandma and grandpa.
Misha froze; his gaze shifted from his mother to the elderly couple standing in the doorway. His eyebrows furrowed in confusion.
— Grandma and grandpa? But you always said that they…
— I told you many things,
Anna replied quietly. — But now it’s time to know the truth. The whole truth.
She turned to Marina Petrovna and Viktor Ivanovich, her gaze hardening. — Well then, tell your grandson how you treated us ten years ago. And why you’re here now.
Misha shifted his gaze from one adult to the other, trying to understand what was happening. His heart beat faster, as if anticipating that he was about to hear something that would change his view of the past.
— Mom, what are you talking about?
he asked, his voice trembling.
Anna took a deep breath, as if gathering her strength. — Misha, do you remember when I told you that after your father’s death we were left alone? That isn’t entirely true. We had your grandma and grandpa. But they… they decided that we were not needed.
Marina Petrovna sniffled, covering her face with her hands. Viktor Ivanovich stood with his head bowed, as if unable to bear the weight of his own guilt.
— What do you mean by “not needed”?
Misha frowned, his voice growing harsher.
— It means that they kicked us out of the house,
Anna said coldly. — On that very night when we returned from your father’s funeral.
Misha turned pale, his eyes widening in shock. — What? But… why?
— Because we were foolish and selfish,
Viktor Ivanovich murmured quietly. — We only thought about our own grief, not realizing that you were also suffering.
— We made a terrible mistake,
Marina Petrovna added, her voice breaking with tears.
Misha looked at them, his face a mixture of anger and pain. — And you just… threw us out on the street? In winter?
Anna nodded, her eyes glistening with tears. — Yes, Misha. That’s exactly what happened.
— But why did you never tell me about this?
Misha turned to his mother, his voice almost accusatory.
Anna sighed, her hands trembling slightly. — I didn’t want you to grow up with resentment or hatred. I hoped that someday they would understand their mistake and want to be part of your life.
— And now they’re here,
Misha observed coldly. — So they understand?
— Not exactly,
Anna said. — They are here because they need help. They lost everything and have come to me asking for money and work.
Misha looked at his grandparents in disbelief. — And you thought that after everything you did, mom would help you?
— We… we hoped,
Marina Petrovna mumbled, her voice barely audible.
Misha shook his head, his face filled with disappointment. — And did you ever think of how mom hoped when she stood with a little child in her arms in front of a closed door?
Viktor Ivanovich and Marina Petrovna remained silent, unable to meet his gaze. Their silence spoke louder than words.
— You know,
Misha continued, his voice softening though still pained, — I always dreamed of a big family. Of a grandma and grandpa who would spoil me, tell me stories about dad. Instead, I only had mom, who worked day and night so that I would lack nothing.
He turned to Anna, his eyes brimming with gratitude. — Mom, you are amazing. You managed everything on your own and never let me feel that we were missing out on anything.
Anna smiled through her tears, her heart swelling with pride for her son. — Thank you, son.
Misha looked again at his grandparents, his expression turning cold and detached. — And now you’ve come asking for help from someone you once rejected. You know what’s most ironic? If you had simply come to apologize, without any demands, mom probably would have helped you. Because she is better than you ever were.
Marina Petrovna burst into tears—her tears were genuine, though far too late. Viktor Ivanovich, it seemed, aged ten years in those few minutes, his shoulders slumping under the weight of realization.
— Misha,
he began, his voice trembling. — We understand that we have committed an unforgivable mistake. We…
— No,
Misha abruptly interrupted him. — You don’t understand. A mistake is when you accidentally break a cup or forget to close a window before the rain. What you did isn’t a mistake. It’s a choice. And now you’ll have to live with the consequences of that choice.
He turned to Anna, his face resolute. — Mom, let’s go home. We have nothing more to do here.
Anna nodded and took her son’s hand. They turned to leave, but Anna paused and looked at the parents of her late husband one last time. In her eyes shone not only pain but also a strange sense of liberation.
— You know,
she said softly, — I spent years thinking about what I would say to you if we ever met. I imagined yelling at you, blaming you, maybe even taking revenge. But now I realize that you have already punished yourselves. You deprived yourselves of the opportunity to see your grandson grow up—watch him take his first steps, speak his first words, go to school. You missed all his achievements and failures, all the moments that make life valuable. And that punishment is far worse than anything I could have imagined.
She turned to Misha, her voice warm and gentle. — Come on, son. Our true family awaits us.
They got into the car and drove away, leaving Marina Petrovna and Viktor Ivanovich standing in the doorway of their empty house. In their eyes was the realization that they had lost something far more valuable than money or property. They had lost the chance to be part of their grandson’s and daughter-in-law’s life—a loss that could never be made up.