“We’ve been in here for two weeks already, and not a single person has come to see that elderly lady in the corner,” Olena, my hospital roommate, said quietly. She was about thirty-five, strong-built, and spoke with the kind of softness that made people listen.
I nodded. The same thought had crossed my mind more than once. There was something about that frail old woman that reminded me deeply of my grandmother from the village—the one I used to spend summers with. Even the smell of her things felt familiar: stove smoke, onions, and a touch of damp air.
“Nina Petrovna, would you like to have some tea with us?” I asked gently when I noticed her stir.
“You girls go ahead,” she said. “Don’t mind me. Old people don’t have much appetite left.”
Or maybe she’s just too shy to accept anything from others, I thought, setting a cup of tea and a small plate of cookies beside her.
“Come join us anyway, Nina Petrovna. Food always tastes better with company.”
Olena and I exchanged a glance. The old woman was not only alone—she was painfully timid too, and that was a heartbreaking combination.
That night I woke to a strange sound, as if someone were quietly trying not to cry. I listened more carefully and realized it was Nina Petrovna, sobbing so softly she was clearly trying not to wake anyone.
“Nina Petrovna, what happened? Are you in pain? Should I call the doctor?”
“No, no, Mariyka… don’t worry… I was just thinking… about my son…”
“Where is he now?” Olena asked, awake too now, slipping on her robe.
“I’m sorry… I woke you both…” the old woman murmured guiltily.
“Tell us about your son instead,” I said softly. “Olena won’t fall asleep again now anyway.”
“My son lives far away… We hardly ever see each other… I miss him, that’s all…”
“Do you ever go visit him? Or does he not ask you to come?” Olena asked, moving closer.
“He used to invite me… But after he got married, that stopped. And at my age, where would I go…”
“Does he come visit you?”
“He used to… often enough. But now… we haven’t seen each other in five years…”
“And you didn’t even tell him you were in the hospital?” I asked in surprise.
“Why trouble him? And besides, I don’t have his number anymore…” She wiped her eyes with her hand.
“What do you mean, you don’t have it anymore?” Olena gasped.
“The phone Alyosha gave me broke… His number was saved there… I never wrote it down… my memory isn’t what it used to be…”
“What’s your son’s name? We could try to find him,” I offered.
“No, Mariyka… please don’t…” Nina Petrovna said, waving her hands.
I hesitated. Maybe she was right. But then another thought hit me—what if something had happened to him?
The moment I said that aloud, she instantly came to life.
“You really think you could find him? Without the police?”
Olena and I looked at each other.
“We’ll try.”
The next day, we spent nearly half the day digging through social media. At last we found him—a gray-haired man with the profile name “Alex Sokol.”
“Alyosha… yes, that’s him… Mariyka, it’s him… how much he’s changed…” Nina Petrovna whispered, brushing her fingertips across the screen.
I didn’t even ask permission. I wrote to him at once, explaining that his mother had lost his number and was now in the hospital.
His reply came almost immediately:
“Please tell my mother hello. And wish her a speedy recovery.”
“And that’s all?” I wrote back.
But he had already gone offline.
I sat there stunned. Olena and I had spent more time looking for him than he seemed willing to spend on his own mother.
“He’s not answering right now, Nina Petrovna… he must be busy,” I said, closing the laptop.
When I told my husband, Grisha, everything, he stayed silent for a long time. He had taken his own mother’s death very hard.
“Let me talk to him myself,” he finally said.
“Do you think that would help?”
“You’re right… maybe it would only make things worse…”
“I shouldn’t have suggested finding him at all… I gave her hope…”
But that evening, a message came in.
From… Grisha.
“Maria, thank you so much for writing. Please tell Mom that I love her very much and wish her a quick recovery. I’m currently serving and can’t get in touch directly. But as soon as I get the chance, I’ll come and bring her a new phone.”
Signed: Oleksii Sokoliuk.
I smiled.
“Nina Petrovna! Look—your son wrote back!”
“Really?!” She practically sprang up.
I read the message aloud.
“Oh, girls… thank you… I was so afraid something had happened to him…”
From that day on, Grisha wrote to her every day pretending to be her son. Just simple messages: “I’m doing well,” “I’ll see you soon,” “The main thing is for you to get better.”
We knew it wasn’t right… but she began to come alive before our eyes.
Before I was discharged, the doctor stepped into our room.
“I honestly don’t know what to do about your roommate,” he said. “She lives alone. Her house is old, the water freezes in winter… She can’t be carrying heavy things.”
“Does she have any relatives?” I asked.
“She won’t give us any contact information,” the doctor sighed.
Olena and I looked at each other.
And then I had an idea.
“Grisha… what if we brought her home with us? At least until spring…” I suggested that evening.
“Why not? We have a spare room.”
“But how do we convince her?”
“We’ll tell her her son asked us to.”
That’s exactly what we did.
And Nina Petrovna agreed.
Living with her turned out to be… unexpectedly warm.
At first, she was embarrassed even to eat.
“Nina Petrovna, if you lose weight, what are we supposed to tell Alexei?”
“Then I’ll help around the house… I feel awkward otherwise…”
She even tried to pay for groceries.
Little by little, she thawed. She started smiling, knitting socks, watching TV series with us.
The whole house felt cozier.
Then one day I bought a test.
Two lines.
“Grisha… what is this?…”
“This? This is kindness coming back around!” he shouted. “We’re having a baby!”
“Really?”
“Now we know for sure!”
“Nina Petrovna, you’re going to be a grandmother soon!”
The happiness was overwhelming.
But one day I found her in tears.
“Maria… you deceived me… My son wasn’t writing…”
I understood at once—someone had told her.
“Nina Petrovna, listen…”
At that moment the door opened.
“Look who I brought!” Grisha called out.
There he was.
Alexei.
“Mom… I came…”
She stared at us in confusion.
“Not everything people say is true…” I said through tears, smiling.
He wrapped his arms around her tightly.
And I started crying too.
It turned out he really had come back and had been looking for her. I had simply missed his messages.
At first, Grisha didn’t even want to let him in.
“You should’ve seen his face… he was nearly on his knees…”
When Nina Petrovna left with her son, the apartment felt strangely quiet.
“Shall we go see them tomorrow?” Grisha asked.
“Of course… She promised to teach me how to knit baby booties…”
And I smiled.
Because I knew this was not the end.