Antonina Sergeevna put the kettle on and sat down on a stool. The morning was gray, like most days lately. She glanced at the clock — quarter to nine. Outside, rain was drizzling, leaving winding trails on the window. Drops slid down, merging with each other to form intricate patterns.
The three-room apartment she had inherited from her mother felt both spacious and cramped at the same time. Spacious because she lived alone, cramped when her sons came to visit. Especially when all three arrived at once. The eldest, Viktor, was already over forty; the middle one, Pavel, was thirty-seven; the youngest, Denis, was thirty-two. Each had their own family, children, and work. And all of them seemed to forget about her existence until they needed something.
Antonina Sergeevna sighed. Denis had called yesterday and said he would stop by for lunch today. “Mom, I’ll be in your area on some business, so I’ll drop in for a bite.” She had baked his favorite cabbage pie that morning. Although she knew “dropping in for a bite” was just an excuse.
The kettle whistled, and she got up to brew tea. On the kitchen table lay a letter from the pension fund, a calendar marked with red dates — the grandchildren’s birthdays — and a thick envelope. For almost ten years, she had been setting aside a small part of her pension — “for the children’s rainy day.” She was used to saving: turning off lights when leaving a room, washing clothes only on Saturdays on a minimal washing machine setting, mending old clothes. Once she had worked as a Russian language and literature teacher, and after retirement, she tutored at home for five more years.
A knock at the door interrupted her thoughts. Denis stood on the threshold, as usual, wearing an expensive coat and a guilty half-smile.
“Mom, hi! How are you?” He kissed her on the cheek as he entered and took off his boots.
“Fine,” she nodded, noticing how he inhaled the smell of the fresh pie. “Come into the kitchen, everything’s ready.”
At the table, while devouring his second piece of pie, Denis finally got to the point of his visit:
“Mom, I was thinking… Do you know how much money you’ve saved? Why do you need it? You already economize on everything.”
Antonina Sergeevna silently looked at her son, waiting to see where this conversation would lead.
“Our car broke down, Irina and I. It’s serious. We either need to buy a new one or repair this one. And we don’t have money right now, no loans, and we’re already paying a mortgage.”
“How much do you need?” she asked, already knowing she would give him whatever he asked for.
“About two hundred thousand,” Denis didn’t look her in the eyes. “I’ll pay you back, of course. Just tough right now.”
She nodded and counted out the required amount.
“Thanks, Mom!” Denis was happy when she handed him the money. “You really saved us! Tomorrow, Irina and the kids will come to visit, okay? We’ll all have lunch together.”
But no one came the next day. Denis called in the evening, apologized — urgent work matters, Irina and the kids were at her parents’. Next time, for sure.
Antonina Sergeevna saw all three sons again a month later — during the May holidays. Viktor called a day before their visit:
“Mom, we’re coming over tomorrow with the guys. You’ll cook everything, right? They love your meat pies.”
She spent the whole day in the kitchen preparing the children’s and grandchildren’s favorite dishes: three salads, pies, cutlets, casserole, cake.
In the evening, the apartment was filled with noise. The grandchildren ran through the hallway, the daughters-in-law sat in the room discussing recent purchases, and the sons settled in the kitchen with beer.
“Mom, remember you said you have an old dinner set?” asked Inna, Viktor’s wife. “We need one just like that for the dacha.”
“Grandma even has beautiful crystal vases!” added Sveta, Pavel’s wife. “They’d be perfect for our living room after the renovation.”
By the end of the evening, the sons and their wives left, taking bags of leftover food, the old dinner set, and two crystal vases. Antonina Sergeevna was left alone in the empty apartment surrounded by dirty dishes.
A week later, Pavel called.
“Mom, we have a little problem. Remember we said we’d do renovations? So, we have nowhere to live for two weeks while the work is going on. Can we stay with you?”
And again she agreed. Pavel with his wife and two children moved in for two weeks, occupying the living room and bedroom. Antonina Sergeevna herself moved into the small room she usually used as a storage closet for unwanted furniture.
Two weeks stretched into a month. Sveta cooked in her kitchen using Antonina Sergeevna’s groceries, the children made noise from morning till night, and Pavel seemed unaware of his mother’s discomfort.
When they finally left, Antonina Sergeevna found the living room chandelier broken, a crack on her favorite vase, and an empty fridge. Pavel promised to reimburse everything, but, of course, forgot.
“Tonya, you don’t take care of yourself at all,” shook her head neighbor Galina Petrovna as they sat on a bench near the entrance. “You don’t live for yourself, always for your children and grandchildren. And what about them? When was the last time they came just like that, without asking for anything? When did they last ask how you’re doing?”
Antonina Sergeevna was silent. She asked herself the same question but feared the answer.
“You know,” Galina continued, “I have a sanatorium voucher. I bought it for myself, but my kids surprised me — they’re taking me to Turkey. So, this voucher is extra. Buy it from me, I’ll give it to you cheap. You’ll rest and get better.”
“What are you saying, Galya,” Antonina Sergeevna shook her head. “Where would I go? I’m saving money, just in case the children need it.”
“When will you take care of yourself?” sighed the neighbor. “Sorry for being blunt, but your kids grew up long ago. They should be taking care of you, not the other way around.”
That same evening, Viktor called.
“Mom, how are you? I’ll come by tomorrow, we need to talk. It’s important.”
She baked a pie again and prepared lunch. Viktor arrived by two o’clock, ate heartily, and then started the conversation:
“Mom, you know, Olenka is starting first grade this year. Expenses are high, and we’re tight on money. And I thought — you have three rooms but live alone. Maybe you could rent out a room? Daily rentals, for example. I can help make the ad, find clients, check them in and out. You get the income, and we get half — help for school supplies.”
Antonina Sergeevna froze, cup in hand.
“So, you’re suggesting I let strangers into my apartment so you can take half the money?” she said slowly.
“Not so harsh, Mom. It’s just beneficial for everyone. You don’t need three rooms anyway.”
Something inside Antonina Sergeevna snapped. Years of accumulated fatigue, disappointment, and unspoken resentment turned into a firmness unexpected even to herself.
“You know what, Vitya,” she said, rising from the table, “this is my personal apartment, not a hotel for healthy fools!” Antonina Sergeevna could no longer hold back. “And if you need money so badly, maybe you should get a side job yourself, or get your wife to work, instead of using your elderly mother.”
Viktor looked at her in astonishment. He had never seen his mother like this.
“And now,” she continued, “I’m asking you to leave. I still have things to do today.”
After the door closed behind her son, Antonina Sergeevna stood in the hallway for a long time, listening to her feelings. A strange relief spread through her body. She picked up the phone and dialed her neighbor.
“Galya, is that voucher still available? I’m taking it.”
Two weeks at the sanatorium flew by like a day. Antonina Sergeevna walked along the lake shore, did morning exercises, attended procedures, ate lunch with other elderly women she quickly bonded with. She felt she hadn’t been so calm and happy in a long time.
She only turned on her phone in the evenings. At first, the sons didn’t call, then they started — first Denis, then Pavel, finally Viktor. They all asked where she was and what had happened. She briefly replied, “At the sanatorium, resting. I’ll be back in two weeks.” Then she switched off the phone.
Returning home at the appointed time, she found all three sons with their wives at the door.
“Mom!” Denis rushed to her. “We were worried! You never did this before!”
“Come in,” she said calmly, opening the door. “Since you’re all here, we have a talk.”
They sat quietly in the living room while Antonina Sergeevna brewed tea. No one turned on the TV, opened the fridge, or started discussing their problems.
“I gathered you to announce new rules,” she began, sitting in her armchair. “First, from now on I will only accept guests by prior arrangement. Call ahead and warn me before visiting. Second, if you come for a family celebration, everyone brings their own dish. It’s hard for me to cook for such a crowd. Third, I will now spend my savings on myself — on rest, treatment, new clothes. I have the right to do so. By the way, Galya, my neighbor, goes to sanatoriums every year, and this year her kids are taking her to Turkey. That’s how it is.”
Silence followed. The children exchanged glances, not knowing what to say.
“And lastly,” Antonina Sergeevna continued, “I love you all very much. All of you. And I’ll be glad to see you just like that, without asking for money, housing, or food. Just as a mother who misses her children and grandchildren. If, of course, you have time for that.”
She fell silent and started pouring tea into cups.
Pavel was the first to speak:
“Mom, forgive us. We… we didn’t realize we were hurting you.”
“Yes, Mom,” Viktor added, “you’re right. We only took and gave nothing in return.”
Denis was silent, but his eyes were full of shame.
Two months later, on Antonina Sergeevna’s birthday, all three sons with their families came with flowers, cake, and gifts. The main gift was a two-week voucher to Sochi.
“Mom, we want you to truly rest,” Viktor said, handing her the envelope. “And this is just the beginning. We have a lot to make up for.”
Antonina Sergeevna looked at her children and grandchildren sitting around the festive table, feeling warmth spread in her chest. Maybe not all was lost. Maybe they just needed to see in her not only a mother willing to give everything, but a person with her own desires and rights.
Now she truly had her own room — not only in the apartment but also in the hearts of her own children.