Sonny? Grishenka… It’s me, Mom…” Galina Pavlovna’s voice trembled like an autumn leaf in the wind—fragile, lonely, full of quiet hope. She pressed the old telephone receiver to her ear, as if afraid that even this invisible bridge between her and her son might break at any moment.
Silence. A click in the receiver, then a familiar but already distant voice:
“Mom, hi. I’m busy. Is it urgent? If not—I’ll call back… someday.”
The woman’s heart clenched like a crumpled ball of paper under the weight of years. Again. Again this “busy,” “later,” “someday.” And she so wanted just to hear his voice. To tell him that her blood pressure was acting up again, that she couldn’t sleep well at night, that the neighbor’s cat had brought a mouse right onto the porch—like a gift, the only living contact in this house where no one had laughed for a long time.
“No, son… Nothing urgent,” she forced out, trying to keep her voice steady. “Just… just how are you?”
“Fine, Mom. Busy spinning plates. Got a new project, you know? About to take off! Okay, gotta run. Kisses!”
And again, the short beeps. And again, emptiness. Galina Pavlovna slowly put down the receiver, as if afraid to drop it. “Busy spinning…” And she was here—alone. In a house where every corner remembered the laughter of her late husband, the footsteps of little Grishenka. Now only silence, the ticking of old clocks, and pain in her chest—not from illness, but from longing for her own son who had become a stranger.
Thank God, Ninochka lived across the fence—a paramedic, daughter of her longtime friend. Smart, beautiful, a soul—a light. She came without knocking, without warning, simply because she knew: sometimes Galina Pavlovna needed someone near more than medicine.
“Galina Pavlovna, how are you today? Measured your pressure?” Her voice, bright like a little bell, scattered the silence of the room like a ray of sun on a cloudy day.
“Oh, Ninochka, come in, dear… My head’s spinning again,” sighed the old woman, though a flicker of joy showed in her eyes. At least someone remembered. At least someone hadn’t forgotten.
Nina immediately took out the blood pressure monitor, pills, brewed herbal tea. She talked about her life, about her daughter Masha who was getting married, about patients, about life going on. Sometimes Galina listened distractedly, sometimes intently, catching every word like a drop of warmth in cold loneliness.
One day Nina casually asked, “Has Grishka called?”
Galina Pavlovna just waved her hand.
“He’s got no time for me, Ninochka… Business, again some scheme…”
Nina remembered Grishka from school days—always a bit of an adventurer, always broke but with a fiery head and endless plans. “How can he be so indifferent to his mother?” she thought but didn’t say out loud. She didn’t want to hurt the old woman.
One day Galina Pavlovna got seriously ill. Her head spun worse than usual, her legs refused to work, and Nina immediately understood—it was not a simple ailment. She called an ambulance, helped prepare for the doctors’ arrival. When Galina was taken to the city hospital, Nina herself called Grisha.
“Grisha, hi. It’s Nina, your mom’s neighbor. Your mom is in the hospital. Maybe you’ll come visit?”
“Oh, Nina, hi… I can’t now. Swamped. You take care, okay? You know how it is…”
The phone almost cracked in Nina’s hand from the strength of her grip. Scoundrel. Dirty selfish man. He didn’t even ask how his mother was. Not a word.
Months passed. Galina Pavlovna slowly recovered, but inside her the emptiness grew deeper. She dreamed of only one thing—to have Grisha take her to live with him. At least in her old age to be near, to feel needed, loved. But he always shrugged off:
“Mom, where would I put you? There’s hardly any room, the whole room’s full of goods… And you’re better off in the village—fresh air, peace…”
And then—a call.
“Mom, hi! Listen, I’ve got news! Pack your things!” Grigory’s voice sounded unusually cheerful, even excited.
Galina Pavlovna’s heart leapt and froze. Really?!
“Son! What happened? You… you’re taking me?” Her voice trembled, but it was no longer fear—it was hope cautiously breaking through years of disappointment.
“Yeah, kinda. So, get ready. I’ll come in a couple of days, explain everything.”
Galina Pavlovna couldn’t believe her ears. Happiness! Pure, true happiness! She limped out to Ninochka immediately.
“Ninochka, what a joy! Grishenka called! Said—pack your things! He’s taking me!”
Nina, just watering asters by the gate, frowned.
“Really?..” she said thoughtfully. “I don’t know, Galina Pavlovna… Something doesn’t feel right. Grishka was dodging before. Something’s off.”
Her intuition never failed. And now, deep inside, something scratched a warning—as if her heart sensed danger.
The next morning a car pulled up to Galina Pavlovna’s house. Nina was transplanting asters along the fence when she noticed the car. Two men got out: one neat in a strict suit, the other rougher, businesslike.
“Well, Grishka didn’t lie,” said the simpler one, looking around the yard. “Nice place. Quiet, fresh air… And the sauna looks good. Main thing—it’s close to the city.”
“Sure!” chimed the second, clearly a realtor. “Solid house, well-kept lot. Land here’s going up in value. Gold, not a purchase! And the price is very reasonable. Grigory’s in a hurry.”
The buyer chuckled.
“And what about his mother? Did he make arrangements so there won’t be problems later?”
The realtor smiled smugly:
“Of course. She’s moving into a nursing home. The papers are almost ready.”
Nina felt everything inside her break. A nursing home?! That’s what Grisha’s sudden concern turned into? A scoundrel. A cruel, heartless scoundrel. Her heart ached for the old woman who was probably happily packing her dresses now, dreaming of moving to her son.
Meanwhile, the men entered the yard.
“Galina Pavlovna, hello! We’re from Grigory! He asked us to drop by, check on you,” the realtor called cheerfully.
The old woman came to the porch, her face glowing with joy.
“Oh, dear ones, come in, come in! From Grishenka, you say? What a son, what a caring one…”
While the realtor smiled with fake politeness discussing the “upcoming move” with Galina Pavlovna, the buyer stepped aside, scrutinizing the lot. His gaze slid over the trees, as if calculating how many to cut down for a garage, over the fence—what new one to replace it with, over the roof—whether it leaked after rains.
Nina stood behind bushes, hidden among her flowerbeds, watching them. Inside, everything boiled. She couldn’t just stand and watch a deceived woman glow with hope, thinking her son had finally taken charge of her fate. No. It couldn’t be.
She decisively stepped out from behind the bushes and approached the man who was already inspecting the old house like an empty box ready for remodeling.
“Excuse me…” she said quietly, trying not to draw attention from the realtor and Galina Pavlovna.
The man turned, a bit surprised by the unexpected conversation.
“Are you… sure you want to buy this house?” Nina asked. “A house cursed?”
His eyebrows rose.
“What?.. What curse?”
Nina lowered her voice to a whisper full of tragedy:
“A long time ago a witch lived here. Terrible. Evil. She hurt many people. The whole village searched for her but never caught her alive—she died right in this house. And when she died, they didn’t manage to make a hole in the roof so her soul could fly away. Now her spirit is forever tied to this place.”
She paused, letting the words settle in the man’s mind. He listened, mouth open.
“Come on! That’s just a fairy tale!”
But Nina didn’t waver. Coldly and confidently she continued: “They say at night the floorboards creak by themselves, as if someone walks. Things disappear, then are found in strange places. Some say the spirit plays with the residents. Others say it takes revenge. No one lives here long. Everyone leaves. Galina Pavlovna is always sick. And Grishka… he just wants to get rid of it all. To sell it to someone before the new owner realizes what they’ve gotten into.”
The man stepped back. Now he looked at the house with completely different eyes. Thoughts spun in his head: maybe it really was better to look for another option? He didn’t want those “spirits” and “curses.” He tried to convince himself it was just silly superstition, but the seed of doubt was planted.
“You’re unbelievable…” he muttered under his breath, glancing at the house as if expecting a pale face to appear in the window or the gates to creak open without reason.
The next day the phone in Galina Pavlovna’s house rang so fiercely it seemed ready to jump off the table. The woman flinched and hurried to pick up the receiver, still hoping to hear her son say, “Mom, I’m near. I’ll come soon.”
But instead of warmth—shock.
“Mother!” Grigory’s voice thundered in the receiver, distorted with rage. “What the hell did you say yesterday?! What witch the hell?! Are you crazy, old woman?!”
Galina Pavlovna recoiled as if struck.
“Grishenka… son… what are you saying? What witch? I didn’t…”
“Don’t pretend!” the son cut her off. “The realtor told me everything! Because of you the deal fell through! I lost huge money! Do you understand what you’ve done?! That’s it! Don’t call me anymore! Hear me?! You’re not my mother after this! And I won’t take you anywhere! Stay in your hole and talk to your witches!”
The receiver dropped. The crash was like her whole life collapsing.
Galina Pavlovna stood unable to move. “Not mother… don’t call… won’t take…” Her son’s words cut like glass. Her legs gave out. Her heart pounded so hard it seemed it would jump out of her chest. She didn’t understand anything. She had only been happy. Only waited for him. What witch? What does that have to do with me?
With trembling hands, she dialed Ninochka’s number.
“Ni… Ninochka…” she whispered, unable even to cry.
Within minutes Nina was at Galina’s home. She ran in with a small suitcase always filled with medicine, ampules, syringes. Seeing the woman’s state, she immediately understood something serious had happened.
“Galina Pavlovna, dear, breathe deeply, I’ll give you a shot,” Nina quickly prepared the medicine. “Tell me, what happened?”
And Galina Pavlovna, gasping through sobs, recounted bits of her son’s words that burned her heart.
“Ninochka… he shouted so… said I told him about a witch… But I… I didn’t… I only thought he’d take me…”
Nina sighed, sat down next to her, took the old woman’s cold hands in hers.
“Galina Pavlovna, dear… it wasn’t you. It was me who told them about the witch.”
The old woman looked at her puzzled.
“Want to know why?” Nina’s voice became firm. “Because Grisha, your son… he wanted to sell your house. Your family home. And you… he was going to send you to a nursing home. I heard them discussing it with the buyer myself.”
The words hung in the air like thunderclap. Galina Pavlovna froze. Her eyes, just moments ago full of tears, now widened with horror. Nursing home… Own son… Instead of taking her in, he wanted to get rid of his mother like unwanted furniture.
The world collapsed. Without warning. Without goodbye. The last thing that connected her to life simply vanished.
Days dragged slowly, as if time itself pitied this woman. Grisha didn’t call. Didn’t write. Complete silence. But in this silence was born fear—sharp, icy. What if he comes back? What if he demands the keys? What if he throws her out?
And then, one morning, Galina Pavlovna quietly but firmly said to Ninochka:
“Daughter… take me to the notary. I want to put the house in your name.”
Nina gasped.
“Galina Pavlovna, what are you! No need for that! I can’t accept such a gift!”
“It’s necessary, Ninochka,” the old woman replied, and in her eyes for the first time in many years, confidence awakened. “You need it more. You have a family, a daughter about to marry… And I… I just don’t want to end up on the street. You won’t throw me out, will you?”
“How can you say that!” Nina’s eyes filled with tears. “Of course not! But the house…”
“Let the house be yours. That’s more peaceful for me. You became like family. Closer than my own son.”
And they went to the notary.
Now legally the house belonged to Nina. But Galina Pavlovna stayed in it—the walls where she spent her whole life. Only now she knew: she wouldn’t have to leave. Now other real, living hands were responsible for her.
For the first time in many years, Galina Pavlovna felt she was no longer alone. Her house again smelled of baked pie, laughter was heard, footsteps of loved ones echoed. Nina’s daughter Masha often visited, calling Galina Pavlovna “grandmother,” though she wasn’t related by blood. But what does blood matter when the heart answers another?
This house, which almost became a victim of cruel sonly betrayal, became a home again. Not perfect, not wealthy, but her own. Warm. Real.
And though Grishenka was no longer in her life, she found another kind of love. Slow, patient, without show or promises, but true.
Thus, through pain and betrayal, peace was born again in her heart.