“Mom, you don’t really need anything, do you? You already have everything. I keep telling Igor that the best present is simply being there. Isn’t that true?” my daughter Natalia said to me.
“Of course, sweetheart,” I answered calmly. “Come on Sunday, around two o’clock. I’ll be happy to see you.”
I ended the call, set my phone aside, and sat down on the couch. Then I poured myself a cup of my favorite bergamot tea. Yes, of course — Mom doesn’t need anything. That was how my children had always seen it.
Even now, on the eve of my anniversary, they decided that their mother, who had worked abroad for so many years and who, in their eyes, “already had everything,” did not need gifts at all — there was no reason to spend money on her.
I was turning fifty-five, a beautiful age. My friends joked that life had given me two perfect fives for how hard I had worked so my family would never go without anything.
But I could not fully agree with that. There was not much for me to be proud of. All my life, I never knew how to value myself, and I allowed the people closest to me to treat me the exact same way.
My husband Nikolai and I had been together for thirty-five years. In all that time, he had never once given me even a bouquet of flowers, let alone anything more meaningful.
He always said flowers were a pointless waste of money: they wilt quickly and end up in the trash.
“Buying flowers is the same as throwing money away,” that was his philosophy.
I grew up in the countryside. After the wedding, my husband and I moved to the city, but we did not have a home of our own, so we had to live with my mother-in-law.
She made it clear from the very beginning who was in charge.
“If you want a peaceful life, try not to get in my way too often,” she told me on the very first day.
My mother-in-law worked and came home late, so before she returned, I tried to do everything: cook, clean, straighten up the house — anything to avoid crossing paths with her more than necessary. But was that really a life?
Even when it came to raising the children, I had to follow her instructions instead of my own beliefs. My husband either stayed silent or sided with his mother. That was how we dragged on.
I only began to truly live fifteen years ago, when I finally decided to go abroad for work. I chose Germany because I had spoken German well since school.
At that point, the children were already studying, and I understood that the season of hearing one constant word — “give” — had begun. Tuition, weddings, housing — I had to provide all of that for them.
Over those fifteen years, I managed to solve every one of those problems. I earned decent money, but I came home rarely and did not even notice how quickly my grandchildren grew up.
For my fifty-fifth birthday, I decided to return home. I invited my son and his wife, my daughter and her husband, and the in-laws from both sides. I wanted to celebrate surrounded by family.
But by the end of the evening, I felt deeply disappointed. My son and daughter-in-law brought me nothing, and neither did my daughter and her husband — because, after all, “Mom doesn’t need anything.”
My husband did not even properly congratulate me. Only the in-laws gave me envelopes with a thousand hryvnias each. Everyone was convinced that I had plenty of money and that what mattered most to me was simply their presence. In their minds, that alone was the best gift.
But the worst part came at the very end of the evening. It felt as though everyone was waiting for me to start handing out gifts and money to them. Of course — I had come back from abroad, so naturally, I was expected to “rustle some cash.”
When we were already sitting with tea and cake, my daughter suddenly said,
“Mom, go ahead, blow out the candles and make a wish.”
I looked at her and replied,
“What exactly should I wish for? My wish has already come true. I bought myself a car.”
You should have seen the look on my son’s face, my daughter’s face, and especially my husband’s. They had no idea that during my years in Germany, I had learned to drive, gotten my license, and spent almost a full year saving up for a good foreign car. Don’t I deserve that? It is finally time for me to think about myself.
My son is already calculating in his head that the car should one day go to him. My husband is sure it ought to belong to him, because for some reason they all think I have no real use for it.
And my daughter is offended too — she had clearly expected me, as always, to simply hand out money to them.
So apparently, this time I let everyone down. And honestly, I do not feel sorry about it at all. How long can this go on? What goes around comes around.
At last, I decided to put myself first. I love the car, it suits me perfectly, and I am not giving it to anyone.
What do you think — am I right, or am I going too far?”