“My pension isn’t an all-you-can-eat buffet for your family, and I’m not going to be your free cook anymore,” Nadezhda said sharply.
“Mom, are you seriously counting how many cutlets we eat?” Sergey dropped his fork onto the plate. “We didn’t come here for a vacation. We came so you wouldn’t be alone after Dad died.”
Nadezhda Alexeyevna stood beside the stove, gripping a kitchen towel. Outside the window, wet apple branches tapped against the glass.
Viktor had planted those trees himself. He had argued over saplings at the market, repaired the fence every spring, and insisted that a house survived only when someone cared for it.
He had been dead for exactly a year.
And now, in the house they had built together, their grown son was asking why his mother cared about food expenses.
“I’m not counting cutlets, Seryozha,” she said quietly. “I’m counting money. My pension comes in nine days, and I have eight hundred rubles left.”
Marina, Sergey’s wife, barely looked up from her phone.
“You’re making it sound worse than it is, Nadezhda Alexeyevna. You have potatoes. You can always make soup.”
“Soup from potatoes and resentment?” Nadezhda gave a tired smile. “Excellent recipe.”
Sergey frowned.
“Mom, we’re family.”
“Family shares the load. Family doesn’t let one person carry everything while the others tell her how to save money.”
Little Kirill looked up.
“Grandma, will there be cookies tomorrow?”
Nadezhda’s anger immediately softened.
“Of course, sweetheart. I’ll bake some.”
Marina smiled as though the problem had been solved.
“See? Everything’s fine. You’re just tired.”
That night, Nadezhda washed an already-clean pot and thought about Viktor.
After his death, silence had frightened her. She used to wake expecting to hear him cough in the bathroom, switch on the kettle, or turn on his old radio.
Then she would remember he was gone.
Her pension was barely enough for utilities, groceries, medicine, and the ordinary expenses of keeping an aging country house running.
Two months after the funeral, Sergey had arrived with Marina and their two boys.
“We’ll stay for a week,” he had said. “The children will cheer you up. Marina will help, and I can work remotely.”
At first Nadezhda had nearly cried with gratitude.
The house became noisy again.
The boys ran through the rooms. Sergey worked in Viktor’s study. Marina even washed dishes a few times before announcing that the local water damaged her hands.
One week became one month.
Then summer passed.
By autumn, they were still there.
“When are you going back to the city?” Nadezhda finally asked.
Sergey looked surprised.
“Are we bothering you?”
“No. But you have an apartment.”
“It’s rented out until New Year’s.”
“You never told me that.”
Marina interrupted quickly.
“We definitely did. Maybe you forgot. After everything you’ve been through, memory problems would be understandable.”
That was not the first time they had told Nadezhda she had forgotten something.
Apparently she had forgotten promising to buy the boys new boots. Forgotten agreeing to throw out old curtains. Forgotten wanting Viktor’s favorite chair moved into storage.
But Nadezhda had forgotten nothing.
She had simply stopped arguing.
And her silence had become convenient.
Every morning she woke first.
Andrey wanted porridge with butter. Kirill wanted sugar. Sergey preferred omelets. Marina wanted expensive cottage cheese and coffee.
At the store, Nadezhda once pointed out that Marina’s preferred cottage cheese cost far more than the ordinary kind.
“Health is more important than money,” Marina replied.
Nadezhda thought about her own meals of tea and yesterday’s bread, but bought it anyway.
She cooked, cleaned, washed clothes, watched the children, and picked up endless socks, crumbs, toys, and wet mittens.
Whenever she complained, Marina used the same phrase.
“You’re home anyway.”
One afternoon, Nadezhda finally spoke to Sergey.
“If you’re living here, you should help with groceries and utilities.”
Sergey kept looking at his laptop.
“Mom, we have a mortgage, kindergarten fees, car expenses. We’re not rich.”
“But you eat here. You use electricity and water.”
“We’re helping you too. You aren’t alone anymore.”
Nadezhda looked at him.
“When I was alone, at least the silence didn’t eat my groceries.”
He sighed.
“Please, Mom. I have work.”
A few days later, Viktor’s sister Galina arrived.
She looked around the crowded hallway.
“That’s a lot of shoes. Sergey’s family is still here?”
“For now.”
Galina gave a crooked smile.
“For now can last for years.”
Over tea, she suddenly became serious.
“We need to talk about the house.”
Nadezhda stiffened.
“What about it?”
“Viktor is gone. There’s an inheritance.”
“This house belonged to us.”
“I helped you buy it.”
“You lent us money. Viktor paid you back.”
“Do you have proof?”
Nadezhda stared at her.
“We were family. Nobody wrote receipts.”
“Exactly,” Galina replied. “No receipts.”
Then she said it plainly.
“I’m going to court. I want my share.”
Nadezhda stood.
“You came here a year after your brother died to take my home?”
“I need money. My daughter is divorced, raising a child, renting an apartment. You’re sitting in this big house.”
“It’s my house.”
“The court will decide.”
Before leaving, Galina added:
“Pay me, and we settle peacefully. Otherwise, we divide it legally.”
After she left, Nadezhda sat frozen in the kitchen.
When Marina entered, talking on the phone about laundry detergent, Nadezhda told her what had happened.
Marina shrugged.
“She’s bluffing. Besides, you were Viktor’s wife. You’ll probably keep everything.”
“Probably?”
“I’ve read things online. Don’t panic. By the way, can we have something other than borscht tonight? Sergey says beetroot gives him heartburn.”
At that moment, something changed inside Nadezhda.
Her daughter-in-law was not evil.
She simply did not care about any problem that did not interrupt her own comfort.
Sergey reacted almost the same way.
“Court cases take forever,” he said.
“What if she wins?”
“She won’t.”
“Can you help me find a lawyer and collect documents?”
“I’m overloaded at work. You can go yourself.”
“I don’t understand legal papers.”
“You’ll figure it out. You’re strong.”
Nadezhda laughed softly.
“That’s convenient. When you don’t want to help, I’m strong. When I disagree, I’m forgetful. When you want dinner, I’m home anyway.”
Sergey frowned.
“Mom, are you starting again?”
“No,” she said. “I think I’m finishing.”
“Finishing what?”
“Your stay here.”
Marina stopped in the doorway.
“What?”
“Tomorrow you pack your things and leave.”
Sergey stared at her.
“You’re emotional.”
“I’ve been emotional silently for six months. You live in my house, eat my food, use my money, and let me take care of your children. Now I’m frightened I could lose my home, and all you ask is what’s for dinner.”
Marina’s face reddened.
“So we’re a burden?”
“Yes,” Nadezhda said. “You are.”
“You’ll regret this when you’re alone.”
“I’d rather be alone than invisible in my own house.”
The argument lasted until midnight.
Sergey accused her of becoming difficult.
Marina cried angrily.
Then Sergey said:
“Dad wouldn’t approve of this.”
Nadezhda turned sharply.
“Don’t use your father against me. He would be the first to ask why his wife is surviving on tea while his grown son buys himself a new phone.”
Sergey said nothing.
The next morning they packed.
At the car, Sergey made one last attempt.
“You can change your mind.”
“No.”
“We’re not strangers.”
“Then stop behaving like strangers.”
When their car disappeared beyond the gate, the house became painfully quiet.
Nadezhda returned to the kitchen and sat down.
Then she cried.
Not because she regretted making them leave.
Because she had spent too long being useful to everyone and important to no one.
The next day, she went to the government services office, then a notary, then a lawyer recommended by a neighbor.
“Bring everything,” the lawyer told her. “Purchase agreements, certificates, bank statements, receipts. And don’t assume you’ve already lost.”
“What if Galina really gets part of the house?”
“She needs evidence.”
“She has a difficult personality.”
The lawyer smiled.
“Courts don’t accept personality as evidence.”
Nadezhda wrote that sentence down.
The trial began in December.
Galina claimed she had contributed money toward the purchase.
The judge asked for receipts, transfers, or witnesses to the payment.
Galina had none.
At the next hearing, she brought a friend who said Galina had once told her about the money.
“Were you there when the money was handed over?” Nadezhda’s lawyer asked.
“No.”
“What year was this?”
The woman could not remember.
Afterward, Galina confronted Nadezhda in the hallway.
“You’re humiliating me.”
“You brought me here.”
“My daughter is struggling.”
“I’m sorry. But her problems cannot be solved with my house.”
Galina had no answer.
Then, in January, Sergey unexpectedly arrived alone.
He looked uncomfortable.
“Galina called me,” he said. “She wants me to testify that Dad talked about borrowing money from her.”
Nadezhda sat down slowly.
“And what did you tell her?”
“That I would think about it.”
She stared at him.
Sergey looked away.
“Things are hard for Marina and me. Galina said that if she wins, she’ll help us pay part of our mortgage.”
For a moment, Nadezhda could barely breathe.
“So you’re considering testifying against your mother for money?”
“I’m trying to support my family.”
“And what am I?”
He was silent.
Nadezhda’s voice became calm.
“I’m not asking you to choose me over your children. I’m asking you not to sell your mother to your aunt at a family discount.”
Sergey flushed.
“That’s cruel.”
“But clear.”
He sat quietly for several minutes.
Then he tore Galina’s paper into pieces.
“I won’t testify.”
Nadezhda did not hug him.
She simply asked:
“Tea?”
“Yes.”
Before leaving, Sergey stopped at the door.
“Mom, I was wrong. About living here. About the money. Everything.”
“You were.”
“You could’ve said it more gently.”
“I could have. But you wouldn’t have listened.”
In spring, the court rejected Galina’s claim.
The house remained Nadezhda’s.
After the hearing, Galina approached her.
“I thought you were weaker.”
“So did I.”
Then Galina admitted something.
“Two weeks before Viktor died, he visited me. He brought honey and said, ‘If anything happens to me, don’t touch Nadya. She won’t survive without that house.’”
Nadezhda stared at her.
“Then why did you sue me?”
Galina lowered her eyes.
“When your daughter has an empty refrigerator, your conscience starts bargaining with you.”
“Is she doing better?”
“She found work at a pharmacy.”
“Good,” Nadezhda said. “Let her survive. Just not by taking my home.”
That evening, Sergey arrived with the boys and several bags of groceries.
“Can we come on Saturdays?” he asked. “Not to live. To help with the fence, garden, firewood.”
Nadezhda looked at her grandsons.
“You can. But guests wash their own cups.”
Sergey smiled.
“Fair.”
“And bring groceries.”
“Understood.”
“And never tell me I’m home anyway.”
His smile disappeared.
“I won’t.”
Later, Sergey washed the tea cups, splashing water all over the floor.
Nadezhda watched him and thought about Viktor.
The house had survived.
So had she.
Then she handed Sergey a cloth.
“Wipe the floor.”
He laughed.
“Yes, ma’am.”
Nadezhda smiled.
“Good. Start remembering while your memory is still young.”