Mom, you have to help me.»
«I’m sorry, sweetheart, but I don’t have to do anything for you.»
Those words hung in the air like heavy raindrops before a storm. Yekaterina Vasilyevna gripped the phone receiver so tightly her knuckles turned white. On the other end of the line, a deafening silence prevailed.
«What do you mean ‘don’t have to’? You’re my mother!» Elena’s voice trembled.
Yekaterina Vasilyevna closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Outside, yellow leaves swirled in the air — autumn painting the world in its favorite hues, as if trying to hide the harsh truths of life behind a golden curtain.
«Lena, listen…»
«No, you listen!» her daughter interrupted. «You’re selling the house that you and Dad spent your entire lives building. Your entire lives, Mom! And you didn’t even consult me!»
Yekaterina Vasilyevna slowly sank into an old armchair — the very one her husband, Petya, used to sit in while reading the newspaper in the evenings. It had been three years since he passed, yet she still felt his presence in this massive house. In every corner, in every floorboard that remembered his footsteps.
«Why should I consult you, daughter?» she asked quietly. «This is my house. It was ours with your father, and now it’s mine.»
«But you do realize it’s an inheritance! It’s my and Yanochka’s future!» Elena’s voice rang with tears. «And now you’re just… just destroying everything! For what? To buy yourself a tiny apartment in the city?»
«How don’t you understand?» thought Yekaterina Vasilyevna, gazing at a photo of her husband on the wall. Petya smiled back at her from the frame, still as young as he was thirty years ago when they first began building this house.
«Lena, my dear girl,» she began softly, «it’s hard for me to live alone in such a big house. I feel… suffocated here.»
«Then move in with us! We’ve invited you!» Elena retorted.
Yekaterina Vasilyevna chuckled bitterly. Yes, they had invited her. Once or twice, out of politeness. And then came endless hints about how cramped they were, the four of them in a three-room apartment, how they couldn’t afford a new car for Vlad, how little Yanochka was growing and needed her own room…
«No, Lena. I’ve already made up my mind. I’m selling the house, buying a small apartment near the city center, and—»
«And what about the rest of the money?» There was a metallic edge to Elena’s voice now.
Here it is. Yekaterina Vasilyevna felt her heart clench. Was that all her daughter cared about? When had she become like this?
«The rest of the money?» she repeated. «Why does that matter to you?»
«Mom, stop pretending you don’t understand!» Elena exploded. «Vlad needs a new car for work. The old one is falling apart. We were thinking of taking out a loan, but if you’re selling the house—»
«Then what?» Yekaterina Vasilyevna straightened in her chair. «Go on, finish.»
«You could help us! That’s what! You’re alone anyway; you don’t need much. And we’re a family, we have a child to raise…»
Each word hit like a stone. Yekaterina Vasilyevna stared out the window at the swirling leaves, feeling something new and unfamiliar growing inside her. Perhaps it was resentment. Or maybe it was liberation.
«You know, Lena,» she said, her voice unexpectedly firm, «you’re right. I am alone. And that’s exactly why I can finally think about myself. For the first time in… how long? Forty years? My whole life has been for others — for your father, for you. And now I want to live for myself.»
«What?! How can you—»
«I can,» Yekaterina Vasilyevna replied calmly. «And I will. I’m selling the house, and I’ll spend the money on myself. I’ve always dreamed of traveling, you know. Your father promised me we would, but we never got the chance…»
There was a loud crash on the other end — Elena had likely slammed her fist on the table in frustration.
«So that’s it?» she hissed. «Traveling, she says! You should be in a coffin, not gallivanting around resorts! You selfish witch!»
Yekaterina Vasilyevna flinched, but her voice did not falter:
«Yes, my dear. Selfish. Finally.»
The sound of the receiver being slammed down cut sharply through the air. Slowly, Yekaterina Vasilyevna placed the phone back on its cradle and leaned into the back of her chair. Tears streamed down her cheeks, but a faint smile played on her lips.
Deep down, she knew she was doing the right thing. For the first time in her life — absolutely the right thing.
The new apartment greeted Yekaterina Vasilyevna with the scent of fresh paint and silence. Not the oppressive silence of her old house, where every corner screamed of loss, but a kind of… promising silence. The bright one-bedroom apartment on the fourth floor felt like a cozy nest the moment she crossed the threshold.
«Well, Katya, how’s the settling in going?» came the cheerful voice of her neighbor, Zoya Petrovna, who popped in “just for a moment” with a pie and some tea.
«Bit by bit, Zoya,» Yekaterina Vasilyevna replied with a smile as she pulled cups from a box. «I didn’t bring much, just the essentials. The rest…» — she waved her hand — «what do I need it for now?»
Zoya Petrovna — a slightly younger woman with mischievous sparks in her eyes — made herself comfortable at the small kitchen table.
«And your daughter? Is she helping with the move?»
Yekaterina Vasilyevna paused for a moment, then slowly poured the tea.
«Lena hasn’t come by. She’s upset.»
«Upset about what?» the neighbor asked in surprise.
«About the fact that her mother decided to feel like a person for once,» Yekaterina Vasilyevna said bitterly, with a smirk. «Can you imagine, Zoya, she sent me a text yesterday: ‘I hope you’re happy. Yanochka is crying, asking to go to Grandma’s house in the village.’ But I invited them! I said, ‘Come over, the apartment’s small, but there’s room for everyone…’»
«And?»
«And nothing. ‘We have no reason to be there,’” Yekaterina Vasilyevna quoted. “Just like that.»
Zoya shook her head.
«Ah, Katya, Katya… Remember how we used to live when we were young? I keep wondering: when did we forget how to enjoy life? When did our children decide we owe them something?»
Yekaterina Vasilyevna stirred her tea thoughtfully.
«You know, I’ve thought about that a lot too. Maybe it’s our own fault? We did everything for them, gave them everything… But when do we think about ourselves? On retirement? In the grave?»
«Exactly!» Zoya said enthusiastically. «And speaking of which… There’s a dance group at our cultural center, for those of us ‘of a certain age’» — she winked playfully. «It’s called ‘Silver Waltz.’ Care to join me?»
«What?! Dancing at my age?» exclaimed Yekaterina Vasilyevna, throwing up her hands.
«What’s the big deal? We’re not doing pirouettes,» Zoya laughed. «It’s just for fun. Waltz, tango… And, by the way, there are gentlemen there!» she added with a meaningful raise of her eyebrows.
«Oh, stop it!» Yekaterina Vasilyevna blushed, but her cheeks betrayed her with a rosy hue.
«Why not? A widowed woman, looking her best…» Zoya gave her friend an appraising look. «Speaking of looking your best — how about we go shopping? You need something brighter than this funeral wardrobe.»
«Zoya!»
«What? I’m just telling the truth! Enough mourning, you’ve grieved long enough. It’s time to start living.»
Yekaterina Vasilyevna wanted to protest but caught a glimpse of her reflection in the window glass. When had she become a typical old woman? That dark, drab housecoat, that dull cardigan…
«You know what?» she said decisively. «Let’s go! And to the dance group too. By the way, Petya first noticed me at a dance…»
«Well, that’s wonderful!» Zoya beamed. «The first class is on Wednesday. Just one thing…» She hesitated.
“A dress. You need a fancy one.”
And they burst into laughter, like schoolgirls. What followed was a shopping trip filled with fittings, exclamations from saleswomen, “Oh, this color looks perfect on you!” and the purchase of an unexpectedly stunning burgundy dress.
That evening, as Yekaterina Vasilyevna unpacked her purchases, she caught herself humming a tune from her youth. She walked over to the mirror and critically examined her reflection. Yes, the wrinkles were still there. Yes, her hair was streaked with gray. But her eyes… her eyes had changed. They were alive.
Her phone buzzed with a new message from Elena:
“Mom, Vlad and I did some calculations for the car. Could you at least lend us half the amount? We’ll pay you back when we can.”
Yekaterina Vasilyevna looked at the new dress hanging on its hanger, then at the phone. For the first time in her life, she simply deleted the message without responding.
Then she turned on some music and spun around the room in an imaginary waltz.
The cultural center greeted Yekaterina Vasilyevna with the echo of footsteps in its long corridor and the sound of a waltz drifting from behind the auditorium doors. Her heart pounded—whether from nerves or the brisk walk, she wasn’t sure.
“Don’t be scared!” Zoya whispered, giving her a nudge toward the doors. “We’ll be fine!”
Inside, about fifteen people were gathered—women roughly their age and, indeed, a few men. A slim, silver-haired instructor in an elegant shirt was demonstrating the basic steps of the waltz.
“Ah, newcomers!” he exclaimed brightly when he noticed them. “I’m Ignat Stepanovich. Come in, join us!”
Yekaterina Vasilyevna hesitated but stepped forward, smoothing down her new dress. “Dear God, what am I doing here?” flashed through her mind. But then Ignat Stepanovich extended his hand:
“May I have this dance? Let’s show everyone how it’s done.”
And suddenly… something clicked inside her. Like a switch being flipped, her body remembered movements it had long forgotten. One-two-three, one-two-three…
“Marvelous!” Ignat Stepanovich exclaimed after the first round. “You’re no beginner to dancing!”
“A long time ago…” she managed to say, feeling lightheaded—whether from the waltz or the compliment, she couldn’t tell.
“And you said, ‘What dancing at my age!’” Zoya teased, clapping her hands.
After the lesson, as everyone headed for the exit, Ignat Stepanovich caught up with them in the hallway.
“Pardon my curiosity, but what is your name?”
“Yekaterina… Yekaterina Vasilyevna.”
“A pleasure to meet you.” He gave a gallant bow. “You know, we have a small concert coming up next week. Perhaps you could—”
“No, no, absolutely not!” She waved her hands in protest. “I’ve just started…”
“Don’t be modest,” he said with a smile. “You have natural talent. And besides…” He hesitated. “We’re short on good partners for the waltz.”
“Say yes!” Zoya nudged her playfully. “Or else Nina Pavlovna will swoop in on our Ignat Stepanovich!”
“Zoya!” Yekaterina Vasilyevna blushed.
The three of them burst into laughter, and somehow it ended with them going to a café “just for tea.” Tea turned into a two-hour conversation, as Ignat Stepanovich turned out to be a captivating storyteller. He spoke about his travels, having just returned from Greece.
“Can you imagine? You can still dance the syrtaki right on the waterfront there!” he said with sparkling eyes. “And the sunsets… Oh, you should see those sunsets!”
“I will,” Yekaterina Vasilyevna blurted out.
“Really?” He looked at her closely. “Maybe… we’ll see them together?”
She floated home on wings. In her purse was Ignat Stepanovich’s business card (“Call me anytime!”), and in her heart, a bright melody was playing.
As she opened the door to her apartment, a familiar voice startled her.
“Mom?!”
Elena stood near the entrance with Yanochka. Her daughter looked at her with poorly concealed surprise.
“Where have you been? We’ve been waiting for an hour! I called, but you didn’t pick up…”
“I was at a dance class,” Yekaterina Vasilyevna replied simply, walking past them into the apartment.
“At what?!” Elena’s eyes widened. “Mom, have you lost your mind? You’re sixty-five years old!”
“Sixty-three, dear. And I feel wonderful.”
“Grandma, did you really dance? Like a princess?” Yanochka chimed in.
“Yes, sweetheart. A real waltz!” Yekaterina Vasilyevna winked at her. “Would you like me to teach you?”
“Yes!” The little girl jumped up and down excitedly.
“Enough of this circus!” Elena snapped. “Mom, we need to talk.”
Inside the apartment, after sending Yanochka to watch TV, Elena hissed:
“What’s going on with you? Dancing? Princesses? You’re… you’re…”
“What am I, Lena?” Yekaterina Vasilyevna asked calmly. “An old woman? A wreck?”
“For heaven’s sake, how can you… It’s embarrassing! What will people say?”
Yekaterina Vasilyevna smirked and suddenly leaned forward. Something flared in her eyes, making her daughter instinctively step back.
“Let me tell you something,” she said, her voice low and raspy. “Do you know what’s truly shameful? Hm? It’s when someone’s written off like scrap just because they’ve turned sixty. It’s when a mother is treated like an ATM—expected to hand over her last penny. That,” she tapped her knuckle on the table, “is something to be ashamed of. But my dancing? Tsk!”
The ringing of the phone interrupted her monologue. On the screen, the name “Ignat Stepanovich” appeared.
“And who’s that?!” Elena grabbed the phone before her mother could.
“He’s my…” Yekaterina Vasilyevna hesitated, “…dance partner.”
A look of horror flashed in Elena’s eyes.
“Don’t tell me you…”
“Don’t tell you what?” Yekaterina Vasilyevna asked calmly, taking the phone back. “That I’m living? That I’m enjoying life? That I may even have fallen in love?”
“Good Lord…” Elena collapsed into a chair. “You’ve lost your mind. Completely lost it!”
“No, my dear. For the first time in years, I’m completely sane.”
The phone continued to ring. Resolutely, Yekaterina Vasilyevna pressed “answer.”
“Yes, Ignat Stepanovich! Of course, I remember tomorrow’s rehearsal. I’ll be there!”
Then, putting the phone in her pocket, she turned to her daughter:
“And you know what? I really am going to Greece. To watch sunsets.”
Three months later, Yekaterina Vasilyevna stood by the window of her small apartment, looking at the ring on her finger. Simple, silver—Ignat had given it to her before their trip to Greece.
“A marriage proposal at our age is ridiculous,” he’d said. “But I want you to know I’m serious about us.”
The doorbell pulled her from her thoughts. Standing in the doorway was Elena, unusually quiet and somewhat lost.
“May I come in?”
Without a word, Yekaterina Vasilyevna stepped aside. Elena walked to the kitchen and sat at the table in silence. A heavy pause hung in the air.
“Yanochka keeps asking when Grandma will teach her to dance,” Elena finally said, staring out the window. “She asks every day.”
“You could have brought her over,” Yekaterina Vasilyevna replied evenly, setting the kettle on.
“Mama…” Elena hesitated. “I saw it on TV yesterday. Your performance at the cultural center.”
“And?”
“You… you looked beautiful. In that dress. And you danced…” She paused again. “I didn’t know you could dance like that.”
Yekaterina Vasilyevna smirked.
“There’s a lot you didn’t know about me, dear. And you didn’t care to find out.”
“Mama…”
“What?”
“Is it true you’re going to Greece?”
“It’s true.”
Elena looked up sharply.
“Forever?”
“No,” Yekaterina Vasilyevna sat across from her daughter. “For three months. Ignat rented a house by the sea. He says the velvet season is just starting…”
“And after that?”
“After that, I’ll come back. My home is here. My granddaughter is here…” She paused. “And my daughter, who I hope will finally realize that her mother is a person too. With dreams, desires, and the right to happiness.”
Elena suddenly burst into tears.
“I’m such a fool, Mom! Such a fool! All I cared about was money, that stupid car… And you… you just wanted to live, didn’t you?”
“To live,” Yekaterina Vasilyevna nodded. “Not just survive or exist—live.”
“You know…” Elena wiped her tears. “Vlad and I decided to take out a loan for the car. We’ll manage on our own.”
“That’s the right choice,” Yekaterina Vasilyevna smiled. “It’s more reliable when you do it yourselves.”
“And you… could you…” Elena hesitated. “Bring me something from Greece? Even just a fridge magnet?”
They both laughed—together, for the first time in months.
“I’ll bring you one,” promised Yekaterina Vasilyevna. “And a dress too. So you can go to dances.”
“Oh, stop it, what dances…”
They laughed again. Then they sipped tea with lemon as Elena talked about Yanochka’s achievements in school.
Before leaving, Elena hugged her mother tightly, like she used to as a child:
“Forgive me, Mom. For everything. And… be happy, okay?”
“I will, dear. Now, I definitely will.”
That evening, Zoya called.
“So, are you packing your bags?”
“What bags… I’m just picking out dresses,” laughed Yekaterina Vasilyevna. “Ignat says the sunsets there are amazing…”
“Oh, I’m jealous!” sighed her friend.
“You know, Zoya… I realized something important.”
“What’s that?”
“Life is like a dance. It doesn’t matter how old you are. What matters is that the music is still playing, and you can still waltz.”
The sunset painted the sky in soft pink hues. Somewhere far away, along the Greek coastline, the same sun was sinking into the sea. Yekaterina Vasilyevna smiled at her reflection in the window.
No, she didn’t owe her daughter anything—she owed herself. And she had finally delivered.
Outside, autumn leaves swirled in the air, just like the day she had decided to change her life. But now they didn’t seem sad. Now, they were a dance. Her dance. Her life.
And it was only just beginning.
