— They didn’t come to visit their dying father just because they didn’t want to see me, — my daughters told me. — We’ve hated you since childhood! It’s your fault that Dad is no longer here!
— Grisha, how can you not understand… we are strangers to our own children, — I cried. — They didn’t even wish you a happy birthday! They lie nonstop, saying they’re busy with work. And how am I supposed to look people in the eye now? Everyone is asking: where are our children? What should I tell them? That we were abandoned?
I sat on the kitchen stool, staring out the window where snowflakes were slowly drifting. Inside, it felt as if an icy lump had frozen in my chest. My two daughters — the meaning of my life — both turned away. Grisha sat quietly beside me. He’s always like that — there, but silent. It’s as though he supports me, but also not. But at least he’s here. It would be unbearable to be alone.
— Are you still thinking about them? — he broke the silence.
— Who else? Your birthday is coming soon, and they didn’t even bother to call. They just texted that they were busy. But they’re not busy! They just don’t want anything to do with us!
Grisha shrugged:
— Maybe they really are busy…
— Busy? No, they’re offended! Can you imagine? Offended! But over what?
I grabbed my phone again and reread their messages. Lena wrote:
“Mama, I can’t come. Reports, work overload. And honestly, I don’t want to see you. Remember how you forced me to study math? You even slapped me. I still remember that.”
And Veronika’s message was short:
“Mama, sorry, I can’t make it. Work. Besides, you ruined my life by forbidding me to see Sasha. All my problems are because of you. I married a loser and now I’m suffering.”
— Lena at least mentioned old lessons. But Veronika! That Sasha — an alcoholic and a good-for-nothing! What was she thinking? She was expecting millions of dollars? — I angrily threw my phone aside.
— You know how they are, they’re stubborn. Each one thinks she’s right, — said Grisha.
— And I, in their eyes, am wrong? I only wanted the best for them! I wanted Lena to have a good education, Veronika to be protected from making mistakes. What bad did I do?
I remembered little Lena. Of course, sometimes I’d smack her when she didn’t want to study. But what else was I supposed to do? I’d sit and explain the same thing ten times, and she’d stare out the window! Sometimes you just lose your patience. And then I’d go check her neglected notebooks, pick up her toys. Only parents do that.
— Mom, why do I need this math? — Lena would complain, sniffling over her textbook.
— Without an education, you’ll be washing floors all your life! — I’d get angry, gripping her hand.
— I hate you! — she’d yell, pulling away and running to her room.
Later, of course, I’d make up with her. Hug her, apologize. But the bitterness remained — both in her and in me.
And Veronika… She was always headstrong. And that Sasha… I never liked him. A slippery type, an unpleasant look. I saw how he looked at her — not with love, but with pure desire.
— Mom, I love Sasha! We’re getting married! — she’d repeat, as if chanting.
— He doesn’t love you! He only wants one thing! — I tried to reach her.
— You’re just jealous! — she’d scream, slamming the door.
I forbade her to see him. She left the house for a week. Then she came back, apologized. But the pain stayed. Both for her and for me.
Now she lives in another city, with her failure of a husband. They rent an apartment, and have no money. She calls rarely, and only when I remind her. The conversation is always the same: “Hi. Fine. Work. Bye.”
— Why are they like this to me? — I asked through tears.
Grisha hugged me.
— Don’t cry, dear. Everything will work out. They’re young. They don’t understand what it’s like to be a parent.
It won’t work out… They’ll never understand. To them, I’ll always be the strict, angry mother who ruined their lives.
My life started like a cheap romance novel: early love, a young marriage, poverty, a controlling mother-in-law… Everything as expected. But in books, it usually ends beautifully. For me, it goes on.
I was nineteen when Lena, our first daughter, was born. An innocent fool, I thought that love would overcome everything. That Grisha would be by my side, and we’d make it. But reality was harsher.
Grisha tried. He took any job just to make sure we had enough for food and diapers. I remember him coming home in the early morning, covered in coal dust, exhausted. He’d fall onto the bed and fall asleep instantly. And I’d sit next to him, feeding Lena, watching him. Proud, pitiful, and scared all at once. Scared that he’d break. Scared we’d lose everything.
— Grisha, you need to rest, — I’d say, stroking his head.
— When? Lena needs to be fed. You know how it is, — he’d reply, opening his eyes.
He was always like this — kind, responsible. Too kind.
My parents were already gone. I was raised by my grandmother, but she died soon after our wedding. She left behind a small house on the outskirts of the city and her love. That was all I had.
Grisha had a mother — Maria Pavlovna. And she just hated me.
— Rag! Beggar! Good-for-nothing! — she’d throw at me without a hint of embarrassment.
I swallowed my tears and stayed silent. I didn’t want conflict, I hoped she’d eventually accept me. How naïve I was…
— Mom, why are you like this? I love Sveta! This is my choice! — Grisha would try to defend me.
— Your choice? You’re just blind! She’s enchanted you! You’re barely getting by! You deserve better! — Maria Pavlovna would scream, dramatically rolling her eyes.
She dreamed of having a daughter-in-law who was the daughter of a professor or a doctor, but instead, she got me — an orphan, living on my grandmother’s pension and my husband’s salary. At first, we lived in the same house: they and their son in separate rooms. We spoke little, communicated through Grisha. And he became the target of constant attacks from his mother.
— Look at yourself — you’re all worn out! Because of who? Because of this good-for-nothing! Leave her, it’s not too late! Find yourself a real wife! — she’d hiss at him in my absence.
But Grisha loved me. And he loved our daughters. He tolerated all his mother’s tantrums. After Veronika was born, Maria Pavlovna softened a bit — the second granddaughter helped. But nothing changed for me. To her, I was still “this one.”
— At least the granddaughters are normal, — she’d mutter, looking at the girls. — Not like their mother.
I tried not to pay attention. I had other worries. Lena and Veronika grew, demanding attention and money. Grisha worked like a madman, I spun around like a hamster in a wheel. We lived in poverty, but we were together. I remember how we rejoiced when Grisha got a bonus — we bought candy and had a little celebration.
— Dad, tell us a fairy tale! — the girls would ask, hugging his neck.
— Which fairy tale? — he’d ask, smiling.
— About Ivan the Tsarevich! — they’d answer in unison.
And Grisha would tell it. Every time, differently. With adventures, dragons, and beautiful princesses. We were happy. Despite the poverty, despite the wicked mother-in-law, despite everything. We had love. We had children. We had a family.
When the last guests left, a heavy, unpleasant silence filled the house. Not the good, evening silence when everyone peacefully sleeps, but a weighty one, like a stone on my chest.
I was cleaning up the remnants of the celebration, and my mind was full of bitter thoughts. Grisha’s birthday… We celebrated, but somehow not fully. Without Lena and Veronika. Without our own children.
All evening I felt like an outsider among my own people. Everyone kept asking: “Where are your daughters? Why didn’t they come?” I had to make excuses, saying they were busy with work, projects, reports…
— Well, you know how life is nowadays! — I smiled through clenched teeth, feeling my face burn with shame.
And the guests looked at me with understanding and pity, guessing I was hiding something. I just wanted to disappear into the ground. Grisha, as always, was silent. He just accepted the congratulations sadly, but deep inside, I knew he was hurting too. He always does that — protects my feelings, even at the cost of his own.
When it was over, I sat in the kitchen and lit a cigarette. Even though I quit ten years ago. My nerves couldn’t take it anymore.
— Don’t worry, Sveta. They’ll come. Maybe a bit later. They’re just very busy, — Grisha tried to comfort me.
— Busy?! They don’t care about you! About both of us! — I exploded, letting out a puff of smoke.
— Don’t say that. They’re our children. They love us, — he answered softly.
— Love? If they loved us, they would have come! At least for an hour! Instead — just words and promises!
I threw the cigarette in the ashtray and stood up resolutely. Enough of enduring this. I’ll show them now!
I grabbed my phone and dialed Lena.
The ringing seemed endless. Finally, she answered.
— Hello? What happened? — her voice was sleepy and indifferent.
— Lena! Where were you today? Why didn’t you come to Dad’s birthday? — I blurted out, not even greeting her.
— Mom, I told you — work, reports… — she started to make excuses.
— Work? And Dad doesn’t matter to you? Do you even understand he’s getting older? That any day could be his last?
— Mom, don’t start again. I feel guilty enough. But I really don’t have the time. And are you pressuring me again? Remind me about the slaps and math?
— Should I stay silent? Pretend everything is fine? You think it was easy for me to raise you? Grisha worked to exhaustion, I ran like a hamster to make sure you had everything! And now, this is your gratitude!
— Mom, I’ll come as soon as I can. I promise.
She hung up. I stood there, choking on my anger.
— What? — Grisha asked, looking at me with concern.
— She promised. When she can, — I spat, — Lying. She won’t come. She doesn’t care.
I dialed Veronika’s number.
— Hello. Go ahead, mom.
— Veronika! Why weren’t you at Dad’s birthday?
— Hi. I told you — I can’t. We have our own problems.
— Problems?! And you don’t care about Dad? He turned sixty today! And you didn’t even bother to call!
— Mom, stop yelling. I congratulated him. But coming… I can’t. Tickets are too expensive…
— Money for that! But not for him?! You find money for clothes and beauty salons, but not for him?!
— Mom, enough! I don’t want to argue. Everything is already hard enough. I’ll call you later, — said Veronika, and hung up.
I threw the phone on the table. As if it were to blame for my pain.
— That’s it. I said everything I had bottled up. Does it feel better now? — Grisha asked, taking my hand.
— No. It’s only worse. Now I feel like the lowest, most despicable bitch. But they pushed me to it… — I broke into tears.
Grisha held me tightly and silently stroked my head.
— Everything will be okay, Sveta. Everything will work out, — he whispered over and over, like a mantra.
But I no longer believed. My intuition told me — between us and the girls, there was a chasm that could never be crossed. And in all of this, I was to blame. How else could it be? I loved them, tried to live for them, and ended up pushing them away.
Days passed after the calls. Lena never showed up. Veronika called once, briefly apologized, but I could feel it was just a formality. There was a gulf between us now. Cold and deep.
Sometimes it feels like my life was lived in vain. All these years, all this effort, all these tears — for nothing. The children don’t appreciate, don’t understand, don’t love. Or maybe they just don’t know how?
Six months passed as if through a gray fog. Lena and Veronika became strangers to us. The calls were rare, brief, almost formal. We didn’t pressure them, didn’t look for meetings. “Let them live,” we thought. “We’ll manage.”
We lived in our little cozy world: I knitted in the evenings, Grisha read the newspaper, sometimes we watched TV together. We spoke little, but understood each other without words. Life seemed to stand still — quiet, but somehow sad, like a winter evening before a long night.
— Sveta, why are you so thoughtful? Smile a little! — Grisha said, noticing my gloom.
— I was thinking… Time flies, and we’re still here, at home, alone.
— So what? At least we’re together. That’s what matters, right?
He’s right. With him, I’ve always felt warm and calm. But inside, there was still a tremor of anxiety, as if I instinctively knew nothing good was ahead.
And then, everything suddenly changed.
At first, Grisha started coughing — at first, rarely, just a little. I didn’t pay much attention, chalking it up to a cold. But the cough grew stronger, became deep, rasping. He started losing weight, though he ate as usual.
I begged him to see a doctor. Every day, I repeated the same thing:
— Grisha, please go to the hospital! Don’t let it get worse!
But he just waved it off:
— It’ll pass, Sveta. No need to waste money. You know how it is now…
But I didn’t give up. I saw how bad he was feeling, how he suffered at night.
— It’ll pass! — I mimicked him, — You’ll wait, and then it’ll be too late!
He stubbornly remained silent.
The days went on. His condition worsened. The cough became unbearable, he gasped for air, his face grew gaunt, his eyes dull. Finally, I couldn’t take it anymore. I had a meltdown, physically dragged him to the clinic.
— Fine, fine! Just don’t shout! I’ll go, where else can I go… — he grumbled like a child.
I remember that day in detail. I sat in the hospital corridor. White walls, the smell of medicine, oppressive silence. My heart was pounding, my hands shaking. I waited for the test results.
The doctor came out. White coat, a serious face, eyes full of sympathy.
— What’s the matter? — I asked, unable to bear it any longer.
— Lung cancer. Stage four, — he said softly. — The referral was too late. Unfortunately, there’s almost nothing we can do.
The world collapsed. The ground disappeared beneath my feet. I couldn’t believe this was happening to me. To us.
— How?.. — I could only whisper, feeling tears run down my cheeks. — What do we do now?
The doctor just shrugged.
— Supportive therapy. To ease the suffering.
And that was it. No more hope.
I left the office in a daze. Everything around me spun, like I was drifting in a white sea. I found Grisha in the ward. He was sitting on the bed, his head lowered. I could tell he knew.
— Grisha… — I whispered as I approached and hugged him.
He said nothing, only held me tighter.
— What do we do now? — I whispered, crying.
He lifted his gaze, and in his eyes — exhaustion, but no fear.
— Live, Sveta. Just keep living, — he said softly.
And in that moment, I understood: everything I knew before no longer mattered. My life had flipped upside down. And now I had to be strong. I had to be there for him until the very end. Because I love him. I love him with all my heart.
The next months turned into a nightmare: hospitals, tests, treatments that didn’t heal. Grisha was slowly fading. I was with him every minute. I read books, told jokes, held his hand. Sometimes he smiled. Most of the time he was silent, staring at one spot.
Pain literally ate him up. The medications only helped for a while. At night, he thrashed in delirium, groaning. I couldn’t sleep, I sat beside him, wiped his forehead, whispered words of love and comfort.
One night, he quietly called me:
— Sveta… come here.
I sat beside the bed. He took my hand with his cold, thin hand.
— Thank you for everything, — he whispered. — For the love. For being there.
I couldn’t hold back my tears.
— Don’t say that, Grisha. You’ll get better! Everything will be fine!
He smiled faintly, as if for me.
— No, Sveta… I feel it’s the end. But don’t grieve. You need to live for both of us. Find your happiness again…
He fell silent, breathing heavily. I held his hand tightly, as if I could keep him with me.
— I will always love you, Grisha… — I whispered, crying.
He looked at me with his tired eyes.
— I love you too, Sveta… Very much…
These were the last words he spoke. He closed his eyes — and never opened them again. Everything that mattered to me disappeared in an instant. I sat beside him, holding his now cold hand, and couldn’t believe he was gone.
The funeral was like passing through a thick fog. I saw the faces of those offering condolences, heard warm words, but it all felt far away. Grisha lay in the coffin — calm, still. He was no longer suffering. But for me, a new, empty life without him had just begun.
When they started lowering the coffin into the ground, it felt like they were burying me with him. Unable to watch, I turned away, clutching my handkerchief tightly. And then I noticed them — Lena and Veronika. They were standing a little further away.
— Mom?
Lena’s voice struck my heart like a blow.
I didn’t answer.
— Mom, say something! — Veronika spoke louder.
I looked at them — these strangers, filled with anger. And I understood: it couldn’t go on like this.
— Enough! — I said sharply, wiping my tears. — I don’t have daughters anymore. Go. Forget I ever existed.
Turning, I walked away without looking back. Left alone. Having lost both my husband and my children in one day.
After the funeral, I returned to our apartment. We bought it many years ago, selling my old house and my mother-in-law’s. Every object reminded me of Grisha. His books, clothes, photographs. I walked through the rooms, touching things, breathing in his scent. He was everywhere. Just not him.
For a long time, I couldn’t pull myself together. I quit my job, stopped leaving the house, stopped answering calls. I locked myself in four walls and lived in my pain. Every night Grisha would visit me in my dreams — smiling, calling me to him. I woke up in tears, with a broken heart.
But over time, the pain grew quieter. I began to remember not only the grief but also the happy moments. How we laughed, how we read fairy tales to the children, how we celebrated birthdays. Grisha always wanted me to be happy. And I decided — I must live. For him. For our love.
Now I live alone. The daughters don’t write, don’t call. I don’t look for them either. God be their judge. But I know one thing: he will always be with me. In my heart.
