— It’s interesting that I’m supposed to take care of grandma, but her apartment will go to some distant relatives? — I said bitterly, addressing my mother, who stood silently by the window avoiding my gaze.
Mom took a deep breath, as if the weight of the whole world rested on her shoulders. Her hands nervously fidgeted with the edge of her apron — a gesture I knew well since childhood; it always meant she was trying to find words without hurting anyone.
— Natasha, quieter, or grandma will hear, — she whispered, nodding toward the bedroom where Antonina Stepanovna lay.
Two years. A whole two years I lived in this old apartment with peeling walls and creaky floors, putting my own life on hold. Two years I woke in the night when grandma whispered, “Natasha, bring me some water…” Two years I cooked porridge for her, bought medicines, took her to doctors, held her hand when it got especially bad.
And now it turns out that all this time she was preparing to leave the apartment to Igor and Vera.
Igor — the son of grandma’s late sister, whom I had seen a couple of times in childhood. Tall, with a neat beard and cold gaze. Vera — his wife, a woman about forty, with bright red nails and a habit of speaking too loudly.
They came a week ago, supposedly just to visit. Igor kissed grandma on the cheek and said:
— Aunt Tonya, we’ve missed you so much! Mom often told us how kind and caring you are…
Meanwhile, Vera was walking through the rooms, inspecting the furniture as if appraising its value. At first, I thought I was imagining it. But when I noticed her photographing an old dresser — the very one that held important papers — a chill ran through me.
I found the will by accident. I was looking for a certificate to apply for benefits and came across the document. The handwriting was familiar, slightly trembling — grandma’s. “I bequeath all my property to my nephew Igor Mikhailovich Sokolov and his wife Vera Nikolaevna…”
My hands trembled as I reread the lines. My head was spinning. Could it be that the person for whom I gave up two years of my life treated me so lightly?
— Mom, did you know about this? — I asked quietly.
She shook her head, but her eyes gave her away — she knew. Maybe not everything, but definitely something.
— Natasha, don’t rush to conclusions. Talk to grandma. Maybe she will explain…
Explain? Explain what exactly? I quit a promising job in the capital, broke up with Maxim, who couldn’t handle our rare meetings, lost friends — who wants to hear stories about medicines and hospitals? My life had shrunk to four walls, where every day was the same as the last: injections, pills, trips to the pharmacy.
And now it turned out grandma left everything to strangers.
When mom left — obviously not wanting to get involved in the conflict — I decided to talk to grandma directly. She sat in her favorite chair by the window, flipping through an old magazine. Seeing me, she gave a faint smile:
— Natasha, come here, sit beside me.
I sat on the edge of the bed, struggling to hold back my anxiety.
— We need to talk.
Grandma looked at me attentively, a flicker of worry in her eyes.
— About the will.
Silence hung in the room like a heavy curtain. Grandma slowly turned toward the wall.
— How did you find out?
— I found it while looking for another certificate. Grandma, how could you? I’ve lived here for two years, cared for you, and the apartment goes to strangers?
She turned toward me. Her face wrinkled, as if she wanted to cry.
— Natasha, you don’t understand… You’re young, you have your whole life ahead. And they — they are my blood relatives. You know yourself, I always felt guilty before their mother…
— What guilt? — my voice broke.
— My sister and I quarrelled many years ago. Because of our parents’ inheritance. The apartment went to me, and she got nothing. She was offended, and we didn’t speak until her death. Now I want to make this right…
— At my expense? — I stood up. — Grandma, do you realize I gave up everything for you? My job, my relationships, a normal life?
— No one asked you! — she replied sharply, anger sounding in her voice. — I never asked you to sacrifice yourself!
Those words hit me like a blow. I stood there unable to believe my ears.
— Didn’t ask? When you got sick two years ago, who came? Who spent the night in the hospital? Who moved here so you wouldn’t be alone?
— I didn’t force you…
— No, you did! — I couldn’t hold back. — Every time I wanted to go somewhere, you said, “Natasha, I’m not well alone.” Every time I wanted to distract myself, you started complaining about your heart!
Grandma was silent. Then softly asked:
— So you did it all reluctantly? Out of obligation?
I wanted to say “no,” but my voice stuck in my throat. Because part of the truth was there. Of course, I loved her. But in recent months, I more often felt only fatigue, the pressure of guilt, the impossibility of building my own life.
— I thought I was doing the right thing, — I finally said. — That family means supporting each other.
— Family, — she repeated and smiled bitterly. — And Igor and Vera are not family? They are my relatives too.
— Where were they these two years? Where were they when you called an ambulance? When you had a fever?
— They live far away…
— And I’m close? I left my apartment in Moscow, moved here! Left my beloved job!
Grandma looked away again.
— Don’t shout at me. I’m old, I’m sick…
At that moment something inside me broke. The accumulated fatigue, resentment, disappointment — everything spilled out.
— You know what, grandma? Maybe I really shouldn’t have done this. Maybe it would have been better to live my own life, like Igor and Vera do. Visit once a year, give candy, and think the duty is done.
I turned and headed for the door.
— Natasha, wait…
But I couldn’t stop.
That night I didn’t sleep. I lay on the narrow bed in my childhood room and thought. About what grandma said. About what I said. About Maxim, who married someone else long ago. About the job I might never get back. About friends who stopped calling because I was always busy.
In the morning Igor and Vera arrived. I heard them talking with grandma behind the closed door. Igor was discussing re-registering utilities, Vera — the apartment repairs. They were already planning for the future.
— Aunt Tonya, don’t worry, we’ll organize everything, — Igor said calmly. — We’ll find a good nursing home for you. With meals, care, everything you need…
A nursing home. So it was not even planned that she would stay in her own home.
I entered the room.
— What home? — I asked.
Igor turned. His friendly expression vanished instantly.
— Ah, Natasha. We were just discussing further care for Aunt Tonya. You see, we need to renovate, and professionals should care for her…
— Professionals, — I repeated. — And where were those specialists two years ago?
— Natasha, let’s keep calm, — Vera intervened. — We understand you did a lot. But now we are here, we can take everything into our hands.
— In a nursing home?
— A good home, — she corrected. — With qualified care.
I looked at grandma. She sat in the chair, eyes lowered, silent.
— Grandma, do you hear this? Do you want to move out of your apartment?
Antonina Stepanovna finally looked up.
— Natasha, don’t interfere. These are adult matters, we will handle it ourselves.
By ourselves. Without me.
I nodded.
— Fine. Then I’ll pack and leave.
— Natasha, wait, — Igor started, but I interrupted:
— No need. You’re family, so decide yourselves.
While packing, my hands trembled, pain ached inside. Would everything end like this? Two years of life simply swept away like trash?
Thinking where to go, I understood: neither to mom nor to Moscow could I really return. Job lost, no housing, ties broken.
When I zipped the suitcase, mom peeked in.
— What are you doing?
— Leaving. Far away from here.
She came in and sat on the bed.
— Maybe talk to grandma again? She’s upset…
— Mom, I’m tired of proving myself. If I’m only needed as a helper and then can disappear — so be it.
— You do love her…
— I love her, — I agreed. — But loving doesn’t mean tolerating such treatment.
Mom sighed.
— Maybe you really need a rest. I’ll sit with her for a while…
— Until Igor and Vera send her to the institution?
She was silent.
I took the suitcase and headed for the door. I wanted to go to grandma but changed my mind. She had chosen her side.
Already opening the door, I heard:
— Natasha, wait…
Grandma stood in the doorway of her room, holding the doorframe. Pale face, trembling hands.
— Don’t leave like this. Let’s talk.
— About what? Everything’s been said.
— Not everything, — she came closer. — There’s something I couldn’t say before.
Igor and Vera had disappeared — probably sensing it was better not to interfere.
— Sit down, dear, — grandma asked.
I put down the suitcase but sat on the edge of the sofa, showing I was ready to listen but no more.
— You think it’s easy for me? — she began. — You think it doesn’t hurt me?
— If it hurts, why do you do this?
— Out of fear, — Antonina Stepanovna replied. — I’m afraid to die with this guilt. My sister Lida left this world without forgiving me. And she was right. Our parents left me the apartment because I’m the eldest. She got nothing. She lived all her life in a communal flat, and I — in a three-room apartment.
— That was long ago, — I said. — Times are different now, and so are people.
— Igor is her son. My nephew. He has the right…
— The right to what? To an apartment he didn’t care for? To an inheritance he just got?
Grandma was silent. Then quietly asked:
— And did you care for me for the apartment?
Her question caught me off guard.
— No… But I thought if a person gives themselves to another, it should mean something. Not in terms of profit, but in terms of recognition.
— So, — grandma nodded. — It means a lot. Natasha, I don’t want you to leave with a feeling of resentment.
— Then what do you suggest?
She was silent for a long time, then got up and went to the room. A minute later she returned with a piece of paper.
— Read this.
It was a letter written by her hand.
“My beloved Natasha. I write this letter, which I may never send. I lack the strength. I was unfair to you, and I understand that perfectly. You gave me two years of your young life, and I bequeathed the apartment to people who were not near me. Though they are relatives, they are strangers.
I am afraid to seem weak. Afraid to cancel the will and offend my sister’s memory. But most of all I am afraid to lose you. You have become closer to me than a daughter. Closer than anyone.
Forgive me, if you can.”
I looked up at grandma. She waited, all curled up.
— Why didn’t you give me this before?
— I was afraid. I was used to being strong, and here… admitting a mistake was beyond me.
I put the letter on the table.
— I’m not hurt because of the apartment. Well, not only because of that. I felt used, then thrown away when new “heirs” appeared.
— There’s no one suitable, — grandma said. — Only you. And my foolishness.
We looked at each other for a long time.
— Do you want something from me? — I asked.
— I want you to stay. Not out of duty, not out of pity. Because we need each other. And I will change the will.
— And Igor and Vera? The guilt toward your sister?
Grandma straightened.
— Igor and Vera will get Lida’s memory: photos, jewelry, some money. And the apartment — to the one who deserves it.
I put the suitcase back.
— Fine. I’ll stay. But with conditions.
— What conditions?
— I want to leave sometimes. On weekends, on vacation. The right to have my own life.
— Of course, — grandma nodded. — You can ask mom to help, or hire a caregiver.
— And one more thing, — I added. — No hints like “How will I live without you.” Say directly: “I’m unwell,” not to guilt-trip me.
Grandma smiled — for the first time in a long time.
— Agreed.
Igor and Vera left that same evening. Their farewell was dry, promising to “talk more.” But grandma remained firm.
— I cancel the will, — she told them. — The apartment will go to Natasha.
— Aunt Tonya, are you sure? — Igor tried to convince her. — Natasha is young, she can manage. We have children, loans…
— You have jobs and health, — grandma answered. — And Natasha has the right to justice.
We spent the next week rebuilding trust. It was not easy — too much resentment had accumulated. But we began to find common ground.
Grandma truly revoked the previous will and made a new one. Now the apartment went to me, and Igor and Vera received a small sum of money and some family heirlooms.
But life has its own plans.
A month later, Antonina Stepanovna passed away quietly in her sleep. I woke up to an unusual silence. Usually, grandma got up early, turned on the radio, fussed in the kitchen. But today — no sound. My heart tightened anxiously, and I hurried to her room.
She lay in bed as if just sleeping. Her face was calm, no signs of pain or fear. Hands neatly folded on her chest — it seemed she had prepared herself for this moment.
The funeral was hard. Igor and Vera came but behaved coldly and distantly — kept to themselves, whispering among themselves. When the notary announced the terms of the new will, their faces darkened. And the very next day they filed a lawsuit claiming grandma was incompetent.
— Natasha, — mom said after the memorial, — maybe you should meet them halfway? Give them at least part of the inheritance?
I looked at her in disbelief.
— Mom, you saw how they behaved. They wanted to send grandma to a nursing home. And now they want everything?
— But they are relatives…
— And who am I? — irritation welled up again. — I lived here for two years, cared for her, and they showed up a couple of months before her death?
Mom sighed.
— You’re right. I just don’t like conflicts.
The legal battle was exhausting. Igor and Vera hired a lawyer who tried to prove grandma acted under pressure and did not understand her actions. However, medical certificates said otherwise — Antonina Stepanovna remained clear-minded to the end. Neighbors and acquaintances confirmed she made decisions independently and logically.
The court upheld the will.
When it finally ended and I became the sole owner of that old three-room apartment, I was overwhelmed by a strange feeling. It held memories, but they seemed to belong to another Natasha — from another life.
Not because they were bad. No, memories were different: both bright and heavy. It was just that the apartment was no longer my present. It belonged to the past.
And I sold it. Igor and Vera tried to interfere again, but this time they had no chance.
With the money, I rented a small one-room apartment in the city center and signed up for online English teaching courses — I had once studied philology but never used my knowledge.
The first months were hard. I forgot what it was like to be free to choose, to make decisions only for myself. But gradually I got used to it.
The work was interesting. I taught children, adults, even elderly people — like my grandma. It felt symbolic.
Six months later I met Olya. She also worked online, teaching math. We often talked, shared experiences, then began dating in real life.
— You know, — she once told me, — you’ve changed a lot since we met.
— In what way?
— You’ve become more alive. You used to always look tired. Now — no.
I thought about her words. Yes, I had changed. Felt lighter, freer.
Not because I had no responsibilities — there were even more. But now these were my responsibilities, my path, my choice.
Sometimes I thought about grandma. Our last conversation, the letter she gave me. She was able to admit her mistake and fix it. Not everyone can do that.
And I thought about justice. For Igor and Vera it’s unfair the apartment went to me. For me — that it almost went to them. For grandma — that she once hurt her sister.
But probably true justice — is not that everyone is satisfied. But that everyone gets what they deserve by their deeds, choices, and life.
Did I deserve this apartment? I don’t know. But I definitely deserved the right to live my life.
And now, sitting in a cozy little apartment, planning tomorrow’s lessons and thinking I might visit mom this weekend or maybe go to the sea — for the first time in three years — I understand: to start living, sometimes you have to learn to let go.
Even those you love.
Even what seems like a duty.
Even pain and resentment.
Let go — and move on.
The apartment… it was not payment for years of care and not a reward. It was the last gift from a person who understood: love is not when you hold someone, but when you give them the freedom to be themselves.
Thank you, grandma. For everything.
