When Valya fell ill, Seryozha wasn’t afraid. He drove her from one hospital to another, held a basin when she was sick, and wiped her down with a damp sponge when she didn’t have the strength to get up and wash herself. Their children were still schoolchildren then and were in no position to help, so if he had abandoned Valya, she probably wouldn’t have survived. And many people said he would leave her—his mother, even the nurses at the hospital.
“Very few men stay with their wives through something like this to the very end,” they would sigh. But Seryozha was different. Something like that couldn’t scare him. His profession suited his character too: he was a firefighter. He was used to saving other people, so why wouldn’t he save his own wife? Besides, they had so many plans, so many dreams! They wanted to build a house, for example. Seryozha had grown up in a village and could never get used to living in a cramped apartment. He needed space, especially considering his height and build.
Valya went into remission. During the first few years, they were still frightened and trembled before every medical examination. Then, eventually, they got used to it. Before her illness, Valya hadn’t worked; she had stayed home raising the children. But while she was in the hospital, she realized that a person shouldn’t only raise a son and build a house—there should be something more to life.
Valya probably could never have saved people the way Seryozha or the doctors did, but she unexpectedly discovered a talent for psychology. In the hospital, she helped many people with good advice, and helped herself too. She completed a psychology degree through correspondence studies and found a job. Her career took off, and eventually she began earning even more than her husband. That allowed them to save enough money for a house.
Not immediately, of course. First they had to contribute money toward their son’s wedding, then pay for their daughter’s education. But a year before Seryozha retired, they finally bought the house.
“Now we’re finally going to start really living, Valyusha!” he told her.
But they didn’t.
Valya went to help her son because her daughter-in-law had given birth to their second grandson and then ended up in the hospital with appendicitis. Her son couldn’t manage the children alone. Seryozha called regularly and said everything was fine. Valya might have noticed that his voice sounded strangely dull and tired, but her older grandson was going through the terrible threes, while the younger one had colic…
By the time Valya returned, her husband was already so ill that everything happened at once: the ambulance, hours in the emergency department, her son leaving the children with his recovering wife and arriving on the first available train. For the first time in many years, Valya saw her son cry.
Their daughter didn’t make it to the funeral. She was away at sea—she worked on a cruise ship—and they couldn’t even get in touch with her. She came later, cried, and begged Valya to come live with her.
But where would Valya go in a foreign country? She had her house, her job, and her cat Proshka.
Her son invited her too, mostly out of politeness, but Valya understood perfectly well that she would be unnecessary there. Or they would turn her into a servant—washing, cooking, and cleaning.
And she, after all, was a respected psychologist. Her colleagues valued her.
So Valya refused.
“Two women running one household—who needs that?” she said.
Her daughter-in-law seemed relieved, and her son did too.
And Valya remained alone in the house, surrounded by the ghosts of the life that never came true.
Here was the place where Seryozha had planned to put up a bookcase. He never got the chance. He had also planned to build a veranda, but now there would only ever be a simple porch because Valya knew nothing about construction. If only her son would do it—but he never had the time.
“Mom, when am I supposed to do it?” he would say, offended. “You know yourself—the children are tiny. Vlad has to be taken to kindergarten. Liza can’t exactly keep running there with Romka.”
“I don’t understand why you even need kindergarten if Liza stays home,” Valya would say, pursing her lips. “I never sent you two to kindergarten, and somehow you grew up into normal people.”
Although what kind of “normal” people were they, really? Her daughter was always at sea and wasn’t even thinking about getting married, while her son had become completely henpecked.
He had none of his father’s selflessness and none of Valya’s strength.
At work, people hinted that perhaps Valya herself should see a psychologist, but she took offense.
“What, you think I can’t help myself?”
But how could she?
Valya slept badly. She would throw Seryozha’s jacket over her shoulders and wander through the empty house. Proshka followed at her heels, meowing pitifully. He couldn’t understand why his owner refused to go to bed so he could curl up at her feet.
In the mornings, exhausted after another sleepless night, she somehow dragged herself to work. She began making mistakes, forgetting appointments, and mixing up dates. Her hours were cut in half, and time slowed even more until it felt like thick glue in a tube—something you squeezed and squeezed but could never force out.
On rare nights, she dreamed of Seryozha, and those nights felt like holidays. Valya tried with all her strength not to wake up, but inevitably she did.
Then she would howl with grief, frightening Proshka, unable to accept that there was absolutely no way to bring her husband back.
On the anniversary of his death, her son arrived with Liza and both grandchildren.
Valya had never been particularly warm toward her grandchildren, and now she felt even colder. Every time she thought that because of Romka—and because of Liza—she hadn’t noticed in time that her husband was getting sick, she felt physically nauseous.
“I wish I never had to see them,” she told Proshka.
Liza, meanwhile, was always trying to ingratiate herself and pretending that she cared.
“Mom, how are you feeling?”
“Mom, maybe you should come stay with us?”
She was unbearable.
And then the older grandson started following Valya around like a shadow.
Finally, he suddenly asked:
“Where is Grandpa Seryozha?”
Valya couldn’t hold herself together anymore. She began to wail.
Her son rushed to comfort her, but Valya screamed:
“Just get out! All of you!”
And they left.
Six months passed, though to Valya they felt like ten years.
Then her son called and, in an apologetic tone, asked:
“Mom… could we stay with you for a while?”
It turned out that foolish Liza was pregnant again.
Her son had also taken out several loans, and now they didn’t have enough money to keep paying for their apartment.
Valya flew into a rage.
“You’ve decided to drive me out of my own house? If your father knew about this!”
Her son hung up, offended.
Then Liza called.
“Mom, could you give me some advice? What should I do about Vlad’s jealousy? Can you imagine, he was already jealous of Roma, and now it’s even worse. He kicks my belly and says he hates the baby.”
“Another boy?” Valya asked sympathetically. She remembered how desperately she herself had wanted a daughter after having a son.
“Another boy,” Liza answered. “And I’m worried because Vlad had been hoping for a little sister.”
Valya suddenly felt sorry for the foolish young woman.
She really didn’t understand anything!
“Listen,” Valya began, and then gave her daughter-in-law an entire lecture.
Liza seemed to listen carefully. Then she asked:
“Mom, maybe you could come stay with us for a little while? Vlad adores you. I’m sure he’ll listen if you explain all of this to him yourself.”
There was nothing else to be done.
Valya had to take some time off work, buy a carrier for Proshka, and travel to her son’s home.
Their living conditions were, of course, far from ideal. And now they had decided to have a third child too.
What were they thinking?
The apartment was small and stuffy, while children needed space. If Vlad could run around outside while Liza looked after Romka, perhaps he wouldn’t be so jealous.
Valya sighed and finally said:
“Pack your things. You’re moving in with me.”
She was convinced that her ungrateful children really would drive her out of her own home before long. They would assign her some distant corner and that would be the end of it. Liza would establish her own rules in the kitchen, the children would ruin the wallpaper, and her son would scatter Seryozha’s knife collection everywhere.
But everything happened differently.
“Mom, where can I put this saucepan?”
“Mom, would it bother you if I make porridge in the multicooker?”
“Mom, please teach me how you make rassolnik. I can’t stand hearing him say, ‘Mom’s tastes better,’ anymore.”
Her son built the veranda and put up the bookcase.
The children didn’t ruin the wallpaper. It turned out that Liza wasn’t such a bad mother after all.
Only Proshka suffered. He was the one member of the household who remained deeply dissatisfied with the move.
And Valya…
Valya suddenly realized that time had begun moving quickly again.
It seemed as though her grandson Seryozha had only just been born, and suddenly he was crawling, then walking, then saying his first word.
Vlad started preschool, and before long someone had to take him to school.
Valya quit her job.
Incidentally, she gave the kitchen over to Liza. It turned out she didn’t really care that much about being the mistress of the house after all.
Instead, she unexpectedly discovered a new talent in herself:
loving and raising her grandchildren.
And Seryozha began appearing in her dreams often.
In those dreams, he smiled.
And he was happy for Valya.