Olga has lived her entire life in her tiny one-room apartment. First with her husband and daughter, and in recent years—entirely on her own. Her husband had passed away several years earlier, and her daughter had married and moved with her family to a large city. But Olga did not feel lonely. In retirement, she finally had time for everything she’d never managed to do during her long working life. She strolled through the park, met with friends, practiced macramé, and lately had taken up making handmade soap.
“Mom, really, don’t you have anything better to do?” her daughter said, eyebrows raised in disbelief. “Soap? You’re wasting money on this nonsense. You could’ve spent it on toys for the kids—at least that would be useful.”
Olga only sighed. She hadn’t expected Polina to be thrilled with her new hobby—but a little respect wouldn’t have hurt.
“Polya, don’t fuss,” she mumbled apologetically. “When you visit, I’ll take the kids to the toy store. I planned to anyway.”
Suddenly she felt embarrassed—an adult woman, and still busying herself with “silly little crafts.”
“We’ll come next week,” Polina announced. “Vasya’s on vacation.”
Olga flinched at the news. Her daughter’s family was coming for an entire week. That happened maybe twice a year, and every time the anticipation alone made her want to climb out the window. And with reason. Her apartment could comfortably fit one person—her. But Polina and her husband never acknowledged that. They took over her only room and her favorite couch, stayed up watching TV into the night, argued in the mornings. The grandkids—Deniska and Gleb—slept on an inflatable mattress in the kitchen. And Olga was expected to squeeze into the hallway on a folding cot. Add to that the fact that her guests rarely spent money on groceries, and Polina never lifted a finger to help around the house—and it became clear why the visits exhausted her.
***
Before the guests arrived, Olga packed all her soap into a large cardboard box and brought it to her neighbor Luda for safekeeping. She wanted to avoid another unpleasant scene with Polina. And besides, Luda was also a beginning soap-maker.
“Of course, leave them here,” Luda said cheerfully, peeking into the box. “Oh! Are these peonies? They’re beautiful. Olga, you’re talented! These are stunning.”
“Oh, stop it,” Olga waved her hand, though the praise warmed her heart. “Polina says it’s all foolishness. I don’t want to irritate her again, so I brought everything to you.”
“They’re gorgeous. And these irises! You should sell them—you’d earn a little extra. Five thousand rubles a month at least. Let me set up an Instagram page for you and show you how to upload photos. I’ll teach you before I move in with my father—you know he’s been sick.”
“Well… maybe we could try,” Olga said, her eyes lighting up. “Just don’t say a word to Polina…”
***
Polina’s family burst into Olga’s calm, orderly life like a noisy whirlwind—just as they always did. Olga hoped the week would pass quickly.
“Mom, what’s this? A new pot? Nice one—I’ll take it,” Polina said, browsing her mother’s apartment like a detective searching for loot.
“Take it,” Olga agreed quietly. “Aunt Zina gave it to me for my birthday. But I don’t need it—go ahead.”
After every visit, something disappeared—silver spoons, glasses, and now a pot.
“Listen, Mom… We’ve been thinking. You should really move away from Kasli,” Polina began, shoving the pot into her suitcase. “There’s barely any medical care here. And it’s far from us.”
The familiar conversation. Each visit it was the same. Polina urged her to sell her little apartment in the provincial town and move to Chelyabinsk. Better doctors. Faster ambulances. And most importantly—Polina’s family was nearby.
“You sit here alone in that little birdhouse, staring down from the fifth floor. And I need help with the kids. Someone needs to pick Gleb up from practice. And Denis has tutors—he’s preparing for exams. Do you even have a conscience? I’m running myself ragged, and you won’t help. You didn’t spend time with me when I was little, and now you’re ignoring your grandkids too…”
Usually Olga refused firmly. She liked her town—her neighbors, her familiar streets. Fifty years here had woven her into the fabric of the place. She didn’t want to uproot herself at the end of her life. But Polina struck a sore spot. It was true—when Polina was small, both parents worked shifts at the factory, and she spent much of her childhood in a 24-hour daycare.
“Polina, don’t say such things…” Olga protested weakly.
But Polina wouldn’t stop.
“You still have strength—you could help me with the boys. If you sell your apartment, we can buy something near us.”
That night Olga didn’t sleep. She agonized over what to do. She didn’t want to leave, didn’t want to part with her things, her memories, her life. But she also understood—Polina had a point. Family should be close in old age.
***
In the morning, with a heavy heart, Olga agreed to move. Polina lit up with relief. She and Vasya started planning at once. They would pack Olga’s things and sign a power of attorney so Polina could handle the sale.
“You’ll stay with us for now,” Polina said briskly. “I’ll manage the sale myself.”
Two weeks later, Olga stood at her daughter’s doorstep. Her life fit into two suitcases. Polina insisted everything else stay behind—“no need to drag old junk into a new life.” Olga’s place was in the children’s room, on a folding chair-bed.
“Mom, don’t worry—it’s temporary,” Polina reassured her mother, who already regretted agreeing. “We’ll find you a nice place. You’ll settle in just fine. Maybe even catch yourself a new friend.”
A “new friend” was the last thing Olga wanted. She longed only for a quiet corner of her own, where she could make soap again.
Months passed.
“Polina, any news? About the apartment?” Olga asked timidly.
“Mom, listen… the thing is…” Polina sighed dramatically. “The money from the sale isn’t enough for anything. So Vasya invested it in his business—to multiply it. Now we just have to wait until the goods sell. Don’t worry. It’ll be fine…”
Olga felt faint. The one thing she couldn’t even imagine—that her apartment money would be thrown into Vasya’s business.
To call Vasya a poor businessman was to be polite. He had a gift for turning any profitable venture into a disaster. Over the years he had run a sewing workshop, hauled Chinese goods, worked with plumbing supplies, packaged sunflower seeds—none of it successfully. His “vast experience” had never led to actual profit.
“Polina, how could you?” Olga whispered. “You lost all my money.”
“Well, it wasn’t entirely your money,” Polina replied coolly. “You signed the power of attorney.”
Olga had nothing to say. She returned to her folding chair, lay down facing the wall, and cried silently. She didn’t know when—or if—she would ever have her own place again.
***
Another month passed. Then another. Polina stopped mentioning apartments altogether—and Olga understood why. The money was gone.
And life in her daughter’s home became unbearable. Polina barked orders at everyone—including her mother. Olga poured too much water. She sat too long in the bathroom. She talked on the phone too often. Everything was wrong.
At last, Olga broke.
“Luda, hello,” she whispered into the phone when Polina left for work. “Could you help me find a room to rent? Something near our old building. When it’s time to die, I’d rather be at home…”
“What happened?” her former neighbor gasped. “You’re living with your daughter—in your own apartment!”
“If only…” Olga sighed bitterly. “I counted. My pension is enough to rent a corner and survive, barely. They raised it by five hundred rubles.”
“Enough,” said Luda. Her voice grew firm. “Come stay with me. I’m going to my father’s for a week—he lives at the dacha. You’ll water the flowers and feed Barsik. And then we’ll think of something.”
So that’s what they agreed.
While Polina was at work, Olga quickly packed her things and went to the station. Her resentment was so deep she didn’t even want to say goodbye.
Her hometown greeted her with a summer downpour—Olga decided it was a good omen.
Luda welcomed her like family, poured tea, served pies, and showed her to a large room.
“Here’s your box of soap. I didn’t touch anything. Why rent a place? Live with me. I’ll feel calmer, and you’ll be at home,” she said. “My mom’s been gone a long time. You’ll be like a mother to me.”
Olga’s eyes filled with tears. She had known Luda since childhood and had been close friends with her mother—no wonder the girl felt like a daughter to her.
Polina called a few times, telling her mother to come back—but her voice lacked warmth. Olga sensed that her daughter was almost relieved not to be burdened anymore.
As promised, Luda helped Olga set up her soap business. And though Olga felt shy charging money for her hobby, she was glad she could contribute to the household.
The most interesting part was that her main customer turned out to be a man from the neighboring building. God knows how he found her online. At first he bought soap every day, and Olga laughed as she handed him fresh portion of soap. Eventually he worked up the courage to invite her on a date.
Olga didn’t refuse.
Who knows—perhaps Polina’s careless joke about her “finding a friend” would turn out to be prophetic after all?
Tatyana Sh.
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