Nikita crossed his arms and shook his head, his expression devoid of sympathy. “I’m not taking her in. I’m constantly traveling for work; I have no time to look after an old, sick woman.” A flicker of concern crossed his face. “And what if she starts a fire or floods the place? Who will be responsible then?”
Boris, standing nearby, hesitated but ultimately echoed his brother’s stance. “Same here. Irka would throw me out if I brought Grandma home. And the kids… they might get scared of her odd behavior.”
“Then let Kolya and Nadya take her,” Nikita declared, as if the matter were settled. “If they refuse, we’ll put her in a nursing home.”
Nadya clenched her fists, struggling to suppress the rising anger within her. The complete lack of compassion in their voices made her stomach turn. Their elderly mother was nothing more than a burden to them—an inconvenience to be rid of.
She turned to her husband, nudging him sharply. “Say something, Kolya.” She despised how passively he listened to his brothers, as if their cruel words carried no weight. “Do you agree to take Anna Fedorovna in?”
Kolya sighed, rubbing his temples. “Well, what else can we do? We can’t just leave her here.”
Abandoning her was not an option. At seventy-five, Anna Fedorovna’s health was deteriorating rapidly. Her mind, once sharp and attentive, was beginning to slip. She struggled to remember dates, names, and even everyday tasks. More than once, she had called an ambulance in the middle of the night, frightened by some forgotten ailment.
The warning signs had been there for some time. The sons took turns visiting their mother each week, bringing groceries and checking in. One day, Kolya returned home looking deeply troubled.
“Mom poured coffee into the cat’s bowl and left sandwiches with butter next to it,” he told Nadya in disbelief. “It’s unsettling. What are we supposed to do now?”
Nadya had felt a heavy sadness settle in her chest. Old age spares no one, but some endure its weight more cruelly than others. She had known Anna Fedorovna for twenty-five years—a kind and warm woman, always attentive to her family. Watching her decline so rapidly was heartbreaking.
For a while, they hoped it wouldn’t get worse. She continued living alone, never openly complaining. But one day, Nikita called Kolya, his voice laced with frustration.
“I just came from Mom’s place, and there are cockroaches crawling all over her kitchen!” he snapped. “You visited last week—why didn’t you say anything?”
“I didn’t see them,” Kolya protested. “There weren’t any then.”
“Well, they’re here now, and it’s a disaster. There’s food scattered everywhere,” Nikita hesitated before adding, “We need to make a decision about Mom. I’m afraid she’s losing control of her living situation. Maybe we should look into a home for her?”
Kolya tensed. “Let’s talk to Boris first.”
“I’m heading back there tomorrow,” Nikita warned. “I need to pick up a few things before she gives them away or loses them. You should come too.”
So the three brothers gathered at their mother’s apartment, with Nadya accompanying Kolya to ensure everything was in order. She had spent many years close to Anna Fedorovna—sharing family recipes, watching TV together, exchanging advice. Though they had grown distant in recent years, the bond remained.
The elderly woman beamed at the sight of her sons, hurrying to the kitchen to prepare tea. Nadya followed, just in time to stop her from turning on an empty electric kettle.
“Let me help you, Anna Fedorovna,” she said gently.
“Oh, thank you, Mashenka,” the old woman said fondly. “Such a smart girl you’ve grown into! You must be getting straight A’s in school.”
Nadya swallowed hard. Masha, her daughter, had long since graduated and was now in university. Instead of correcting her, Nadya simply changed the subject.
Back in the living room, Nikita and Boris rummaged through the cupboards, frustration evident on their faces.
“It’s not here!” Nikita exclaimed.
“What are you looking for?” Nadya asked suspiciously.
“Mom’s jewelry box,” Boris muttered. “It had all her gold rings and earrings.”
Nadya’s stomach twisted. “Are you seriously searching for valuables while your mother is still alive?”
“Mind your business,” Nikita snapped. “If we sell them, we can split the money. The old lady doesn’t need these trinkets anymore.”
“And I need a new TV,” Boris added with a shrug.
Disgust burned in Nadya’s chest. These men had no shame.
That evening, they announced to Anna Fedorovna that she would be moving in with Kolya and Nadya, while Boris would take her cat. To their surprise, she didn’t resist. Perhaps, deep down, she knew she could no longer be alone.
But days later, disaster struck. Early one morning, while the house was still asleep, Anna Fedorovna vanished. Kolya and Nadya scoured the neighborhood, growing more frantic by the hour. They were on the verge of calling the police when Kolya’s phone rang.
A man named Anton had found her, clutching a small bag and an old address book with Kolya’s name scribbled at the top.
“Mom, why did you leave?” Kolya asked, his voice shaking with worry. “We take care of you, buy everything you need. Why would you run away?”
The old woman blinked, her lips trembling. “I want to go home… Barsik is hungry.”
“Boris has the cat,” Nadya assured her. “But tell me, why is Kolya’s number the only one in your book? You have two other sons.”
Anna Fedorovna’s frail shoulders squared. “Because I know Kolya will always come for me. The others don’t have time.”
Kolya opened his mouth to protest, but she silenced him with a weary smile. “They only cared about my jewelry box. Nikita asked about it constantly. He even wanted to pawn my pendant. I knew better.”
Slowly, she pulled out the wooden box from her bag and placed it on the table.
“I’m giving it to Nadya. She’s the only one who truly cares.”
Overwhelmed, Nadya accepted the gift, her eyes burning with unshed tears. This wasn’t about gold—it was about trust, love, and the weight of responsibility. No amount of riches could replace the warmth of a loved one.
And so, she resolved to care for Anna Fedorovna, not out of duty, but out of love.