Galina Ivanovna felt cornered. She still couldn’t accept that she had lost.
How could Ira have betrayed her like this? Galina kept telling herself that her daughter must have had very good reasons.
After all, Ira was young, she needed to build her own life… but Galina was trapped at a dead end.
Her phone rang. On the screen: her daughter-in-law, Marina.
“Galina Ivanovna, are we still on for tomorrow?” Marina’s voice was crisp.
“Yes,” came the soft reply.
“Perfect. I’ll pick you up at ten.”
Galina hung up and sank back. She could only imagine the storm Ira would unleash once she heard the news.
It was my own doing, Galina thought with a twinge of guilt. But she swiftly banished the thought: it wasn’t her fault. Not hers alone.
December 30, evening
“Marina, I’m coming over,” Galina announced into the phone.
“Excuse me?” Marina snapped. She’d just staggered back from work, exhausted and longing for a relaxing New Year’s Eve prep.
“I’m bringing Katya with me. We’ll stay the night and go shopping in the morning before the celebrations.”
Marina’s head ached, her legs felt weak. She craved two things: a hot bath and a good night’s sleep.
“You never gave me any warning,” Marina protested.
“I told you back in the summer that I’d come for New Year’s,” Galina said coolly.
“Sure, you mentioned something months ago. But you really should have checked with me first.”
“I’m alone, you know that,” Galina reminded her. “Ira’s off celebrating with her husband again.”
“You’re not alone—you have Katya.”
“Katya’s old, too,” Galina sniffed. “She can’t do much cleaning or cooking. And I haven’t seen Pasha in ages—I bought him a gift.”
Marina heard her mother-in-law’s breath catch.
What will she say next? Marina wondered.
“And… I need to speak to you about something serious,” Galina added. “You’ll like it—just wait.”
Marina sighed. Her peaceful evening evaporated.
She could have told Galina flat out “no,” but she didn’t.
First, ten-year-old Pasha adored his grandmother. She was his last living link to a father who passed away far too early—and she often helped Marina by taking him off her hands.
Second, Galina had piqued Marina’s curiosity.
Marina’s husband, Kostya, had died five years earlier from a sudden aneurysm. Galina had even hinted it was inherited—her own blood pressure had always been erratic.
Yet her mother-in-law had always seemed remarkably spry when no one else was looking.
Marina decided to err on the side of caution.
An hour later, Galina and Katya arrived.
“Nice and warm in here,” Katya complained, rubbing her arms.
“Bleed your radiators,” Marina suggested.
“If only I could,” Katya moaned. “I don’t know how.”
Marina set up Pasha’s makeshift bed on a couch, then laid out linens for her mother-in-law in the guest room.
Pasha tried to object—until Galina handed him the smart speaker he’d been longing for.
“Thanks, Grandma! This is awesome.”
He hugged her, and for his sake, Marina let the tension slide.
New Year’s Eve morning
The three women ate breakfast together, then set out for grocery shopping. Marina realized she’d have to do all the prep herself, and it meant postponing her plans with Mikhail, a colleague with whom she’d been growing close.
That evening, they rang in the New Year around Galina’s table. Pasha dashed outside to launch fireworks with neighborhood kids. Katya retreated to rest. Marina and Galina lingered over tea.
“I’ve decided to leave this apartment to you one day,” Galina said quietly. “Your son will need a place of his own.”
Marina blinked in surprise. “What about Ira?”
“She’s abroad with her husband again. It’ll be you caring for me.”
Marina couldn’t believe her ears. On the one hand, she was reluctant to become Galina’s caretaker—but an apartment in the city was an enormous gift.
A year earlier, Galina’s younger daughter, Ira, had married Aziz, a man from the south. Their marriage was a rollercoaster: one day they divorced in tears, the next they patched things up. Marina suspected Ira would return for good sooner or later. Yet here was Galina, handing over her future.
Let them sort their own drama, Marina decided.
Over the months that followed, Galina leaned heavily on Marina. She demanded unannounced visits, help with shopping, cleaning, cooking. Each time Marina gently reminded her of the promise, Galina laughed it off:
“You’ll see, Marisha, I haven’t changed my mind.”
But last winter, a cascade of true illness struck Galina. Marina realized there was no performance this time. She would indeed need help. Meanwhile, Ira’s occasional calls lamented her husband’s strict laws and fierce heat, hinting she might return. Marina kept Galina’s promise close—her priority was Pasha’s security.
As the next New Year approached, they planned to celebrate in Galina’s flat—Galina’s health no longer allowed travel.
One afternoon, Marina overheard a phone call.
“Ira, dear,” Galina’s voice drifted through the door, “sign the transfer for the apartment, please. I don’t want Katya to claim it someday.”
Marina froze. The old saying _“Those who hesitate are lost” flashed through her mind.
When Galina finished the call, Marina entered the room.
“So, you’ve arranged to sign it over to Ira,” she said coolly. “Fine—then let her take care of you.”
She marched to the kitchen and began clearing out the fridge—every item she’d bought vanished into shopping bags.
Galina sputtered, “Marina, you’ve got it all wrong!”
Marina paused, her eyes steely.
“I’m not deaf or hallucinating. Choose by tomorrow: either we go to the notary and complete the gift agreement, or I walk away—and you fend for yourself.”
Galina’s protest died on her lips.
If I end up alone Christmas Eve, Galina thought in panic, whom can I turn to?
She phoned Katya, then Ira—both offered apologies but no help.
The Next Morning
Marina arrived to escort Galina to the notary. There, Galina officially donated the flat to Marina.
“Don’t worry, you’ll still have your home,” Marina assured her as Pasha watched with wide eyes. “You’ll be safe here.”
Pasha peeked into the study, a shy smile on his face.
Moments later, mother and grandmother sat down to a modest New Year’s feast. Marina poured them sparkling juice and winked at Pasha.
“It’s the best gift imaginable,” she told him quietly.
One day he’d understand exactly what it meant.