Lena stood in the doorway, her eyes scanning the empty apartment. “Mom, where are you?” she called out, noticing her little brother, Vanechka, standing quietly, his eyes lost in thought after coming home from school.
“She’s gone. Didn’t answer her phone. No note either,” Vera, Lena’s older sister, added as she stepped into the room. She had also stopped by to visit their mother.
They moved through the house, but it was eerily quiet. There was no sign of their mother’s presence—no slippers by the sofa, no knitting left in the armchair. On the hallway table, only a newspaper lay there, its pages filled with advertisements for trips.
Suddenly, Vanechka looked into the kitchen and exclaimed, “Look, a brochure for an excursion to the neighboring city… Do you think Grandma’s gone there?”
Lena and Vera exchanged confused glances. “Mom on an excursion? But she never leaves without telling us!”
It was that day, however, that they learned their mother had changed in ways they hadn’t anticipated.
Just a year ago, Galina Vasilievna had celebrated her retirement from the factory. The family had gathered around for a big celebration—Lena, Vera, their husbands, and the children. Everyone joked, “Now Mom can finally relax, take care of the grandkids, cook for us, and help out with everything.”
Galina had smiled graciously, accepting flowers and congratulations. She loved her family dearly, but inside, something was stirring—a quiet protest: “Is that all I’m expected to be now? A permanent nanny and housekeeper?”
At the time, she dismissed the thought. Surely her children wouldn’t expect too much from her.
But as soon as she retired, the requests began pouring in.
“Mom, could you pick Vanechka up from his after-school care?”
“Mom, could you keep my daughter overnight? We have a work event.”
“Mom, can you make us some borscht? We’re stuck at the office.”
And then there were more:
“Mom, please iron these shirts, I don’t have time.”
Galina, eager to please, kept saying yes. But with each passing day, she felt herself losing her sense of self. She longed to read a book, visit a museum, or just go for a walk with her friends. But everything she wanted to do was always pushed to the back burner.
Her children justified their requests: “Mom, you’re retired, you have all the time in the world. We’re working, we have mortgages, we need help!”
Galina’s own desires were swallowed up by their demands. Occasionally, she wanted to voice her frustrations—“What about my needs? Don’t I deserve a break too?”—but she held her tongue, afraid of causing conflict.
Inside, though, a sense of exhaustion and dissatisfaction grew. She felt like she was being used, with no time left for herself.
One day, after missing an important doctor’s appointment because Vera had asked her to watch the kids at the last minute, Galina snapped inside. She mentioned it that evening, only for Vera to brush it off, “It’s not a big deal, there are plenty of doctors. What was I supposed to do?”
Galina’s heart sank. She felt invisible, her needs always secondary to the family’s.
As the months passed, the strain only deepened. Galina found herself constantly taking care of her grandchildren, running errands, and doing chores for her daughters and even their husbands. No one seemed to care about what she wanted. It all came to a head one afternoon when Galina was asked to run yet another errand—this time by her son-in-law.
“I can’t do everything!” she shouted, overwhelmed by the constant pressure. Her family’s response was unanimous: “But you can! We rely on you!”
That night, after another exhausting day, Galina broke down in tears. “I retired, but not to become a servant.”
The next morning, the phone rang again. Lena needed her to do something. But this time, Galina couldn’t take it anymore. “Lena,” she interrupted, “I retired to have my own life, not to be your slave! Remember that!”
It was as if a bomb had exploded. Lena was stunned into silence, but Galina had finally said what had been building inside her for so long. A feeling of relief washed over her.
Soon, Vera, Lena, their husbands, and even Vanechka gathered at Galina’s home, hoping to talk things through. Over tea, Lena asked, “Mom, why are you doing this? What’s going on?”
Galina, calm yet firm, responded, “I love you all, but I am not here just to serve you. I didn’t retire to be your 24/7 nanny, cook, or delivery service. I want to live my own life.”
The family sat in shock. No one had expected this from Galina.
“But you always said you were happy to help!” one son-in-law protested.
Galina shook her head. “I’m happy to help sometimes, but I also need to take care of myself. I want to travel, visit museums, meet friends, and go to my doctor’s appointments. I’ve earned that right.”
Lena, in tears, replied, “Mom, we thought you loved helping. You always seemed fine with it!”
Vera added, “What about when we need help with the kids? Who’s going to take them to gymnastics?”
Galina’s heart softened, but she stood firm. “You’re adults. You can figure it out. Hire a nanny, ask your husbands for help. I can’t do it all.”
The discussion lasted hours. Eventually, the family left, feeling hurt and bewildered. Galina, exhausted but resolute, whispered to herself, “It had to be done.”
In the following days, her daughters stopped calling. Galina felt a strange mix of anxiety and relief. But secretly, she was enjoying the peace. No more endless requests.
Galina took the time to rediscover herself. She signed up for a bus excursion to a nearby town, visited museums, and even made new friends along the way. She began to feel like her old self again.
One evening, when Lena and Vera arrived at her home, they were surprised to find a note: “Gone on an excursion. I’ll be back in the evening. Love, Mom.”
They couldn’t believe it. “Mom just left without telling us?” Vera said, incredulous. “She’s never done that before.”
That evening, when Galina returned, she found her daughters waiting for her in the kitchen, still visibly upset.
“Mom, we were worried! Why didn’t you tell us where you went?” Lena asked.
Galina smiled. “I went to the wooden architecture museum in a nearby village. It was amazing! I also visited the river embankment in another town. So much to see.”
Vera sighed. “And we had to organize everything ourselves… It’s just not the same without you.”
Galina, with a knowing smile, replied, “See? You managed. You’re all capable.”
The next few months were an adjustment. Lena and Vera hired a nanny, and their husbands took on more responsibility. At first, it wasn’t easy. Lena still grumbled, “Mom, the nanny’s not as good as you.” But Galina would just respond, “That’s your choice.”
Gradually, the family adjusted to their new reality. Galina still saw her grandchildren, but on her own terms, when she felt like it. No more living at their beck and call.
Galina rediscovered her joy for life—she joined a Nordic walking club, attended lectures, and went on trips with a group of other retirees. She felt a renewed sense of freedom and energy.
One day, over coffee, Vera apologized. “Mom, I’m sorry. We didn’t realize how much we were asking of you. We thought you enjoyed it.”
Galina smiled, squeezing her daughter’s hand. “I do love my grandkids. But I also have a life of my own. I want to enjoy it while I can.”
Vera nodded, understanding at last. “I get it now. You deserve to live for yourself too.”
A few months later, the family gathered for Galina’s birthday. This time, no one asked her to do anything. Instead, they thanked her for her love and care. Lena raised a glass: “Mom, thank you for teaching us that we all have the right to our own lives. I wish you nothing but happiness in your retirement!”
Galina smiled, content. She had learned to say “no” and reclaim her time. And her family now understood: retirement was her time to live fully, not to be anyone’s servant.