— Mom, how long are you going to keep complaining? Your heart hurts — but whose doesn’t at your age? — Lyudmila snapped irritably into the phone. — The more you pay attention to it, the worse you feel. You’re just bothering yourself and stressing me out. And I, by the way, have to get to work! Lie down, look at the ceiling — after all, you have a pension. And I still have a long way to go before I’m your age…
Her voice grew sharper, almost angry.
— And don’t call every day! I have my own problems up to my ears!
With these words, Lyudmila irritably hung up and threw the phone onto the couch.
— When will all this finally end? — she sighed into the emptiness, rolling her eyes. — Soon I’ll be ninety, and still all these dreams, plans… It’s about time I should have known better…
However, behind her dissatisfaction lay another reason. Her brother — Igor — had long since stopped answering calls, and all the care for their mother had fallen onto Lyudmila. And she had work, a family, and her own children who needed attention.
In her mind, one thing constantly circled: the house in the village. A nice, well-kept one, standing right by the river. And recently, buyers from Murmansk had appeared — willing to pay a sum she hadn’t even dreamed of. But there was one «but»: the mother was still alive. She had wanted to move her to the city, put her in some elderly care home — where there would be care, food, and order. And for the relatives, no worries or hassle. But if Evdokia suspected she was being taken away for the sake of selling the house, she might refuse to sign consent.
So she lived alone for now, and Lyudmila hadn’t gotten around to resolving the issue. And Igor was acting like it didn’t concern him at all.
Lyudmila mechanically applied nail polish, thinking with annoyance:
“Katya’s mom died quickly — without long suffering. She left her daughter an apartment in the city. And me? A house in the middle of nowhere that you can’t sell. And who knows how much longer to endure. Though the buyers did say — they plan to move to warmer places in a couple of years…”
Meanwhile, in the distant village, in an old wooden house where the only heater in winter was a Russian stove, Evdokia sat on a worn couch. Under a blanket, with hands folded on her knees, she looked out the window. Her tears had dried — she had no strength left to cry. After her husband Stepan’s death, life lost its color. The only comfort was their cat Belyash — well-fed, lazy, but so dear.
The story of how he came to the house was almost a family legend. Once Stepan heard a faint meowing among the garden beds. He parted the grass and found a skinny, barely alive kitten. Without hesitation, he brought it home. They fed it together — from a dropper, with goat’s milk. Belyash grew up healthy, fluffy, and even a little cheeky. He was devoted to Stepan with all his heart. After Stepan’s death, he became very sad but over time bonded with the mistress.
Now Evdokia thought about him most often:
“Well, I’ll die — so be it. But what about Belyash? They’ll kick him out immediately. No one needs him. And he’s like a son to me…”
For the cat’s sake, she went to the shed for firewood, cooked soup, and put on an old shawl. Because Belyash hated the cold and always crawled under the blanket.
By noon, the house had warmed up, the stove was blazing. Grandma sat knitting — in a box lay neat packets with socks and booties sorted by color and size.
— The blue ones — for Igor… — she whispered, pulling out the balls of yarn. — He never comes… But he has a family, I understand…
In one packet were tiny socks for a granddaughter she had never seen. Another was for Tanya, the older granddaughter. And there were socks for Lyudmila’s children too — all different colors, with patterns, with braids. She knitted in advance, hoping they would one day come in handy. That the grandchildren would visit. That the children would remember.
For now, only Belyash was nearby. He meowed from the stove as if he understood everything.
— We live, Belyashik… — Evdokia whispered. — As best we can…
One evening, she felt very bad. Her heart pounded, her legs felt like lead. She lay down on the couch, covered herself with a scarf. Then the neighbor Valya dropped by — kind, but with character.
— Evdokia, alone again? What do you need a phone for — just to gather dust? I live right across the street — call if you feel bad! — she grumbled, stoking the stove and pouring food for the cat.
— Don’t shout, — Evdokia weakly waved her off. — Sit down, I want to tell you…
Valya made herself comfortable, took off her apron.
— Don’t laugh… If anything — take Belyash with you. He needs space, and it will be hard for him in the city. But you won’t abandon him, he loves you.
— Where would you go? Live a hundred years! — Valya replied, but added: — Don’t worry, I’ll keep an eye on him. A grumbler, of course, but affectionate. Seems like he knows when you’re having a hard time and wants to warm you.
— Thank you… — Evdokia whispered and closed her eyes.
When Valya left, silence fell over the house. Belyash, as always, lay at her feet — keeping her warm. Maybe it was inconvenient, but could she really chase him away?
Thoughts whirled like autumn leaves. She recalled Lyudmila’s first grade, Igor running through the village wielding a stick. One episode surfaced especially often: Stepan gave his son a bicycle, and he spent entire days away. At first, he at least came home for lunch, but later not even that.
Then Evdokia went searching again. She walked the whole village — no Igor. Her heart ached. It was already dark. She went to Vovka — the boy’s friend.
— Have you seen mine? — she asked worriedly.
The boy hesitated but gave in after a light scolding from his mother:
— We were at the quarry… He was jumping off the diving board. The bike… well, he couldn’t manage it. And when everyone left, he stayed. Said he would try again.
Evdokia didn’t listen further. Her heart sank, her legs carried her there — to the quarry. Everything inside tightened: if only Igor was alive, if only he wasn’t hurt… Lord, please keep him safe. Let him be mischievous, playful, but just leave him to me.
Memories flashed before her eyes: how he was sick as a child, how he asked for jam at night, how he quarreled with his father, how once he got upset and hid in the attic for two hours.
Reaching the place, Evdokia looked around — dark, empty, only the wind blowing dust. She was about to leave — and suddenly heard sobbing behind the bushes.
She rushed there and froze: Igor sat on the ground, clutching a bike without a front wheel. His face was wet with tears.
— Son, are you okay? What happened? Where does it hurt? — she immediately began feeling his hands, legs, face. There were a few scrapes, nothing serious.
The boy cried even harder.
— Where did you get hurt?! Tell me! — she almost shouted.
— It doesn’t hurt… — he finally whispered. — I just… I broke dad’s bike… His gift…
He broke down again.
— Oh, my poor little one, — Evdokia hugged him tightly. — Who cares about that bike! The main thing is you’re okay! Let it fall apart, as long as you’re here!
— I won’t go home… Dad will be upset… — Igor sobbed, lowering his gaze.
Evdokia knelt before her son, looked into his eyes, and spoke softly and gently:
— Son, a bike is just metal. It can be fixed, replaced, tightened. But if something happened to you… then your dad and I would be heartbroken. We love you more than anything. No broken frame is worth your health.
The boy looked at his mother with wide eyes, gradually calming down.
— Maybe we did raise our voice, — she continued, hugging him — but out of fear, not anger. Because when something happens to you, we lose peace.
They slowly headed home. Igor quieted down, but near the porch he cried again — now not only for the bike but for scraped knees he would have to treat with iodine. He buried his face in his mother’s skirt, wiping tears on the fabric.
Stepan was already waiting for them on the porch. He looked at his wife holding the bent bike in one hand and supporting their son with the other and just sighed. Igor began stammering about his stuntman ambitions, about trying the trick, and how everything went wrong.
— Stuntmen, by the way, — Stepan said with a slight smile — don’t cry even with a bump on the forehead.
After these words, he went to the shed. The light was on there almost till dawn. Evdokia knew better not to disturb. When Stepan worked, it was better not to interfere. That’s how he was — instead of wandering around the village, he found something to do at home. She always thought she was lucky with her husband.
When he courted her in his youth, Evdokia barely noticed — too calm, without showiness. Not like others: they gave silly compliments, gave trinkets. But Stepan — practical, reliable. Sometimes bringing a fashionable hat or boots no one else had.
When he went to her parents with a marriage proposal, she already knew — this was the one. At the wedding, everyone envied her dress and nudged their fiancés: “Take note!”
In the morning, Igor woke up to the smell of pancakes. Barefoot, he ran to the kitchen — and froze.
There, like new, stood his bicycle. Clean, shiny, as if it had never fallen.
The boy rubbed his eyes, remembering the night sounds — creaks, clicks, hammering… Now everything was clear. It was dad who had worked all night fixing his two-wheeled friend.
Tears flowed from his eyes — now from happiness. He rushed to his parents, hugged them tightly, and whispered:
— You’re the best. I love you. I will never leave you, I’ll always be with you. You won’t die… never.
To adults, it might have seemed childish, but to him — it was a true vow. Evdokia stroked his tousled head and almost cried.
Then suddenly she wondered: when was the last time she saw Igor? She counted — it had been over four years since Stepan’s funeral. And her son hadn’t shown up even once…
Tears welled in her eyes. What kind of job does Igor have that he doesn’t have a free minute? Or has his wife worn him out completely? They pushed the guy so hard, forgetting that he also needs rest.
— I’ll try calling him again tomorrow, — Evdokia decided, wiping her eyes with a scarf. — Maybe he’ll at least answer…
But her heart tightened with worry. What if something happened to him and she doesn’t know? Maybe Lyudmila knows but keeps quiet not to upset the old woman?
— Maybe that’s why he doesn’t come? Afraid to accidentally spill the beans… — she thought, looking out the window where dusk thickened.
She decided: if she couldn’t reach him tomorrow either, she would talk to Lyudmila directly. Get the truth out. But she quickly sighed — useless. She would wave it off, say: “I’ll call later,” and months of silence again.
— I feel sorry for you all… — Evdokia whispered into the silence. — It’s hard for young people these days. They work from morning till night, no time for family, let alone visiting their mother in the village.
And Lyudmila, it seemed, was unhappy with life. Always edgy, her eyes dull. If everything was fine, would she visit so rarely? But years passed — no word.
Evdokia dozed off. She dreamed of Lyudmila’s graduation. Hard times: the collective farm collapsed, salaries stopped. Everything depended on the farm, but no money — not a penny. And the daughter dreamed of looking beautiful on that important evening.
— Mom, what will I wear? — she asked every day, looking at her mother’s face.
Evdokia just shook her head. She and Stepan sat in the evenings calculating: dress, shoes, hairstyle… Not even a tenth could be gathered. And who to borrow from — everyone was the same.
Once Lyudmila overheard their conversation. She burst into the room crying:
— Don’t bother! I’m not going!
Evdokia looked at her husband. Was silent, then suggested:
— Let’s sell my ring. The wedding one. Mom gave it to you — but if it’s hard for the daughter, what’s the value?
Stepan objected at first but then agreed. Evdokia went to the city. Lyudmila knew nothing.
Evdokia returned in the evening — tired but with sparkling eyes. Only two days left until the graduation.
— Mom! — Lyudmila shouted noticing the bags. She froze, then squealed: — For me?! Seriously? For me?!
She jumped, hugged the dress, then her mother, then again grabbed the box with the shoes. The dress was stunning — as if from a fashion magazine. The shoes — like a dream. That evening laughter sounded in the house.
At the graduation, Lyudmila went like a real princess. Among girls in altered dresses and modest outfits, she stood out — bright, happy, flushed. Parents watched her, unable to get enough.
After the party, Lyudmila returned home shining. She told at length how everything went — how boys offered to escort her, how they praised the teacher. The parents listened, exchanged glances, and understood: it was not in vain. Let people say selling the wedding ring brings bad luck. What bad luck if the daughter is happy?
But morning came…
And Evdokia was no more.
The house was greeted by Valya — neighbor and close friend. She dropped by with a jar of sour cream — and immediately understood. Quiet, dull, only Belyash darted at the feet and meowed plaintively.
Everything became clear without words. Just yesterday Valya noticed how thin her friend’s face had become. Thought: not for the good. And now — she was gone.
— It’s a pity… — Valya whispered, wiping tears. — She was a good woman. Always waiting for children like a light in the window.
The room felt strange. Things were in place, silence — oppressive, ringing. Valya went around the house, looked in every corner but didn’t touch anything. It wasn’t her business. The children would come and deal with it themselves.
She called Lyudmila. She answered immediately. Hearing the news, she sighed — as if she had long expected such a turn.
— I’ll organize everything, — she said. — But I can’t come myself — no time.
Valya urged, asked her to at least come say goodbye, but the call was cut off. A few hours later, a car came to take Evdokia away. Valya carefully closed the door, hid Belyash under her jacket, and slowly went home. A stone lay on her heart.
Evdokia’s house stood empty for a long time. No one came near, opened windows, or heated the stove. Valya guessed the mother was buried in the city. The children didn’t show up. It was sad — next to Stepan, the father, no one stood. But is it supposed to be that way?
But a few days later, Valya went to the cemetery to tidy the graves of relatives. Suddenly she stopped: Evdokia now lay next to her husband. Tears rolled down on their own. So, conscience finally woke up. She knelt, adjusted the tombstone, laid flowers, and whispered:
— Now you are together again. I will come, tell you how everything is here. Like before…
Meanwhile, in the city, Lyudmila unsuccessfully tried to reach Igor. His phone hadn’t answered for several hours, and it began to annoy her. The buyers from Murmansk were supposed to come tomorrow — to show the house, possibly sign the contract. And Igor, as usual, ignored the calls.
When he finally answered, Lyudmila barely held back from shouting:
— Where have you been?! I’ve been calling for hours!
— What happened?
— Guests are coming tomorrow. We need to show the house. We agreed — as soon as we inherit, we divide everything equally. Don’t delay, it’s important.
Igor was silent, then said:
— Okay, I’ll come. I’ve wanted to change my car for a long time. Chance to earn — won’t miss it.
In the morning, they met and headed to the village where their childhood had once passed. The spring morning was warm, the air smelled of young grass and fresh earth. Lilac bushes greeted them near the house — one bush bloomed white, the other purple.
— Remember how we planted them? — Igor said thoughtfully. — I with dad — that one. And you with mom — that one, near the bathhouse. You cried then because you wanted the purple one.
Lyudmila smiled:
— If you hadn’t reminded me — I wouldn’t have remembered.
— Enough memories, — she sighed. — Business is more important.
The key, as before, lay under the brick. Everything in the house was the same — even the dust lay as if time had stopped. Lyudmila hesitated a little, recalling childhood, but quickly pulled herself together and began showing the house to the guests.
While Igor and the man inspected the yard, the women stayed inside. Lyudmila led them through the rooms, telling about their mother’s life. The last was the room where Evdokia lived. Opening the door, they froze.
The entire space was piled with neat stacks of knitted socks. Each had a note. Lyudmila approached one and took the paper. The handwriting was familiar — motherly, a little uneven.
“Igoryok” — it said on the paper. In the stack lay thick wool socks — dark, strict. About fifty pairs. Each knitted with love, each stitch like a piece of her soul.
— She knew… — Lyudmila whispered. — Knew she would leave soon. Wanted you to always remember her.
Igor reached out, touched the socks — and it felt like touching his mother.
The next stack was divided into two parts. One — for grandchildren. The other — for Lyudmila. Here lay socks of all sizes — from tiny booties to almost grown-up. They were gathered and sorted by age.
— So… — Igor mumbled — mom knitted socks for every grandchild since birth? Adding more every year? And they never got a single pair…
He stopped. The image stood before his eyes: an old woman alone in the silence, knitting, counting stitches, whispering names, believing that someday someone would come.
It was a blow.
Igor sharply went outside, lit a cigarette, and sat on the bench by the gate. He sat bent over as if under the weight of unbearable guilt.
Valya approached. Stopped, crossed her arms on her chest, and looked at him with gentle reproach.
— So, here we are… — she said. — The inheritance lured you. And when she was alive — not a call, not a visit.
Igor was silent, head down.
Valya entered the house. Seeing Lyudmila sitting on the floor among neat piles of socks, she softened a little — sternness in her face was replaced by sadness.
— She waited for you, — Valya began quietly, almost whispering. — She shed so many tears — words can’t describe. For each — a pair. For New Year — their own, for birthday — special ones. Just because a granddaughter was born… Always thought: “Maybe they will come, and I still haven’t finished knitting…”
She fell silent, gathering her thoughts.
— She waited for her nameday, waited for your holidays. And then cried again. You can’t even imagine how you were with her in her mind. She excused you all the time: work, sick children, no time…
— And on the last night… — Valya sighed deeply. — I was with her in the afternoon — she was very weak. At night I noticed the light in the window. Peered through the crack — God knows, I didn’t want to disturb… She was sitting on the floor, rearranging socks, whispering who was for what. Red — for Lyudmila for New Year. Brown striped — for Igor for birthday. Remembered everything.
Valya looked down.
— In the morning I came in — she lay there, calm, as if just asleep. And the socks were laid out, signed… She didn’t even manage to put them away. I didn’t touch them. Decided — let you see everything yourselves.
While she spoke, Igor returned to the room. Silently sat on the couch, covered his face with his hands. Lyudmila sat among the socks — not shouting, not crying, but just quietly crying. Deeply, truly.
The silence seemed thick, dense — as if you could hear the dust settling. And suddenly it was broken by a meow from the hallway. Everyone flinched. At the door appeared Belyash — the old cat who had lived with Evdokia. He proudly marched into the room and, as if nothing happened, jumped onto Igor’s lap.
— Belyash?.. — Igor exhaled in surprise. — Are you still alive?
He ruffled him behind the ear, and the cat purred trustingly.
When the buyers left, Igor and Lyudmila stayed alone. At the table opposite each other. Igor lit the stove, threw in firewood. Lyudmila quickly made sandwiches, but no one wanted to eat.
Igor couldn’t sit still. It was as if someone was pushing him — he recalled the birdhouse made with his father, then found an old sign on the bathhouse. Everything around was filled with memories — warm and painful.
Lyudmila sat silently, looking out the window. She felt drained. As if an emptiness had formed inside. Didn’t know why she didn’t want to sell the house — maybe it wasn’t the walls, but the memory itself, roots, mother’s love.
Finally, Igor came back from outside, sat down before his sister.
— Listen, the holidays aren’t far off. I can come with my family for a couple of weeks. We can fix something here, show the kids where I grew up, go fishing…
Lyudmila thought, then nodded:
— We can come too. My kids will start their holidays as well. They’ll be glad to get fresh air.
That evening they did not return to the city. Igor fiddled in the yard until evening — fixed the fence, greased the gate. Lyudmila cleaned the house: washed floors, shook out carpets, aired the rooms. It seemed they were preparing for something important — a family reunion.
Valya, watching from the window, thought:
— So, they decided to sell. Cleaning before the showing.
In the morning, she went to the cemetery.
— Need to check if the wind damaged anything, — she decided. — And at the same time, I’ll visit Evdokia — tell her the children came, that they plan to sell the house. And that they found her socks.
Gathering broken twigs, Valya suddenly heard muffled voices. Looking up, she saw Igor and Lyudmila. They knelt by their mother’s grave, talking to her — as if she were alive.
— Forgive us, mom…
— We’ll bring the grandchildren, show them the house…
— And bring them here so you and dad can see how they’ve grown…
Valya couldn’t hold back tears. She quietly stepped out from behind the fence and slowly walked towards the village. She thought:
— No, I won’t blame them anymore. They understood everything. Without words. Only it’s too late. For Evdokia — too late. But maybe at least for their children it will be different. So they always remember where their roots are.
