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Listen, we’ve got guests coming over soon, and you’ll need to make yourself scarce.
It was one of those peculiar situationsguests were arriving soon, and they had to leave. “Listen, people are coming over, and youll need to go somewhere. You understand, dont you? Having you here would ruin the celebration.”
“But where will we go, son? We dont know anyone here,” Mum asked.
“Well, how should I know? The neighbour back in the village used to invite you, didnt she? Go there.”
Victor and Margaret already regretted a thousand times that theyd listened to their son and sold their house.
Life had been hard there, but it was theirs. They were the masters of their own home. And here?
They barely dared step out of their room, terrified of provoking their daughter-in-law, Catherine. Everything about them annoyed herthe shuffling of their slippers, the way they sipped tea, the way they ate.
The only person in the flat who cared for them was their grandson, Jamie.
A handsome young man, but he adored his grandparents to madness. If his mother raised her voice in his presence, hed snap back immediately.
Their son, Edwardwhether out of fear or indifferencenever stood up for them.
Jamie even had supper with them. But he was rarely home, busy with his apprenticeship, staying in a dorm near work. He only visited on weekends.
The elderly couple lived for his visits, each one a holiday. And now, New Years Eve was upon them. Jamie arrived early that morning just to wish them well.
He brought them giftsthick woollen socks and gloves. He knew they were always cold. Plain gloves for Granddad, embroidered ones for Granny.
Margaret pressed them to her face and wept.
“Granny, whats wrong? Dont you like them?”
“Oh, darling, theyre perfect. The most precious thing Ive ever had.”
She hugged him, and Jamie kissed her palms, just as hed done since childhood. Her hands always smelled of somethingbaked apples, dough, but most of all, warmth and love.
“Right, you two, hold on without me for three days. Im off with my mates, then Ill be back.”
“Go on, love,” Granny said. “Well manage.”
Jamie packed his bag, said his goodbyes, and left. The old couple retreated to their room.
An hour later, Catherines voice screeched through the walls. Guests were coming, and the old folk couldnt stay. Disgraceful, really. Where would they even put everyone?
Edward mumbled something about not knowing where to send them, but Catherine wouldnt hear it.
The old couple sat like mice, too afraid to even make tea. Victor pulled out a hidden pack of biscuits and shared them with Margaret.
They sat by the window, chewing in silence. A tear trembled in Margarets eye. How bitter it wasto live long enough to become unwanted.
Darkness fell outside. Edward came in.
“Listen, people are coming over, and youll need to go somewhere. You understand, dont you?”
“But where, son? We dont know anyone here,” Mum asked.
“How should I know? The neighbour back in the village used to invite you. Go there.”
“Where can we even go? The buses have stopped, and we dont even know where the station is. And who knows if shes still alive?”
“Dunno. Catherine says youve got an hour to pack.”
Edward left. Victor and Margaret looked at each other, swallowing back tears. They gathered their thingsJamies gifts would come in handy.
They dressed warmly and stepped outside. The streets were dark, strangers rushing past in the cold.
Margaret took Victors arm, and they wandered toward the park. On the way, they stopped at a café for tea and sandwichesthey hadnt eaten all day.
They lingered there, dreading the return to the cold. Snow fell, the frost tightening its grip. In the park, a small gazebo offered shelter. They huddled together inside.
Margaret studied her gloves. Victor watched her and said, “At least our grandson has a kind heart, unlike his parents.”
“Yes. We promised him wed manage, and here we are,” she whispered.
Time crawled. Snowflakes drifted. Lights flickered in distant windows. Thena dog appeared at their feet.
A spaniel, wagging its tail, paws on Margarets knees. She smiled and stroked its head.
“Hello there, little friend. Are you lost?”
A womans voice called from the darkness. “Lord! Where are you? Time to go home!”
The dog barked.
“Lord! Over here!”
A young woman approached. “Oh, youve found my dog! Whats happened?”
She looked at the old couple, realising theyd been there a while.
“Sorry, buthow long have you been sitting here?”
“A while, love. Your dogs lovely.”
“But why arent you going home? Its freezing, and New Years almost here.”
Silence.
“Oh. Youve nowhere to go, have you?”
They shook their heads.
Lord nuzzled Margarets hand, tail wagging.
“Right. Were continuing this conversation indoors. Im freezing, and so are you. Come with me.”
“But, dear, why trouble yourself?”
“No arguments. Its just me and Lord at homewed love the company. Come on, or well miss the countdown.”
They hesitated, then rose. Their feet were numb despite the socks.
They walked slowly, Lord darting around them. The womanEmilylearned their story along the way.
Margaret confessed, shamefaced. Emily was horrified.
Her own parents were goneshed give anything to have them back.
The flat was warm, smelling of baking. They drank tea first, thawing out, then set the table.
A Christmas tree glowed in the corner. Cosy. Like home.
Margaret helped Emily prepare supper. Victor played with Lord.
At midnight, they toasted. The old couple were gratefulEmily, too, glad not to be alone.
In the morning, she wouldnt let them leave. “Stay a week at least.”
Time would tell. It felt right, like family.
Jamie returned, went straight to his grandparents roomempty. The bed untouched.
“Mum. Where are they?”
“How should I know? They left.”
“When?”
“New Years Eve. We asked them to step outhaving old folk around is embarrassing.”
“*Youre* the embarrassment,” Jamie spat. “Not them.”
He stormed out, searching the streets, asking strangers. Despair gnawed at him.
Thena woman walking a dog. And on her handshis grandmothers gloves.
“Where did you get those?”
“Why?”
“I gave gloves just like those to my gran. Now she and Granddad are missing.”
“Youre Jamie?”
“Yes. How do you know me?”
“Im Emily. Come with me.”
She led him home, explaining everything on the way.
The door opened. The smell of pancakes filled the air.
“I love that smell,” Jamie said.
“Look who we found,” Emily called.
Jamie stepped inside. His grandmother rushed to him, weeping. His grandfather appeared. They sat together, eating, talking.
Jamie apologised for his parents.
They debated what to do. Emily insistedtheyd stay with her. Jamie brought their things. Soon, he was visiting constantly.
Once, the flat had been just Emily and Lord. Now, it was always fullwarm smells, laughter, Lord choosing whose bed to steal at night.
As for Emily and Jamiewell, thats another story.
Kindness is a powerful thing.
Sometimes, all it takes is a smile. A simple question.
A small act of goodness.
It always comes back.
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Igor Never Came Back from Holiday: “Why hasn’t your husband written or called?” “No word, Vera—not after nine days, not after forty,” Lyuda would joke, adjusting her work apron over her broad waist. “So he’s gone off the rails, or worse, then,” her neighbour nodded sympathetically. “Well, wait and see. Have the police said anything?” “Everyone’s silent, Vera—quiet as fish in that sea of his.” “Life, eh… fate.” That conversation weighed heavy on Lyudmila as she swept the autumn leaves from her doorstep in the dreary fall of 1988. Three years into her well-earned retirement, she’d had to take up work as a council cleaner to make ends meet. Life had always been simple—she and her husband, both dutiful workers, had raised a son, no scandal, no sorrow. Then Igor went on a seaside holiday and never returned. She’d phoned every hospital, every police station, even the morgue. Her son, stationed with the military, helped with inquiries—it was discovered Igor checked out of his hotel but never boarded the train home. Lyudmila wanted to go search for her husband, but her son insisted he’d handle it. Weeks passed, and she kept herself busy to stifle her fears. Then, as suddenly as he’d vanished, Igor reappeared—no suitcase, just the same navy suit and a weary silence. As she fussed to feed him and her son, the truth unravelled: Igor had been living with another woman by the sea, seeking “freedom.” The shock, the ache of betrayal—Lyudmila couldn’t bear it. Igor, shamed and lost, tried to return weeks later, but Lyudmila stood firm. It wasn’t just heartbreak—it was the pain of not knowing, of years shared and suddenly made strange. She swept her pathway, watching leaves collect and blow away, knowing sometimes those who hurt us most have already gone with the wind. (Original Title Adapted for English Culture: Igor Never Came Back from Holiday: The Disappearance, the Heartbreak, and the Road Swept Clean)
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You Drive Me Up the Wall!… I Can’t Eat Right, Can’t Dress Right, Can’t Do Anything Right! — Pavel’s voice broke into a shout. — You can’t do anything!… Can’t even earn proper money!… We never get any help from you around the house!… — Marina burst into tears, — …And there are no children…, — she whispered. Belka — a white-and-ginger cat of about ten, perched atop the wardrobe, silently witnessed yet another “family tragedy”. She knew, she could sense, that Mum and Dad truly loved each other… But she didn’t understand why they said such cruel words that hurt everyone. Mum, sobbing, locked herself in the bedroom as Dad lit one cigarette after another. Belka, seeing her family falling apart, thought, “There must be happiness in this house… and happiness means children… we need to find some children…” Belka couldn’t have kittens herself — she’d been spayed years ago, and as for Mum… the doctors said she could, but something just wouldn’t work out… The next morning, after her humans left for work, Belka, for the very first time, slipped out the window to visit her neighbour Pawsy — for advice. — Why would you want kids? — scoffed Pawsy. — Ours come with children, and I have to hide from them… they smear lipstick on your face or squeeze you until you can’t breathe! Belka sighed: — We just need normal children… If only we could find some… — Hmmm… That street cat Molly’s had a litter… five of them… — mused Pawsy. — Take your pick… Taking her chances, Belka leapt balcony to balcony to the street. Shivering nervously, she squeezed through the railings of a basement window and called out: — Molly, could you come out for a minute, please… From deep within came desperate squeaks. Carefully crawling through, eyes darting in fear, Belka began to cry. Under the radiator, on the hard gravel, lay five tiny, sightless kittens, nudging the air and wailing for their mum. One sniff told her: Molly hadn’t been back for at least three days. The babies were starving. Fighting tears, Belka gently carried each kitten to the entrance. Trying to calm her hungry, squeaking brood, Belka lay down beside them, anxiously watching the end of the yard, waiting for Mum and Dad. Pavel, silent as he met Marina after work, brought them home. As they reached the doorway, they froze — there was their Belka, (who had never set paw on the street alone), and five multicoloured kittens clambering to nurse from her. — What on earth? — Pavel was stunned. — A miracle…, — echoed Marina, and together they scooped up the cat and kittens and rushed inside… Watching Belka purr happily in a box with her new babies, Pavel asked: — But what do we do with them? — I’ll feed them with a dropper… once they’re bigger, we’ll find them homes… I’ll call my friends…, — Marina whispered. Three months later, still stunned by the turn of events, Marina sat stroking her “cat pack” and murmured, over and over: — Things like this just don’t happen… this just doesn’t happen… Then, she and Pavel broke down in happy tears; he swept her into his arms, and they both laughed and chattered at once: — I’m glad I finished building the house! — Perfect for a child to get some fresh air! — And let the kittens run in the garden! — There’ll be room for everyone! — I love you! — And I love you even more! Wise Belka brushed away a tear — life, it seemed, was finally coming together…
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I Called Out the Window: “Mum, Why Are You Up So Early? You’ll Catch Your Death!” — She Turned and Waved Her Shovel Cheerfully: “I’m Doing This for You Lazybones!” — And the Next Day, My Mum Was Gone… I Still Can’t Walk Past Our Garden Gate Without Tears Every Time I See That Pathway, My Heart Clenches Like Someone’s Gripped It in Their Fist. I Took That Photo on the Second of January… I Only Stopped When I Noticed Her Footprints in the Snow—Now That Photo Is All I Have Left of Those Days… We’d Spent New Year Together, Just as Always: Mum in Her Favourite Apron I Gave Her at School, the Smell of Fried Burgers, Family Jokes, Dad Arriving with an Enormous Tree, All of Us Decorating, Singing Old Christmas Songs, Laughing Until We Cried… On 2nd January, I Looked Out to See Mum Clearing a Perfect Pathway from the Gate to Our Door, Her Scarf Tied Up, Red-cheeked, Shovelling Snow So We Wouldn’t Have to Struggle Through the Drifts. “It’s for You, My Lazy Lot—Go Put the Kettle On,” She Called, Smiling. That Was the Last Time I Heard Her Voice So Cheerful. The Next Day She Was Gone, So Suddenly It Didn’t Seem Real. Only Her Little Footprints Remain—Marks in the Snow, and In My Heart.
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THE MOTHER-IN-LAW Anna Petrovna sat in the kitchen, watching the milk quietly simmer on the stove. Three times she’d forgotten to stir it, and each time she remembered too late: the froth would rise and spill over, and she’d wipe the stovetop in irritation. In those moments, she realized: it wasn’t about the milk. Ever since her second grandchild was born, it was as if everything in the family had gone off the rails. Her daughter grew weary, lost weight, and spoke less. Her son-in-law came home late, ate in silence, and sometimes retreated straight to the bedroom. Anna Petrovna noticed all this and thought: how could anyone leave a woman alone like this? She spoke up—first gently, then with more edge. At first to her daughter, then to her son-in-law. But she began to notice a strange thing: after her words, things in the house didn’t get lighter—they got heavier. Her daughter defended her husband, her son-in-law grew more withdrawn, and she herself went home with the feeling she’d once again done the wrong thing. That day, she went to the vicar not for advice, but because she simply had nowhere else to go with these feelings. ‘I suppose I’m just a bad person,’ she said, not looking at him. ‘I do everything wrong.’ The vicar was sitting at his desk, writing. He put down his pen. ‘Why do you think that?’ Anna Petrovna shrugged. ‘I wanted to help. But it seems all I do is make everyone angry.’ He looked at her kindly, without judgment. ‘You’re not a bad person. You’re tired. And very anxious.’ She sighed. That felt like the truth. ‘I’m scared for my daughter,’ she said. ‘She’s so different after giving birth. And him…’ she waved a hand. ‘It’s like he doesn’t even notice.’ ‘And do you notice what he does?’ asked the vicar. Anna Petrovna thought. She remembered last week, when he quietly washed the dishes late at night, thinking no one noticed. Or on Sunday, when he took the pram out for a walk, even though it was clear he just wanted to lie down and sleep. ‘He does things… I think,’ she said uncertainly. ‘But not the way he should.’ ‘And what is “the way he should”?’ asked the vicar calmly. Anna Petrovna wanted to answer right away, but suddenly realized she didn’t know. In her head: more, more often, more attentively. But specifically what, she couldn’t say. ‘I just want it to be easier for her,’ she said. ‘Then say that,’ the vicar responded gently. ‘But say it to yourself, not to him.’ She looked up at him. ‘What do you mean?’ ‘I mean that right now, you aren’t fighting for your daughter—you’re fighting with her husband. And fighting means tension. Everyone gets tired of that. You. Them.’ Anna Petrovna was silent for a long time. Then she asked: ‘So what should I do? Pretend everything’s fine?’ ‘No,’ he said. ‘Just do what helps. Not words, but actions. And not against anyone, but for someone.’ On the way home, she thought about this. Remembered how, when her daughter was little, she didn’t lecture her but just sat beside her when she cried. Why was it different now? The next day she showed up without warning. Brought soup. Her daughter was surprised, her son-in-law awkward. ‘I won’t stay long,’ Anna Petrovna said. ‘Just came to help.’ She watched the children while her daughter slept. Left quietly, without saying a word about how hard things must be or how they ought to live. A week later, she came again. And a week after that. She still saw her son-in-law wasn’t perfect. But she began to notice other things too: how carefully he lifted the youngest, how he tucked a blanket around her daughter at night, thinking no one saw. One day, she couldn’t help herself and asked him in the kitchen: ‘Is it hard for you right now?’ He looked surprised, as if no one had ever asked him that. ‘It’s hard,’ he said after a pause. ‘Really hard.’ And that was it. But after that, something sharp disappeared from the air between them. Anna Petrovna realized: she’d been waiting for him to change. But what needed to change was herself. She stopped discussing him with her daughter. When her daughter complained, she didn’t say, ‘I told you so.’ Just listened. Sometimes she took the children so her daughter could rest. Sometimes she called her son-in-law to ask how he was. It wasn’t easy. It was much easier to get angry. But slowly, the house grew quieter. Not better, not perfect—just quieter. Without the constant strain. One day her daughter said: ‘Mum, thank you for being with us now, not against us.’ Anna Petrovna thought about those words for a long time. She realized something simple: peace isn’t when someone admits they’re wrong. It’s when someone is the first to stop fighting. She still wished her son-in-law was more attentive. That wish didn’t go away. But living alongside it was something more important: wanting peace in the family. And every time the old feelings came up—indignation, bitterness, the urge to say something sharp—she asked herself: Do I want to be right, or do I want life to be easier for them? The answer almost always told her what to do next.
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