I am Tamara Alekseevna, seventy-four years old. I used to have a full life: a job I adored, a loving husband, a warm home, and three children.
But ten years ago, my husband passed away—his heart couldn’t take it.
After his d.eath, the house became empty, and I became someone no one needed.
My children started calling less, and the phone grew silent more often.
The one who distanced herself the most was my youngest daughter, Irina.
Since childhood, she had been focused and ambitious, dreaming of a big career.
When she entered university in the capital, I was overjoyed. To help her, I gave everything: my savings, my mother’s jewelry, even sold my father’s old “Volga.”
Years passed.
Irina got married and had a son.
We saw each other rarely and talked even less—she was always in a rush, cutting the conversation short.
Then, she stopped calling altogether. And one day, after three months of silence, she unexpectedly came to visit.
“Mom, it’s hard for you to be alone. It’s time to think about a nursing home,” she said, avoiding my gaze.
“They’ll take care of you, you’ll have company, and doctors.”
I remained silent.
My heart tightened with pain, but I no longer had the strength to resist. I just nodded.
The next day, we ended up in a private retirement home on the outskirts of the city. A modern, beautiful building with a garden and cozy rooms.
Irina quickly signed the documents, said a brief goodbye, and left, leaving me alone among unfamiliar walls as if she had rid herself of an unnecessary burden.
Sitting on a bench, I watched the lilac petals fall.
What happened next changed everything… FULL STORY on the next page.
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