Lidia Vasilyevna Cherepanova entered the train carriage like a general stepping onto a parade ground—her back straight, her expression allowing no argument. Half a century of being in charge had left its mark, even after retirement. It had been five years since she had left the school principal’s office, yet she still carried herself as though she had every right to summon misbehaving teachers for a dressing-down.
“Berth thirty-six, upper,” the carriage attendant said, glancing at her ticket and gesturing toward the compartment. “Your bedding is inside. Would you like tea or coffee?”
“Tea. I’ll take it now,” Lidia replied, placing the exact amount on the counter. “I’d like to get settled as soon as possible.”
Her wheeled suitcase, as neat and practical as its owner, rolled down the corridor. Lidia followed, nudging it along with her foot and carefully checking the compartment numbers. Berth thirty-six turned out to be in a four-person compartment already occupied by two passengers: a young woman with a child of about five and a stout, balding man absorbed in his newspaper.
“Good afternoon,” Lidia greeted them curtly.
The man mumbled something unintelligible without looking up. The woman raised her head and smiled.
“Hello! Would you like some help?”
“No, thank you. I can manage,” Lidia said sharply, beginning to stow her suitcase.
The child, a boy with unruly tufts of hair, watched her with undisguised curiosity. Finally, he could contain himself no longer.
“Who are you?”
“Just another passenger,” Lidia replied, spreading a sheet over the upper berth. She liked children, but at a distance and in moderation. Right now, she wanted to settle in and read for a while, rather than answer an endless stream of childish questions.
“I’m Gleb,” the boy persisted. “I’m five and a half. How old are you?”
“Gleb!” his mother scolded. “Don’t bother the lady. I’m so sorry.”
“It’s quite all right.” Lidia smiled with her lips alone. “Children should be curious.”
She pulled herself up with her arms and climbed nimbly onto the upper berth. Such agility was surprising in a woman her age, but Lidia exercised every morning and went swimming three times a week. “A healthy mind in a healthy body,” she liked to remind her colleagues whenever they complained of fatigue or feeling unwell.
Once settled, Lidia took some motion sickness tablets, an e-reader, and her glasses from her handbag. The train began to move. Outside the window, the dreary buildings of an industrial estate drifted past, gradually giving way to suburban houses. Lidia tried to concentrate on her new detective novel, but the conversation below kept distracting her.
“Of course we’re going to Grandma’s,” the young woman was saying. “She can’t wait to see you. She says she’s going to make chocolate pancakes especially for you.”
“I don’t like pancakes,” the boy whined. “I want pizza.”
“Grandma doesn’t have pizza. She lives in a village. There’s fresh air and a river. You’ll be able to go swimming.”
“I don’t want to swim. I want to go to a water park.”
The woman sighed, and Lidia smiled despite herself. How many conversations like that had she heard during her career in education? Children these days had no appreciation for simple pleasures. They wanted gadgets, entertainment, excitement. In her day, they had been content with very little, and nobody complained.
The man rustled his newspaper, folded it, and spoke in a deep voice.
“Are you traveling far?”
“To Arkhangelsk,” the woman answered. “My mother lives there. I want to leave my son with her for the summer. It’s so stuffy in the city, and I have to work.”
“Understandable.” The man nodded. “My name’s Pavel Sergeyevich, by the way.”
“Marina,” the woman introduced herself. “And what brings you there?”
“A business trip. To a timber processing plant. An inspection, you see. I’m with the tax office.”
Lidia grimaced. She disliked idle chatter and was already regretting that she had not booked a first-class sleeper, where she could have traveled more comfortably. But the trip had been unplanned, and there had been little choice.
The fourth passenger still had not appeared. Once the train was well away from the station, Lidia decided they were in luck and the berth would remain empty. She was even considering moving down—after all, a lower berth was more comfortable. But at that very moment, the compartment door slid open with a crash.
“Whew! Just made it!”
A woman of about thirty-five stood in the doorway, an enormous bag slung over one shoulder and a backpack on her back.
“Hello, everyone! I’m Anya. Let’s be friends!”
Lidia pursed her lips. Their new traveling companion was her complete opposite—loud and uninhibited, with bright red hair gathered into a messy bun, wearing baggy jeans covered in colorful patches.
“Which one’s mine?” Anya dropped her bag onto the floor and examined her ticket. “Right, thirty-five… Is that a lower berth?”
“It is,” Marina confirmed.
“Perfect!” Anya flopped onto the seat and stretched out her legs with obvious pleasure. “I never book upper berths. It’s unbearably stuffy up there, and climbing up and down is such a nuisance.”
From her perch above, Lidia gave the newcomer a chilly look but said nothing. Long ago, she had developed the habit of avoiding unnecessary arguments.
“Where are you coming from?” Pavel Sergeyevich asked, clearly pleased to have someone new to talk to.
“St. Petersburg.” Anya took an apple from her bag and bit into it with a crunch. “I’ve been living there for the past five years. Originally, though, I’m from Murmansk.”
“And what do you do?” the man continued.
“What haven’t I done?” Anya laughed. “Right now, I organize children’s parties. You know, clowns, entertainers, that sort of thing. But it’s only temporary, of course. What I really want is to become a director. I just don’t have the money to study yet.”
At the mention of clowns, Gleb perked up.
“Can you do magic tricks?”
“Can I ever!” Anya winked at him. “Want to see?”
Without waiting for an answer, she pulled a deck of cards from her pocket. For the next half hour, the compartment buzzed with excitement. Anya performed tricks, Gleb gasped in delight, and even Pavel Sergeyevich put aside his newspaper to watch. Lidia pretended to be completely absorbed in her book, but she, too, followed the performance out of the corner of her eye.
“Well, that’s enough magic for today,” Anya said at last, putting the cards away. “I’ll show you some more tomorrow.”
“Do you promise?” Gleb gazed at her adoringly.
“I promise. Now, let’s have some tea. I brought homemade sandwiches.”
Lidia shook her head disapprovingly. The woman had been there less than an hour and was already acting as though she owned the place. Why were young people so presumptuous these days? In her time, people had known how to keep a proper distance and respect other people’s personal space.
“Lidia Vasilyevna,” Anya suddenly called, looking up at the upper berth. “Come down and have tea with us.”
“How do you know my name?” Lidia asked in surprise.
“There’s a name tag on your bag,” Anya explained. “I happened to notice it when you put it up on the shelf.”
Lidia was about to decline, then realized she really did want some tea. Besides, her intuition told her that this new companion was the sort of person who would not take no for an answer.
“Very well,” she said, closing her book. “I think I will join you.”
She climbed down and sat beside Marina. Sandwiches, cookies, and sweets were already spread across the little table. Gleb was giving the sweets his enthusiastic attention.
“I always bring food with me,” Anya said, pouring tea into glasses held in metal holders. “The prices in the dining car are daylight robbery!”
“Yes, they’re unjustifiably high,” Pavel Sergeyevich agreed, accepting a glass. “Especially considering the quality.”
“Exactly!” Anya exclaimed. “I ordered soup there once, and it was nothing but warm water with a few little circles floating in it. And the price they charged—honestly!”
Lidia silently accepted her tea without touching the sandwiches. She took a packet of cookies from her handbag and placed it on the table.
“Here. My contribution.”
“Oh, thank you!” Anya said brightly. “I love it when everyone shares on a journey. It makes traveling more fun.”
“Gleb, enough sweets,” Marina told her son. “You’ll ruin your teeth.”
“Just one more!” the boy pleaded. “The smallest one!”
“I loved sweets when I was little, too,” Pavel Sergeyevich put in. “My grandmother used to hide them from me, but I always found them.”
“Do you like children?” Marina asked him.
“Well, how shall I put it…” The man hesitated. “I don’t have any of my own, so I haven’t had much experience.”
“There’s still time,” Anya declared confidently. “You’re still a young man.”
Pavel Sergeyevich looked embarrassed and began wiping his fogged glasses.
“Hardly young. I’m nearly fifty…”
“Oh, that’s nothing!” Anya waved a hand. “My father got married for the third time at fifty-five, and he and my stepmother had twins. You’ve got everything ahead of you!”
Lidia listened with mild irritation. Too personal, too familiar. Still, the tea was hot and delicious, and outside the window, fields and forests drifted past, washed in the golden light of sunset.
“And who are you going to see, Lidia Vasilyevna?” Anya suddenly asked.
“My son,” Lidia answered after a brief pause. “He’s had a child. My granddaughter.”
“Congratulations!” Anya exclaimed. “What a joy, becoming a grandmother!”
“Yes, a joy,” Lidia agreed dryly, unwilling to pursue the subject.
But there was no stopping Anya.
“Do you have a picture? Please show us!”
Lidia hesitated, then took out her phone and found the photograph her son had sent two weeks earlier. It showed a tiny bundle with a face barely visible inside it.
“Oh, what a little darling!” Anya said. “What’s her name?”
“Alisa.”
“A lovely name! Very modern.”
“My son’s wife chose it.” Lidia pursed her lips. “I suggested Nadezhda, after my mother, but they decided otherwise.”
“Names like that are fashionable now,” Marina put in. “At our kindergarten, there’s an Alisa in almost every group.”
“Exactly.” Lidia nodded. “No originality at all. But there’s no changing their minds.”
“Has it been a long time since you saw your granddaughter?” Anya asked.
“I haven’t seen her at all yet,” Lidia admitted. “She was born two months ago, and I… was busy.”
In truth, Lidia had simply been in no hurry to visit. Her relationship with her daughter-in-law was strained, and she feared that her arrival would only make things worse. But recently, her son had called to say that he urgently needed to go away on business for a week, and his wife was struggling to manage the baby alone. So Lidia had decided to go.
“Never mind. You’ll make up for it,” Anya reassured her. “The most important time is still ahead.”
Lidia nodded and finished her tea. The conversation moved on to other subjects, and gradually, she felt her tension easing. There was something comforting about the compartment, about the unhurried conversation accompanied by the rhythmic clatter of the wheels. Even the talkative Anya was beginning to seem less irritating.
When darkness fell, Gleb began nodding off, and Marina started making his bed.
“Let me help,” Anya offered. “I’m an expert at making beds in record time!”
“Thank you.” Marina smiled. “It usually takes him ages to fall asleep on a train.”
“I have a secret weapon.” Anya winked and lowered her voice. “The story of the Sleepy Cat. It puts every child to sleep in five minutes.”
Lidia gave a skeptical little snort but said nothing. She climbed onto her berth while the others settled in for the night. From below came Anya’s whisper as she told the promised story. Ten minutes later, the compartment was quiet. Gleb really had fallen asleep.
“Told you,” Anya whispered to Marina. “Works every time.”
Gradually, everyone settled down. Pavel Sergeyevich snored softly on a lower berth, Marina lay beside her son, and Anya, to Lidia’s surprise, continued rustling about below for quite some time. Lidia lay with her eyes open, listening to the wheels and thinking about the coming reunion with her son and his family.
She had met Vika, her son’s wife, three years earlier, when Dmitry brought her to meet his mother. Lidia had immediately felt that this delicate girl with the soft voice was not right for him. Too ordinary, too yielding. She had imagined a different match for her son—a striking, ambitious woman who would encourage him to advance his career. Despite his education and abilities, Dmitry worked as an ordinary engineer and seemed to have no professional ambitions.
“Mom, Vika and I have decided to get married,” he had told her.
And Lidia had realized she had no choice.
At the wedding, she had remained aloof, though impeccably polite. Afterward, the newlyweds moved to another city, and Lidia rarely saw them. When she learned that her daughter-in-law was pregnant, her response had been restrained.
“I hope you understand what a responsibility this is.”
Dmitry had been hurt and had not called for several months. Then he announced his daughter’s birth in a brief message. And now, this obligatory visit…
Lidia sighed and tried to sleep, but sleep would not come. She took out her phone and looked at her granddaughter’s photograph again. The tiny face seemed vaguely familiar—something of Dmitry as a baby, something of herself. To her surprise, she felt a lump rise in her throat.
The next morning began with a loud argument. Lidia woke to irritated voices and did not immediately understand what was happening. Peering down from the upper berth, she saw that a new passenger had appeared in the compartment—an elderly woman with a heavy bag and a displeased expression.
“This is my berth,” the woman kept insisting, showing Anya her ticket. “Thirty-five. Lower.”
“That’s impossible,” Anya objected, taking out her own ticket. “Mine is thirty-five, too.”
The woman pursed her lips.
“Then there must have been a booking error. But I’m an elderly woman. It’s difficult for me to climb up there. You should give me the lower berth.”
“Why should I?” Anya spread her hands. “I specifically booked a lower berth and paid extra for it. I have a bad back.”
“You have a bad back? Look at me! I’m seventy-two!”
The argument grew louder. Pavel Sergeyevich pretended to read his newspaper, but his discomfort was obvious. Marina and Gleb watched anxiously.
“I’ll fetch the attendant,” the elderly woman said at last. “She’ll sort this out.”
“Go ahead.” Anya shrugged. “But I’m not moving. I’m not giving up my berth to anyone. You should have booked a lower one in the first place.”
Lidia decided to intervene.
“What seems to be the problem?”
“Ah, a witness!” the elderly woman said with relief. “Tell her she should respect her elders and give me her berth.”
Lidia studied the woman. She was about her own age, perhaps a little older, but carried herself as though she were at least eighty.
“May I see your ticket?” Lidia asked.
The woman handed it over. Lidia examined it carefully and frowned.
“It does say berth thirty-five, but in carriage nine. We’re in carriage eight.”
“What?” The woman snatched back her ticket and stared at it. “That’s impossible!”
“Apparently not,” Anya said with a smirk. “You’re in the wrong carriage, ma’am.”
The woman flushed, muttered something unintelligible, and left the compartment, slamming the door behind her.
“Well, that’s settled.” Anya leaned back against the seat. “I can’t stand it when people try to guilt-trip you.”
“You could have given it up,” Lidia observed. “She is elderly, after all.”
“Elderly doesn’t mean helpless,” Anya retorted. “And I’m hardly a little girl myself, you know. Besides, she didn’t even ask politely. She immediately started making demands and trying to make me feel guilty. No, I’m not giving up my berth to anyone. She should have booked a lower one in the first place,” she repeated, unable to contain herself, with even greater emphasis.
“A lot of people think everyone owes them something,” Pavel Sergeyevich suddenly said. “Especially the older generation. Forgive me, Lidia Vasilyevna, but it’s true.”
“Why are you apologizing?” Lidia asked in surprise. “I agree with you completely. Many people my age think the world owes them something simply because they’ve lived a long time. I always told my teachers that respect must be earned, not demanded.”
Anya looked at her with interest.
“You’re an unusual woman, Lidia Vasilyevna. I thought you were going to start shaming me.”
“Why would I? You bought a ticket. That berth is rightfully yours. Besides, that woman was wrong both in what she demanded and in the way she went about it.”
“Well, would you look at that!” Anya exclaimed admiringly. “And I thought you were… well, very strict and principled.”
“I am principled.” Lidia smiled. “My principles simply don’t always match everyone else’s.”
They laughed, and the tension in the compartment dissolved. But Anya’s words left Lidia thinking. Was she really as strict and uncompromising as people believed? And did she behave toward her son and daughter-in-law exactly like that elderly woman—demanding respect and concessions simply because she was older and “knew best”?
Lidia offered an awkward thank-you and went to the restroom. When she returned, a tray of tea and cookies was already waiting in the compartment.
“I got enough for everyone,” Anya said. “Breakfast is more fun together.”
Over breakfast, Pavel Sergeyevich talked about his work at the tax office, Marina shared stories from the kindergarten where she worked as a teacher, and Anya told amusing tales about mishaps at children’s parties. Lidia mostly remained silent, but gradually, she, too, was drawn into the easy conversation.
“And what do you do, Lidia Vasilyevna?” Pavel Sergeyevich suddenly asked.
“I was a school principal,” she replied. “I’m retired now.”
“Wow!” Anya whistled. “That explains why you’re so… organized.”
Lidia could not tell whether this was a compliment, so she simply nodded.
“How do you get along with your daughter-in-law?” Anya asked unexpectedly. “If you don’t mind my asking.”
Lidia hesitated.
“Fine,” she said at last. “We have an ordinary relationship.”
“Well, that’s good.” Anya sighed. “Things with my mother-in-law were absolute hell. She had no respect for me whatsoever. She was always complaining to her son that I cooked the wrong way, cleaned the wrong way, spoke to him the wrong way. We ended up getting divorced.”
“Perhaps she was right?” Lidia could not help saying.
“Perhaps she was,” Anya agreed unexpectedly. “But do you know what I realized later? She was simply afraid of losing her son. She felt I was taking him away from her, and she defended herself the only way she knew how.”
Lidia said nothing, feeling her face grow hot. Anya’s words had struck a nerve. Wasn’t that exactly how she felt about Vika? Hadn’t she seen her as a rival who had taken her son away?
“My mother and my wife didn’t get along at first, either,” Pavel Sergeyevich put in. “But eventually, they got used to each other. Now they’re best friends.”
“You’re married?” Marina asked in surprise. “But you said you didn’t have children…”
“I’m divorced,” the man sighed. “Five years now. It didn’t work out, you see.”
“It happens.” Anya nodded. “Not everyone is meant to grow old together.”
“Do you live alone now?” Marina asked her.
“Not a chance!” Anya laughed. “My apartment’s full of people. My younger sister, her husband and their child, a cat, a dog… Sometimes I long for a little quiet, but there’s nowhere to find it. I can’t even get a moment’s peace in the bathroom—the cat claws at the door and yowls his head off.”
Everyone laughed, and even Lidia could not suppress a smile. This Anya was so… alive. Free of inhibitions, free of stiffness, free of the constant fear of saying the wrong thing or looking foolish. Lidia suddenly realized she envied her.
The day passed slowly on the train. They played cards, looked out the window, dozed, and talked. Anya continued knitting a baby hat, and by evening it was almost finished—a tiny, pale blue thing with an intricate pattern.
“What do you think?” she asked, holding it up for Lidia. “Do you like it?”
“It’s beautiful,” Lidia answered sincerely. “You’re very talented.”
“Oh, come on.” Anya looked embarrassed. “It’s just a little hat. I can make much more complicated things.”
“It really is lovely,” Marina agreed. “I’ve never managed to learn to knit, though I’ve tried several times.”
“I can show you,” Anya offered. “It’s easy!”
She and Marina spent the next hour on a knitting lesson. Lidia watched them, experiencing an unfamiliar feeling. She had never been like that—open, generous with her emotions and her time. She had always kept her distance, always remained on guard. Perhaps that was why she had so few friends. Perhaps that was why her son called so rarely.
That evening, as they were drinking tea again, Anya suddenly asked:
“Lidia Vasilyevna, are you afraid of going to see your son?”
Lidia choked on her tea.
“What makes you think that?”
“Oh, I don’t know.” Anya shrugged. “You just seem tense all the time. I thought perhaps you were worried.”
Lidia wanted to object, to say something sharp, but suddenly she felt exhausted by the constant need to keep up appearances.
“Yes,” she admitted quietly. “I am.”
“What are you afraid of?” Anya asked gently.
“That there’s no place for me there. That they… manage perfectly well without me.”
It was a truth Lidia had never spoken aloud to anyone. She had even been afraid to admit it to herself. All her life, she had been needed, indispensable—at work, at home, everywhere. And now? Who needed her now?
“What nonsense,” Anya scoffed. “You’re the grandmother! How could there be no place for you with a newborn around? There are never enough hands.”
“It isn’t about hands.” Lidia shook her head. “It’s about the fact that they have their own life, their own way of doing things. And I… I’m used to having everything my way.”
“A lot of people struggle with that,” Pavel Sergeyevich unexpectedly joined in, putting down his newspaper. “My mother was always trying to run our family, too. Even after my wife and I separated, she kept telling me how to live.”
“How did you handle it?” Lidia asked, genuinely interested for the first time.
Pavel Sergeyevich gave a wry smile.
“I didn’t. Our relationship is still strained. We speak once a month and talk about the weather. I can’t even remember the last time I visited her.”
Marina, rocking the drowsy Gleb, added quietly:
“My mother-in-law took complete control of everything. That’s why we left to go to my mother’s village. My husband chose his mother over us.”
A heavy silence settled over the compartment. Lidia felt something tighten inside her. She recognized herself in these stories and understood where it was all leading.
“Perhaps you should simply ask,” Anya suggested, still working on her knitting. “Just ask, ‘How can I help?’ Instead of telling them the right way to do things.”
“You don’t understand,” Lidia replied irritably. “They’re inexperienced. There’s so much they don’t know.”
“And you had your child and raised him in a different time,” Anya countered. “There are different approaches now, different information. What was considered right thirty years ago may be outdated today.”
Lidia wanted to argue, but remained silent. She remembered her own mother-in-law arriving after Dima was born and immediately rearranging everything to suit herself. She remembered shouting, “Leave us alone!” And her mother-in-law slamming the door and leaving the very next day.
Things had come full circle.
Late that evening, when Marina and Gleb were already asleep and Pavel Sergeyevich had gone to smoke in the vestibule, Anya finished the little hat and held it out to Lidia.
“Here you are. I hope your granddaughter likes it.”
Lidia took the soft hat and suddenly said:
“You know, there’s more to this visit. My son told me that if I start telling them how to live again, it will be my last.”
“Wow.” Anya whistled. “He means business.”
“Yes.” Lidia looked at the window, where her tired face was reflected. “I don’t know whether I can change. I’m used to being in charge. Used to my word being law.”
“But you’re not at school now,” Anya said quietly. “This is your son’s family. The rules are different.”
Lidia said nothing, turning the hat over in her hands. Then she took her wallet from her bag.
“How much do I owe you?”
“What?” Anya looked confused.
“For the hat. How much is it?”
Anya stared at her in bewilderment.
“It’s a gift, Lidia Vasilyevna. From the heart.”
“I’m not accustomed to accepting gifts from strangers,” Lidia said curtly. “Name your price.”
“Put your money away,” Anya said, suddenly firm. “This hat isn’t for sale. Either you accept it as a gift, or I take it back.”
For several seconds, they stared at each other—two women with utterly different views of life. Finally, Lidia put her wallet away.
“Thank you,” she said stiffly.
“You’re welcome,” Anya replied just as stiffly, turning toward the window.
The next morning, with an hour left before her stop, Lidia packed her things with mixed feelings. On the one hand, she was grateful to her fellow passengers for the past two days. On the other, she resented the fact that strangers had managed to break through her defenses.
By the time they approached the station, she was completely ready to leave. Her suitcase stood by the door, her coat was on, and she held her handbag and a bag of treats.
“Well, Lidia Vasilyevna.” Anya held out her hand. “Good luck with your granddaughter and daughter-in-law. I hope everything works out.”
“Thank you.” Lidia shook her hand. “And good luck to you… with directing.”
Gleb, who had already grown attached to Anya, hugged her and asked:
“Will you show me another trick?”
“Of course, sweetheart! Watch!”
She took a card from her pocket, pretended to pull it from behind his ear, and handed it to him.
“Here. Something to remember me by.”
The train slowed. Lidia looked out at the approaching platform and thought about the reunion ahead. She spotted her son. He stood alone, without his wife or child, his face tense. He was there out of duty rather than eagerness.
“Lidia Vasilyevna, you’ve forgotten the hat!” Anya held out the little blue bundle.
“Oh, yes.” Lidia took it and smiled awkwardly. “Thank you.”
The train stopped. The attendant opened the doors, and Lidia straightened her shoulders and headed for the exit. At the doorway, she turned back and saw Anya giving her a thumbs-up while Marina waved. Even Pavel Sergeyevich nodded goodbye.
Stepping onto the platform, Lidia walked toward her son. He stood with his hands in his pockets, watching her with an unreadable expression.
“Hi, Mom,” he said without much warmth.
“Hello, Dima.” Lidia set down her suitcase. “How’s Vika? How’s Alisa?”
“Fine.” He took her suitcase. “Come on. The taxi’s waiting.”
They walked along the platform, and Lidia suddenly remembered Anya’s words: “How can I help?” Such a simple phrase, yet so difficult for her.
“Dima.” Lidia stopped. “There’s something I want to tell you straightaway.”
Her son turned toward her, bracing himself for another lecture or criticism.
“I haven’t come to tell you how to live.” Lidia took a deep breath. “I’ve come to help. Just tell me what needs doing, and I’ll do it.”
Dmitry stared at her in disbelief.
“Seriously? What about ‘I know better’ and ‘We didn’t do things that way in my day’?”
“We’ll see,” was all Lidia could manage. “I’ll try.”
They continued toward the taxi stand. Ahead lay a difficult conversation with her daughter-in-law, her first meeting with her granddaughter, and an entire week that would test them all. Lidia did not know whether she could manage it, whether she could overcome her old habits. But she wanted to try.
In the taxi, Dmitry suddenly asked:
“What have you got there?”
Lidia looked down at the blue hat she was still holding.
“It’s… a present for Alisa. From a woman I met on the train.”
“Cute.” Her son nodded. “Vika will be pleased. She doesn’t have enough warm things for the baby.”
“I hope it fits,” Lidia murmured.
The taxi pulled away from the station. Anya stood beside the train on the platform, waving after them, though she could hardly have seen them through the tinted windows. Lidia watched the train recede and thought about the strange turn of fate: in just two days, a stranger had shown her something she had failed to see for years.
At that moment, a station announcement rang out over the loudspeaker:
“Train number twenty-two, St. Petersburg to Arkhangelsk, will depart in five minutes. Anyone seeing passengers off is requested to leave the carriages.”
Lidia turned from the window and looked at her son’s profile. So like her own, yet so unfamiliar. Had she truly lost him? Or was there still a chance to put things right?
Her phone chimed in her coat pocket. A message from an unknown number:
“Lidia Vasilyevna, it’s Anya. I copied your number while you were asleep. Don’t be angry. I just wanted to say: remember, you shouldn’t have to give up your place to anyone, but sometimes in life you need to make a little room so there’s space for everyone. Good luck!”
Lidia smiled despite herself and shook her head. That redheaded rascal! But perhaps she was right.
The taxi turned into the courtyard of a five-story apartment building.
“We’re here,” Dmitry said. “Vika doesn’t know you’re arriving today. I wanted to surprise her.”
A surprise. Lidia felt a lump rise in her throat. A surprise visit from a mother-in-law was the last thing a young mother wanted.
“Perhaps we should let her know?” Lidia suggested uncertainly.
“Why?” Dmitry got out of the car and retrieved her suitcase. “She’ll be happy.”
Lidia said nothing. She climbed out of the taxi and walked toward the entrance, repeating to herself like a mantra, “I’m not giving up my place to anyone.” Then she immediately checked herself. That very way of thinking was what had driven a wedge between her and her son.
As they climbed the stairs to the third floor, Lidia thought about what awaited her behind the apartment door. And she understood: however the coming days unfolded, she had to remember one essential thing—this was not her home, her rules, or her life. If she wanted to remain part of it, she would have to learn to be a guest. Even if that proved to be the hardest role of her life.
Dmitry rang the doorbell. Hurried footsteps sounded inside, and the door opened. Vika stood on the threshold, looking drawn, with dark circles under her eyes, wearing a stretched-out T-shirt. At the sight of her mother-in-law, she froze.
“Mom… Lidia Vasilyevna?” Her voice faltered. “We weren’t expecting you so soon.”
“Surprise!” Dmitry gave a strained smile. “I thought you could use some help while I’m away on business.”
Vika looked from her husband to her mother-in-law and back again. There was panic in her eyes.
“Of course, come in,” she said at last, stepping aside. “It’s such a mess, though… I haven’t had time to tidy up.”
“That’s all right.” Lidia stepped into the apartment and stopped. A baby’s quiet crying came from a room farther inside. “Is that her? Alisa?”
Vika nodded.
“I’ve just fed her. I thought she’d fall asleep, but…”
“May I see her?” Lidia asked. Her voice held none of its usual authority, only uncertainty.
“Yes, of course.” Vika led her into a small room.
A tiny bundle lay in the crib, making disgruntled whimpering sounds. Lidia moved closer and bent down. Alisa opened her eyes slightly—dark blue, like all newborns’ eyes—and stared at the unfamiliar face.
“Hello, little Alisa,” Lidia whispered. “I’m your grandmother.”
The little girl blinked and began to fuss again. Lidia automatically reached out to pick her up, then stopped and looked at Vika.
“May I?”
That brief question was perhaps the hardest thing Lidia had said in years. Accustomed to giving orders, taking charge, and deciding for others, she was asking permission for the first time.
Vika seemed to understand the significance of the moment. She smiled—for the first time in all the years they had known each other, without tension or fear.
“Of course you may. You’re her grandmother.”
Lidia carefully lifted her granddaughter into her arms. Alisa grew quiet, studying the new face.
“I have a present for you.” Lidia nodded toward the hat she had placed on the edge of the crib. “From a kind woman who taught me something important.”
“What was that?” Vika asked, picking up the hat and examining the skillful knitting.
Lidia smiled.
“That you shouldn’t have to give up your place to anyone… but sometimes you need to make a little room so everyone can be comfortable.”
Vika gave her a puzzled look but did not ask any more questions. She simply nodded and said:
“It’s a lovely hat. It’ll be perfect for autumn.”
Dmitry’s voice came from the hallway.
“Ladies, I’ve put the kettle on! Would you like tea?”
“Yes, we’ll be right there,” Vika called back, then added quietly, looking at her mother-in-law, “Thank you for coming. I really do need help. I’m so tired…”
Lidia felt something stir inside her. This young woman, whom she had considered weak and unsuitable for her son, now stood before her—exhausted, with chapped lips and tangled hair, yet still finding the strength to be polite to a mother-in-law who had never been kind to her.
“I’ll help,” Lidia said firmly. “Just tell me what needs doing.”
And for the first time in a long while, she spoke those words without any inner resistance. Without trying to claim territory, without planning to impose her own ways. Simply offering help—the help that was needed, rather than the help she thought was right.
Vika nodded gratefully.
“Let’s go and have some tea. We can take Alisa with us. She likes hearing people talk.”
They stepped into the hallway, where Dmitry waited with a wary expression. Seeing his mother holding the baby and his wife smiling, he visibly relaxed.
“Well?” he asked. “Have you two been introduced?”
“Yes,” Lidia replied, looking down at her granddaughter. “I think we’ll get along.”
She did not know how true that would prove to be. She did not know whether she would have enough wisdom and patience. She did not know whether she could truly change. But one thing she knew for certain: she no longer wanted to be like the woman on the train who demanded that someone give up their place simply because she believed she was entitled to it.