— Yes.
— It’s hard for me. She really did raise me alone, she sacrificed a lot.
— I know. But that doesn’t give her the right to control your life. Our life.
Kirill nodded. He took the bag of knitted things and carried it to the bedroom. Olga followed him. They unpacked the gifts together. The socks were indeed knitted with care. With love. Small, warm, touching.
— She tried, — Kirill said quietly. — Even though she’s not a great knitter, she tried.
— Maybe when the baby is born, she’ll change, understand that boundaries need to be respected, — Olga shrugged. — Maybe. Or maybe not. Time will tell.
Kirill put the socks in the dresser, next to the other baby clothes. He closed the drawer and turned to Olga.
— Thank you for giving me a chance. I won’t let you down, I promise.
— I’m not giving you a chance, — Olga replied. — I’m just trying to save our family. For the baby, for us.
He hugged her — gently, carefully, as if afraid to break her. Olga didn’t pull away, she pressed closer and closed her eyes. She was tired. But for the first time in a long time, she felt: not alone.
A week passed. Life settled into a new routine. Kirill worked, Olga too. In the evenings, they had dinner together, watched movies, discussed what else they needed to buy for the baby. Lyudmila Fyodorovna didn’t call, didn’t come. It was as if she had vanished.
Olga signed up for prenatal classes. Kirill went with her, sat in the back row, listening about breathing, contractions, partner-assisted birth. After the class, the instructor praised them: “It’s rare for husbands to come, you’re doing great.”
At the next ultrasound, the doctor said everything was going well. The baby was developing properly, the heartbeat was excellent. She asked if they wanted to know the gender. Olga looked at Kirill. He shrugged: “Whatever you want.”
— We want to, — Olga said.
— It’s a boy, — the doctor smiled. — Congratulations.
Kirill exhaled and smiled broadly, boyishly.
— A boy… A son.
And he hugged Olga right there in the office, tightly, joyfully.
— Olya, we’re going to have a son.
— Yes, we are.
They left the clinic and got in the car. Kirill started the engine but didn’t drive. He sat with his hands on the steering wheel, staring straight ahead.
— I’m going to be a good father, — he said quietly. — Not like mine. I won’t leave, I won’t walk away. I’ll be there. Always.
— I know.
— And I won’t let my mother interfere with his upbringing. He’s our son, we decide how to raise him.
— I agree.
He turned to her and took her hand.
— Forgive me. For everything. For not understanding right away whose side I should be on.
Olga squeezed his fingers in return. For the first time in days.
— I forgive you. But I don’t forget. Remember that.
— I remember. And I won’t repeat it.
They drove home. On the way, they stopped at a store and bought groceries. Kirill carried the heavy bags, Olga the light ones. They went up to the apartment and put the groceries away. They cooked dinner together: he chopped vegetables, she made soup.
In the evening, when they had already gone to bed, Kirill returned to their bed. Olga didn’t object. He hugged her from behind and placed a hand on her stomach.
— Hello, son, — he whispered into the darkness. — It’s Dad. I’m waiting for you. I’m really waiting. I promise I’ll protect you and Mom. Always. From everyone. Even from Grandma, if I have to.
Olga closed her eyes and covered his hand with hers. Not everything had healed yet. The wounds were fresh, deep, but they were closing. Slowly, but surely.
A few days later, a message came from Lyudmila Fyodorovna:
“Kirillushka, how are you? I miss you. Maybe we can call each other?”
Kirill showed it to Olga. She shrugged: “Your decision.”
He dialed the number and put it on speaker. Lyudmila Fyodorovna answered on the first ring.
— Son, I’m so glad! How are you? How’s Olenka? How’s my little grandson?
— Everything’s fine, Mom. We found out the gender. It’s a boy.
— A boy! Oh, how wonderful! I’ve always dreamed of a grandson! Listen, let me come over. I’ll finish knitting some more things. I’ll help you with the nursery.
— Mom, stop. We’re not renovating. And we don’t need help right now.
— What do you mean you don’t need help? Who will babysit when Olenka goes back to work? Will we hire a nanny or will I take time off? Why pay a nanny when I can do it for free?
— Because you don’t know how to respect boundaries, Mom.
Silence. Then Lyudmila Fyodorovna’s voice became cold, offended:
— So that’s how it is… I’m a stranger. Well, I’ll remember that.
— Mom, don’t be offended. Just understand: we want to raise our child ourselves, on our own. And you can see your grandson, of course. But on our terms, you understand?
— I don’t understand. I’m a mother. I’m a grandmother. I have rights.
— You do. But not the right to dictate how we live. Not the right to meddle in our lives without asking. Not the right to steal money from us.
— I didn’t steal! I wanted to keep it safe!
— Mom, enough. We’ve already discussed this. You stole. Whether you admit it or not is your business. But the fact remains.
Lyudmila Fyodorovna sniffled into the phone, then hung up. Kirill put the phone away and lay back on his pillow.
— She won’t change, — he said tiredly.
— Really?
— Unlikely. People her age rarely change.
— Then what do we do?
— Keep our distance. Communicate. But at a safe distance. She’s a grandmother, yes. But a grandmother who doesn’t respect boundaries.
Kirill nodded. He hugged Olga and pressed his forehead to her shoulder.
— It’s hard for me. She’s my mother.
— I know. But you’ll manage. We’ll manage.
He fell asleep, not letting her go.
Olga lay there, staring at the ceiling. She thought about the birth, the sleepless nights, the diapers, the feeding. She thought about Lyudmila Fyodorovna not leaving them alone. She would call, come over, demand attention. She thought about whether Kirill would hold up or not. But she thought about it calmly, without panic, without fear. Because now she knew: there was money for the baby, her husband was on her side, boundaries were set. Everything else was manageable.
In the morning, Olga woke up to a phone call. An unknown number. She answered.
— Hello?
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