Downsize. Find something in your actual budget. Live within your means instead of depending on subsidies you didn’t even realize you were getting.
I heard a door slam in the background, followed by Oilia’s voice, shrill and demanding.
Is that your mother? Give me the phone.
Oilia, maybe we should—
Give me the phone, David.
There was a rustling sound.
Then Oilia’s voice came through clearly.
What kind of sick game are you playing?
She demanded, all pretense of sweetness gone.
Hello, Oilia. I understand you received some documents today.
You’ve been lying to us for years, pretending to be some poor old woman while secretly owning half the city.
I never pretended to be poor. I live modestly because I choose to. There’s a difference.
You let us think we were helping you. All those dinners you supposedly cooked for us. All those gifts you said were all you could afford—
Were all I thought you deserved, I interrupted, my voice turning cold. Based on how you treated me.
How we treated you. We included you in everything. We invited you to holidays. We let you babysit when we needed it.
You used me, Oilia. You used my money and my generosity, and you mocked me for it. You thought I was some pathetic old woman you had to tolerate for David’s sake.
That’s not true.
I heard you. Christmas night, every word.
The silence stretched between us, and I could almost hear her mind racing, trying to remember exactly what she’d said, and who might have overheard.
You were eavesdropping.
I was washing the dishes you’d insisted I use. The expensive crystal that I’d bought as a housewarming gift 3 years ago.
Look, maybe I said some things I shouldn’t have, but—
No, maybe about it. You said exactly what you meant and now you’re facing the consequences.
David, I heard her calling to him. Your mother has lost her mind. She’s punishing us because her feelings got hurt.
But David’s voice when it came back on the line was different.
Quieter.
Mom, are you still there?
I’m here.
When you heard what she said, how did it make you feel?
The question caught me off guard.
After everything, he was asking about my feelings.
It made me realize that I’d been fooling myself for 15 years, thinking that generosity would eventually earn me the respect and love I’d been giving freely.
I love you, Mom. You know that, right?
I know you do, David.
But love without respect isn’t enough anymore.
Sunday morning, they came to my apartment together. I saw them through my kitchen window, walking up the path to my building.
David looked exhausted, his shoulders hunched like he was carrying the weight of the world.
Oilia walked beside him. Her designer handbag clutched tightly, her jaw set in determination.
I’d been expecting this visit.
I opened the door before they could knock.
“Come in.”
Oilia pushed past David, her eyes scanning my living room with new awareness. The modest furniture, the simple decorations, the family photos on every surface.
She was seeing it all differently now, realizing that the woman who lived in this small space controlled their entire living situation.
We need to talk, she announced, her voice sharp with barely contained anger.