The woman hurriedly shoved the chicken into the oven, let out a sigh of relief, and ran to change.
A dress hung neatly on a chair in the bedroom. She had ironed it the night before. She caught her reflection in the mirror. Her hair was a mess, and her bangs were damp with sweat; she'd been rushing with the preparations, and the kitchen was stifling. A towel was draped over her shoulder, and she was wearing an old-fashioned apron that looked brand new—she almost never wore it. She only put it on when guests were coming, thinking it made her look more like a proper hostess. She stared at herself for a moment, but time was ticking. The guests would be there any minute, and she wasn't ready. She quickly changed, put on a bit of mascara and lipstick, and pulled her hair into a neat bun.
Now she felt presentable enough to greet people. Linda checked the clock. It was already past six, and they had agreed on five-thirty. They were late. The woman checked the set table one more time. Was everything out? Had she forgotten anything? There was the usual potato salad—how could she not have that? It was a classic; for Linda, it was almost a superstition—a proper dinner just wasn't complete without it. They had been through so much, but she always tried to put potato salad on the holiday table—a symbol of faith in a better future.
And right now, that was very relevant. They were coming to formally meet her daughter for marriage. Her daughter, Megan, had been dating this guy for six months, and Linda hadn't even met him yet. And now, the young man and his parents were all coming over at once. She wanted to welcome them well; after all, they were going to be family now. She straightened the tablecloth; everything looked decent, but she was nervous. She had bought a more expensive bottle of bourbon. For drinks, besides her homemade iced tea, she'd picked up some ginger ale—Megan loved it. She'd bring out the biscuits later so they'd be hot, and the mashed potatoes were ready, wrapped in a towel to keep them warm. She'd already turned off the oven for the chicken. With the appetizers and the cheese platter, it seemed she hadn't forgotten a thing. Still, she worried if the guests would leave hungry. Her anxiety also came from a feeling that something might go wrong. Her heart wasn't at peace. Maybe it was because she had to give away her only daughter, the light of her life, in marriage.
Linda sat down for a moment. She remembered how long she had waited for her baby girl. She was forty when she had her. How she had rejoiced at her arrival! The woman's personal life hadn't really worked out. She'd married young to a man ten years older who drank, so she left him. And somehow, she never met anyone serious after that. At thirty-nine, she decided to have a child for herself. She was seeing a man at the time who didn't want kids. Linda told him she was on the pill, so they didn't use protection. When she got pregnant, she had a serious talk with him about his plans for the future. The man said he'd already been married, had a son, and didn't want to start another family; he suggested they keep seeing each other occasionally with no strings attached. Linda refused. She didn't say a word about the pregnancy. It was her decision; why cause the man unnecessary worry when she could handle it herself?
She had worked at a chemical plant her whole life, first as an operator, then as a technician. She had enough seniority to retire but kept working. First, she earned enough for a three-bedroom apartment, then she put her daughter through college. There was never time to rest. She'd seen it all in her life; now she just had to get her daughter settled and married, and then she could rest and wait for grandkids.
The doorbell rang. Linda jumped up, fussing about, ran to the kitchen to pull the chicken out of the oven, set it quickly on the table, and hurried to open the door for the guests. She brushed aside all her worries; after all, her daughter was starting a new life.
But the meeting went poorly from the very start. Linda greeted the newcomers. They replied with rather cold greetings. Megan introduced her mother to Brian, and his parents, Nora and Robert. The young man's parents walked straight into the apartment and started looking around. Linda hurried to the kitchen to bring the hot food to the table. She invited them to sit. The guests sat down and looked at the food-laden table without any enthusiasm.
"You must be hungry?" Linda began cheerfully, hiding her nerves. "Please, help yourselves, don't be shy." She stood up, scooped a spoonful of potatoes, and moved it toward the plate of her future son-in-law's mother.
The woman covered her plate with her hand. Perplexed, Linda moved the spoon toward the man's plate. He covered his plate with a napkin and gave his son a displeased look. Linda looked uncertainly at the young man; he shook his head no. Megan looked down guiltily. The woman put some potatoes on her own plate and sat down. She nervously crumpled her napkin, trying to find the right words.
Finally, breaking the awkward silence, Nora spoke up.
"Linda..." She looked the hostess over critically. "I don't even know your last name," Linda started to open her mouth to clarify, but the woman continued. "Thank you, of course, for... this." Nora glanced over the table. "Welcoming us. People have mostly forgotten those old-fashioned times when there was nothing but potato salad on the table."
It felt like Linda had been slapped. She had spent all day cooking and bought the best ingredients. She thought the spread was quite generous. Of course, maybe the menu was outdated.
"She should have just ordered sushi or pizza, at least," Brian whispered into his fiancée's ear. Linda heard it, of course; maybe he said it on purpose just to sting.
"Well, how about a little drink to our meeting?" Linda suggested, gathering her courage. She immediately reached for the bottle and poured the bourbon into small glasses.
"And people haven't touched hard liquor like that in ages," the groom noted in a critical, half-loud whisper.
Again, the guests exchanged annoyed looks and didn't touch their glasses. The woman looked hopefully at her daughter. Maybe she would support her or lighten the mood. After all, she'd spent time with them before. But Megan intentionally looked away to avoid meeting her mother's eyes.
"Let's not waste time and get straight to the point," Robert said, pushing back from the table.
Then the groom's mother spoke again. She didn't beat around the bush. She immediately stated that the young couple needed to buy a house. "That's actually why we're here—to discuss the housing situation. To make sure no one has any complaints, and since life is complicated these days—anything can happen—we'll be splitting the cost of the house fifty-fifty. Our half is already ready. If you don't have the necessary amount, we can help you sell your three-bedroom apartment."
"Linda," Nora almost smiled for the first time all evening. "I don't know your last name," Linda didn't even try to interject this time as the guest continued. "You're all alone, and your daughter is already settled. Why do you need a three-bedroom apartment?"
Linda just listened, unable to recover from the shock. She felt like a schoolgirl who had done something wrong. She was a woman of the old-school upbringing; she did things the way she knew, the way she had her whole life. But here, apparently, it wasn't "on trend," as the young people say. In short, the in-laws convinced Linda to sell her home, give the money to the young couple for their house, and buy herself a small one-bedroom.
What wouldn't she do for her daughter's happiness? There would be lower utilities and it would be faster to clean. The guests provided a heap of arguments; it wasn't for nothing that they both worked somewhere in the legal field.
Once the future relatives left, her daughter reassured her mother, saying they were just sophisticated people with different family traditions, but they were good people and she shouldn't be offended. Linda grieved; she was used to living there. She had earned the place on her own; no one had helped her. She had furnished everything, knew every corner—she'd done all the repairs herself. This was her nest; she'd been building it her whole life... But she grieved and then let it go. The main thing was that her daughter would want for nothing.
Megan was nearly twenty-three, a teacher by education, a modest girl who had just started teaching elementary school. Under current conditions and with that salary, she'd never earn enough for a house. They were young, and the woman didn't want her daughter wasting her youth just trying to afford a place to live. If there was a chance to help, a mother would do anything to make their lives easier. The in-laws settled everything quickly. They said the family should have their own place by the wedding.
***
Linda's apartment was sold. While they looked for a place for her, she went to live at her summer cottage. Spring had just begun, so she started a garden and took a leave of absence from work. Later, they called the future mother-in-law and showed her the apartment they'd bought—it was gorgeous, right in the city center. They hinted that it needed furniture. The young couple couldn't afford it yet, so she had to help. What could she do? She agreed. They chose everything themselves and just told her the price. The groom's mother said, of course, they'd split it. Even split fifty-fifty, the furniture they picked wasn't cheap.
In the end, very little money was left for Linda. The in-laws didn't bother to ask how she was going to buy a one-bedroom apartment with that. Linda saw what she could buy with that money now—she only found a ten-foot room in a boarding house on the outskirts of town. She thought it over and decided to fix up the summer cottage and live there. The house was in a small community where many retirees lived year-round. It had electricity, water, and gas. It just needed insulation and some minor repairs. It would be even better than an apartment. She decided to put the money into the cottage. There would be more use and enjoyment in it. The cottage was far from the city, so commuting to work was impossible. And it took a lot of time to get the house ready for winter.
Linda decided she'd worked enough; her daughter was grown and independent, so now she could retire. She quit her job and got a dog. The neighbors had an older puppy left, and Linda took a liking to him—he'd be a friend so she wouldn't be lonely, and a guard for the house. There was a small shop near the settlement. If she needed anything else, she had to go to the next village over. It was a forty-minute walk through the woods, or a bus came twice a day. It was livable. Linda got into the habit of going to the village on Sundays for groceries; it was cheaper there and had more variety. There was also a small church in the village—she'd stop in for the morning service before going to the shop.
***
At the end of the summer, the young couple had their wedding. Linda was there, of course, but felt like a stranger, sitting off to the side, needed by no one. She worried about her daughter. She could see that Brian was coarse, and his parents were arrogant. She didn't want to think about it, but she felt it would end badly.
After the wedding, the kids started their own life. Her daughter didn't visit much and called rarely. Her mother blamed it on her being busy, making excuses for her. Soon Megan announced they were expecting. Her mother was overjoyed. Every Sunday when she went to church, she asked God to help her daughter so everything would be fine in her family.
One day the woman decided to visit the young couple. She called her daughter and they agreed she'd come over and stay the night. Because the buses were rare and the last one left at seven in the evening, she was afraid she wouldn't make it. She could go back calmly in the morning. She left Buddy—her dog—with her neighbor, Bill. The man kept goats, so she bought some homemade cheese from him to treat the young couple. She also took some homegrown tomatoes.
She arrived by lunchtime. She was happy to see her daughter and see how they were living. They didn't welcome her very warmly. They only offered her tea; her son-in-law said a few words and went to his room to the computer. Megan said he had work to do. She didn't say what kind of work it was, though; she brushed off the subject, saying he couldn't find anything worthwhile and was doing some freelance stuff online. Her daughter, meanwhile, kept working as a teacher. For now, she said, she was the breadwinner; her money only went toward food and utilities, with nothing left over, but Brian would get a normal job soon and everything would be fine. In any case, once she had the baby, her husband would work. So they sat until evening; her son-in-law popped in a few times, whispering something to his wife, and Linda felt uncomfortable, like she was in the way. And then there was the staying overnight...
But as she realized, she wouldn't be staying. Her daughter said guests were coming over now. And it wasn't too late; maybe her mom could catch the last bus. What could she say? Of course she'd make it. Linda missed the bus; even as she was leaving her daughter's, she knew she probably wouldn't make it. Но the young couple was so insistent about her leaving that the woman didn't resist. She had to spend the night at the station. After that, the connection with her daughter was lost.
Linda tried calling, but couldn't get through, and Megan didn't reach out either. The woman was sad and worried for her daughter, but all she could do was pray. If she wasn't needed, she wouldn't impose. She'd already settled in at the cottage; when it was warm, there was plenty to do: the garden, canning. Once it got cold, there wasn't much to do.
She visited Bill occasionally—he was older, like her—to check if he was alright, and she'd bring him her homemade pickles. Another joy was going to church on the weekends. It was cold, of course, and the buses didn't run out of season, so she walked, but she felt at peace after praying for her daughter. So she lived until spring. Starting in January, she found work to do at the cottage again—she started her seedlings. The frosts had passed, and soon she could plant them outside.
***
One morning Linda woke up to the dog barking. She went out, and there was her daughter on the doorstep. She was in tears. She only had a small bag with her, and a large belly. She was eight months along. Her mother quickly put the kettle on. She listened to Megan's story.
She told her that her husband's parents wouldn't let her be. Their apartment was right next to theirs. They came by almost every day to see their son, and they were constantly badmouthing the daughter-in-law. Her husband didn't protect her; he just got angrier. Megan ran the household her own way, but her mother-in-law would come and redo everything her way, calling her incompetent and a beggar. Her salary was very small, of course, and her mother couldn't help. And her husband didn't work at all; he'd go see friends or sit at the computer. But his parents were rich and didn't spare money for him. But they made sure he didn't spend much on his wife.
Two days ago, he went out to see friends and only came back toward morning, drunk; they fought, and he hit her. The girl left the house so her husband would calm down, hoping he might feel sorry, remember she was carrying his child, and repent. She wandered the city for half a day; no one looked for her. She went back late that evening, only to find her husband entertaining some girl. Megan wanted to kick them both out, but her husband just laughed, saying the apartment was his and if she wanted, she could leave herself. The girl began to investigate, not believing her husband. It turned out his parents had seen to it—they'd titled the property in his name only. They were experts in that field, knew the law well, and insisted on buying it before the wedding specifically so she could have no claim to it. Her husband didn't even pity the future child, saying it was too early for him to have kids. He wasn't ready for that responsibility. He'd suggested she get an abortion many times, but she refused; now she'd have to decide what to do with it herself. So her daughter was left with nothing, a "beggar" for real now.
But that didn't matter to her mom. She didn't hold a grudge against her daughter; she was family, after all, and she had repented. The two of them began living at the cottage. The baby was born healthy. No one from the father's side interested themselves in his fate. The two women raised little Jacob together. Money was tight, of course, but they planted a garden and bought milk and cheese from the neighbor. The food wasn't always what they wanted, but it was mostly homegrown and organic.
When Jacob turned one, the women decided that Megan would go to work and her mom would stay with the baby. At the church, Linda was told that the school was looking for teachers. Megan went there immediately and was hired. She got a job as an elementary school teacher, right in her specialty. And slowly life settled down; everyone had their own business. It was good that Jacob grew up to be a calm and strong boy. Not much trouble for Grandma, mostly joy. He was in the fresh air every day; the cottage was a playground for her grandson, and he played with Buddy—he adored that dog. They went for milk together and he talked to the goats. Bill was a handyman, too, and made wooden toys for the little one. They lived an eco-life. For Megan, commuting to the school was inconvenient—a long walk through the woods every day. But she didn't complain; she liked the work. Sometimes Bill would give her a lift; he had an old truck. If he was going to take his farm products to the village for sale, he'd pick up the girl on the way.
Linda was glad she'd settled at the cottage. Peace had come into her life. She didn't regret the past; she'd let it all go. She wasn't one to hold grudges. Life would put everything in its place. God sees all; everyone gets what they deserve. And the woman didn't consider herself wronged; she was grateful for what she had, and she didn't need more.
Linda was brewing tea when the dog barked. The woman looked out the window. A little boy was standing at the gate. She only turned away for a second, and already there was a crash behind her. Her grandson was exploring the kitchen again. He'd pulled a towel off the table, and the silverware that was on it. She rushed to take the utensils away from him. It was a good thing he wasn't hurt. She'd long since hidden the knives away. Her daughter also ran in at the noise. But everything was fine.
Buddy barked again. Megan hurried out. It was Johnny—a first-grader from her class, waiting to go to school together. He also lived at the summer community, and if his parents couldn't take him, Megan would take him along; they'd walk through the woods together. It wasn't hard for her; it was more fun. On the way they'd admire nature, and she'd tell the boy about the plants and animals they saw.
She'd been working at the school for three months. This was her first class here. The atmosphere was completely different from the city. Somehow more heartfelt; parents came by more often, took an interest in their kids, and helped the teacher with homework on their end. In the city, you couldn't say a word to them. They'd immediately protest, saying it was your job to teach, so teach. And the fact that work had to be done at home too—not their problem; they'd just finished work, they needed to rest, and here the kids were in the way. Not everyone was like that, of course; there were sensible ones. But this school was completely different. Maybe because everyone was on the same level; there wasn't much to brag about. No one was richer or poorer—it was even here. And those who wanted a better life had moved to the city.
Megan was always calm; she wouldn't yell at the kids, and if something wasn't clear, she'd explain it several times. All children are different, everyone has a knack for different subjects; why push them if it doesn't click? The girl would explain until they understood, drawing pictures on the board and giving examples. The kids adored her for it. She could tell a story about any topic so interestingly that they'd sit quietly with their mouths open.
Three other children from the cottage community where the teacher lived also went to that school. Two were in her class, and one was two years older. The rest were from the village. Once they all got used to her, the four of them started walking to school together. If neighbor Bill was driving his truck, he'd load up the whole group, and they'd drive to school with music and songs. The man had an old stereo and cassettes. The kids thought it was funny what he listened to. As soon as they got in, they'd ask him to play that country song about the cowboy. They'd sing along in unison.
Megan was in good standing with the principal. The girl handled the curriculum, the kids adored her, the class was tight-knit, and the parents praised her. The principal even asked her to organize some after-school activities. There weren't any clubs, and the kids would be interested in making something. Megan was smart, but she'd never really done anything creative. She didn't know what to come up with for the kids. She consulted her mother. Her mom said they used to make stuffed toys in her school. The girl didn't really know how to sew, but she was fired up by the idea. She looked online; you can find anything you want these days. She thought about how to interest the kids so it would be useful and not boring for them. After all, they'd also need material for the crafts, and where would the parents get extra money? Something budget-friendly and useful in life. She decided to sew bags with the kids. She found an interesting technique for making patterns out of scraps. And you could do it from old, unnecessary things. At first she counted on the girls, but Johnny asked to join; he said his mom's birthday was coming up and he wanted to make her a gift. And the work took off. With Johnny, they sewed a little pouch for a phone. He made his mom happy. By Christmas, everyone who wanted to join her group came, sewing phone cases and shoe bags. Megan learned as she taught the kids. The crafts were simple, but they brought the kids so much joy.
For her own Jacob, the girl also sewed a funny hand puppet. She'd planned on a cat, but it turned into a dog; her son pointed out that it looked just like Buddy. She sewed a bag for her mother out of an old shirt. For Christmas, they prepared a concert at the school. Megan and her first-graders came up with a dance. She looked forward to the holiday with anticipation. Both she and her students were nervous.
Her mom came with Jacob to watch the performance. Time will fly like that, and soon her son will be dancing awkwardly under the tree just like that, Megan thought. Parents, grandparents, and just acquaintances came to the concert. It was entertainment for the whole village. They weren't spoiled by celebrities; any holiday was a joy for them. And the principal's son, Matthew, came too. He spent the whole evening paying attention to Megan. She thought he was just in high spirits because everyone was having fun, and they were nearly the same age. But after that concert, he started dropping by the school often. He'd slip her a piece of candy or insistently ask for advice on some silly question. The girl understood he liked her, but she had no interest in Matthew. The young man continued to pursue her insistently. She didn't know where to hide from the suitor. And while before it was just a "candy period," now it moved into the stage of pestering. He'd pinch her or grab her by the waist. He started getting handsy. Megan tried to explain things to him calmly, but he was stubborn as a mule. He said that if a girl says "no," she means "yes." She was embarrassed in front of her colleagues.
It was a good thing he didn't act like that around the kids. But the staff had already seen more than once how she talked to Matthew with dislike; they hinted she should be careful, otherwise the principal wouldn't let her son be wronged, and she might have problems. They were right.
One day the guy cornered Megan behind the school and smacked her backside. The girl couldn't take such insolence and slapped him across the face so hard she left a bruise. She decided not to let it go and complain to the principal about the harassment, naively believing the woman would talk some sense into her son. But she didn't believe the girl. She said her son wouldn't throw himself at the first skirt he saw. "A single mother—who knows who you've been running with or who you even are. You'd better stop these slanders, or you'll ruin the school's reputation." Megan swallowed her pride and didn't mention it again. The principal evidently talked to her son. He saw his mother was on his side and that the girl might lose her job if she misbehaved. He became even bolder.
One spring day, she was returning home late from work. She was tired—they were preparing for Mother's Day, she'd held the club, and then spent time filling out the grade book and preparing gifts for the girls as a surprise. The girl walked through the woods, thinking about what kind of number to prepare with the boys for the girls. She was looking at the woods; the white birches were standing there, the leaves would appear soon, and everything would bloom. Lost in her thoughts, she didn't notice someone was following her. Suddenly a branch snapped very close to her. The girl turned around in alarm. It was Matthew. Before she could say a word, he walked up and grabbed her by the arm. Megan began to panic. The guy started telling her about love, mentioned the bruise, said he was coming to her with all his heart and she didn't realize what she was missing. He didn't confess his feelings for long; his hands went to work. The girl tried to fight back, and he was breathing heavily and raggedly, one hand squeezing her tight, the other going under her skirt. Megan kicked him with all her might; he let go of her arm, she pushed him, and ran. But the guy fell and went out cold. The girl was afraid she'd hurt him. She went over, and he'd fallen on a sharp branch and was lying motionless. She ran to the village for help. They couldn't save Matthew.
He died before help could arrive. The police came immediately. Megan described everything as it happened—how she was defending herself, how he was harassing her, how she'd only pushed him. But no one believed her; they took her straight to jail. The principal testified that the teacher had slandered her son and had intentionally settled scores with him. Colleagues also confirmed that the girl and the guy had a hostile relationship.
The investigation didn't take long. The sentence was handed down—ten years in prison. They didn't even care that she had a small child. Child services took Jacob and put him in a foster home. Her grandmother couldn't get custody. They deemed the house unfit for living. And you couldn't be legally registered there; according to the documents, it was a seasonal community. Although many lived there year-round, officially the construction of a house had to be coordinated with the local administration. Linda, as the owner, didn't have any such permits. She'd bought the cottage without thinking about it. That's how it all turned out—the daughter in prison, the grandson in foster care.
***
And so the years of waiting dragged on. Linda kept up the cottage as best she could and visited her daughter and grandson. Her health was already starting to fail. Her blood pressure often rose, and her leg hurt. Maybe it was because she'd worked at a hazardous plant her whole life, or maybe it was just the great stress. And there were a lot of worries in retirement—the cottage, visiting her grandson in one place and her daughter in another, all on foot. She saved on everything to give something to her loved ones, even though her daughter told her she didn't need anything. Over time, she visited less often; her leg got worse, and she couldn't travel much. She needed joint surgery, but there was no money.
After six long years in prison, Megan was released on parole. She had worked in the sewing department, hadn't violated any rules, and had earned it. Her mother was already seventy, and she'd lived to see her daughter home. Although she thought she'd cried all her tears during that time, when she saw her daughter, the tears came. They stood outside in a long embrace. Buddy didn't recognize the girl at first, standing off to the side, wary. Then he approached, sniffed the guest, recognized her, and wagged his tail happily, nuzzling against her. Dogs remember people, even after all that time.
Once the girl was free, she went to the children's home to see her son. Her son didn't recognize her immediately; he was a quiet, frightened boy, afraid to approach a stranger. Megan burst into tears, hugged her son, and promised she'd come back for him. She began finding out how to get her son back. But, as before, they explained that the mother didn't have the conditions to support him and wasn't financially secure. She could forget about the teaching profession; she was banned from that work now. She couldn't afford her own place. What could she give her son? She gave up immediately. Many trials had fallen on the young woman's head. From idleness and lack of money, she started drinking. An elderly couple living at the community, who also drank too much, were happy to share a drink with the girl for company. Thanks to her mother, who was no longer young but didn't despair, she didn't leave her daughter to her fate; she fought for her, trying to bring her to her senses.
One day Linda went to a clinic in the city; it was already hard to step on her leg, so she decided to consult a doctor again. Bill, the neighbor, had been supporting her all this time, helping however he could, and this time he drove her in his truck. After the clinic, they visited some of Linda's old acquaintances. They got to talking, and the woman burst into tears from helplessness, saying she didn't know how to pull her daughter out of this hole. An acquaintance who had a small tailor shop said she happened to need a seamstress. The work there wasn't hard—hemming things, minor repairs, sewing curtains and bedding—that was mostly what they did. She said she'd known Megan since she was a child, that she was a good girl, her life had just turned out poorly, and she was ready to take her into the shop.
Megan accepted the offer with enthusiasm. She moved to the city and began working diligently, quickly remembering what they'd crafted with the students and her prison skills. She quit drinking—she saw the light at the end of the tunnel and had hope she could get her son back. She lived in a dormitory. There were four other girls in the room. They all worked and were serious. She became friends with one of them—Lisa. She worked as an accountant at a factory and was also into sewing. They talked a lot; both wanted to buy a place, because you couldn't live in a dorm forever.
Megan quickly got the hang of the work in the tailor shop—how it worked, how to organize it, where to buy the best material. She decided to try opening her own shop. Lisa supported her and agreed to work with her, especially since she understood financial matters. She took on all the paperwork and accounting.
They opened up. It was hard at first. Megan worked half the day at her mother's friend's shop and half the day at her own shop. Lisa took a leave of absence; she had two months saved up at the factory. They decided that until it was clear how things would go, it was better to be safe and not quit her job. In the evenings they spent a lot of time online looking at what they could sew that would sell well. They settled on eco-bags—they were popular now, and you could make exclusive items from scrap material. The tailor shop began to turn a profit after just a month of operation. The friends decided to quit their jobs and focus only on their own business. Megan's boss wasn't offended that the girl had started her own business; on the contrary, she was happy for her that her life was getting back on track. There was plenty of work, orders were coming in well; they'd picked a good spot for the shop, convenient for people—they'd buy something at a store and come to them to have it tailored. They started offering the bags to stores and signed contracts with several outlets; orders increased. They opened another tailor shop, and after a while, another one. They gradually saved for an apartment, and Megan was getting closer to her goal—getting her son out of the foster home.
Almost a year had passed since she got out of prison; she had enough income to go to child services. She rented a small apartment and started gathering the documents. She brought her mom over to get her joint treated. In the end, everything was resolved successfully. She got her son out of foster care, and her mom's surgery was a success. By spring Linda was almost running around the cottage, working in the garden; now she had someone to feed fresh homegrown fruits and vegetables. What a joy it was for the woman when, after so many years, guests came to the cottage. Jacob remembered Buddy, and they went to Bill's together to see the goats. It was as if new life had been breathed into the cottage. It bloomed and hummed.
Now her daughter and grandson tried to visit almost every weekend. She had a lot of work, as she'd decided to save up for her own home as quickly as possible, but she didn't want to leave her mother alone. Another year later, Megan bought an apartment. She suggested her mother move in with her, since everything was close by, there were conveniences, and if anything happened, she wouldn't have to go to the next town for a hospital. But the woman refused. She was already used to the cottage and was happy there; she knew everyone, and was used to going to her church—how could she be without it? The mother was happy her daughter was doing well; that was the main thing for her. Now her tears weren't from sadness, but from happiness. And she had her loyal dog. And where would Buddy go from the cottage? He wouldn't do well in an apartment; he'd get bored.
And her daughter and grandson visited often now; what more does an elderly woman need? Megan had become an independent woman with a good income. She and Lisa managed three tailor shops, handled deliveries, and dealt with paperwork—it took a lot of time. The girls worked for them, and if someone was on vacation or sick, the owners would fill in. And they enjoyed doing the sewing, too, coming up with something new. After all, it's important for a woman to be creative; then the mind calms down and the mood improves.
Once at the market Megan met her ex-husband. She thought she was mistaken. He was making gyros in a stall. He looked haggard, older than his years. Brian recognized her, too. His arrogance was gone. It turned out his parents had started having money problems. They'd taken another bribe at work to settle a client's issue by bypassing the law. Someone had informed on them. Now they had to give bribes themselves to close the case and stay out of prison. And it was a serious case; they had to deal not with some petty officials, but on a large scale. The house they'd bought for the young couple, which they'd deceitfully titled only in their son's name, was sold. They bought their way out of prison, but after ruining their reputation, they couldn't work anymore. They only had their pension to rely on. They stopped helping their son. They didn't take him in to live with them, saying they wanted to live for themselves now.
And Brian had never worked himself, except for some small online scams. Finding himself without money or a home, he started looking for any side jobs. Making gyros didn't pay much. He asked Megan where she worked. He didn't even ask how she had survived with the child or how his son was doing. Once he found out his ex-wife was running a business, he asked if she needed a loader, saying he was ready to work. The girl said she'd think about it and left. She realized one thing. You can't build happiness on someone else's misfortune. You have to build your own life yourself, achieve everything yourself. Parents give their children what they can, but love is the main thing. And when you've grown up, be so kind as to go and work yourself. Say thank you to your family for putting you on your feet, and now it's your turn to take care of them. We're used to always being able to count on our parents, to drain them dry. But they have earned their rest and mutual care.
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