“Mom, pack your things… We’re leaving for the nursing home!” — the son had already devised a cunning plan to deceive his sick mother.

“My son? Grichenka… It’s me, your mother…” — Galina Pavlovna’s voice trembled like an autumn leaf caught in the wind—fragile, lonely, full of quiet hope. She pressed the old phone receiver to her ear, as if afraid even this invisible bridge between her and her son might break at any moment.

Silence. On the line, there was a click, then a familiar but now so distant voice: —Mom, hi. I’m busy. Is it urgent? If not, I’ll call back… someday.

The woman’s heart clenched, like a crumpled piece of paper crushed under the weight of years. Again. Again that “busy,” that “later,” that “someday.” And all she wanted was simply to hear his voice. To tell him her blood pressure was like a roller coaster, that she slept poorly at night, that the neighbor’s cat had brought a mouse to the doorstep—as a gift, the only living contact in this house where no one laughed anymore.

—No, my son… Nothing urgent, —she managed to say, trying to keep her voice calm. —Just… just wanted to know how you’re doing.

—I’m fine, Mom. I’m swamped. Got a new project, you know? It should take off soon! Well, gotta run. Bye!

And again, the short, final beeps. And again, that emptiness. Galina Pavlovna gently put down the receiver, as if she feared dropping it. “He’s busy…” And she, here—alone. In this house where every corner remembered the laughter of her late husband, the little footsteps of Grichenka. Now, only silence remained, the ticking of old clocks, and a pain in her chest—not from illness, but from longing for the one who had become a stranger.

Fortunately, beyond the fence lived Ninochka—the nurse, daughter of her old friend. A clever, beautiful person, a radiant soul. She came without knocking, without warning, simply because she knew that sometimes, Galina Pavlovna needed someone much more than medicine.

—Galina Pavlovna, how are you today? Did you check your blood pressure? —her voice, clear as a bell, chased away the silence of the room, like sunlight breaking through a stormy day.

—Oh, Ninochka, come in, dear… I still feel a bit dizzy, —sighed the old lady, though a faint smile crossed her eyes. Someone remembered her. Someone hadn’t forgotten.

Nina immediately took out the blood pressure monitor, the pills, and made a herbal tea. She talked about her own life, her daughter Mashenka who was about to marry, her patients, about life going on. Sometimes Galina listened absentmindedly; other times, she listened closely, catching every word like a drop of warmth in her cold isolation.

One day, Nina asked as if it were nothing: —And Grichka, has he called you?

Galina Pavlovna just waved her hand: —He has no time for me, Ninochka… He has his business. Always some story…

Nina remembered Grichka from school—always a young man full of adventures, penniless, but with a head full of endless ideas. “How can someone be so indifferent to his mother?” she thought, never daring to say it out loud so as not to hurt the old lady.

One day, Galina Pavlovna’s health seriously deteriorated. Her dizziness worsened, her legs seemed to refuse to carry her, and Nina immediately realized it wasn’t just a passing malaise. She called an ambulance and helped prepare for the arrival of the medics. When Galina was taken to the city hospital, Nina herself dialed Gricha’s number.

—Gricha, hi. It’s Nina, your mother’s neighbor. Your mother is in the hospital. Could you come visit her?

—Oh, Nina, hi… I have no time right now. I’m swamped. Take care of her, okay? When things clear up, you know…

Nina nearly crushed the phone in her hand from squeezing it so hard. Idiot. Selfish bastard. He didn’t even ask how his mother was. Not a word.

A few months passed. Galina Pavlovna slowly regained her strength, but inside, the emptiness grew ever larger. She dreamed of only one thing: that Gricha would take her with him. When you grow old, you just want to be near those you love, to feel useful, loved. But he always pushed her away:

—Mom, where do you want me to take you? I barely have space here, my room is full of goods… And for you, it’s better in the countryside—the air is clean, it’s peaceful…

Then, one day, came a call. —Mom, hi! I’ve got news! Pack your things! —Grigori’s voice sounded unusually cheerful, almost excited.

Galina Pavlovna’s heart leapt, then stopped. Really?! —My son! What’s happening? Are you… are you coming to get me? —her voice trembled, but it was no longer fear, but hope, breaking through after years of disappointment.

—Well, yes, something like that. Anyway, get ready. I’ll come in two days, I’ll explain everything there.

Galina Pavlovna couldn’t believe her ears. Happiness! Pure, real happiness! She got up, limping, and ran to Nina’s house. —Nina, such joy! Grichenka called! He says to pack my things! He’s coming for me!

Nina, who was watering flowers by the gate, frowned. —Really?… —she said hesitantly. —I don’t know, Galina Pavlovna… It seems strange. Grichka always refused. Something’s off.

Her intuition never failed. And this time too, something warned her, as if her heart sensed danger.

The next morning, a vehicle arrived at Galina Pavlovna’s house. Nina was planting asters along the fence when she saw the car. Two men got out: one well-dressed, in a strict suit; the other, more rustic, looking busy.

—Well, Grichka didn’t lie, —said the simpler one, surveying the yard. —The place is good. Quiet, fresh air… And that little sauna looks nice. Most importantly, it’s not far from the city.

—That’s right! —added the second, clearly the real estate agent. —The house is solid, the land well kept. Land prices are rising here. It’s a real gem, and at a very good price. Grigori is eager to close the deal.

The buyer asked: —And his mother, did he take care of her? To avoid problems later?

The agent smiled smugly: —Of course. She’s moving to a nursing home. The paperwork is almost ready.

At that moment, Nina’s heart skipped a beat. Nursing home? So that’s what Grichka’s sudden “concern” was about. Bastard. Cruel, heartless fool. She felt pain for the old lady who probably still believed her son was taking care of her, dreaming of that move.

Meanwhile, the two men entered the yard. —Hello, Galina Pavlovna! We’re here on behalf of Grigori! He asked us to check on you, —said the agent cheerfully, with a fake smile.

The old lady appeared on the porch, her face lit up with joy. —Oh, dears, come in, come in! You’re from Grichenka? My dear son, how attentive he is…

While the agent, with his fake, charming smile, discussed the “upcoming move” details with Galina Pavlovna, the buyer wandered off a bit, inspecting the land. His eyes sparkled, as if calculating how many trees he could cut down for a garage, how to replace the fence, if the roof leaked after the rain.

Nina, hiding behind a bush among her flowerbeds, watched the scene. Inside, she was boiling. She couldn’t just stand by and watch this woman be deceived, her eyes full of hope, thinking her son was finally caring for her. No. She couldn’t let it happen.

She resolutely stepped out of her hiding place and approached the man who, leaning against the wall, was examining the house like an empty box ready to be transformed. —Excuse me… —she whispered, careful not to attract the attention of the agent or Galina Pavlovna.

The man turned, a bit surprised. —Are you really going to buy this house? —asked Nina. —The cursed house, I mean.

He raised his eyebrows. —What? What cursed house?

Lowering her voice to a dramatic whisper, she continued: —Long ago, a witch lived here. Terrible and evil. She made many people suffer. The whole village looked for her, but she was never caught alive—she died in this very house. When she died, there wasn’t time to make a hole in the roof to let her soul out. Now, her spirit is trapped here forever.

She paused, letting her words sink in. —You’re joking! Those are just stories!

Nina, relentless, continued coldly: —They say at night, the floorboards creak on their own, as if someone’s walking. Objects disappear, then reappear in the strangest places. Some say the spirit plays with the inhabitants. Others say it takes revenge. No one can live here for long. Everyone leaves. And Galina Pavlovna, you see… she’s always sick. And Grichka… he just wants to get rid of it all. Sell before the new owner realizes what a mess he’s in.

The man stepped back, his gaze fixed on the house. Thoughts already echoed in his mind: maybe it was better to look elsewhere? He didn’t need “ghosts” and “curses.” He tried to convince himself it was all superstition, but a seed of doubt was planted.

—You’re exaggerating… —he muttered, glancing anxiously at the building, as if fearing a pale face would suddenly appear at a window.

The next day, the phone at Galina Pavlovna’s house rang so violently it seemed it wanted to jump out the window. The old woman jumped and hurried to answer, always hoping to hear her son’s voice say, “Mom, I’m here. I’m coming soon.”

But instead of tenderness, it was a terrible blow. —Mother! —thundered Grigori’s voice, distorted by anger. —What did you say yesterday? What witch, for God’s sake? Have you lost your mind, old fool?

Galina Pavlovna recoiled as if she’d been struck. —Grishenka… my son… why do you say that? What witch? I didn’t say anything, I…

—Don’t pretend! —he cut her off. —The agent told me everything! Thanks to you, the sale fell through! I lost a fortune! Do you realize what you’ve done? It’s over! Don’t call me again! You’re no longer my mother! And I won’t come for you! Stay in your hut, talk to your witches!

The receiver fell, as if her life had collapsed.

Galina Pavlovna stood frozen, unable to move. “No longer my mother… don’t call me… won’t come for me…” —her son’s words cut her heart like glass. Her legs gave way. Her heart pounded so hard she thought it would burst from her chest. She understood nothing. She had only been happy. She had only waited for him. What witch? What story was this?

With trembling hands, she dialed Nina’s number: —Ni… Ninochka… —she whispered, unable to shed a single tear.

A few minutes later, Nina was already at Galina’s house. She rushed in, medical bag in hand, always ready: medicine, ampoules, syringes. Seeing the old lady’s state, she immediately understood it was serious. —Galina Pavlovna, dear… Breathe deeply, I’ll give you an injection, —Nina quickly prepared the medicine. —Tell me what happened.

And Galina, choking on sobs, recounted her son’s words, burning her heart. —Ninochka… he shouted… said I told witch stories… But I… I didn’t say anything… I just thought he’d come for me…

Nina sighed, sat next to her, and took the old woman’s cold hands in hers. —Galina Pavlovna, dear… It wasn’t you. I’m the one who told them about the witch.

The old lady looked at her in disbelief. —You want to know why? —Nina’s voice was firm. —Because your son… he wanted to sell your house. Your family home. And you… you were going to end up in a nursing home. I heard them talking, the son and the buyer.

Those words struck like thunder. Galina froze. Her eyes, still full of tears, widened in horror. Nursing home… Her own son… Instead of taking her with him, he wanted to get rid of her, like a useless object.

The world collapsed. Without warning. Without farewell. Everything that tied her to life seemed to disappear.

The days passed, long, as if time itself pitied this woman. Gricha never called again. He didn’t write. Total silence. But in that silence, a new fear was born—sharp, icy. What if one day he returned? What if they asked for the keys? What if they threw her out?

Then, one morning, Galina Pavlovna calmly but resolutely told Nina: —My dear… take me to the notary. I want to put the house in your name.

Nina’s eyes widened. —Galina Pavlovna, what are you saying? That’s not necessary! I can’t accept such a gift!

—You must, Nina, —the old lady replied, and in her eyes, for the first time in years, appeared a spark of determination. —You need this house more. You have a family, your daughter will marry… And I… I don’t want to end up on the street. You won’t leave me outside, right?

—How can you say that! —Nina’s eyes filled with tears. —Of course not! But the house…

—Let it be yours. Then I’ll be at peace. You’ve become like a daughter to me. Closer than my own son.

And they went to the notary.

From then on, officially, the house belonged to Nina. But Galina Pavlovna still lived there—within those walls where she had spent her whole life. She knew now she wouldn’t have to leave. Other, real hands would care for her.

For the first time in many years, Galina Pavlovna felt she was no longer alone. The house once again smelled of fresh cake, laughter rang out, the footsteps of loved ones filled the air. Mashenka, Nina’s daughter, often came, calling Galina “grandma,” even though they weren’t related by blood. But what does blood matter, when the heart recognizes family?

This house, which had nearly become the victim of ruthless betrayal, was once again a home. Not perfect, not rich, but hers. Warm. Authentic.

And even though Grichenka no longer had a place in her life, she found another love. Slow, patient, without luxury or promises, but real.

And so, through pain and betrayal, a feeling of peace was reborn in her heart.