“Youve got a fine sense of fairness, Margaret! So our kids roasted in the garden last summer, we slaved away all year to fix up your cottage, and now its Anastasias children who get to enjoy the upgrades while ours sit at home? Very fair indeed!” Olga snapped, her voice tight with anger.
Margaret folded her arms. “I said it was for the childrennot just yours! Did you think Id forgotten my other grandchildren? Yours had their turn. Now its Anastasias. Thats only fair.”
Olga scoffed. “Fair? Our kids baked in that heat while we poured our savings into renovations. And now what? A few days next month? Thats nothing compared to what we put in!”
Margaret waved a hand dismissively. “Bring them next year. The cottage isnt going anywhere. Were familysometimes you help, sometimes Anastasia does. And lets not forget, its my property. I decide who stays.”
“Oh, yes, Anastasias contribution was truly invaluablea bag of sand for the sandpit!” Olga shot back, bitterness lacing her words.
Margarets lips thinned. “Fair is fair. Maybe next time youll get a full month.”
“You know I cant manage that! Im not as young as I used to be,” Margaret protested.
“Two weeks, then?”
“No. Ive already promised Anastasia. She and William have leave in Julythey need a break without the kids. Bring them for a weekend. Thats all I can do.”
Olga exhaled sharply. A weekend. After everything theyd sacrificedthe money, the weekends spent hauling furniture, the promises to their children. It was a slap in the face.
“Right. Understood. Goodbye, Margaret.” She hung up, pressing her palms to her temples. What now? The kids had spent the year dreaming of lazy afternoons by the new pool, the playground, the treehouse theyd helped plan. And now? All of it handed to someone else.
It had started so innocently. Last summer, Oliver had taken her to visit his mothers cottagethe first time Olga had seen it in a decade. Back then, it had been charming in its neglect. Now? A creaking ruin. Peeling wallpaper, sagging floors, the stench of mildew.
Margaret had sighed dramatically. “Oh, theres so much to do Oliver, start with the garden, would you?”
While Oliver hacked at the overgrowth, Margaret served tea. Small talk turned to sighs about how the children had nothing to do thereno comforts, no fun.
Olga had glanced around, memories of her own summers flooding backchasing chickens, weaving flower crowns her grandmother scolded her for. “Too many vines! Theyll strangle the garden!”
She wanted that for her kids. Adventures. Discovery.
So she made the offer: “What if we fix it up? Bit by bit.”
Margarets eyes lit up. “Exactly what I hoped youd say! Why waste money on holidays when we can invest in family?”
By summers end, new windows gleamed. Oliver rebuilt the fence; Olga hunted down secondhand furniture. The kids came home ravingabout snails, grasshoppers, even a mouse!
“Itll be even better next year!” Olga promised.
And so the year passed in sacrifice. A bathroom installed. A coat of paint. A pool, a swing seteach addition met with the childrens eager questions: “When can we go back?”
Margaret beamed. “Now theyll have paradise!”
Olga had believed they were building something together. That this was what family did.
But Anastasia? Not a penny spent. Not a single weekend wasted. Just silent smiles at family gatheringsuntil she needed sand.
And now? “Next year.”
Olgas hands clenched. All that work, all those promisesfor nothing.
Her mother listened quietly before speaking. “Shes played you. Legally, shes in the clear. But morally? She strung you along.”
“What do I tell the kids?” Olga whispered.
Her mother shrugged. “Rent somewhere else.”
A week later, they found a little cabin on the citys edgesimple, sweet, with an apple tree and a firepit. Olgas mother offered to stay with the kids.
On moving day, Margaret stood aghast as Oliver dismantled the pool.
“So this is it? Youd deny Anastasias children too?”
Olga crossed her arms. “I bought that joy for my children. Anastasia can buy her own.”
Margaret opened her mouththen turned away.
The next month passed in a blur of barbecues, berry-picking, the kids shrieking in the pool. Evenings on the porch, laughter thick in the air.
“No wonder they loved it more,” Olga mused. Here, there was no obligation. No shadow of being used.
And when they left, the children declared, “It was even better than Grandmas!”
Olga smiled. At least now theyd have stories to tell.
As the car rolled home, she exhaled. “Let Margaret and Anastasia pay their own way. Well manage just fine.”
A hard lessonbut a necessary one. Shed still move mountains for her children. But never again blindly.
