A Taste of Freedom – We finished our renovation last autumn, – began Vera Ignatievna as she told her story. We spent ages picking wallpaper, argued ourselves hoarse over bathroom tile colours, and smiled, remembering how, twenty years ago, we’d dreamed about this very “three-bed”. – Well, – my husband said contentedly when we celebrated the end of our long renovation saga, – now we can get our son married. Misha will bring his wife here, they’ll have kids, and our house will finally be noisy and truly alive. But his dreams were not meant to be. Our eldest daughter Katya came back home with two suitcases and two children. – Mum, I’ve got nowhere else to go, – she said, and those words erased all our plans. Misha’s room went to the grandchildren. Luckily, he didn’t complain—just shrugged: – It’s fine, soon I’ll have my own place. “My own place” meant my mother’s one-bedroom flat. Recently renovated, we’d been renting it out to a young family. Every month, a modest but crucial amount landed on our account—our “safety net” for when my husband and I got old and useless. Once, I saw Misha and his fiancée Lera walking past the building, looking up and chatting animatedly. I knew what they were hoping for, but I didn’t offer anything. Then one day I overheard: – Vera Ignatievna, Misha proposed! We even found the perfect wedding venue! Just imagine! – Lera was glowing with happiness. – There’s a real carriage! And a live harpist! And a summer terrace for guests to spill into the garden… – And where will you live afterwards? – I couldn’t help asking. – That kind of wedding must cost a fortune! Lera looked at me as if I’d asked about the weather on Mars. – We’ll stay with you for a bit. After that…we’ll see. https://clck.ru/3RKgHm – We already have Katya with her children living with us, – I said slowly. This’ll be more like a hostel than a flat. Lera pouted. – Yeah. Probably not a good idea. We’ll look for a proper bedsit. At least no one will meddle. Her sharp “no one will meddle” really stung. Had I meddled? I’d just tried to stop them making stupid decisions. Next came my talk with Misha. My last attempt to get through. – Son, why the grand show? Just get legally wed quietly, and put the money towards a mortgage! – My voice shook. He stared out the window, his face hard. – Mum, tell me, why do you and dad always celebrate your wedding anniversary at “The Golden Dragon”? You could’ve had a cheaper dinner at home. I couldn’t think of a reply. – See? – he smiled slyly. – You have your traditions, we’ll have ours. He compared our modest family meal every five years with their half-a-million pound extravaganza. In that moment, Misha saw not his mother, but a judge. Someone who’d delivered a verdict: you’re hypocrites. You allow yourselves everything but me nothing. He’d forgotten that mum and dad were still paying off the loan for his car. As for our “safety net”—he’d never thought about it. But now he needed a wedding. And what a wedding! In the end, my son and future daughter-in-law, of course, resented me. Especially for not handing them the keys to grandma’s flat. *** One night, heading home late on an almost empty bus, I looked at my reflection in the dark window. I saw a tired woman, much older than her years. My hands clutched heavy bags of groceries, and in my eyes: fear. Suddenly, with painful clarity, I realised—I did everything out of…fear! Fear of being a burden. Fear of being abandoned by my children. Fear for the future. I don’t give Misha the flat—not out of selfishness, but out of fear I’ll end up with nothing. I make him “struggle”, yet clip his wings by paying his way—what if he fails, and my boy gets upset? I expect adult decisions from him, but treat him like a child who understands nothing. Yet Misha and Lera just wanted a beautiful start to adult life. Carriage and harp—it’s silly, it’s wasteful, but in the end, they have every right! On their own dime. First things first, I spoke to the tenants and asked them to find somewhere else quickly. A month later, I phoned Misha: – Come over. We need to talk. They arrived tense, ready for battle. I set out tea and…placed a set of keys to mum’s flat on the table. https://clck.ru/3RKg9f – Take them. Don’t get too excited: this isn’t a gift. The flat’s yours for a year. In that time, you decide: either get a mortgage, or stay—but on different terms. The lost rental money, well, I’ll count it as an investment. Not in your wedding. In your chance to be a family, not just flatmates. Lera’s eyes widened. Misha stared at the keys as if he didn’t understand. – Mum… what about Katya? – There’s a surprise for Katya too. You’re adults now. Your lives are your own responsibility. We’ll stop being your backdrop and your bank. From now on, we’re just parents. Who love, but don’t rescue. The silence was thunderous. – And the wedding? – Lera asked, uncertain for the first time. – The wedding? – I shrugged, – Do whatever you like. If you can afford a harpist, have a harpist. *** Misha and Lera left, and I was terrified. Terrified they’d fail, terrified they’d resent me forever. But for the first time in years, I could breathe deeply. I’d finally said “no”! Not to them. To my own fears. And let my son step into adult, difficult, independent life. Whatever it would be… *** Now, let’s look at things through my son’s eyes. Lera and I dreamed of an unforgettable wedding. But my sister’s divorce dashed our plans. When mum said we shouldn’t splurge on a fancy do, something inside me snapped. – Then why do you dine at a restaurant for every wedding anniversary? – I blurted out. – You could eat at home! It’d be cheaper! I saw my mother pale. I really did want my words to sting. I was deeply hurt. Sure, they bought me a car. So what? I didn’t ask for it! They keep reminding me they’re paying for the loan. What’s that got to do with me? Their decision. They said they renovated the flat “for us”. But now we can’t live there. Gran’s one-bed flat—a “sacred cow”, the precious reserve more important than their only son’s wedding! So what now? How do we prove to ourselves, and to the world, that we exist—that we’re a real couple? Lera once admitted, eyes downcast: – Misha, I have nothing to give you. My parents can’t help. They’ve got their own mortgage. – You give me yourself, – I said, trying to reassure her. But inside, I was angry. Not with her, with the injustice. Why does everything fall on my mum and dad? And why do they help with such bitterness, as if every quid is another nail in their coffin? That sort of help doesn’t warm—it burns with guilt. Unspoken grievances lingered in the air. Then, a phone call. Mum’s voice was strange and firm. – Come over. We need to talk. We drove there as if to an execution. Lera squeezed my hand: – She’ll cut us off…for our wedding. – Maybe, – I nodded. *** The keys to grandma’s flat lay on the table—I recognised the childhood fob. – Take them, – said mum. Her speech was brief, but revolutionary. One year. A decision. No more being our “bank and backdrop”. Our old excuse—“nowhere to live”—was gone, and our eternal hope—“parents will fix everything”—had collapsed. I took the keys. They were cold. And unbelievably heavy. Just then came a sudden, awkward realisation. We’d wanted so much, resented so much, but never truly talked to our parents: “Mum, Dad, we get your fears. Let’s discuss how we move forward without tearing you apart?” No. We just waited for them to magically guess and fulfil our wishes—no conversation, no conditions, just a smile. Like when we were kids. – The wedding? – Lera whispered, lost. – Your wedding? – mum shrugged, – If you find money for a harp, then have a harp. We stepped outside. I fiddled with the keys in my pocket. – What now? – Lera asked. Not just about the flat. About everything. – I don’t know. – I answered honestly. – Now it’s our problem. In this scary, new responsibility was a kind of wild and primal freedom. And the first step: figuring out if we really need that carriage and harp. Traditions are good, but they must rest on more than just a single special day… *** So, what happened in the end? Misha and Lera’s adult life began the very next day. Finally, together! Their own place! It’s not technically theirs yet, but still. Small, but cosy, freshly renovated. And best of all, no one else! Visitors came in droves at first. Well, it’s freedom, isn’t it? A month later, an unexpected joint itch: let’s get a dog! And no small mutt—a big one! Turns out, Lera had always wanted one, but mum never let her. Misha had had a dog once, back at school, but it ran away—a childhood tragedy. Soon, the missing piece of happiness appeared: a cute retriever, Lexus. https://clck.ru/3RKgGM Three months old, he immediately started ruling the place. Scratching the corners, chewing the furniture, making messes everywhere. Vera Ignatievna visited. No one had told her about the new arrival. – Misha! Lera! How could you?! You didn’t even ask! A dog like that needs attention. All day alone—it’ll misbehave, of course! So much fur! Do you ever clean? And the smell! No! This is outrageous! You must return the dog! Tomorrow! – Mum, – Misha said, annoyed, – you gave us the flat for a year. So, what? Are you going to tell us how to live, every time? Maybe you want your keys back? – Absolutely not, – Vera Ignatievna snapped, – I keep my word. A year means a year. But remember: it must be returned in the same condition. Got it? – Got it, – Misha and Lera replied in unison. – Then don’t expect me to visit until then. I don’t want to see this. *** Mum stuck to her word. She didn’t visit, barely phoned. Four months later, Misha was back home: he and Lera had split up. He spent ages explaining how bad she’d been as a housekeeper. Didn’t cook, didn’t look after the pup, didn’t walk him. Had to take Lexus back to the breeder—it took a week to convince them! They’d bought a three-month supply of dog food—quite pricey! – Maybe you rushed things with Lera, son? – Vera Ignatievna asked, hiding a smile, – Didn’t you want a wedding, with a carriage and a harp…? – What wedding, mum?! Please! Rent out grandma’s flat. – Why? You could live there, you must be used to it? – No, I prefer home, – Misha shook his head, – or do you mind? – I’m always happy, – answered Vera Ignatievna, – especially now Katya and the kids have moved out. It’s quiet again…

The Taste of Freedom

We finished the renovations just last autumn, began Vera Knight, her voice trailing off thoughtfully.

Wed spent ages agonising over wallpaper designs, had near-legendary debates about the colour of the bathroom tiles, and laughed remembering how, twenty years ago, we dreamed about owning this three-bedroom flat.

Well, there you go, my husband said proudly when we finally celebrated the end of our epic refurb. Now we can get Jamie married. Hell bring his wife here, have kids, and this placell be full of life. Thats how a homes meant to be, isnt it?

But his big dream wasnt meant to be. Our eldest daughter, Sophie, came back with two big suitcases and her two little ones in tow.

Mum, Ive nowhere else to go, she said. And just like that, every plan wed made evaporated.

Jamies room went to the grandkids. He, thankfully, didnt make a fuss just shrugged.

Its alright. Ill have my own place soon anyway.

Own place meant my mums old one-bedroom flat. Lovely little pad wed had it fixed up nicely, too. For years, wed rented it out to a young family, and every month a modest, but absolutely vital, sum landed in my bank account. Our safety net for when David and I are old and no longer needed.

I once spotted Jamie and Emma, his fiancée, walking past that building, heads craned up, chatting animatedly.

I knew exactly what they were hoping for, but didnt offer anything.

Then, out of nowhere:

Mrs Knight, Jamies asked me to marry him! Weve even picked out a wedding venue. Imagine theres a real horse-drawn carriage, a live harpist, and a summer terrace for guests to walk straight into the gardens Emma beamed at me, positively glowing.

But where will you two live after the big day? I blurted out cant help myself sometimes. A wedding like thats going to cost an arm and a leg!

Emma stared at me like Id asked about tomorrows weather on Jupiter.

Well stay with you for a bit. And well, well work it out.

We’re already packed to the rafters, I said slowly. Sophie and her two are here now; its more like a hostel than a flat.

Emma pouted. Well, maybe well find a proper hostel. At least in a hostel, nobody pries into your soul.

That little jibe hit me harder than I expected. Did I really pry? I just wanted to stop them making a daft mistake.

And then there was a chat with Jamie. My last shot at sanity.

Son, why do you need all that show? Get married quietly, tuck the money away for a deposit on your own place! My voice actually shook.

Jamie gazed out the window, jaw set.

Mum, why do you and Dad book The Golden Dragon for every anniversary? You could celebrate at home would be much cheaper.

I didnt have an answer.

There you are, he said, a touch smug, youve got your tradition, and well have ours.

He compared our modest meal every five years with their planned extravaganza for £5,000!

I looked at Jamie and saw more than my boy. I saw a judge. His verdict: you lot are hypocrites. Its all allowed for you, but nothing for me. Never mind that Dad and I are still paying off the loan on his car. As for that safety net, hes never thought about that.

But now he needs his dream wedding. With all the trimmings.

In the end, he and Emma were hurt, of course, especially since I wouldnt hand over the keys to Mums flat.

***

One night I was heading home on the almost empty bus, staring at my reflection in the dark window. All I saw was a tired woman looking much older than her years, clutching a heavy bag of groceries, and eyes filled with worry.

Suddenly, though, everything became blindingly clear. I do all this out of fear!

Fear of being a burden. Fear my children will leave me. Fear of the future.

Its not greed that stops me giving Jamie the flat its terror of being left with nothing.

I make him work for it, but clip his wings myself, paying for bits of his life just in case he fails and gets upset.

I ask for grown-up decisions, then treat him like a child who cant do or understand a thing.

But really, he and Emma just want a beautiful start together. With a carriage and a harp. Daft, sure, extravagant even. But theyve got the right to do it as long as its their money.

First thing next morning, I spoke to the tenants and asked them to start looking elsewhere as soon as possible. A month after that, I rang Jamie.

Come round. We need a chat.

They arrived, all tense, ready for a fight. I brewed up a pot of tea and placed Mums keys on the table.

Here you go. Dont get too excited though its not a gift. The flats yours for a year. During that time, you sort yourselves out: either get a mortgage, or stay, but under new terms. Ill lose the rent for the year, but what the hell? Think of it as an investment not in the wedding. In your shot at being a family, not just flatmates.

Emmas eyes went wide. Jamie stared at the keys, confused.

Mum what about Sophie?

Sophies got a surprise coming too. Youre all grown up now. Time for you to live your own lives, take your own responsibility. We wont be your backdrop or your bank from now on. Just your parents. Well love you, but were done fixing everything.

Silence. Deafening silence.

And the wedding? Emma said, quietly, suddenly unsure.

The wedding? I shrugged. Do whatever you like. If you can find money for a harp, get your harp.

***

Jamie and Emma left, and then the fear crashed in on me. I couldnt stop crying. What if they dont cope? What if they never forgive me?

Yet, for the first time in years, I could breathe properly. Because Id finally said no not to them, but to my own worst fears. Id let my son go into his adult, complicated, independent world.

Whatever it turns out to be

***

Now, if you look from Jamies point of view

Emma and I had hoped for a magical wedding. My sisters divorce scuppered all our plans, though. When Mum said a swanky do was a waste, something broke inside me.

So why do you eat out for every anniversary? I blurted. You could just stay home. Itd be cheaper!

Mum actually went pale. I admit it; I wanted to hurt her. I was offended, right to the core.

And yes, they bought me a car. But I never asked for it! And now, they hold the repayments over me. That wasnt my decision they made it, they pay for it.

They fixed up the flat supposedly for us but were not allowed to live there now.

Grandmas old flat is like some holy cow, an untouchable reserve, apparently more valuable than her only sons wedding!

So what now? How do we show ourselves, the world, that were a team, a family?

Emma quietly confessed one evening, eyes on the floor: Jamie, I cant give you anything. My folks cant help. Theyve got a mortgage.

Youre giving me you, I replied, trying to reassure her. But secretly, I was fuming. Not at her, but at the injustice. Why does everything land on my parents? Why do they help with this sour look, as if every pound is another nail in their own coffin? It doesnt comfort me. It just makes me feel guilty.

All the unspoken gripes hung in the air. And then, Mum called.

Come round. We need to talk.

We went like we were being led to our doom. Emma squeezed my hand.

Shell say no to everything for the wedding, she whispered.

Probably, I nodded.

***

Mum dropped Grandmas keys on the table. I knew them straight away from the old keyring. Keys from when I was a kid.

Here, Mum said.

Then she gave a speech short, but honestly revolutionary. One year. Our choice. Their days of being our wallet and backdrop were over. The trusty weve nowhere to live excuse, and the old hope that my parents would just solve all our problems, collapsed.

I took the keys. They felt cold and weirdly heavy. That was when it hit me the realisation crashing down.

Wed made so many demands, nursed so many hurts, but never once sat down with Mum and Dad and said, We get your worries lets chat. How do we move forward without tearing you apart?

Nope. We just expected them to know what we wanted and make it happen no questions, no limits, smiling all the way. Like when we were little.

And the wedding? Emma murmured, unsteady.

Mum shrugged. Your wedding? If you can find money for the harp, have at it.

We stepped outside. I fiddled with the keys in my pocket.

What now? Emma asked. Not about the flat about everything.

No idea, I admitted. But its up to us now

In that scary, new responsibility, there was something wild and exhilarating actual freedom. Our first step? Deciding, do we really need a carriage and a harp? Traditions are nice, but they need more substance than just one grand day

***

So what happened next?

Jamie and Emmas independent life started the very next day.

At long last, they were together, living in the same flat. Small sure, but cosy, with a gleaming new kitchen and nobody else in sight. At first, their sofa had a revolving door of friends. What else can you do? Thats freedom.

A month in, they caught the bug: lets get a dog! Not just any dog, mind, but a big one.

Emma had always wanted one, but her mum never allowed it. Jamie had a dog once, way back at school, but it ran off devastated him.

Within weeks, the missing link of their happiness moved in: a gorgeous golden retriever named Max.

Three months old and already causing mayhem. Scratching the walls, chewing table legs, and blimey accidents everywhere.

When Vera Knight arrived for a visit, she was completely staggered. No one had warned her about the new tenant.

Jamie! Emma! How could you? You didnt even ask! Her voice trembled as she surveyed the chaos. And why? A dog like that needs watching every second, and hes alone all day! Of course hell wreck the place. And that hair! Are you even cleaning it up? The smell! No, this wont do. You have to send the dog back, straight away!

Mum, Jamie snapped, you said the flat was ours for a year. So what, are you going to tell us how to live every time you come round? Should we hand the keys back?

Well, no, Vera said quickly. I dont go back on my word. A years a year. But you must return the flat in exactly the same shape as you got it. Understood?

Understood, Jamie and Emma said, almost in unison.

And until then, dont expect me back. I cant bear to see it.

***

And she stuck to it. Didnt come over, barely phoned.

Four months later, Jamie turned up at home. Things had fizzled out with Emma.

He spent ages listing all the ways she was a nightmare. Couldnt cook, wouldnt look after the puppy, never took him for walks. They had to return Max to the breeder, after much begging. And not for free, either. They had to buy three months worth of dog food to appease him and let me tell you, puppy food adds up!

Did you rush things with Emma, love? Vera asked, hiding a smile. You wanted a wedding with carriages and a harp

What wedding, Mum? Jamie waved her off. Honestly, put Grandmas flat back on the market.

Why? Stay there. Bet it feels like home now?

No, Id rather be back here, Jamie nodded. Unless you mind?

You know Im always happy, Vera smiled, especially now Sophies moved on with the kids, and its just us againVera paused, the edges of her mouth twitching. She saw Jamie, tired and softer somehow, not the boy who wanted horse-drawn carriages, not the rebel with a case of injustice. Just her son, drifting back into the kitchen where the wallpaper theyd chosen together still glowed.

Of course I dont mind, she said, sliding the kettle on for tea. But this time, instead of the old familiar weight around her heart, she felt something elselightness. The house was noisy again, shoes scattered on the doormat, laughter running down the hall, andyesa stubborn ache of disappointment somewhere inside her. But life moved on.

A week later, Sophie found her own rented place, the grandkids cramming toys into cardboard boxes, David carrying armfuls to the car. Emma sent a postcard; shed gone to Brighton and adopted a rescue dogsmall, scruffy, perfect. Jamie grinned when he read it, shaking his head. Shell be happy.

One evening, Jamie helped Vera prune the roses in the small courtyard. The air was sweet. Mum, were you ever scared? Like you might lose everything trying to do the right thing?

Oh, Jamie, she said, brushing dirt from her hands, thats what being a parent is. But freedomyou only taste it if you let go, just a little.

Jamie nodded, his eyes bright with something newa kind of clarity that had nothing to do with wedding budgets or flat keys.

Down the hall, David called everyone to dinner. Jamie hesitated, then took his mothers hand.

Mum, lets eat out next anniversary.

She raised an eyebrow, amused. Carriage or no carriage?

Jamie laughedwarm, honest, free. Just us. Maybe some cake, too. But this time, lets order something weve never tried, and toast to surprises.

The house, at last, felt lived-in again. Not crammed, not perfect, but open to whatever came next. Vera saw, in that moment, that the taste of freedom wasnt in throwing open the doors or giving away keysit was in trusting those you love to find their way, stumbling or soaring, and letting the future unfold, one brave step at a time.