“On Borrowed Time”
“Nina, it’s Ilya’s parents’ evening at school tonight at six. We can’t make it, so you’ll have to go. And just so you don’t forget, I’ll ring you at five to remind you,” said Alice, her daughter-in-law, from the hallway while touching up her lipstick.
“Alice, love, why don’t you go yourself? I don’t hear so well these days. There’ll be so many parents talking, and I’ll just get flustered,” replied Nina, stepping out of her room.
“Nina, honestly! Andrew’s working late, and I’ve got reports to finish. You’re at home all day—why must we go through this every time?” Alice snapped impatiently.
“Alice, I’m not just sitting about. I do the cleaning, the shopping, make Ilya’s lunch… I’m sixty-seven, you know,” Nina insisted.
“Oh, so you just woke up wanting a row, did you? Throwing it in my face that you cook soup for your grandson—your one and only grandson, might I add! Andrew, for heaven’s sake, say something!” Alice was nearly shouting now.
“Mum, come on. Just go and sit through it. If they ask for money for anything, just text me, and I’ll send it straight over. What’s the fuss about?” Andrew said calmly, as usual.
“Still, I can’t today. I’ve got plans of my own,” Nina murmured.
“Well, fine, then. While every other child has their parents there, ours will be the odd one out! Thanks for ruining my morning!” Alice stormed out, slamming the door behind her.
“Precisely—every child *should* have their parents there,” Nina said quietly before retreating to her room.
Andrew lingered in the hallway, straightened his tie in the mirror, picked up his laptop, and left with a brisk, “I’m off. Ilya, don’t be late for school.” The door clicked shut, and silence settled over the flat.
Twelve-year-old Ilya, already dressed for school, seized the last few minutes before leaving to play on his console, headphones on, oblivious to the tension.
Nina sat on her small sofa in her room, gazing out the window. Over the five years she’d lived in this tiny space, she’d memorised every detail of the view—the corner of the opposite building, the birch tree, the rosehip bushes, and a sliver of the playground. Most of her evenings and weekends were spent just like this: sitting, staring, wondering when she’d become nothing more than a nanny and a cleaner in her son’s home.
Once, life had been different.
Born into an ordinary family, Nina had been a quiet, well-mannered girl. She’d gone to school, then university, and taken her first job before returning to her hometown. There, at the local factory, she met her future husband, Geoffrey, a young foreman. They married, and soon after, Andrew was born.
Nina had dreamed of a daughter, but fate had other plans. A visiting technologist, Veronica, arrived from London, supposedly on a short-term assignment. Instead, she ended up stealing Geoffrey’s heart. He left, citing his lifelong dream of city life—Veronica had a flat, connections, everything he’d ever wanted. He paid child support but showed little interest in Andrew’s life.
Nina never complained. She worked hard, gave Andrew the best she could, and raised him well. The only thing that bothered her was how much he took after her—too soft, too yielding.
When Andrew grew up, he announced one day that he’d be bringing home his girlfriend—his future wife. Nina wasn’t thrilled; she’d grown used to living with her son, and now she’d be alone in their small two-bed flat. Still, she prayed Andrew would find happiness.
Alice turned out to be striking and sharp-tongued—nothing like the gentle girl Nina had imagined for her son. But Nina kept quiet. It was Andrew’s life, after all.
They married, scraped together savings for a flat of their own, and eventually had Ilya. When school loomed, Alice broached the idea of selling both flats to buy a three-bedroom house—with Nina as live-in childcare.
“Nina, really, what’s the difference where you live? You’d have your own room, and we’d all be together!” Alice had coaxed.
Reluctantly, Nina agreed. The flats sold quickly, the new house was bought, and she moved in—only to find herself trapped. She was an afterthought, a silent presence in her own corner.
Weekends were worst—friends, colleagues, laughter echoing through the house while Nina stayed invisible. She took to walking in the park, where she met Paul, a widower whose daughter rarely visited. Their friendship became her solace.
Tonight, she’d had plans—Paul’s birthday. Swallowing her pride, she went to the parents’ evening first, then hurried to his for tea and a quiet walk. She returned home late, spirits lifted.
Alice pounced. “Nina, have you lost your mind? Leaving Ilya alone! We’ve been ringing you for hours!”
“Did you? Oh, my battery must’ve died,” Nina replied calmly.
“*That’s* all you have to say? Where were you?”
“Alice, I’m a grown woman. I don’t answer to you for my time. And Ilya’s old enough to be alone for an evening.”
Alice gaped. Andrew stepped in. “Mum, what’s going on?”
“No fuss. I’m moving in with Paul tomorrow. We’ve decided to live together.”
Alice scoffed and stormed off. The next day, Nina packed her bag, took one last look at the view she’d grown to despise, and walked out.
“Nina, stop this nonsense! Who *is* this man?” Alice cried.
“When you brought Alice home, I respected your choice. Respect mine.”
Paul waited downstairs. From the window, Andrew and Alice watched them go.
“Andrew, your mother’s lost it. Love at her age? It’s ridiculous!”
Andrew only sighed. “I’d better get ready for work.”
But Nina, for the first time in years, was happy. So what if it came late? It was real. And that was all that mattered.
