My son has always been a good boy. He studied, then went to work. He was promoted quickly. The salary was good; he bought an apartment, a car. I could only be proud of him. Slava occasionally asked for help, but it was infrequent. Sometimes, he would come and say I should bake pies; he wanted to treat his coworkers. And I was happy. I constantly told him it was time to get married, to have grandchildren.
And it happened; one day, Slavik told me he would come with his fiancée in the evening. Joyfully, I prepared various dishes, set the table. They announced themselves when I saw them in the hallway, sitting. At first, I thought the girl was underage. She was so small. Then it turned out that Lyuba was 19 years old, 11 years younger than her fiancé.
I said nothing, accepted my son’s choice; he must live his life. We entered the room and sat at the table. Lyuba turned out to be cheerful, talkative, nothing like what I had initially thought. I asked questions about the marriage, as the groom presented the girl. They said they wouldn’t rush, that they would live together, get used to each other. But, less than five months later, when Slava announced that Lyuba was expecting a baby, they filed for marriage. One good news followed another, and they started preparing for the wedding.
Lyuba had no mother; she was raised by her father. But after leaving home, he found a new wife and no longer communicates with his daughter. I felt sorry for her, so I helped with everything, from choosing a dress to shoes. I assisted in planning the restaurant.
Everything went well; the newlyweds were beautiful and happy. I watched them and was touched. After the celebration, everyone went home, and a serious life began. Lyuba treated me well, so she came to us, cooked something, spoiled me with homemade pies, and other dishes. She didn’t bother much to not disrupt our balance.
When Lyuba was in her last months, it was even hard for her to stand, the baby was large. It was decided that the daughter-in-law would go to the hospital, where there was both observation and rest. She didn’t resist; it was necessary, so it had to be.
She couldn’t give birth naturally because the child was too big for her pelvis. The doctor decided in advance to perform a cesarean section, and the date was known; mental preparation was needed now. I came to Lyuba every day, brought something tasty, talked, supported. She said if she wanted to, she would be in the corridor during childbirth. She agreed.
And so it all began; I was under the doors, the daughter-in-law in the operating room. Only a few minutes had passed when the pediatrician came out and said I had a granddaughter. I thanked God for that.
After that, the nurses transported Lyubushka to the ward. I was on duty by her window; I wanted to see the little one. Anesthesia ceased within an hour; the nurse came and forced the young mother to get up despite having a fresh scar. But that’s how it had to be.
And only then did they show me this tiny bundle. Lyuba returned home, and I was there. At first, it seemed to me that my daughter-in-law had unconditional trust in me, that’s why she entrusted me with bathing, swaddling, and feeding the baby. I did everything joyfully; these chores brought back my youth.
My son was also delighted; he constantly approached, kissed his daughter. But he had so much work that sometimes he left when everyone was still sleeping and returned when they were already asleep. Lyuba behaved calmly; she didn’t say anything. If asked for something, she did it.
And suddenly, like thunder, my daughter-in-law approached me and handed me my granddaughter. I didn’t understand what she was doing; I would have taken the baby myself. And my daughter-in-law said she was leaving; she couldn’t endure all this anymore. She would miss her daughter, but she wouldn’t raise her. Yes, and she married Slava because she thought that’s how life would work, but it didn’t.

I looked at her; I thought it was a joke. But she packed her bags and left. She sat crying, waiting for her son. He came back late at night, surprised that I wasn’t in bed yet. And I, in tears, told him everything that had happened. We went to the kitchen to talk.
It was decided that I would leave my job and take care of the girl closely. We rented my apartment for additional funds. And I moved in with my son.
Today, Polinka is already three years old, and the three of us live together. My son has women, and I don’t interfere; I understand that it’s hard for him. Lyuba never showed up; all that’s left is to wish her happiness.