Andrew felt torn, and he didn’t want to appear cold or indifferent.
Meanwhile, Linda’s complaints grew more dramatic. She spoke more frequently about how unbearable it was to live alone. Late at night Andrew would return home to Olivia and recount how his mother had broken down in tears, confessing that even the television couldn’t drown out the silence in her apartment, and that the neighbors barely stopped by anymore.
She described her ailments in detail—unstable blood pressure, persistent back pain, the fear that gripped her whenever the apartment creaked after dark. Andrew became visibly unsettled. More and more often he would remark that his mother was getting older and clearly needed support.
Olivia sensed exactly where this was heading. She noticed the way Andrew’s expression clouded over whenever Linda was mentioned, how he avoided her gaze during those conversations. Deep down, she understood that sooner or later Linda would ask for something greater than help with errands.
A vague tension began hovering over Olivia’s sense of calm. Andrew, once composed and firm in his opinions, had grown softer, almost pliable, whenever the topic turned to his mother. And Linda, with subtle persistence, seemed to be steering her son toward suggesting that she move in—so that the idea would appear to come from him. Olivia could feel that moment approaching.
She didn’t know how she would respond when it finally happened, but anxiety had already begun to coil inside her, keeping her awake at night. Lying on her back and staring at the ceiling, she replayed imaginary conversations over and over, searching for the right phrases, rehearsing arguments, trying to prepare herself.
One Sunday, they invited Linda over for dinner. Olivia made mashed potatoes and fried meat patties, set the table carefully, and lit a small candle in the center. Linda arrived carrying a cake, smiling warmly, complimenting the apartment—how bright it was, how cozy, how welcoming. They ate and chatted about harmless topics: the weather, the neighbors, Andrew’s work. For a moment, Olivia even felt herself relaxing.
Then, without warning, Linda put down her fork and announced calmly, “You know what, kids? I’ve made a decision. I’m moving in with you.”
She said it as though she were mentioning a routine errand, her tone steady and confident. According to her, it would simplify everything. Her son would be nearby, she’d feel safer, and they could all look after one another. Andrew nodded faintly. He didn’t protest. In that instant, Olivia realized he must have known beforehand. Perhaps they had already discussed it, and she was the only one hearing about it now.
Linda continued speaking, oblivious to the color draining from Olivia’s face.
“I’ll rent out my apartment, and the income can go into our shared household budget. We’ll manage everything together—it will be easier for everyone. Right, Andrew?”
The word shared struck Olivia like a slap. Her apartment—described as communal without so much as a glance in her direction. Andrew looked uncomfortable, twisting his napkin between his fingers, yet he remained silent. Olivia waited for him to say something—anything—but he merely lowered his eyes and muttered, “Well… yes. Mom really is struggling on her own.”
“Andrew,” Olivia said quietly, “could we talk about this later? Just the two of us?”
“Oh, there’s nothing to discuss,” Linda interrupted with a dismissive wave. “Family belongs together.”
The evening dissolved into a strained silence. Linda was already talking about replacing the curtains, helping with chores, cooking lunches, keeping the place in order—as if the move had already happened. Olivia barely heard her. One phrase echoed relentlessly in her mind: my apartment. For the first time, a cold edge of resentment surfaced inside her.
Until now, she had viewed Linda as a lonely elderly woman who needed attention. But tonight she saw calculation beneath the vulnerability—an insistence she had previously overlooked.
When Linda finally left, Olivia could no longer hold it in. She closed the door, leaned back against it, and spoke with measured firmness.
“Andrew, your mother is not moving into our apartment.”
He stared at her, confused. “Olivia, what’s gotten into you? I didn’t mean to upset you. It’s just that Mom is alone. It’s hard for her…”
“I understand that it’s hard,” Olivia replied evenly. “But this is my apartment. I bought it. I’m the one paying the mortgage, and I will be the one deciding who lives here.”