For my sixtieth birthday, the children decided to chip in and give one common gift. When I opened the envelope, I suddenly truly understood what place I occupy in their lives…😵😵
Sixty is a serious date. I wasn’t planning to organize a celebration. But somewhere deep inside, there, where quiet and slightly naive expectations still live, I hoped the children would come up with something. Just gather together, sit next to each other, talk. Without unnecessary noise and show — just together. We hadn’t done that for so long.
I have three children. The eldest — Alexander, he’s forty-two, lives in another city, works as a manager at an IT company. The middle one — Emilia, thirty-five, she has her own small pastry shop. The youngest — Nicholas, thirty-one, lives nearby, but we rarely see each other — once every couple of months.
They’re adults, independent, each has their own life, family, worries. I’m proud of them. I raised them alone — it wasn’t easy, but I never complained. That’s how circumstances turned out. Although sometimes I think: do they remember how I fell asleep over the sewing machine? How I made dinner from the last products and called it a “special recipe”?
Most likely not. And they don’t have to. They have their own life.
A week before the anniversary, Alexander called.
— Mom, we discussed it. Coming won’t work — I have an urgent project, Emilia has a lot of orders right now. Nicholas will stop by your place, he’ll give you the gift from all of us. We chipped in.
— Chipped in… — I repeated quietly.
— Well yes, for the gift. Nicholas will bring it. You don’t like unnecessary fuss, right?
I answered: “Of course.” I hung up and sat for a long time in the kitchen, staring at one point.
“Chipped in.” The three of them. For their mother. As if it were about a colleague — not a stranger, but not someone close enough to choose something personal. An envelope with money — a universal option when you don’t want to spend time.
Maybe I’m being unfair. Maybe they really are busy. Maybe that’s how it’s done now — convenient and without unnecessary emotions. I’m a modern mom, I should understand.
But inside, it was as if a splinter remained. Small, almost invisible — and each day deeper.
On my birthday — March 6th, I woke up at seven in the morning, as usual. I made coffee. I looked out the window: the yard, bare trees, the playground, an empty bench. Sixty. Outwardly everything is as before… only in the mirror — a woman with gray at her temples and wrinkles around her eyes.
Emilia called.
— Happy birthday, Mommy, ! Hugs!
— Thank you, dear.
— Nicholas will stop by, he’ll bring the envelope. It’s from all of us. Buy yourself something nice, okay?
— Okay.
— I would come, but I have a big order tomorrow, I really don’t have time.
— I understand.
Alexander wrote on WhatsApp: “Mom, happy birthday! Love you. Nicholas will stop by.” Briefly, without unnecessary words.
Nicholas appeared closer to noon. He came in quickly, took off his jacket on the go, hugged me with one arm — in the other he was holding his phone.
— Mom, happy birthday. Here, this is from all of us.
He handed me an ordinary white envelope. Without a signature, without a card, without a single word.
— Thank you, — I said, and put it on the table.
— Will you open it?
— Later.
— Okay, I have to go — Sofia is waiting, we’re going to her parents’ for the weekend.
— Of course.
He quickly put on his shoes, kissed me on the cheek. Already at the door, he turned around:
— Mom, are you okay? You look tired.
— Everything’s fine. I’m sixty, Nicholas. Just sixty.
He nodded and left. He stayed at my place no more than fifteen minutes.
The envelope remained lying on the kitchen table. I walked past it for almost two hours. Then I finally sat down, took it, and opened it.
I didn’t cry. Although, perhaps, it would have been easier. Instead of tears, something else came — emptiness and cold. Like in winter, when the heating suddenly goes off in the apartment, and everything around slowly cools down…😧😮
👉The continuation of the story — in the first comment 👇
The envelope was still lying on the table. After a while, I still opened it.
Inside there were five hundred euros. Five hundred-euro bills.
Three adult children. Five hundred euros.
I looked at the money for a long time. Alexander earns well — he himself told about his new car. Emilia’s business is going successfully, her desserts aren’t cheap. Nicholas also lives quite comfortably, often goes for weekends to his girlfriend’s parents.
Five hundred euros. For three. And not a single note.
I sat motionless, as if I were afraid to disturb this silence. Then I carefully folded the money back and put the envelope in the drawer. Not because I didn’t know where to spend it — I simply didn’t want to decide that right now.
In the evening, for the first time in a long time, I set the table… only for myself. I took out the tablecloth that I had been saving “for a special occasion.” I poured tea, put a piece of cake bought on the way.
I sat down opposite the empty chair — and suddenly realized that I was no longer waiting.
Neither for calls. Nor for unexpected visits. Nor for someone to remember just because.
And in this there was a strange relief.
The phone did ring, though. Nicholas.
— Mom, did you open the envelope?
I looked at the drawer.
— Yes.
— Did you like it?
I thought for a second.
— It’s convenient, — I answered calmly.
He fell silent.
— Mom… we really tried.
— I know, — I said. — And I tried too. My whole life.
After the conversation, I took out the envelope again. I counted the money again and… set part of it aside. The next morning I signed up for a small trip. Alone.
Not to run away. But to finally be with myself — not as with a mother, not as with an obligation, but as with a person.
Sometimes love doesn’t disappear. It simply changes form.
And, perhaps, it’s time for me to change too.
