The doorbell interrupts my thoughts.
The kitchen smells of freshly baked cheesecake. I always bake it when the grandchildren are coming over. It's their favorite cake – that's what they said when they were little. I remember how they sat at the table, feasting on my baked goods, and their smiles lit up the whole house. They were my pride, my joy, the meaning of life. But today, when I look at that same cheesecake, I feel a bitterness that I can no longer hide.
The doorbell interrupts my thoughts. It's Mateusz, the oldest grandson. He smiles, hugs me in greeting, but I see something else in his gaze – rush, tension, maybe impatience.
– Grandma, it smells so good! – he says enthusiastically, glancing toward the kitchen.
– I baked a cheesecake, just the way you like it – I answer, trying to smile naturally.
We sit down at the table, and I ask him about his life, his work, his plans. He answers casually, as if each of my questions were an obstacle he had to quickly overcome. Finally, he gets to the point.
– Grandma, you know… I'm having a hard time right now. The car broke down, and my work is behind on my paychecks. I thought maybe you could help me out a little. Of course, I'll pay you back as soon as things improve – he says, avoiding my gaze.
This isn’t the first time Mateusz has asked me for something. And it’s not the first time he’s promised to pay me back. But he never does. I feel something inside me snap. It’s not about the money – if I had my last penny, I’d give it without hesitation. It’s that every visit, every kind word from him, seems to have a price now. A price I always have to pay.
– Mateusz, you know I love you and I’ll always want to help you – I begin, even though the words barely come out of my throat. – But tell me honestly: would you come to me if you didn’t need anything? ?
Silence falls. His gaze shifts to the side, and I see there's no answer. This silence says more than I want to hear.
After a while he gets up. He thanks me for the cheesecake, says he has to go, that he still has something to do. And I'm left alone in the empty house, looking at the table full of food that I've prepared for him.
The same thing happens with his sister, Ola. She comes over once every few months, smiles, hugs me, and then with the same impatience in her voice starts talking about money.
„Grandma, just for a moment, just a loan. You can always count on me!– he says, and I nod because I know it's not true.
They all only love me when they need something. It's not the cheesecake that draws them in, or the memories, or the conversations. It's the money I barely scrape together from my retirement because I want to give them everything I can. But I wonder more and more often: What will happen when the money runs out? Will they still visit me then? Will my door be opened only by the postman with bills?
I look at the cheesecake that is starting to lose its scent, at the silence that has once again settled in my house, and I feel tears welling up in my eyes. I would like to believe that I am misunderstanding something, that it is just a coincidence, that their love for me is not tied to their wallet. But my heart tells me otherwise.
They are leaving and I am staying – with empty plates and an even emptier heart.
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