Galina woke up before the alarm clock. Morning light slipped gently through the curtains. She quietly stepped out of bed, careful not to wake her husband, and made her way to the kitchen, wrapping the kettle in a towel to keep things quiet.
Mornings were her brief sanctuary—her time to breathe, reflect, and feel a bit like herself.
She looked out the window. The little flower beds she’d fought hard to maintain were blooming now. A modest victory in a household where traditions often outweighed personal choice.
Her mother-in-law, Anna Viktorovna, hadn’t approved at first.
“Plant something useful—potatoes, carrots. Not these… petunias,” she had said.
Still, the flowers had stayed. And they bloomed beautifully.
“Up again before dawn?” came Nikita’s sleepy voice from the hallway.
“Good morning,” she said softly, pouring his tea.
“I’m off early—Dad and I are finalizing the new route.”
Galina nodded. The family transport business, with its fleet of minibuses, was the core of every conversation in their home.
“You could ask how it’s going sometimes,” Nikita said playfully. “It’s a family thing, after all.”
“I’m listening,” she said gently. “How’s the route progressing?”
He launched into a detailed update. She listened, her mind half-drifting to other thoughts. A quiet dream lived inside her—something she hadn’t spoken aloud. Not yet.
Later that morning, while helping in the greenhouse, Galina found herself working alongside Anna Viktorovna.
“You seem quiet today,” the older woman noted, handing her a tray of seedlings.
“I just didn’t sleep well.”
The conversation took a surprising turn.
“You know,” Anna said, “I once dreamed of becoming an agronomist. Loved plants. But life took a different path.”
Galina was taken aback. She’d never heard her mother-in-law speak this way.
“That’s why I notice your flowers. I understand more than you think.”
Moved, Galina decided to share her secret.
“Six months ago, my grandmother passed away,” she began. “She left me her cottage and garden. The paperwork just finalized. I haven’t told Nikita yet—I wanted time to think.”
“And now?” Anna asked quietly.
“I want to use it. Open a small flower greenhouse. It’s what I studied, what I love.”
Anna Viktorovna was quiet for a moment. Then she said, “God bless you, Galina. You should do what makes you happy.”
That evening, Galina gathered her courage to tell the family.
When Nikita and his father came home excitedly—news of a new route approval in hand—they celebrated with high spirits.
“You’ll never believe it!” Nikita beamed. “Dad got the route through the new district!”
“We’ll just need a new vehicle,” said Mikhail Petrovich. “Might need to take a small loan.”
Then came Galina’s turn.
“My grandmother’s house… it’s now officially mine,” she said. “It has a large garden. I’ve been thinking of starting a flower greenhouse there.”
Nikita blinked. “That’s… unexpected. But those plots are valuable. We could sell it and buy a minibus.”
“I don’t want to sell it,” Galina replied calmly. “I’d like to pursue something meaningful to me.”
The room went quiet. Her words hung in the air.
Anna Viktorovna spoke first. “It’s Galya’s inheritance. Her decision.”
“But we’re trying to grow the business,” Nikita said gently.
“I understand,” Galina said. “Which is why I’d like to offer a middle ground. I won’t sell the house, but I’m willing to share part of my future earnings to support the loan. Maybe a third of the profits.”
There was hesitation. But then, Anna Viktorovna offered her support.
“I’ll help her,” she said. “We’ll make this work.”
In the weeks that followed, something began to shift. The greenhouse project took shape. Nikita came around, even offered to help prepare the land. His father began seeing the venture not as a distraction, but a meaningful extension of family growth.
And Anna Viktorovna? She seemed lighter—reenergized.
“You’ve lit a fire in her,” Mikhail Petrovich said one day, helping unload bags of soil.
That Sunday, as Galina watched her husband sketch greenhouse layouts and her mother-in-law compare seed catalogs, she felt something she hadn’t in a long time.
She felt at home. Not just in the house—but in herself.
