Liza sat quietly in the living room, listening as her son Artyom argued over the phone in the next room. His voice was loud, sharp, and impossible to ignore. Though she tried not to eavesdrop, fragments of his words still reached her ears.
“She just doesn’t get it!” he shouted. “My mom never really understood what I need!”
The words struck her like a blow. Her heart tightened painfully. She had never imagined that the boy she’d raised with so much love, for whom she had worked tirelessly and given up so much, could feel that way about her.
A moment later, the slam of his bedroom door echoed through the apartment, and Liza felt tears begin to well in her eyes. Hesitantly, she got up and made her way toward his room. She paused in the doorway, unsure whether to knock or simply walk in.
Her eyes landed on a folded piece of paper on his desk. Written in large, uneven letters were the words: “Mom, I’m sorry for everything…”
A cold shiver ran down her spine. Her hands trembled as she picked up her phone and began dialing Artyom’s number. But before the call connected, she heard the sound of a key turning quietly in the front door.
She rushed to the hallway and saw Artyom standing there, a backpack slung over one shoulder, his expression caught somewhere between defiance and hesitation. His eyes were clouded with uncertainty, and it was clear from his posture that he’d been about to leave.
“Artyom, wait,” she said, her voice shaking. “Can you please tell me what’s going on?”
He froze, still not looking at her, his body tense as though caught between fight and flight. Liza took a cautious step closer.
“I saw your note,” she said gently. “You have no idea how much it scared me.”
“It’s not what you think,” he murmured. “I… I don’t know how to explain it to you.”
Liza noticed the way his shoulders slumped. There was something heavy weighing him down, something deeper than just anger. She took a deep breath, trying to keep her voice steady and calm.
“Artyom, whatever it is, you can tell me. No matter what. I’m here for you.”
Finally, he looked up. His eyes were filled with a conflict that nearly broke her heart.
“I’m tired, Mom,” he whispered. “Tired of being the version of me you want. I know you mean well, I really do. But I feel like I’m disappearing.”
His words hit her like a wave. She hadn’t expected this. Not from him.
“You think I want to change who you are?” she asked quietly.
“Sometimes it feels like that,” he said. “I’m always trying to meet your expectations, and it’s exhausting. I don’t even know who I am anymore.”
Liza’s heart ached. Only now did she realize that all her care, all her guidance, might have felt like pressure to him.
“Artyom,” she said softly, “you mean more to me than any dream I ever had for you. If I pushed too hard, I’m sorry. I only wanted you to be happy.”
Tears welled up in his eyes. His backpack slid off his shoulder and landed on the floor with a thud. Then he stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her.
“I just wanted you to understand me,” he whispered into her shoulder.
“I’m going to try,” Liza whispered back, holding him tightly. “We’ll figure this out together.”
And from that moment, they began something new—not just as mother and son, but as two people learning how to truly listen, how to truly see each other, and how to build something stronger between them.