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<\/span><\/a><\/p>\nThe sharp smell of cleaning detergent stung my nose. I was kneeling on the cold parquet floor, scrubbing without stopping for even a second. My knees hurt so badly that I wanted to cry, but I had long learned to endure it. I was washing floors for people who couldn\u2019t even be bothered to lift their feet when I crawled past them.<\/p>\n
On the sofa sat my daughter-in-law and her mother. They were chatting, drinking tea, scrolling through their phones. To them, I was almost invisible.<\/p>\n
I heard the front door open, and my heart tightened. I lowered my head even more and started scrubbing faster. If the floor wasn\u2019t perfect, Laura \u2014 my son\u2019s wife \u2014 would start yelling again. She always found something to criticize.<\/p>\n
\u2014 Mom?<\/p>\n
I would have recognized that voice among a thousand.<\/p>\n
I froze, as if ice-cold water had been poured over me. Slowly I lifted my head and saw a man in a military uniform. He was standing in the doorway, tired, dusty, with a backpack on his shoulder. It was my son. My Alex.<\/p>\n
His face changed in a second. The smile disappeared when he saw me \u2014 in an old apron, with messy hair, on my knees at his wife\u2019s feet.<\/p>\n
\u2014 Mom\u2026 is that you?.. \u2014 he asked quietly.<\/p>\n
A heavy silence filled the room.<\/p>\n
Laura\u2019s mother lazily leaned back on the sofa and lifted her feet so I wouldn\u2019t get in her way. She took a sip of tea, as if nothing unusual was happening.<\/p>\n