The second and third are for you and your children. Never forget that a mother’s warmth is not in the wool, but in love.”
The next day, I opened the shed.
Inside a chest, there were photos, drawings, some savings, and a medal: For valor at work. She had kept everything, and given it all.
In the second blanket, I found three little children’s socks, each with a note:
“Your first steps, Vania.
Your first cough, Sergei. Your first laugh, Kolia.”
I realized: she had never stopped loving us. The last one contained an icon, a crucifix, and a message:
“Don’t let the house grow cold.
Return at least once a year.
Love lives where memory lingers.”
I went back. I cleaned, opened the shutters, laid the blankets on the bed.
My daughter ran around, laughing as if the old home had come alive again. And I felt… the scent of lily of the valley.
A soft voice seemed to whisper:
— Thank you, my son.
That day, I understood: a mother’s legacy is not gold or walls, but the warmth she leaves in our hearts—a fire that no death can extinguish.
