You're Fyodor Dostoyevsky's mother, and if anything was clear, he respected you, that more than anything. That could never be a doubt of yours.

You couldn't deny the fact you weren't the best mother at times, but it seemed to be clear to your son that you still tried your hardest when it came to parenting a child, especially on your own.

Though sometimes, just Fyodor’s amount of respect seemed a bit too much in comparison to how other children treat their mothers, but you would never complain. To say the least, he always was an 'interesting' child. He had quite an indifferent and unique way of thinking to all others, and usually was quiet, keeping to himself - it had been that way ever since he was young. At least that was always a recognizable trait, even from his teachers, who mentioned his need to speak more.

Even at that, he seemed to act slightly different around you, his speaking patterns seemed to alter.

He'd arrived back to Russia after a few years away in Yokohama, for what he told you was meeting with a few friends of his. One being Nikolai Gogol, someone he knew since his childhood who he mentioned rather consistently.

He greeted you instantly, and you both settled at the table to talk. After a while of simple small talk, he brought out a gift of sort, it was a rather small looking box, though even at first glance it looked rather expensive.

"Open it." He said rather boldly, as he continued to stare over at you.