The kettle quietly whistled on the stove while Elena sorted through the tea bags. Chamomile, mint, black with bergamot… Vika had brought them from her last business trip to London. Elena smiled, remembering how her daughter had ceremoniously handed her this apartment five years ago.
«Now, mom, you will have your own home,» Vika had said then, handing over the keys. «No more rented rooms.»
The old kitchen had long become her favorite place. Everything here breathed coziness: the worn tablecloth on the table, pots with geraniums on the windowsill, even a crack in the tile by the stove felt like it belonged. Elena was just about to pour herself some tea when the doorbell rang.
Vika stood on the threshold – in a strict business suit, with perfect hair and an utterly icy facial expression.
«Mom, we need to talk.»
Elena stepped aside, letting her daughter in. Something in her voice made her heart clench.
«Come in, dear. I just made tea. Your favorite, the one you brought.»
«No, thank you,» Vika remained standing in the middle of the kitchen. «I won’t stay long. Mom, you need to vacate the apartment. By tomorrow.»
Elena froze with the kettle in her hands. It seemed she had misheard.
«What, sorry?»
«The apartment needs to be vacated. Tomorrow. I can’t drag this out any longer.»
Hot tea spilled on her hand, but Elena didn’t even feel the pain.
«Vika, I don’t understand… This is my home. You yourself…»
«It’s just an apartment, mom,» Vika pulled out her phone, quickly checked something on the screen. «You’ve lived here, but I can no longer keep you.»
«Keep me?» Elena nervously laughed. «Dear, I pay for the utilities myself, I clean…»
«Mom, let’s not do this,» Vika grimaced. «The decision is made. Leave the keys on the table.»
She turned to leave, but Elena grabbed her arm:
«Wait! At least explain – why? What happened?»
«Nothing happened. Just business, mom. The apartment can be rented out for more.»
The door slammed shut, and Elena was left alone. A ringing filled her ears. She slowly sank onto a stool, looking at a puddle of spilled tea. In its reflection, the glimmers of the evening sun danced.
As if in a dream, she got up and went to the room. On the wall hung photographs: here was Vika at graduation, radiant in a white dress. And here they were together at the sea – the daughter building a sandcastle, and Elena laughing, trying to protect it from the incoming waves. She had just sold the summer house to pay for Vika’s education. But was that a sacrifice? No, just… love.
«My little girl,» Elena whispered, running her finger over the photograph. «How could this happen?»
The evening slowly crept into night. Elena mechanically packed things into an old suitcase, stopping now and then to look at familiar details of the apartment: the peeling paint in the corner she always meant to touch up, the warm light of her favorite lamp, the shadow of the geranium on the wall… Suddenly, every little thing became unbearably dear.
Somewhere deep inside, hope warmed that in the morning the phone would ring, and Vika would say it was a mistake. A silly joke. Anything. But the phone remained silent, and the clock hands relentlessly counted down the last hours in the place she considered her home.
The first night was stuffy. Elena sat on a bench in the park, clutching her worn suitcase, and looked at the stars. Somewhere there, in warm apartments, people slept in their beds, and she… My God, how did it come to this?
She left the keys on the kitchen table, carefully wiping them with a napkin. It somehow seemed important that they shine. Maybe Vika would notice and remember how her mother always cared about the details.
«Good evening,» a raspy voice said nearby. Elena flinched. Some bearded man in a tattered jacket sat down on the other end of the bench. «Don’t be afraid, I’ll just sit down. Staying the night too?»
Elena automatically clutched the suitcase closer.
«No, what are you… I’m just… walking.»
The man chuckled:
«At three in the morning? With a suitcase?»
«Yes, imagine that,» Elena tried to smile, but her lips trembled. «I love… night walks.»
«Clear,» he pulled an apple out of his pocket and handed it to her. «Will you? It’s clean, just washed it in the fountain.»
Elena shook her head, but her stomach treacherously growled. She hadn’t eaten since yesterday morning.
«By the way, my name is Semyon,» the man bit into the apple. «I’ve been on the street for three months. Wife kicked me out. And you?»
«Daughter,» Elena quietly replied and was surprised by her own frankness.
«Hm,» Semyon shook his head. «Children, they now… grow up different. I have a son in America, waiting for a call for the second year.»
By morning it had gotten cold. Elena dozed off, leaning against the back of the bench. Semyon had left long ago, leaving her another apple and the address of a shelter. «It’s warm there,» he said, «and they feed sometimes.»
When dawn broke, she got up, stretching her stiff legs. Where to go? To the shelter, she wasn’t ready, no… Maybe… Anna? The neighbor had always been welcoming, sometimes came over for tea…
Ringing the familiar doorbell on the fifth floor wasn’t easy. Elena raised and lowered her hand several times before deciding.
«Lenochka?» Anna appeared at the threshold in a floral robe. «My God, what happened? You look pale!»
«Anya…» her voice trembled treacherously. «Can I stay with you… for a couple of days?»
In Anna’s small kitchen, it smelled of powdered sugar. She was baking buns – she liked to treat herself to fresh pastries in the mornings.
«Well…» Anna shook her head, listening to her friend’s disjointed story. «And I always said – you spoiled her. Remember how she was rude to you at the birthday party? And you always ‘my little girl, my little girl’…»
«Don’t, Anya…»
«Needed, Lena!» Anna slammed the cup on the table. «How long can you deceive yourself? She was always like that. Remember how you gave her all your savings for the wedding? And she didn’t even say thank you!»
Elena looked out the window where the city was slowly waking up. Somewhere there, people were rushing to work, people who had a home, a family, confidence in tomorrow…
«You’ll get up from your knees, Len,» Anna put her hand on her shoulder. «You’ve always coped.»
Three days flew by unnoticed. Elena tried to be useful – cooked, cleaned, even fixed Anna’s broken faucet. But with each day, she felt more and more like a burden.
«Vladimir!» she suddenly remembered, flipping through an old notebook. An old family friend, once worked with her husband. Several years ago offered help…
Dialing his number was scary. What if he doesn’t remember? Or worse – remembers but refuses?
«Hello, Volodya? It’s Lena… Yes, Lena Petrova…»
An hour later, she was sitting in his office – a small, paper-cluttered nook at the city shelter where Vladimir was the head.
«So, you say, the daughter kicked you out?» he tapped a pencil on the table. «Well… You know, our cook in the cafeteria just quit. Temporarily, of course, but still… Can you cook?»
«Yes, I’ve been doing it all my life…» Elena hesitated. «But where to live?»
«And you’ll live here,» Vladimir smiled. «There’s a service room, small, true… But it’s yours. You’re stronger than you think, Lena. You’ll manage.»
In the evening, she crossed the threshold of the shelter for the first time as an employee. The smell of borscht mixed with the smell of bleach. Voices buzzed in the cafeteria – different people gathered here. An intellectual-looking old man in a worn jacket was passionately telling something to a young woman with a child. Semyon (what a meeting!) was helping set the tables.
«Elena Sergeyevna!» a middle-aged woman called her. «I’m Tamara, I’ll be showing you the ropes. Don’t worry, we’ve all been through something…»
In the small service room, it was clean and unexpectedly cozy. Elena sat on the bed, took out her phone. Her finger hovered over Vika’s number… No. Not now.
«Well,» she said to her reflection in the window, «life goes on?»
Three months flew by like one day. Elena got into work unexpectedly easily – it turned out cooking for a large company was even more fun than for two. And from the constant busyness, there was less time for bitter thoughts.
«Elena Sergeyevna,» Tamara peeked into the kitchen, «there’s a new girl who came, a real youngster. Maybe make her some tea?»
«Right away, just a minute,» Elena wiped her hands and reached for a hidden pack of cookies on the top shelf.
In the cafeteria sat a skinny girl about twenty, nervously fidgeting with the sleeve of her stretched sweater.
«Will you have tea?» Elena placed a cup in front of her. «With bergamot. From London.»
The girl raised tearful eyes:
«Thank you. And you… have you been here long?»
«Three months,» Elena sat next to her. «You know, I thought too – it’s the end of the world. But it turned out – it’s the beginning of something new.»
In the evenings, she started writing. At first, just jotting down thoughts in an old notebook, then poems began to form. Clumsy, naive, but so honest that Tamara, to whom she dared show, cried.
«Write, Elena Sergeyevna,» she said. «Your soul sings.»
One evening, Elena took out a clean sheet of paper and wrote: «Hello, Vika.» The letter turned out long. She told her daughter everything: about the night in the park, about the apple from homeless Semyon, about fear and loneliness. And about how she then learned to live anew.
«You will always be my daughter,» she wrote, «but I will no longer live just for you. You know, I started writing poems. Remember how as a child I read you my first attempts? You laughed and said I was just like Pushkin. Now I write for myself. And live for myself. I hope one day you understand – this is right.»
She didn’t send the letter, but it became easier. As if she had let go of something that had held her all this time.
«Elena Sergeyevna!» Tamara burst into the kitchen, waving some paper. «I have news for you! Remember Maria Stepanovna, who comes to our literary evenings? She’s renting a room, affordable. Says she likes you – you cook well and write poems…»
A week later, Elena was moving her few belongings into a bright room on the second floor of an old house. Maria Stepanovna, a slender woman with intelligent eyes, helped her hang curtains.
«You know,» she said, handing Elena nails, «I’ve been through that too. Husband kicked me out after thirty years of marriage. Thought I wouldn’t survive. And then… then I started painting. Can you imagine?»
In the evening, Elena stood by the window, watching the first snow fall. Fluffy flakes swirled in the light of the lanterns, covering the city with a white blanket. Somewhere there, in another part of the city, was Vika. Maybe she’s also looking out the window now?
On the table lay an open notebook. «I hold no grudges,» wrote Elena. And for the first time in a long time, it was pure truth. Life really went on – and now she definitely knew she would live. Not for someone else, but for herself.
Write what you think about this story! I would be pleased!
If you liked it, hit like and subscribe to the channel. With you was Jessie James.My daughter told me I have to move out of my apartment by tomorrow.
