— “Later, Grandma. For now, just leave the tea.”
— “How do you know?” her voice trembled. “Alena… she cares for us.”
Kirill took a step, then another. The elephant served as his shield.
— “I heard,” he said. And added very quietly: “Yesterday. When she thought I was asleep.”
Lyudmila Sergeevna covered the mug with her palm, as if she could hold back the misfortune with her hand. The last few months flashed through her mind: mixed-up days, keys in the refrigerator, afternoon naps with no memory. And Sergey’s worried glances, and Alena’s whispers in the kitchen: “It’s her age. We need to think about her safety.”
She leaned towards him:
— “Kirill, are you sure?”
The boy nodded. Calmly. Like an adult.
— “She used to do that before,” he repeated. “And then people start forgetting everything.”
Lyudmila Sergeevna was silent for a long time. She sat opposite Kirill, her hands on her knees, afraid to move. It seemed that one wrong move and the boy would shut down again, returning to the place where fear and silence had lived for eight years.
— “You said,” she finally spoke quietly. “You said it had happened before.” She swallowed. “Tell me what you can. I’ll understand.”
Kirill nodded. He looked at the elephant, running his fingers over the worn fabric, as if gathering his thoughts.
— “She worked,” he began uncertainly. “Before. At other grandmas’ and grandpas’ houses.”
Lyudmila Sergeevna felt something unpleasant tighten inside her.
— “Did you visit them?” she asked.
— “Yes. I went with her.” He said it simply, as if talking about a trip to the store. This simplicity was terrifying.
— “What were they like?” she asked cautiously.
Kirill thought for a moment.
— “Normal at first.”
— “What does ‘normal’ mean?”
— “Well…” he shrugged. “They laughed. They talked. One grandpa always asked when my birthday was, or if I had a cat or a dog…”
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