— Katya, I’ll fix everything. We’ll start all over.
— We won’t start anything, — she said quietly. — I’m filing for divorce. — Katya turned to Andrey. — Call the police, and let’s get out of here.
Six months passed. The May evening was warm and filled with the scent of blossoming apple trees. On the veranda of Katya’s parents’ country house, tea was being served. A strange but surprisingly harmonious group sat at the table.
Olga Nikolaevna was pouring tea from a pot-bellied samovar. Pyotr Sergeevich was engrossed in a political discussion with Andrey, who was no longer just a colleague but a frequent and welcome guest. Katya sat in a wicker chair, watching a clumsy but happy puppy run across the green lawn. Boatswain had grown into a shaggy dog of indeterminate breed but with a huge heart. Chasing after Boatswain with shrieks of laughter was Artemka—rosy-cheeked, laughing, nothing like the scared child from the orphanage. The adoption process had been long and difficult, with obstacles created by the bad reference from Katya’s previous job.
Galina Ivanovna was also there, at the table. It was now impossible to recognize the town eccentric in the downy shawl. She was an elegant elderly lady with a neat haircut and thin-rimmed glasses. She worked as a senior lab technician in Dr. Voronov’s private clinic. By the way, the disgraced doctor, although he had lost part of his practice, had retained his conscience. It was Galina, using her old academic titles and a suddenly awakened fighting spirit, who helped Katya gather the necessary documents and prove to the guardianship authorities that she was an ideal mother.
— Galina Ivanovna, more jam? — Katerina asked, smiling.
— Thank you, just a spoonful. I’m watching my sugar, — she replied with dignity, but immediately winked at Artem, who had run up to the table. — But this young man needs his carbohydrates. Here, have a pie.
— Thank you, Grandma Galya! — Artem grabbed the treat and ran off to his friend again. — Boatswain, fetch!
Andrey looked at Katya. His gaze was warm and calm.
— Have you heard the news? — he asked quietly. — About Igor?
— Yes, the apartment was auctioned off for his debts. He paid off the principal amount but still owes interest. He’s living with his mother at their dacha, working as a loader at a warehouse. Tamara Sergeevna called some acquaintances of mine, asking to borrow money.
— I hope you didn’t give her any?
— No, of course not. Let them learn to live within their means. And Zhanna?
— She got three years of probation for fraud but was ordered to compensate the company for its losses. Now she works as a cleaner in the shopping mall where she used to buy designer clothes.
— To each their own, — Katya remarked.
She shifted her gaze to the veranda windowsill. There, in a new, beautiful clay pot, stood a lush, bright red geranium. It was a cutting from the same plant that had died. It had survived and taken root in new soil, just as Katya herself had done.
Andrey covered her hand with his.
— You know, I was thinking… Artem needs a man’s hand, to learn how to hammer nails, to go fishing… — Katya looked into his eyes. — I think he’ll be happy. And Boatswain too.
— And you? — he asked a little more quietly.
— Me? — Katya smiled, and it was the happiest smile she had worn in years. — I think the dark streak is over, and now we have a whole life ahead of us.
The sun was setting behind the pine tops, bathing the veranda in golden light. Boatswain barked at a passing butterfly, Artem laughed, and her parents were arguing about something. Katya closed her eyes. The air smelled of happiness and a little bit of geranium.
