“Remember what I told you,” she whispered, looking Yulia straight in the eye. “Keep everything you’ve seen and know. Don’t believe empty promises, don’t believe beautiful words. If you need me, Sasha will give you my number, call anytime. I’m old, but my mind still works, and I understand a thing or two about life.”
“Thank you.” Yulia felt her throat tighten, making it hard to speak. “I don’t know what would have happened to me without you. I would have just kept living blindly, believing until the very end.”
Vasilisa Nikitichna smiled warmly and sadly, with the understanding of someone who had gone through something similar herself.
“You brought me food, I opened your eyes. We’re even, my child. That’s how life works: good for good, but not always in the same currency, not always as you expect.”
Alexander supported his mother by the arm, helping her to the elevator, steadying her with every step. At the doors, Vasilisa Nikitichna turned and gave Yulia a long look. It seemed she wanted to say something else, something important, but changed her mind, deciding that all the main things had already been said. The elevator doors closed with a soft whoosh, and Yulia was left alone in the empty hospital corridor, clutching the old banknote in her pocket, which no longer felt like an insult but had become something else entirely. This piece of paper, faded and useless in any shop, had turned into a talisman, a reminder that sometimes you need a stranger, a chance meeting, an unexpected word, to see the obvious that is hiding right under your nose.
The old woman had entered her life by chance, but she changed everything: she taught her to see with open eyes, to listen not only to words but also to silence, to defend herself where she had previously only endured. To be a good person is a blessing, but to be good without being able to stand up for yourself is a road to nowhere. And Yulia had been walking that road for too long.
She stood by the window and watched as Alexander helped his mother into the car in the hospital parking lot below, as the door shut, as the car pulled away and disappeared around a bend. Now she was alone. With the knowledge she had gained, with the evidence she had collected, with a clear understanding of what lay ahead and whom she would have to fight against. It was time to act.
Gleb was discharged three days after Vasilisa Nikitichna left, and Yulia came to take him home—as a wife should, silently, without reproaches, without questions. The whole way in the taxi, he looked out the window, she looked at her hands resting on her lap, and a silence hung between them that neither dared to break.
At home, she helped him get settled on the sofa, brought him water, and adjusted the pillow under his casted leg. Familiar movements, performed mechanically, without the warmth that was once put into them.
“You’ve been acting strange,” Gleb said, looking up at her. “You’re quiet all the time. Did something happen?”
“Nothing happened,” Yulia replied evenly. “I’m just tired.”
She went into the bedroom and started packing her things—only her own, personal belongings, those that belonged to her before and during the marriage. Clothes, documents, photos of her parents, a few books, makeup. The suitcase they had bought together for a trip to Turkey three years ago filled up slowly and methodically, and each item placed inside cut off another piece of her past life.
“Where are you going?”
Gleb appeared in the bedroom doorway, leaning on a crutch, and for the first time in a long while, there was something like confusion in his voice.
“To my mom’s. I’ll stay there for a while.”
“What do you mean? You’ll stay there? Are you leaving me?”
Yulia zipped up the suitcase and straightened up, looking at him directly, without the usual urge to look away.
“Yes, Gleb, I’m leaving.”
“Why? Because of that old hag and her nonsense?”
“Yulia, you’re a smart woman, surely you don’t…”
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