Outside, it was fresh and empty. The city was just waking up, the sky in the east beginning to lighten. Katya walked to the bus stop and got on the first minibus heading toward the city center. She needed to stop by a children’s store first; she couldn’t show up empty-handed.
On the minibus, she took out her phone and opened her chat with Lena. The last message was from two days ago: “Katya, I feel like an elephant, I can’t wait for this kid to come out.” Katya had replied with a smiley face and a wish for patience.
Now she typed: “Lenochka, congratulations! I’ll be there soon, I want to see the baby. How are you? How did it all go?”
There was no reply; her sister was probably sleeping or her phone was off.
Katya leaned back in her seat and looked out the window. The still-sleeping streets, occasional passersby, and closed shops flickered past the glass. She thought about Lena. They were close as children, with only a four-year age difference, and Katya, as the older sister, always looked out for the younger one. She walked her to school, helped with homework, and stood up for her to their parents when Lena got into mischief. Lena was lively, restless, always getting into some kind of trouble. Katya, on the other hand, was quiet, obedient, and proper.
Then they grew up. Katya graduated from university and got a job as an accountant in a construction company. It wasn’t exactly her dream job, but it was stable with a decent salary. She rented an apartment, saving up for her own place. Then her grandmother died and left her a three-bedroom apartment in an old building near the center. The inheritance wasn’t easy to secure—there were some disputes with distant relatives, but in the end, the apartment went to Katya. Her grandmother had always said she would leave the apartment to her granddaughter because she helped her, visited every week, and took her to doctor’s appointments.
By that time, Lena was already working as a receptionist at a beauty salon, renting a room with a friend. The sisters saw each other rarely; each had her own life, her own affairs. They called each other, sometimes met at family holidays, but the closeness they had in childhood had vanished. Katya sometimes felt sad about it but understood that’s how things go. People grow up, they drift apart.
Two years ago, Katya married Andrey. He moved into her apartment; he only had a small studio on the outskirts of the city, which he rented out for extra income. The wedding was modest, with about thirty guests. Lena was the maid of honor, having fun, drinking champagne, and saying that Katya was lucky to have such a husband.
After the wedding, Lena started visiting more often. Sometimes just for tea, sometimes with a friend, sometimes alone. Katya was happy: maybe the sisters would become close again. They sat in the kitchen, talking about work, about Lena’s personal life, which was full of romances and breakups. Lena would laugh, tell jokes, complain about men. Andrey usually shut himself in his room with his computer, saying that women’s conversations didn’t interest him.
And then, about a year ago, Lena suddenly announced she was pregnant. Katya didn’t even know her sister was in a serious relationship. It turned out she had been dating some guy, Slava, for about three months. The pregnancy was unexpected, but Lena decided to have the baby.
“I’m already twenty-eight,” she had said then, sitting in Katya’s kitchen, pressing a mug of tea to her lips. “It’s time. Slava’s not against it, he says we’ll get married after the birth.”
But for some reason, Slava disappeared about two months later. Just vanished, stopped answering calls. Lena cried, Katya comforted her. Her parents took their younger daughter in, but Lena was restless, constantly arguing with her mother, saying she was suffocating her with her care. Katya offered for her to live with her and Andrey, there was enough space—a three-bedroom apartment. But Lena refused, saying she didn’t want to disturb the young family. So she lived with her parents until the birth.
The minibus stopped in the city center. Katya got off and headed to the children’s store, which was just opening. Inside, it smelled of new toys and baby cosmetics. Her eyes were overwhelmed by the variety: tiny rompers, hats with ears, soft toys, rattles, bottles.
“Miss, can I help you?” a saleswoman, a young woman with a friendly smile, approached her.
“Yes, I need a gift for a newborn. A boy, just born.”
The saleswoman nodded and started showing options. Katya chose a soft plush teddy bear, a set of three onesies with funny inscriptions, and a beautiful rattle. Then she also bought a box of chocolates for Lena—she always loved sweets. After paying, Katya left the store with a bag of gifts. Her heart felt light and joyful.
A nephew. A little person who didn’t exist in this world just yesterday, and now he was here. She imagined holding him in her arms, how he would grow, take his first steps, say his first words. Maybe she would become his favorite aunt, who would spoil him with gifts and protect him from parental lectures.
Katya took out her phone and dialed Andrey’s number. He didn’t pick up right away, on the fifth ring.
“Yeah?” his voice sounded a little annoyed through the phone.
“Andryusha, I bought the gifts, I’m on my way to the hospital. Are you at work already?”
“On my way. Listen, I’ll call you back, okay? I’m driving right now.”
“Alright. I’ll tell you how it went tonight.”
“Uh-huh. Bye.” He hung up.
Katya put her phone back in her pocket. Andrey was never very talkative, especially in the mornings. No big deal. It was about a twenty-minute walk to the hospital. Katya took her time, enjoying the morning stroll. The city was waking up, shops were opening, people were walking on the sidewalks to work, lights were turning on in cafes.
Katya thought about how soon, maybe, she and Andrey would have a child too. They weren’t in a hurry, but they weren’t being particularly careful either. Whatever happens, happens. Andrey said he wanted kids, but later, when they earned more, when he got a promotion at work. Katya sometimes imagined herself as a mother. She liked watching young women with strollers, the playgrounds where toddlers played. But she was afraid she wouldn’t be able to handle it. What if she couldn’t be a good mother? She had no experience, other than taking care of Lena when she was little. But back then, Katya was just a child herself.
However, right now she felt ready. A stable job, her own apartment, a husband by her side. Maybe it was time to really think about it seriously. She was even happy with the thought. When she saw Lena with the baby, she would definitely tell her about her plans. Her sister would be happy, probably. Their children would grow up together, maybe be friends.
Katya turned onto the familiar street. The maternity hospital was close now, she could see its gray walls behind the trees. An old Soviet building, a bit shabby, but with a good reputation. Katya knew she herself was born in this hospital. Her mother later told her that the labor was difficult, lasting more than a day. But with Lena, everything went quickly, she was done in three hours.
A few people were already crowded at the hospital gates, probably also there to visit relatives. Women with bags, one man with a huge bouquet of roses. Everyone was waiting for visiting hours to begin. Katya looked at her watch—another half hour.
She leaned against the fence, placing the bag of gifts on the ground. Her legs were tired from walking, she wanted to sit down. But there were no benches nearby. Katya took out her phone, wanted to scroll through the news, but noticed the battery was almost dead. She should have charged it in the morning.
Next to the gates, on a small concrete block, sat a gypsy woman. Young, about twenty-five, in a bright long skirt and a worn-out jacket. In her arms was a bundle—an infant wrapped in a faded blanket, apparently. In front of the gypsy on the ground was a cardboard box with a few coins…
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