A week after the discovery, her neighbor, Aunt Valya Alekseenko, came to visit—an elderly woman who sometimes sat with her mom when Anna was at her part-time job or at school.
— How are you, dear? – she asked with concern, settling in the kitchen with a cup of tea.
— Are you not too sad? I’m fine, – Anna lied. — Aunt Valya, was mom corresponding with anyone? Maybe she called someone while I wasn’t home?
Valentina Petrovna shook her head thoughtfully:
— No, I don’t think I noticed anything. Although, in the last few months, your mother became somewhat focused. She often sat at the table, writing something. I thought she was keeping a diary or memoirs. Many people do that when… you understand.
— Did any letters arrive?
— Letters? Who writes letters these days? Only bills and advertisements. Although, wait… — The woman frowned, trying to remember. — I think in March, the postman brought some envelopes a few times. I was sitting with your mom, and she immediately put them away without showing the contents. She said it was related to her work at the library.
Anna’s heart began to beat faster. So, there really was correspondence. But with whom? And where are those letters now?
After the neighbor left, the girl conducted a real search of the apartment. She went through all the closets, dressers, and mezzanines. She looked under mattresses, in books, and checked every box and folder. But she found no letters or notes. However, in her mother’s desk, in the very back drawer behind old photographs, she discovered a small, leather-bound notebook.
Anna had never seen it before. Opening the first page, she saw a short entry: “It began on February 12. Doctor Kulev said six months, a year. I need to get everything ready for Anechka.” The remaining pages were filled with small handwriting, but upon closer inspection, it turned out to be some kind of plans, to-do lists, addresses. Many entries were made with symbols that Anna couldn’t decipher.
On one of the last pages, she found an entry made in the familiar large letters: “A.S. City cemetery, plot 15, row 7. Agreed, exactly three months, 2 p.m. sharp. Everything is ready.”
Anna quickly calculated in her head. Her mother died on April 15. Three months from then would be July 15. So, the note was not a coincidence. Her mother had indeed planned everything in advance.
Time dragged on painfully slowly. Anna passed her final exams and received her diploma with a gold medal, but it brought no joy. Her mother had dreamed of being at the graduation, buying a new olive dress with a white collar, which still hung in the closet with the tag on. She had even planned to have a small celebration at home, to bake a cake from her grandmother’s family recipe.
Graduation night was an ordeal for Anna. She came in a simple blue dress she had bought last year, tried to smile and congratulate her classmates, but inside she felt empty. Her homeroom teacher, Elena Ivanovna Zemlyakova, approached her several times:
— Anechka, dear, I understand how hard it is for you, but your mom would have wanted you to enjoy this day. You’re an excellent student, you’ll get into university, you’ll be successful.
— Thank you, Elena Ivanovna, — Anya replied, trying not to show her tears. — I’m trying.
But when the dance with the parents was announced, she quietly left the hall and sat in the schoolyard for a long time, looking at the stars.
“Mommy,” she thought, “it’s so hard for me without you. Why did you leave so soon?”…
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