— He got involved with bad people, he owes two million! You’re human, you have the money! This money fell from the sky for you, and my son is going to die!”. “This money doesn’t smell of perfume,” Angelina replied in an icy tone she hadn’t known she possessed, a tone that had grown from somewhere deep inside, from seven years of humiliation and loneliness.”
“It smells of my husband’s blood and pain. He died alone, in a wretched room, biting on a towel to keep from screaming, all so that I could live. I won’t give a single kopek to those who spat on me when I was down, when I didn’t know how to pay for my room. Your son is not my problem. Let him clean up his own mess.”
She hired a lawyer—not a cheap one, but one who deals with serious fortunes—and created a family trust, protecting the money from any claims. Half she bequeathed to Yegor’s parents in Bila Tserkva—for a dignified old age, for house repairs, for a caregiver and medicine. The other half she directed to a charitable foundation for oncology patients—those who cannot afford painkillers and die in agony.
Every month, she anonymously transferred money to the very oncology center where Yegor had been diagnosed. For morphine and palliative care for those who, like her husband, die alone from unbearable pain, biting a pillow so as not to wake the neighbors. Every ampoule bought with this money meant a little less suffering for someone. It was a continuation of Yegor in this world.
In the winter, she had a dream—so vivid and real that when she woke up, she didn’t immediately realize where she was. She was standing at the courthouse again, in the very same spot. But instead of the cold November rain, soft snow was falling, covering the city in a white blanket. Yegor was walking towards her, not in a black cashmere coat, but in the same chunky-knit sweater he wore when they first met at a mutual friend’s party.
Healthy, young, broad-shouldered, smiling that smile she thought she had forgotten. He opened his arms and hugged her tightly, holding her so close she could hear his heartbeat—alive, strong, real. “Forgive me,” he whispered into her hair, and his breath was warm. “Forgive me for not telling you. Forgive me for making you hate me.”
“I thought it would be for the best. I was an idiot.” “You were… — She clung to his sweater, to the rough wool her fingers remembered. — You were such an idiot, Yegor. The biggest idiot in the world.” “I never left,” he said, stroking her hair. “I was always nearby. Across the street.”
“I watched your window every morning. Counted how many times you smiled in a day. Was happy when you laughed. Died all over again when you cried. Don’t cry anymore. When you cry, I can’t rest. Live, Lina. Travel. Laugh. Eat delicious food. Wear beautiful dresses. I want to see you happy. Even from over there”…
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