Six months later, I hosted a lunch. Not in a restaurant, not in a stranger’s house. At my place. In my new apartment, which smelled of freshly brewed coffee and warm bread. The table was set with real plates I bought on sale, but they seemed more beautiful to me than any restaurant tableware. Light poured through the windows, reflecting on the wooden floor, and the guests’ laughter filled the room with warmth.
Ivan Petrovich brought a bouquet of daisies and put them in a vase I bought with my first paycheck. He looked at me with pride, his eyes shining like that day he first saw my apartment. Dima, my cousin who used to roll his eyes when I talked about design, was now asking about color palettes, about how to choose wallpaper to make a room seem bigger. Aunt Galya, who always stayed silent at family gatherings, suddenly said she wanted to hire me to renovate her dacha. Even Katya, who usually sat on her phone, put it down and asked to see my sketches.
Dad wasn’t there. He returned the money on time, as promised in his letter. Seven million returned to Ivan Petrovich’s account, and he used it to buy me this apartment. But Dad’s apologies remained on paper. He called a couple of times, tried to explain that he wanted the best, that he was afraid I wouldn’t cope. But I didn’t want to listen. Not because I was angry, but because I realized: his words no longer have power over me. His absence was the best gift he could give me.
When I was passing the tray of appetizers, I caught Ivan Petrovich’s gaze. He looked at me with a soft smile, his hand resting on the table next to the vase of daisies.
— This, — he said quietly, so only I could hear. — This is what I dreamed of when I sent that money. For you to live, Inna. Truly live.
I touched his hand, my fingers warm from the cup of tea.
— Me too, — I replied, and my voice was soft but confident. — Me too.
I looked at the guests, at the light pouring through the windows, at the daisies in the vase. And for the first time in years, I felt that I was home. Not in an apartment, not in a city, but in my life. In the life I built myself, step by step, from fragments of dreams and truth.
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