Ruslan sat across from the old woman, staring at her face, like he was searching for a reason to explain what he was doing. But her eyes showed only quiet calmness – the look of someone who had been through pain but stayed strong. In that moment, Ruslan started to lose track of why he was even there. Why did he choose her? Why did he start this?
“Listen,” he said again, trying to sound sure of himself, “I have to leave. And my wife… she needs someone to take care of her. I asked around and looked for the right person.”
The grandmother let out a short snort. Almost too quiet to hear, the old woman’s snort was enough to make Ruslan hesitate.“Is this… wrong?” she asked.
“No! Of course not!” he quickly replied, nervously waving his hands. “My wife has always worked so hard, like a machine. She was barely ever home.
And now… something inside her just gave out. The doctors say she doesn’t have much time left.”He stopped for a moment, trying to find the right words. Even though it was hard to say, he also felt like a weight was lifting off his shoulders.
“I’m human too. I spent years beside this… workaholic. I want to rest now. Get a break. And if she dies while I’m gone…” He raised his hands, as if asking her to understand. “Don’t worry, I’ll show you how to care for her. You’ll know everything you need.”
“So, you’re all set to go?” the woman asked, watching him carefully.“I’m ready,” Ruslan nodded, and a small, pleased smile appeared on his face.
“It would be great if the house felt ready for you too…”He didn’t say it, but that smile said a lot—about the freedom he had been waiting for, and about a future that didn’t include his sick wife.
“And don’t get the wrong idea!” he added quickly when he saw her expression. “I’ll pay you more than any caregiver usually gets. I know you need the money.
From what I heard, the doctors say she has two weeks left. A month at most. I’ll be back in two or three weeks.”
Sofia Andreevna watched as Ruslan left the apartment, got into his fancy car, and drove away. “Probably off to see his girlfriend,” she thought. “Ah, youth…”
She didn’t feel angry, but the thought still crossed her mind:
“Couldn’t he at least wait until his wife dies? Is it really that hard to stay a little longer?”
But in the end, it wasn’t her business. She really needed the money—especially after everything that had happened. After getting out of prison. Her daughter didn’t even know she was free. Sofia hadn’t written or called. Her daughter had her own life now—raising her child, building a career. Why bring back the past? Why let people say, “There’s the ex-con grandma, just got out of jail…” Her name was already damaged.
Sofia had stopped replying to letters. She refused visitors. She even sent her daughter a cold, distant letter once—telling her not to come, not to send anything.
She had blamed her daughter for marrying that man, the one who led to her being jailed.
But deep down, she didn’t really believe that. She just wanted her daughter to be upset, cry maybe, then move on and forget about her. Sofia didn’t want to drag her daughter down with her past.
Sofia Andreevna had gone to prison for poisoning her son-in-law. At the trial, they asked if she was sorry. She replied simply:
“If I could, I’d poison him again.”
Those words were recorded, and when her son-in-law’s family heard them, they made sure she got the longest sentence possible.
Meanwhile, Larisa lay in bed, hearing voices through the wall.
Someone was talking to Ruslan. Then the doorbell rang and more people spoke. She wanted to get up and see who was there, but she had no strength. None at all. She had always been weak. And today, Ruslan hadn’t even brought her breakfast. Or lunch.
She had been bedridden for more than three months. The doctors couldn’t say exactly what was wrong. They just said her body was tired and had stopped working like it used to. There was no real diagnosis or treatment—just basic advice: take vitamins, eat well, stay positive.
Ruslan wasn’t happy about it. Larisa remembered the day he was planning a ski trip with his friends, but she suddenly got sick.
“Rus, don’t worry,” she told him. “Sometimes people get sick. You can go next time.”
“But I don’t want next time! I want to go now!”
“But we might need that money for my treatment… I can’t let you spend it all right now.”
“So I’m supposed to work just to spend it all on you?”
“But you know I’ve always tried to help, I saved when I could…”
“You? You only worked for one year in seven—and kept switching jobs.”
“That’s because I couldn’t stay where I wasn’t respected!”
“Well, I guess no place respected you then…”
He slammed the door and left. Larisa had regretted saying those words a thousand times. Why did she have to hurt him?
He came back the next day. She didn’t ask where he went—back then, she was still able to move around. But now, things had changed.
The door creaked open. A woman stood there. She had gray hair, calm eyes, and wore neat clothes.
“Hello, Larisa.”
“Hello… Who are you?”
Larisa’s voice was barely more than a whisper. She tried to sound firm, but couldn’t.
“I’m your caregiver. Your husband hired me.”
Larisa closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them again.
“Where is he?” she asked.
The woman shrugged.
“He left.”
Larisa didn’t ask anything else. She already understood. He was just waiting. Waiting for her to die, so he could be free—free to start a new life, be with another woman, and chase his own happiness.
Sofia Andreevna sat down nearby. Her eyes didn’t just show professionalism—there was a quiet strength in her.
“My name is Sofia Andreevna. I’ll make you some tea and then help you eat.”
Larisa gave a bitter smile.
“And did he give you permission to feed me? Maybe he wants me gone faster.”
“He hired me to take care of you. That’s it. No special rules.”
The woman stepped out, and Larisa lay back, staring at the ceiling. Her eyes filled with tears, but she didn’t let them fall. She wouldn’t cry. She wouldn’t show weakness.
Ruslan had always been a bit different. He only wanted to work in places where he felt respected. Larisa used to let that slide. She was the one keeping their home running. She owned two studios, worked nonstop, took care of everything. When coworkers got sick, she covered for them. No complaints. No arguments. She just kept going.
They bought the apartment with her money. She saved every bit she could, thinking, “I need to earn more before I get pregnant.” But pregnancy never happened. Then she started noticing how Ruslan was gone more often. Not home in the evenings. Always talking about meetings, business trips, or friends.
And once she got sick and had to stay in bed—and he didn’t even try to hide things anymore—she realized it had all been real. She just didn’t want to face it before.
“Let me help you sit up,” Sofia Andreevna said softly, returning with a cup of tea. “Sorry, I’ll just talk to you casually.”
Larisa shook her head.
“I don’t want anything,” Larisa said quietly.
Sofia let out a soft sigh and sat beside her. She knew that sometimes, the strongest people are the ones who stay silent.
“You know,” Sofia began, her eyes filled with pain as she looked at Larisa, “my daughter almost took her own life because of her husband. She kept everything hidden—too afraid of what people would say. She covered up her bruises, tried to smile, and the child… the child stayed quiet, suffering too. But what could she do? Her husband wasn’t just anyone—he was the police chief.”
She paused for a moment, letting the weight of her words sink in.
“So I had to do something. I couldn’t watch her suffer anymore. I know a lot about herbs. Giving my son-in-law tea that would keep him down for a while… it wasn’t any harder than cooking soup.”
Larisa stared at her, eyes wide with shock.
“You… you actually did it…”
“I’m not a killer,” Sofia said gently, cutting her off as she handed her a warm cup of tea. “Here, drink this. It’s good for you. It’ll help you feel a bit better. Don’t be afraid.”
Sofia stood up, and Larisa, still shocked, whispered,
“No one ever found out?”
Sofia gave a small, bitter smile—not mocking, just full of the pain she’d lived through.
“Why do you think your husband chose me? He knew I had spent ten years in prison. He thought I wouldn’t care about you. Like someone who’s been through hell can’t still be kind.”
Half an hour later, Sofia brought her dinner—simple, warm food that smelled comforting.
“Shall we eat at the table?” she asked.
“No, I can’t…” Larisa started, but Sofia gently cut her off:
“That’s just what you’ve told yourself.”
And so they ate together. After Sofia cleared the dishes, Larisa found the strength to ask:
“And your daughter? Where is she now? Does she visit or help you?” Larisa asked.
A sad look crossed Sofia’s face. She stayed quiet for a while before replying.
“No. I don’t want her to suffer because of me. I want her and my granddaughter to live in peace, without trouble or memories tied to me.”
Little by little, they began talking more freely. Sofia shared her whole life story—about the pain she went through, the betrayals, the love that ended with her in prison. Larisa listened closely, feeling for every word and every sigh. She couldn’t understand how someone so kind and fair had spent so many years behind bars. She vaguely remembered that harsh letter Sofia had written to her daughter, full of blame… and now she saw it differently.
For the first time, Larisa realized that this woman wasn’t old and useless. She was just sixty-two—an age where there was still time for warmth, for loved ones, for good memories. And Larisa suddenly wanted to help her somehow. To bring back even a little fairness. But how could she? She was stuck in bed, weak like a broken doll.
She remembered something the doctor once said:
“If you feel sick, try eating. If it hurts, try moving. If you’re scared, try laughing.”
But how could she laugh? After being betrayed? After losing everything? Surrounded only by silence and loneliness?
Two weeks passed. And then, one day, Larisa felt something she hadn’t felt in a long time—a small, simple wish. She wanted to go outside. To breathe fresh air. To feel the sun on her face.
“Sofia Andreevna,” she whispered, “do you think we could go to the yard?”
Sofia smiled.
“If we can’t walk, then we’ll crawl.”
Meanwhile, Ruslan was feeling anxious.
Marina wasn’t answering his calls. He had tried again today to convince her to go to the beach, but she kept saying, “I’m tired of it. I don’t feel like going.”
How could she be tired? She had talked about going to the sea for a whole month. He wouldn’t mind staying home—well, not at his real home, but somewhere else where no one knew them.
Maybe she was asleep and didn’t hear the phone? But then a worrying thought came to him—lately, she had been flirting a lot with other men on the beach.
Frustrated, he took a taxi to her hotel.
Marina was there—and she wasn’t alone. As Ruslan entered, she calmly got up from the lap of a handsome local guy and looked him straight in the eyes.
“I thought you were at the beach?” he asked.
“As you can see, I came back,” she replied coolly. “What’s the problem?”
Marina gave a playful shrug and blew a kiss to the man, who walked right past Ruslan and left without a word.
“So, are you waiting for me to leave now?” she asked, unfazed.
“Something like that,” Marina said flatly. “Listen, I don’t think you even understand who I am to you—and I’m not going to be anyone. You’re empty inside. After just a month with you, there’s nothing left to say. And since you’re living off your wife and can’t do anything on your own… tying myself to you would be insane.”
She began packing her suitcase.
“Where are you going?!” Ruslan asked in a panic.
“Home. And don’t worry—by the time you get back, Larisa might be dead anyway. But I won’t be next. Not for any amount of money.”
She didn’t look back.
Ruslan was left alone, sitting on the edge of the bed, holding his head in his hands. How did it come to this? How had everything fallen apart so fast? He was sick of the resort, and his money was almost gone. He decided to go home early.
But when he got home, he was in for a surprise.
Larisa’s car wasn’t in the parking lot. “That’s odd,” he thought. He had told the old woman clearly—her job was to help speed up Larisa’s death.
Had someone found out his mistress was gone and stolen the car? Or maybe Sofia just forgot to lock up?
He looked up. The window to Larisa’s room was open. Probably just being aired out. The whole apartment smelled faintly of medicine—maybe repairs were needed too.
As he walked upstairs, he was already calling the police to report the car possibly stolen. But just as he put the key in the lock, the door swung open.
Larisa was standing there. Dressed. Clean. Wearing a lovely dress. The smell of fresh, homemade food drifted from inside the apartment.
“You…” Ruslan stammered.
“Yes, it’s me,” she said calmly.
“Come in. Don’t make a scene. All your things are in your room. Pack up. I’ve filed for divorce.”
Ruslan froze like he’d been struck by lightning. “But why?! I love you!”
Larisa laughed—not bitterly or angrily, but with surprising lightness.
“Go. Quickly, before I change my mind.”
She started to close the door, then paused. Behind Ruslan, two people appeared—a woman in her thirties and a young girl, both looking around curiously.
“Svetlana!” Larisa said with joy.
“You came!”
“Of course! We were so worried… Are you sure Mom didn’t hurt you?”
“No, of course not! I told her everything. Are you ready? She doesn’t know you’re here yet.”
The three of them walked past Ruslan, who stood frozen like a statue.
“You’re still here?” Larisa asked, glancing back.
“Go in peace.”
Then she closed the door.