Every day, Anya walked home hoping that Max would come back. She knew he didn’t have the keys—he had left them when he left. Yet she still hoped that he would open the door and she would see his sneakers in the hallway. But the miracle didn’t happen this time either.
They had lived together for two years. He had filled the emptiness left after her mother’s death. And why did she even start that conversation… There had never been passion between them from the beginning. It was just comfortable together. But Max never proposed, never talked about the future, about their future.
“What’s next?” Anya asked one day.
“You mean the stamp in the passport? What difference will it make?”
“For a woman, it’s important. If it’s not for you, maybe we should break up?” she said half-jokingly, to scare him, to push him to take a decisive step.
“Then we’ll break up,” he suddenly said and left.
She had been living alone for a week already. Waiting. Should she call? Ask him to come back? But if a man left so easily, it meant he didn’t love her.
He appeared in her life just when she was completely alone. Two years ago, the driver of a Gazelle truck had a heart attack, lost control, and crashed into a bus stop. Her mother and another woman died on the spot; the others were luckier—they were injured but survived. The driver died in the hospital after learning that people had died because of him. A massive heart attack.
This was reported on all the news. After the funeral, Anya walked around as if in a dream. She herself almost got hit by Max’s car. He managed to brake, got out, started yelling at her, but then saw her face and fell silent, drove her home, and stayed with her.
He was three years younger. The age difference wasn’t big, but to Anya, it felt like a decade between them. He planned nothing, lived day to day, brushed off talks about children. “What kids? We have time. Anya, aren’t we fine just the two of us?” Max laughed.
But she wanted a normal family, children, to choose a stroller and baby clothes together. Such talks annoyed him.
At home, she deliberately didn’t take the phone out of her purse so she wouldn’t look at it every minute. She barely held back from calling him. Every morning before work, her heart pounding, she checked messages. Max didn’t write.
Another empty, lonely evening. Some movie was on TV. Anya was lost in her thoughts, not watching the screen. That’s why she didn’t immediately hear the muffled ringtone from the hallway. She struggled to fish her phone out of her bag—wallet, comb, and other little things were in the way. Finally, she got it out, but it wasn’t Max calling. Anya answered, thinking maybe his phone was out of battery or he had an accident…
“Anya?” asked an older female voice.
And suddenly she didn’t care who was calling or why.
“This is your Aunt Sasha’s neighbor. Alexandra died this morning.”
What Aunt Sasha? What neighbor? What is this woman even talking about? And then a childhood memory flashed in her mind. A small, round woman who looked like a Kolobok (Russian fairy tale bun). She covered her mouth with her hand when she smiled. She had no front teeth—the husband had knocked them out while drunk. She smelled of a stove and pies.
Anya eagerly awaited summer to visit Aunt Sasha. But her mother said they wouldn’t go anymore. She no longer remembered why. And then forgot Aunt Sasha herself.
“Can you hear me?” the stranger’s voice asked.
“Yes. What did she die from?”
“The doctor said a blood clot broke loose. The hospital is in the district center; the doctors aren’t like in the city. They could have left her at home, but it’s so hot… Will you come?”
“When is the funeral?” Anya asked.
She had no intention to go anywhere.
“The day after tomorrow, the third day, as it should be. If you can’t, tell us and we’ll postpone…”
“No need, I’ll come. Tell me how to get there; I don’t remember,” Anya admitted with difficulty.
“Of course,” the woman was glad. “How would you know? The village is Zalesye. About two hours by bus, faster by car.”
“I’m taking the bus,” Anya said, remembering Max no longer had a car.
“Buy a ticket to Bykovo village. No bus goes all the way; you’ll have to walk. Want someone to meet you?”
“No need.”
“Come. She has no one but you…”
“I won’t go. Why? I barely remember Aunt Sasha. How did that neighbor get my number anyway?” Anya opened the closet. Her eyes caught a dress she had worn to her mother’s funeral. “Mom… she would have gone.”
Anya took out a long blue skirt with tiny white flowers and a black t-shirt. Everything else was bright and inappropriate for a funeral. She packed the clothes in a bag.
In the morning, she went to work and wrote a three-day unpaid leave request. As required.
“If you need more, call,” said her boss sympathetically.
Anya went home, knitted what was necessary, and headed to the station. The bus had already left; she had to wait two hours for the next one. There was no point in going back home. Anya killed time in a cafe and shops near the station. She bought candy, cookies, wine—not arriving empty-handed. It would be needed for the memorial.
All the way, she thought about the pointlessness of her trip. When she got off the bus, the sun was setting but still blazing hot. Anya quickly sweated; her clothes stuck to her body. Soon a car passed her by, stopped a bit ahead, and a young man got out.
“Anya?” he asked.
“Yes. How do you…”
“Don’t you remember me? I’m Nikolay.”
A frail boy with constant sniffles surfaced in her memory. It couldn’t be that this scruffy kid had grown into such a handsome man.
“Get in, I’ll give you a ride. Everyone was waiting for you.”
“Me?” Anya was surprised.
“Yes. Your aunt died. We know about your mother. Sorry for your loss. Aunt Nina was worried she wouldn’t find any family. Looks like she found you.”
“The one who called me? How did she get my number?”
“Probably your mother left it when she came. We arrived,” he said, and Anya didn’t get to ask when her mother had been here.
No sooner had she gotten out of the car than a short pleasant woman approached her.
“How you’ve changed!” The woman hugged Anya. She smelled of milk, bread, and something painfully familiar.
Feeling the guest’s awkwardness, the woman stepped back.
“Let’s go inside.”
The door was unlocked.
“I left it open. Thought you might come, and I’d keep an eye out. Come in. This is your home. Sasha had no one else. Her husband died. Your mother—her sister—too, may she rest in peace. She was childless, so you’re the only heir. She said the house was yours.”
“How did you get my number?”
“The phone? Your mother left it when she came shortly before her death. I called her number just in case. But it’s disconnected now. Sasha and she hadn’t talked for years, then suddenly your mother came… I guess she sensed something…”
“Why didn’t they talk?”
“Because of a man, of course. Misha, Sasha’s husband, loved your mother. That’s why. She left for the city. He tried to follow but probably got turned away. Came back and started drinking. Then he married Sasha. He was handsome; all the girls were crazy about him. At first, everything was fine. Then your mother came with you. That was it. You left, and Misha went wild. He beat her so badly she couldn’t have children.”
The next summer, you came again, older now. Sasha told your mother to leave the child, you, and leave herself. They fought then. Your mother was proud. Sasha wasn’t better. After two months, your mother took you and never came back. Misha died; Sasha was left alone. She loved you very much. When your mother came before her death, they made peace…
“I didn’t know she came. She never said,” Anya said.
“That’s probably why. I don’t know anything else. Yesterday evening I came for her bundle of clothes and found a note with addresses and phone numbers inside. That’s why I called you. Sasha had prepared. They say when someone dies, expect two more deaths. God loves the Trinity. Misha left four years ago, drank himself to death. Then your mother. Now God took Sasha too. She has cabbage soup in the fridge… The pump is three houses down… Women will come tomorrow morning to prepare for the memorial… Are you staying long?” The neighbor spoke hurriedly, jumping from one topic to another. Anya barely kept up.
“After the funeral, I’ll leave,” she answered.
“Good. Rest, make yourself at home. The house is yours. Sasha wanted to put it in your name, I don’t know if she managed. Check the documents. If anything, I’m nearby.”
The neighbor left. Anya walked around the stranger’s house, recognizing nothing. She had been here long ago, a child. She remembered Aunt Sasha, nothing more. She looked at photos on the walls, a stack of old Soviet-era magazines on a shelf. On one, she saw childish scribbles. Could they be hers? Whose else? There were no other children.
In the old closet, neatly folded clean linen was stacked. It still held the warmth of hands and the scent of Aunt Sasha. In the fridge, Anya found cottage cheese, butter… A pot of cabbage soup was on the stove. It was clear Aunt Sasha hadn’t planned to die. Anya realized she couldn’t eat a single spoonful or bite.
She felt like an impostor, intruding into someone else’s home and life. Why did she need this house if she didn’t remember it? She had no right to it. She would leave tomorrow and never come back. Let whoever wants do whatever with it. The neighbors would harvest the garden and take what they need. She wouldn’t haul vegetables to the city. There was no space to store them in the apartment; everything would spoil.
It got dark. People in the village went to bed early. In some houses, bluish light flickered from working TVs. The curtains didn’t close tightly. Everything was probably visible from the street. Anya turned off the light, undressed, and crawled under the blanket. The bed was made with clean linen. She gratefully thought of the neighbor who took care of that.
Anya was just falling asleep when she heard floorboards creak. Someone was walking outside the door. A cold sweat broke out. “A ghost? Can you hear a ghost walk?”
Then something fell outside, and a man’s muffled curse. Not a ghost. But that didn’t make her feel safer. A person breaking into a stranger’s house was scarier than a bodiless spirit.
Anya threw off the blanket, got up on tiptoes, and grabbed a log near the stove. She approached the door and listened but only heard her own heartbeat.
She pushed the door and shouted:
“Who’s there?”
The flashlight’s beam immediately went out; Anya didn’t get a look at the person. Suddenly the door slammed shut, pushing her back into the room. She tripped on a rug and fell hard on her backside. Then she jumped up and turned on the light. She didn’t care that anyone outside could see her undressed. With the light, it was less scary. She jumped at a knock on the window.
“Anya, what happened? It’s me, Aunt Nina.”
Anya ran to the front door. It was locked. She unlocked it and fell into the neighbor’s arms.
“Someone was here… Someone broke into the house…” she blurted, clutching the woman in her nightgown.
“Maybe cats?”
“A man… A man. I saw him, or rather heard him curse when he dropped something…”
“Stepka, no one else. What a scoundrel. I’ll tell Nikolay tomorrow; he’ll talk to him. That troublemaker steals and drinks everything he can get. Did the money disappear?”
“He didn’t go into the room,” Anya said, still trembling from the fear.
“I noticed your light flickering in the window. I thought I’d check. Maybe you want to come to us?”
“No,” Anya refused weakly. “The door was locked. How did he get in?”
“Through the yard.”
Anya locked all doors. She lay down but only fell asleep when the roosters crowed. She was woken by a knock on the window. Sunlight flooded the room. She went to the window and drew back the curtain.
“Open up. We came to prepare. Alexandra will be brought soon.”
Anya dressed and let the women in. They immediately put down the pots and bags they brought on the table, clattered with dishes, chatting. They paid no attention to her, as if she wasn’t there.
Anya went outside. The sun was already high and scorching. On such a day, life should be celebrated, not mourned. Aunt Nina was hurrying from the neighboring house.
“They’re here? I’ll see if they need anything.” The neighbor disappeared inside.
Then a truck arrived. The women immediately came out with stools to place the coffin on. The whole village gathered. They said their goodbyes, whispered at the coffin. Anya tried not to look. Then the coffin was loaded into the truck bed, covered with fir branches. Those who wanted to go to the cemetery climbed in. Nikolay offered Anya a ride.
When they returned from the cemetery, the rugs in the house were cleaned, the table set with kutya (memorial grain dish), pancakes, snacks, and glasses of kissel (fruit jelly drink). Everything as it should be.
Anya couldn’t touch the food. She felt nauseous, even though she hadn’t eaten for two days. People left, new ones came. No one paid attention to her again. She went out of the hut and ate some sour currants straight from the bushes in the garden.
“There you are,” Nikolay called her. “I heard Semyon scared you last night. Don’t be afraid; he won’t come again. He’s not quite right but not dangerous. I work in the police; everyone here is afraid of me.”
“I’m not afraid. I’ll leave as soon as…”
“There won’t be a bus tonight. Want me to drive you?” Nikolay offered.
Anya wanted to leave as soon as possible.
“You’ll have to return at night,” she said.
“When I bought the car, I drove here from the city every day. I’m used to it. What will you do with the house?”
“Nothing.”
The women washed the dishes, cleaned up, and vanished as if they were never there. Anya looked around. Should she take something as a keepsake? For what? She remembered nothing. Let everything stay as it is. When Nikolay’s car came to the house, Anya went to him with her bag.
“Ready?” he asked.
“Just say goodbye to Aunt Nina.”
But she was already walking towards them. Anya hugged her first. Aunt Nina gave her a bag of food for the road and made the sign of the cross. They had just left the village when Anya attacked the food. On the way, she and Nikolay talked endlessly. She felt like she had known him all her life. “My person,” Anya thought. “It was different with Max.”
“In a week, my vacation ends. Can I come by when I’m back?” Nikolay asked when he stopped the car near Anya’s apartment.
“Come in. Apartment 40,” she answered with a pounding heart.
She would have been glad if he came in now. Anya imagined entering the empty apartment… And why had she rushed here? She didn’t want to go to the funeral, and now she wasn’t glad she returned.
Exactly a week later, Nikolay appeared at the door with a bouquet of flowers. Anya approached and pressed herself to him like to someone close. He was close. She realized that right there, on the road to the village.
A few days later, he proposed to her.
“You don’t know me at all,” Anya said.
“Why wait? Let’s get to know each other.”
“If Aunt Sasha hadn’t died, we wouldn’t have met,” Anya sighed.
“I think we never really parted…”
