Margarita Vasilievna, with a quiet rustle as her cane tapped against the stones of the pavement, once again confirmed that the door behind her was tightly locked. Trying not to hurry, she began her journey — carefully, step by step, listening to the sound of each touch of her cane’s tip on the cobblestones. The route was as familiar to her as the back of her hand since twice a week she made this journey without guides or any help, like a blind traveler following a map in her memory.
Going to the store twice a week was a compromise between convenience and ability for her. She could have gone less often before, but then the bags became unbearably heavy, and in complete darkness, even the slightest load became a real trial. However, Margarita never complained. She knew: this was her life, and she had learned to live with it.
Neighbors had long been used to seeing her on the street — a small, neat old woman with a cane that seemed to float in the air, moving confidently but slowly forward. Many remembered her younger, when her vision still served faithfully, when she could read product labels herself, choose fruits, enjoy the bright light of the spring sun. But ten years ago, everything changed.
One day, the world disappeared before her eyes. Doctors could not understand the cause for a long time — examinations showed her eyes were fine, but the problem lay deeper, somewhere in the brain. And such specialists did not exist in their town. Nor did money. Her pension was hardly sufficient, especially if you were alone, without the support of relatives who were already gone. Her husband and son had passed away prematurely, leaving her alone with an empty apartment and memories.
At first, she hoped, then fought, and finally just accepted reality. Accepted the pain of falling when her face and hands hit the pavement, accepted the mockery of passersby who thought she was drunk or homeless. She was not offended. How can one be angry at those who do not know your pain? After all, you can’t explain to everyone that you simply see nothing.
Each time she approached the road, Margarita stopped and listened. Sometimes neighbors helped, sometimes kind strangers. Ten steps forward, turn left, one hundred and five steps, and there — the cold railings at the entrance to her favorite store, where the clerks knew her voice and always carried her purchases right to the doorstep. The return path was a little more difficult — the bag in her hand shifted her balance slightly, but Margarita had long found a new rhythm.
It was the same today. Silence at the road. No one was in a hurry to help. Somewhere far off, cars hummed, and only the changing traffic light signaled when to wait. But suddenly…
— Excuse me, do you need help?
The voice was soft, kind. Margarita smiled and, turning toward him, replied:
— If it’s not difficult for you — I would be very grateful.
Steps sounded nearby. They crossed the road together. But suddenly the woman asked warily:
— Are you alone?
— No… There’s someone with me. We’re, how to say… homeless.
They were already on the other side. Margarita thoughtfully took a few steps and suddenly stopped.
— Tonight they’re promising frost down to minus thirty degrees.
— Haven’t heard. We don’t even have a radio, and almost no things.
The old woman fell silent again, as if thinking. Then spoke decisively:
— You know, I’ve always had a good intuition about kind people. Let’s do this: you stay with me for now, wait out the frosts, and then you’ll go further.
— That would be uncomfortable! We are, if you didn’t get it, homeless — the man muttered embarrassedly.
— I understand, I understand. Although I’m blind, I can reason — Margarita answered gently but firmly. — If it’s about things, then I have plenty of clothes at home from my husband and son. I should sort them out, but never got around to it. Now I can’t see, so they just lie unused.
And then a small palm touched her hand. A quiet child’s voice added:
— Don’t worry, we won’t touch anything without your permission. It’s just very cold outside.
Approaching the porch, Margarita handed over the keys:
— Open it, it would take me too long to fuss.
The lock clicked, the door creaked — the house greeted the guests with warmth that kept time. The man still hesitated:
— Are you sure?
— How long do you want me to say? — she answered with kind irritation. — If you don’t think about yourself, then think about the child!
They went inside, and the girl joyfully exclaimed:
— It’s so warm here!
— Warm, of course — Margarita smiled softly. — And now we’ll light the stove, and it will be even better. I’ve had central heating for a long time, but since I lost my sight, I stopped managing the stove. And when the frosts come, everyone with heating freezes, and I just throw a little wood in the stove — and the house is warm!
— Grandma, sit down — the girl offered. — Petya and I will sort everything out, and Petya can cook dinner. He cooks very well, professionally!
Margarita Vasilievna raised her eyebrows slightly:
— What a good boy. Is he a cook?
— He studied once — the man answered. — Then briefly worked as a restaurant manager.
— For some rich people? — she asked with lively interest.
— Yes, exactly for them.
— And why did he leave?
Tension hung in the room. The man hesitated:
— That’s a long story. I’ll tell you at dinner, if you don’t mind.
Margarita nodded and settled on the sofa with pleasure:
— Don’t think I’m completely alone and have no help. My son and husband died, yes, but my son’s friends always offered help, came over, invited me to their places. Good people, true friends. But I don’t want to be a burden to anyone. I try to do everything myself. And, you could say, I’ve almost learned.
The conversation continued; they talked about many things. In the bedroom, they found old clothes which Margarita generously offered to the new guests. The talk turned personal.
— Tell me, dear, who is Petya to you?
— Well, he’s actually not a relative. He worked as a house manager in the family where I lived — the girl answered quietly.
— And you didn’t live with your own family?
— No, I was taken away from my mother.
— How come? Was your mother bad?
— No, my mother is good. She cared for me. We lived in a village, but one day people came there… It’s better if Petya tells everything himself.
Margarita Vasilievna had long stopped being surprised by anything. Her husband and son worked all their lives in law enforcement, and during their service, they had seen many stories capable of shaking anyone. Sometimes these stories reached her in fragments over a cup of hot tea when she set sandwiches on the table so the men wouldn’t be exhausted by emotions. The debates sometimes lasted till dawn, and she just listened silently, knowing there were things better not known too deeply.
While dinner was being prepared in the kitchen, Margarita pondered. What could have happened to this girl? Why was she taken from her mother? Various versions swirled in her head, but none could prepare her for what her ear would soon hear — and what would shake her heart to its core.
When everyone sat at the set table, and Margarita Vasilievna tried food for the first time in many years prepared by other, yet such caring hands, her face lit up with a warm, almost childlike smile.
— You’re simply a master! — she exclaimed with genuine surprise. — You should work only in a restaurant!
Petya smiled faintly; his gaze darkened with memories.
— I did work there… until the owners «acquired» me.
— How is that — acquired? Does that happen? — the old woman didn’t understand.
— It happens — he answered quietly. — Their son once bothered our waitress. I stood up for her, broke his nose. Then they gave me a choice: either cook for them at home or go to jail. They had already offered me work before, but I refused — I loved my restaurant. But after that incident, there was no choice.
After dinner, the girl, named Rita, sat close to Margarita. The old woman gently stroked the child’s shoulder and, feeling her timid gaze, said:
— Don’t be afraid, dear, I do everything by feel, like any blind person.
She ran her palm along the girl’s neck, and suddenly… Something strange happened inside her. As if an electric shock ran through her whole body. In the total darkness where eternal night reigned before, a short but bright light suddenly flashed. Margarita shuddered and sharply withdrew her hand.
— Don’t be afraid — Petya said quickly, as if expecting that reaction. — That’s exactly why Rita was taken away from her parents. Her abilities were the cause of everything. My former boss loves to travel. A year ago, he and his wife chose a quiet village in Siberia — that’s where Rita lived with her parents. You may not believe it, but the girl has a special gift — she can heal people. Not everyone, of course, but many.
She helped my boss, who suffered from chronic back pain. And he decided to use it for his own interests. Rita’s father was against it; then they imprisoned him so he wouldn’t interfere. They intimidated her mother to the point she signed documents to give up custody. Now she is afraid even to breathe freely — they threaten her with imprisonment. That’s how they took Rita, and I ran away with her because I could no longer witness that.
A heavy silence fell in the room.
— What a story! — Margarita said with deep amazement. — Alright, let’s go to bed. Morning is wiser than evening. So, I understand you want to return Rita to her parents?
Petya sighed heavily:
— I would like to, but we are afraid they are already waiting for her. If we go there, we’ll only do harm. My former boss and his wife promised a rich client that Rita would cure him. She immediately said she couldn’t do it, but they locked her in a storeroom, beat her, and said that if she didn’t change her mind, it would be worse. We escaped; we’ve been in hiding for over a month.
When the house grew quiet, Rita quietly got out of her bed and tiptoed to Margarita’s room. Carefully placing her palm over the woman’s eyes, the girl closed hers and froze in tense silence. She stood so for a long time, as if trying to convey through touch something more than just warmth. Then, saying nothing, she returned to her room.
At dawn, Margarita Vasilievna suddenly woke up. She opened her eyes — and for the first time in ten years saw the window. Unclear, blurry, but a window! The woman sat up sharply on the bed, looking around. The wardrobe, the door, the silhouette of the dresser — everything was in place. She could see!
— My God… — she gasped with happiness and cried.
Only now did she realize: it was Rita. It was her little hands that brought light back into her world.
In the morning, Margarita found an old notebook, although now she could simply dial the needed number on the phone. On button 1 — Ivan, 2 — Sergey, 3 — Oleg. These people were close to her son, family friends, and she knew she could rely on them. Half an hour later, they were already at her house.
— What happened? So early in the morning — one of them asked, yawning.
— It happened — she answered firmly. — I need your help. More precisely, not for me, but for some very good people I have now. Can you handle it?
— If we’re the same ones who worked with your son and were friends with him, then yes, we can — Ivan replied.
Margarita decisively entered the house, brushing off Ivan’s outstretched hand:
— No need, I can see again!
— How come? — he wondered.
— Someone helped me. Now I ask you to help Rita and Petya — she said with a grateful smile.
Petya retold the whole story from the beginning, and Ivan listened attentively, simultaneously messaging someone in a work chat. When the story ended, Ivan looked up:
— Looks like I know who you mean. I checked a few things. This person really has powerful protection. But risk is a noble thing. We need to stay here at least a few days, and it would be better if no one sees you on the street.
— Of course, we understand — Petya agreed.
— Then wait for the call — Ivan nodded.
Since then, Rita began to sleep only next to Margarita. She told her fairy tales, soothed her when the girl sobbed in her sleep, and held her hand like a real grandmother.
One morning, just as the sun began to rise above the horizon, Margarita Vasilievna’s phone rang. It was Ivan:
— Everything worked out!
— Worked out? — she repeated, not believing her ears.
— Yes, expect guests in the morning.
During breakfast, a sharp knock interrupted them. Ivan entered, looking pleased, followed by smiling Oleg.
— Margarita Vasilievna, are you expecting guests?
— Good guests are always welcome — she replied with a smile.
And then Rita jumped up sharply:
— Mom!
Ivan stepped aside, and a thin woman entered the house. Hugs, tears, joy mixed with the pain of many months of separation — all merged into one infinitely important moment.
When emotions calmed a little, Margarita asked:
— And where is Sergey? Is he alright?
— Yes, he’s fine! He brought a surprise for you — he’s already on his way!
Ivan looked out the window and added with a smile:
— Here he is!
The door opened again, and Rita, along with her mother, rushed into the man’s arms, falling to their knees together.
Two weeks passed. Rita’s parents planned to return to Siberia, but only to sell all their property and move here — to the city where their daughter first felt safe, among true friends.
And Petya decided to fulfill his long-time dream — to open his own restaurant and name it after the woman who saved them both: «Margarita’s Restaurant.»
