Natasha walked through the room one more time—the room where she had spent almost all of the past year. She looked at the bookcase, the rocking chair, the sofa, and with a sorrowful sigh, stepped out, closing the door behind her.
How many times had she replayed that terrible day in her mind? The ambulance had taken far too long to arrive. Maybe she should have called again and rushed them, even though Maria Ivanovna had not allowed it.
“Don’t trouble them, my dear,” the woman had said, squeezing Natasha’s hand. “Let them help someone else. There’s no need to hurry for me anymore. My time has come. Just sit with me.”
Natasha remembered her sad eyes, her smile, the words that made her blood run cold. It seemed Maria Ivanovna knew exactly that her hour had come, that she was about to pass into a new and completely different life. But she was not afraid. She only said she regretted not having time to fix many things.
Natasha had held back her tears then, trying to find comforting words. She told her that she would live for many more years, that she would still be happy. But Maria Ivanovna only squeezed her hand tighter and continued giving her kind advice, the way only she knew how.
And then she simply fell asleep… an eternal sleep.
That was when Natasha could no longer hold herself together. She burst into tears, just as she had once done long ago, when they told her that her mother would never come back and that her father did not need her. It had happened only once, because in the orphanage she had quickly learned to be strong. She had learned one simple truth: tears touched no one there. They only annoyed people.
That was where she had first met Maria Ivanovna—a kind, warm-hearted woman who loved all the children, but seemed to have a special affection for Natasha.
“You look so much like my Kristina,” she used to say later. “She was quiet like you once. Her braids were just as thin…”
Natasha never asked where Maria Ivanovna’s daughter was now. She understood that if a person wanted to tell something, they would. And if they did not, then there was no need to tear open their soul or reopen old wounds.
Maria Ivanovna remained silent. Only once did she say that she had once hurt her daughter very badly. She had failed to support her when support had mattered most, and Kristina had left with resentment in her heart. Maria Ivanovna had spent her whole life repenting for that sin.
She had tried writing to her. She had tried calling. But Kristina had grown cold in the capital and no longer wanted to know her mother. Maria Ivanovna understood that she herself had once missed something important.
They never returned to that subject again.
Kristina did not even come to Maria Ivanovna’s funeral. Over the phone, she told Natasha that she had no time.
“You’ll manage without me,” she said.
Natasha sincerely could not understand that woman. She herself would have given so much just to have her mother near her, alive and well. Even if there had been disagreements, everything could have been talked through, forgiven, forgotten.
But she did not want to judge Maria Ivanovna’s daughter either. Who knew exactly how deeply she had been hurt?
To Natasha, Maria Ivanovna had always seemed almost saintly. She was always caring, attentive, ready to help, ready to advise. It was hard to believe she could have hurt someone so badly that forgiveness became impossible—even impossible enough not to say goodbye.
But everyone had their own fate, their own understanding of family and relationships.
Natasha remembered the day she had left the orphanage. She had been standing at the gates, lost and unsure of what to do next, when Maria Ivanovna came up to her, hugged her, and said:
“Well then, Natashenka, let’s go home.”
And suddenly Natasha’s heart felt calm, as though she had found someone truly her own.
Maria Ivanovna had long been retired, but she still continued working. Natasha enrolled in college, helped around the house, and kept waiting for the apartment she was supposed to receive as an orphanage graduate. But years passed, and the officials only shrugged helplessly.
So she stayed with Maria Ivanovna.
After college, Natasha found a good job, and life went on as usual. Then one day, Maria Ivanovna told her that she had written a will. When she was gone, Natasha would be able to keep living in her apartment.
Natasha stood by the window, watching rare passersby hurry along the wet asphalt, wrapping themselves in warm collars. Gloomy weather had always had a strange effect on her. It was no longer winter, but there was no sun. The sky was heavy and gray, and there was a sense of anxiety hanging in the air.
On days like that, the emptiness of the apartment felt especially sharp—the emptiness that had appeared after Maria Ivanovna’s death.
She glanced at the clock absentmindedly. Sasha should have arrived by now. They had agreed that he would pick her up. Today there was a family dinner at his parents’ house.
Natasha was a little nervous. She had visited them before, but each time she felt as if she were taking an exam. She was always afraid of doing something wrong.
She fixed her hair and looked around the room, as if checking whether everything was in its place. Just then, the doorbell rang.
“I’m coming!” she called out without thinking.
She hurried to the door, opened it, and immediately felt a chill run down her back.
It was not Sasha standing on the doorstep.
It was a woman. Tall, wearing a beige coat, with strict features. Her hair was pulled back into a tight ponytail, and her gaze was cold and narrowed, as if she were assessing everything.
Natasha recognized her at once, even though she had only seen her in old photographs.
Kristina.
For several seconds, they looked at each other in silence.
“Hello…” Natasha said uncertainly.
Kristina did not answer. She only tilted her head slightly, as if making sure Natasha was exactly the person she had expected to find. Then, without asking permission, she stepped inside.
Natasha automatically moved aside.
Kristina walked into the apartment without taking off her shoes. For some reason, that hurt Natasha most of all. Maria Ivanovna had always scolded guests for doing that, even the closest ones.
Kristina slowly walked around the room. Her gaze moved over the furniture, the bookshelves, the old rocking chair where Maria Ivanovna had loved to sit in the evenings.
Then she stopped by the chest of drawers. On it stood a photograph of Maria Ivanovna in a black frame, which Natasha had placed there after the funeral.
Kristina picked it up and looked at it for a long time. Her face did not change, but something flickered in her eyes for a moment—too quickly for Natasha to understand what it was.
Pain? Irritation? Or simply a memory?
Kristina set the photograph back down a little more sharply than necessary. Only then did she turn to Natasha.
“They called me,” she finally said. “Mother left the will to both of us.”
Natasha felt something inside her drop.
“So,” Kristina continued, “tomorrow we’ll go to the notary together. You’ll sign the papers.”
There was no question in her voice. No doubt. Only a statement.
Natasha tried to say something, but the words stuck in her throat.
“Be ready at nine,” Kristina said, already heading toward the exit. “I’ll pick you up.”
She stopped at the door for a second, as if she wanted to add something else. But then she changed her mind and left.
Only the faint scent of her expensive perfume remained behind.
Natasha stood motionless for several seconds, staring at the door. Then she slowly walked back into the room. Her eyes stopped on Maria Ivanovna’s photograph.
“Well, that’s right,” Natasha whispered to herself. “That’s how it should be.”
Of course, Kristina was her real daughter. And who was Natasha? Just a stranger who had once been pitied and taken in.
Yes, Maria Ivanovna had become everything to her—a mother, a mentor, a friend. But legally… Kristina was right.
Natasha took out her suitcase and began packing her things carefully, just as Maria Ivanovna had taught her.
“Don’t crumple things, Natashenka. Fold them neatly. Then there’ll be more space.”
Every item brought back a memory. That sweater, for example, they had bought together on sale. Maria Ivanovna had spent a long time persuading her.
“Take it. It suits you.”
Tears welled up in Natasha’s eyes, but she quickly wiped them away with her palm.
That evening, at dinner with Sasha’s parents, she felt completely out of place. Everything was as usual: a cozy house, a beautifully set table, kind smiles. But Natasha was distracted. She answered at random and sometimes did not even hear the questions being asked.
“Natashenka, are you all right?” Sasha’s mother asked gently, noticing her condition.
Natasha flinched.
“Yes, I’m just… a little tired.”
Sasha looked at her more carefully.
“You’ve been absent-minded all evening,” he said quietly. “What happened?”
Natasha hesitated. She did not want to spoil the evening, but she could no longer stay silent.
“Kristina came to see me today. Maria Ivanovna’s daughter.”
“And?” Sasha asked cautiously.
“It turns out the will was made out to both of us. She said we’re going to the notary tomorrow… and that I have to sign the documents. So… I’ll probably have to move out soon.”
Sasha frowned.
“Wait. You’re just going to give in to her like that?”
“What else can I do?” Natasha replied quietly. “It’s her apartment. She’s her daughter.”
Sasha’s mother exchanged a look with her husband.
“Natasha, don’t rush to conclusions,” she said calmly. “First, you need to understand everything properly.”
“Yes,” Sasha’s father agreed. “Things like this aren’t done just like that.”
But Natasha only shook her head.
“I don’t want trouble, honestly. I don’t want to argue. Let it be as it is.”
Sasha placed his hand over hers.
“We’ll figure it out together. You’re not alone, do you hear me?”
She nodded, smiled gratefully, but the anxious feeling inside her did not go away.
“If you really do have to move out,” Sasha’s mother said softly, “you can come stay with us. Even tomorrow.”
Natasha was confused.
“Thank you… that’s very… I don’t even know what to say.”
“There’s nothing to know,” the woman smiled. “We’re almost family already.”
But the anxiety would not leave. Natasha sat at the table, listened to the conversation, even smiled from time to time, yet inside everything tightened more and more.
That night, Natasha barely slept.
In the morning, Kristina came to pick her up, just as she had promised. She looked the same as the day before—collected, cold, with the same narrowed look, as if constantly judging something.
“Ready?” she asked without even greeting her.
Natasha nodded, took her bag, cast one last glance at the apartment, and left.
They drove in silence. Kristina watched the road and did not even turn on the radio. Natasha tried to say something, but the words would not come.
There was so much she wanted to ask—about the will, about Maria Ivanovna, about why Kristina was so cold. But the silence between them felt like a thick wall that could not be broken through.
They entered the notary’s office, and Kristina confidently walked up to the desk.
“Good morning. We’re here regarding the will of Maria Ivanovna…” She gave the surname.
And then something happened that Natasha had not expected at all.
“I want to formally renounce my share in favor of Natalya,” Kristina said calmly.
Natasha turned her head sharply.
“What?” escaped her lips.
Kristina did not even look at her.
“That is correct. I am giving up my share completely in her favor.”
“But… why?” Natasha asked almost in a whisper.
Kristina pressed her lips together slightly.
“It has to be this way.”
That was all.
No explanation.
After that, everything happened as if in a fog. Natasha signed the papers, barely feeling the pen in her fingers. The notary’s words merged into a single stream, and their meaning slipped away from her.
Only one thought beat in her mind:
Why?
When they stepped outside, the air seemed too sharp and cold. Natasha took a deep breath, trying to come back to herself.
“Kristina…” she began.
But Kristina was already walking toward the car.
“Wait!” Natasha hurried after her. “At least explain…”
At that very moment, a moped seemed to fly out of nowhere.
Natasha only saw Kristina’s body jerk and then fall onto the asphalt.
She rushed to her.
“Kristina! Can you hear me?”
There was no answer.
Natasha pulled her phone out of her pocket.
“Hello… there’s been an accident… a woman is unconscious…”
At the hospital, everything became blurry again: a stretcher, corridors, doctors in white coats.
“Are you a relative?” someone asked.
“Yes,” Natasha answered without even thinking.
“She’s in serious condition. Significant blood loss. The problem is that she has a rare blood type…”
“Which one?”
The doctor named it, and something clicked inside Natasha.
“I have the same blood type,” she said quietly.
The doctor looked at her carefully.
“Are you willing to be a donor?”
“Yes,” Natasha said immediately, without hesitation.
Just yesterday, this woman had entered her home like a stranger. Cold, harsh, almost hostile.
And today she was lying somewhere beyond that door, between life and death, and Natasha was the only person who could help her.
She did not know why Kristina had given up the inheritance. She did not know what would happen next. But one thing she knew for certain: she could not do otherwise.
Kristina regained consciousness only the next day.
Natasha sat in the corridor, holding a cup of tea that had long gone cold. She had not gone home. She could not. Something kept her there, not allowing her simply to stand up and leave, as if their fates had already become entwined and that thread could no longer be broken.
“She’s awake. You may go in, but only for a short while,” the doctor said.
Natasha’s heart suddenly began beating faster. She stood up, fixed her hair as though it mattered, and quietly entered the ward.
Kristina lay pale and weak, with bandages and tubes attached to her. But her eyes were open, and there was no more coldness in them. She looked at Natasha for a long time, attentively, as if seeing her for the first time.
“It was you…” she said quietly.
Natasha nodded.
“How are you?”
Kristina gave a faint smile, though it came out weak.
“Alive… thanks to you.”
Natasha felt embarrassed.
“I… didn’t do anything special.”
“No,” Kristina interrupted, turning her eyes away. “Now I know for certain…” she said slowly, “why we have the same blood type.”
She turned her head and looked straight at Natasha.
There was so much in that gaze—exhaustion, fear, hope… and something else that made Natasha’s breath catch.
“You are my daughter.”
The words hung in the air.
Natasha did not understand their meaning at first.
“What?”
Kristina inhaled deeply, as if gathering strength.
“When I found out about the will… about you… at first I was angry. I thought, of course, my mother found herself a replacement. Some strange girl. Then I started making inquiries. Out of principle. Who you were, where you came from, why you, of all people.”
The words were difficult for Kristina, but she continued.
“I was a late child for my mother, and she controlled me very harshly. All my life. When I became pregnant in my youth, she said it was the end. That I had ruined everything. She demanded that I get rid of the baby. I couldn’t. And then… shortly before I was due to give birth… she threw me out. Just put me out the door.”
Kristina paused, swallowing with difficulty.
“I was alone, with no money and nowhere to live. My fiancé ran away. I didn’t know what to do. When I gave birth…” She fell silent for a moment. “I left the baby girl at the maternity hospital. I went to the capital, studied, worked, fought my way through life as best I could. And when I finally achieved something, I tried to find information about my child so I could bring her back. But by then… it was already too late. And my mother… I could not forgive her. Not then, not later. And now it turns out she brought us together without even knowing it.”
“No…” Natasha whispered. “That can’t be…”
“It can,” Kristina answered calmly. “Back then, I only managed to learn that you had been adopted by a childless employee from the maternity hospital. But then that woman vanished without a trace. And I didn’t really keep searching. I didn’t want to tear my own soul apart or traumatize you, because you were still a child.”
She drew a slow breath.
“Only later, when I learned about the will and began gathering information about you, I found out that the woman had died when you were still little. Her husband had never supported her wish to adopt and was indifferent to you, so you were sent to an orphanage. And by some twist of fate, that was exactly where my mother worked.”
Natasha covered her face with her hands.
Fate seemed to have deliberately tied their lives into one knot, only to untangle it years later like this—suddenly, painfully, unexpectedly.
“I…” She tried to say something, but she could not.
Kristina looked at her with open pain.
“I don’t expect you to accept this right away. I just… want you to know.”
And suddenly, unexpectedly even to herself, Natasha smiled weakly through her tears.
“You know… I always thought I was lucky. I always thought Maria Ivanovna came into my life as if it wasn’t by chance. And now I understand that it really wasn’t.”
Kristina looked at her as if she could not believe what she was hearing.
“You’re… not angry?”
“For what?”
“For leaving you.”
Natasha shook her head.
“You were alone. You were scared. You were almost a child yourself. I don’t know how I would have acted in your place…”
She looked at Kristina now not as a stranger.
“I believe that if everything happened this way, then it was meant to happen.”
Kristina slowly reached out her hand.
Natasha took it without hesitation and squeezed it.
In that moment, something inside her finally became truly calm. As if everything that was supposed to happen had happened, and ahead of them, at last, there was something bright and happy.
“Everything will be all right,” Natasha said softly.
And for the first time in a long while, she believed it herself.
