“Why do you need a home if you won’t live to see the summer…” — those were his parting words when Daniel left, leaving Lisa alone in the shadows of her ailing world. Now, six months later, he stood at her door again, and she, hiding behind the lock and dark circles under her eyes, couldn’t bring herself to let him in.
The illness, which had once seemed to retreat, had returned with vengeful persistence — and this time, it wasn’t letting go.
She remembered how the doctor, looking her straight in the eye, said, “You have a month at most.” No tears, no hysteria — just a hollow silence, with which she wandered the city’s streets, where life, regardless of anything, kept surging forward.
And now, Daniel — her ex-husband — stood at her door once more. Yesterday she was a burden to him, today — merely a stepping stone to an inheritance. Confident, reeking of expensive cologne, he said:
— Sign the apartment over to me. You’re not going to need it…
She looked at him with an empty gaze. It seemed she no longer had the strength to argue. But the next morning, at the notary’s office, she met an elderly woman named Grace. Her grandson — a gravely ill boy — needed a miracle, or at least a place to sell for treatment.
And Lisa made a choice. Final. And true.
She signed the documents not for Daniel, but for Grace. Her home would now become a chance at life — not for herself, but for little Michael.
Daniel raged, cursed, shouted, punched the air. But Lisa remained silent.
At dawn, under the spring sun, her heart quietly stopped. And in her hand was Grace’s warm palm.
— Lord, receive this pure soul into Your Kingdom… — whispered Grace through tears.
And in the hallway where anger had echoed just yesterday, now there was only the soft sob of a child — and a gratitude almost angelic in its purity.
