Mother, why did you make this choice? We have all the comforts, and youre alone, in the middle of nowhere, in that old house? Catarinas voice trembled with reproach, almost in tears.
Dont worry, my dear. Ive grown attached to the land. My soul has long yearned for peace, Leonor Martins replied calmly, packing the last items into her suitcase.
The decision was taken without regret. The cramped city flat where the four of them her, her daughter, her soninlaw, and her grandson lived together could no longer hold anyone. The endless arguments between Catarina and Miguel, the slammed doors, nerves stretched thin all weighed heavier than the walls themselves. Tomás was already grown, Leonor realized; she no longer needed a grandmother to look after him. Her presence had become a hindrance.
The inheritance from her own mothera wooden house in a village near Viseufirst seemed a twist of fate. Yet when she saw the photographs, the abandoned apple orchard, the attic still holding childhood toys, she felt it was the place she belonged. There was quiet, memories, silence, and perhaps a fresh start. Her heart told her the time had come.
She arranged the whole move in a single day. Her daughter begged her not to go, eyes brimming with tears, but Leonor only smiled and brushed Catarinas hair. She wasnt angry; she knew the young had their own lives. As for herself? She had her own path.
The house welcomed her with weeds and a broken fence. The roof sagged a little, the floor creaked, and the scent of dampness and neglect filled the air. Instead of fear, Leonor felt resolve. She shed her coat, rolled up her sleeves, and began to tidy. By nightfall the lights were on, the smell of fresh cleaning and tea permeated the rooms, and in a corner by the fireplace lay the books and knitted blanket shed brought from the city.
The next morning she walked to the village shop to buy paint, cloth, and other supplies. On the way she noticed a man tending a garden across the streettall, silverhaired, with a warm smile.
Good morning, Leonor said first.
Good morning. Are you here to visit someone or are you staying? he asked, wiping his hands on an old rag.
Im staying. My name is Leonor. I came from Lisbon. This was my grandmothers house.
Im Rui Almeida. I live just opposite. If you need anything, just call. Around here neighbors look after each other; you wont lack help.
Thank you. Would you like to come over for tea? Im celebrating my new home and we could chat.
And so it began. They spent hours on the porch, sipping tea with fig jam, talking about life. Leonor learned that Rui was a widower; his son had moved to Porto years ago, rarely called, and seldom visited. Like her, he had long stopped feeling needed.
From that day on, Rui became a frequent visitor. He brought planks, repaired the fence, helped fix the roof, and supplied firewood. In the evenings they sat by the lamp, reminiscing about youth, reading aloud from books.
Gradually Leonors life fell into place. She cultivated a garden, planted apple trees, started baking cakes that attracted all the neighbours. Catarina called often, begged her to return, said she missed her. Leonor simply smiled and replied, My daughter, Im not alone. Im home. And for the first time in many years I feel truly happy.
Thus two solitary hearts met among ancient walls, silent streets, and waistdeep weeds. They proved that its never too late to begin anew, and that an old house can shelter a new life.
