“A Good Woman—What Would We Do Without Her? —And You’re Only Paying Her Two Thousand a Month. —Helen, We Put the Flat in Her Name Nikolai got out of bed and slowly made his way to the next room. In the glow of the night light, he peered at his wife with ageing, blurry eyes. He sat beside her, listened. ‘Seems everything’s fine.’ Standing up, he wandered to the kitchen, opened the milk, popped to the bathroom, and then returned to his own room. He lay down but couldn’t sleep. ‘Helen and I, both ninety years old. How long have we lived? Soon it’ll be our time, and there’s no one left nearby. Our daughters, Natalie passed before sixty. Max as well. He drank… There’s our granddaughter, Oksana, but she’s lived in Poland for twenty years now. She doesn’t remember her grandparents, probably has grown children herself…’ He didn’t notice when he fell asleep. He awoke to the touch of a hand. ‘Nikolai, are you alright?’—a faint voice. He opened his eyes. His wife was leaning over him. ‘Helen?’ ‘Just checking—you’re lying so still.’ ‘Still alive! Go to sleep!’ Shuffling steps echoed. The kitchen switch clicked. Helen went for a glass of water, visited the bathroom, then returned to her own room. Lay on her bed: ‘One morning I’ll wake up, and he’ll be gone. What’ll I do then? Or maybe I’ll go first. Nikolai’s already arranged our funeral. Never thought you could plan such a thing in advance, but maybe it’s for the best. Who else would do it? Our granddaughter’s forgotten us. Only our neighbour, Janet, pops by. She’s the only one with a key to our flat. Grandpa gives her a bit from our pension each month. She buys groceries and the things we need. Where else would we spend our money? And we don’t go out from the fourth floor ourselves any more. Nikolai opened his eyes. Sunlight peeped through the window. He went onto the balcony, saw the fresh green leaves of the bird cherry tree. A smile broke across his face. ‘We’ve made it to summer!’ He went to check on his wife. She was sitting thoughtfully on the bed. ‘Helen, enough sadness! Come, let me show you something.’ ‘Oh, I have no strength left!’ she wearily stood. ‘What are you up to?’ ‘Come on, come on!’ Supporting her carefully, he led her to the balcony. ‘Look—it’s all grown green! And you said we wouldn’t make it to summer. But we did!’ ‘Oh, and the sun’s shining too.’ They sat on the bench on the balcony. ‘Remember how I first took you to the cinema? We were still in school. The bird cherry was green that day too.’ ‘How could I forget? How many years has it been?’ ‘Seventy odd… seventy-five.’ They sat a long while, remembering their youth. So much slips away with age, sometimes even yesterday—but youth you never forget. ‘Oh, we’ve been nattering on!’ she eventually stood. ‘And we haven’t had breakfast.’ ‘Helen, do make a proper tea! Tired of all these herbs.’ ‘But we’re not supposed.’ ‘Just a little, and one spoon of sugar.’ Nikolai sipped the weak tea with a tiny cheese sandwich, remembering the days when breakfast meant strong, sweet tea with pastries or pancakes. Their neighbour came in, smiled warmly. ‘How are you both?’ ‘What business can ninety-year-olds have?’ the old man joked. ‘If you’re still joking, you must be alright. Need me to buy anything?’ ‘Janet, get us some meat!’ asked Nikolai. ‘You’re not meant to have it.’ ‘Chicken will do.’ ‘Alright. I’ll make you noodle soup!’ She tidied the table and went. ‘Helen, shall we sit on the balcony and enjoy the sun?’ her husband suggested. ‘Let’s!’ Janet brought over some porridge, started the soup for lunch. ‘She’s a good woman,’ he said as Janet left. ‘What would we do without her?’ ‘And you only pay her two thousand a month.’ ‘Helen, we’ve left her the flat.’ ‘She doesn’t know that.’ They stayed out on the balcony until lunch. For lunch was chicken noodle soup, tasty with chunks of meat and soft potatoes. ‘I always made this for Natalie and Max when they were young,’ Helen recalled. ‘And now, in our old age, it’s strangers cooking for us,’ sighed her husband. ‘Maybe that’s our fate, Nikolai. Once we’re gone, there’ll be no one to even shed a tear.’ ‘Alright now, Helen, no more gloom. Let’s rest a while!’ ‘They say: “Old folk and children are much the same.” Soft soup, nap time, afternoon snack—the lot.’ Nikolai dozed for a bit, then got up, unable to sleep. Maybe the weather was changing. He went to the kitchen. On the table were two glasses of juice—Janet’s doing. He carried them carefully to his wife’s room. She was looking pensively out the window. ‘What’s wrong, Helen?’ he smiled. ‘Some juice?’ She took a sip. ‘Can’t sleep either?’ ‘Must be the weather.’ ‘Been feeling off since morning,’ she sighed. ‘I can sense there’s not much time left for me. Bury me kindly, won’t you.’ ‘Don’t talk like that, Helen. How would I live without you?’ ‘One of us will go first, no matter what.’ ‘Enough! Let’s go to the balcony!’ They stayed there until evening. Janet made cheese pancakes. They ate, then watched TV. Always before bed. They preferred old comedies and cartoons now—new ones didn’t make much sense. This time, just one cartoon. Helen got up: ‘I’m off to bed. I’m tired.’ ‘I’ll go too.’ ‘Let me have a good look at you!’ she said suddenly. ‘Why?’ ‘Just let me…’ They looked at each other for a long time. Maybe thinking of their youth, when everything was still ahead. ‘I’ll walk you to your bed,’ Helen offered. She took her husband’s arm and together they moved slowly away. He tucked her in, then went to his own room. Something weighed heavy on his heart. He couldn’t sleep for ages. He felt like he hadn’t slept at all, but the clock showed it was 2am. He got up and went to his wife’s room. She was lying there, eyes open. ‘Helen!’ He took her hand. ‘Helen, what’s wrong? He-len!’ Suddenly, he struggled to breathe. He made it to his room, fetched the prepared documents, placed them on the table. Returned to his wife, gazed at her face. Then he lay beside her and closed his eyes. He saw his Helen, young and beautiful, as she was seventy-five years ago. She was walking towards a distant light. He hurried after her, caught her hand. In the morning, Janet entered their bedroom. They were lying side by side, identical happy smiles still on their faces. Finally, Janet called the ambulance. The doctor shook his head in surprise. ‘Gone together. Must have loved each other very much…’ They were taken away. Janet sat down, exhausted, then noticed the documents and the will made out in her name. She lowered her head onto her arms and wept… Leave a like and share your thoughts in the comments!

What a good woman she is. Where would we be without her?
And yet you only pay her two thousand a month.
Helen, weve left her the flat, havent we?

Michael rose from the bed and shuffled slowly into the next room. In the light of the bedside lamp, he peered at his wife with his fading eyesight.

He knelt beside her and listened quietly. Seems alright.

He stood and tottered off to the kitchen. Opened the milk, popped into the loo, then returned to his own room.

He lay down. Sleep wouldnt come.

Were both ninety, Helen and I. How many years have we seen? Soon enough, well be gone tooand no ones left.

Their daughters: Natalie passed away before sixty.
Maxwell was gone too. Hed always been a bit wild Their granddaughter, Olivia, had lived in Poland for nearly twenty years. Barely remembered her grandparents. By now, her children must be grown.

He didnt notice when he fell asleep.

He was woken by the touch of a hand.

Michael, are you alright?a faint whisper reached him.

He opened his eyes. His wife bent over him.

Helen, what is it?

I saw you lying there so still.

Im still here! Go back to sleep!

Her shuffling feet drifted away into the kitchen. The light clicked on.

Helen had a drink of water, went to the bathroom, and returned to her room, settling on the bed with a sigh.

One morning, Ill wake up, and hell be gone. What on earth will I do? Perhaps Ill be first.

Michaels even arranged for our memorial. Id never imagined you could plan it all ahead. But perhaps its for the best. Who else would do it for us?

The granddaughters forgotten us. Only the neighbour, Ivy, visits. Shes the only one with our front door key. Michael gives her a thousand from our pension. She brings groceries and whatever else we need. After all, neither of us can manage the stairs from the fourth floor.

Michael opened his eyes; sunlight filtered through the window. He wandered onto the balcony and gazed at the emerald green cherry tree top. A smile crept over his face.

Well, weve made it to summer!

He went to see Helen, who sat lost in thought on the bed.

Come on, Helen, dont be gloomy. I want to show you something.

Oh, I can hardly move! she groaned as she slowly stood. What are you up to?

Come along, youll see!

He supported her carefully, leading her out to the balcony.

Lookthe cherry tree is green! And you said wed never make it to summer. But we did!

Oh, so it is! she beamed. And the suns shining too.

They sat together on the bench in the sun.

Do you remember when I asked you to the pictures? We were at school, and the cherry trees had just leafed out that day.

As if I could ever forget? How many years has it been now?

Seventy and a bit Seventy-five.

They sat for a long time, reminiscing about their youth. So much slips away with age, sometimes even what you did yesterdaybut you never forget those early years.

My goodness, look at the time! Helen stood. And we havent even had breakfast.

Helen, make a proper pot of tea, will you? Im sick to death of those herbal things.

Were not meant to, though.

Oh, just this oncemake it weak and put a spoonful of sugar in.

Michael sipped the watered-down tea, nibbling a small cheese sandwich, and remembered when breakfast meant strong, sweet teasometimes with buns or pancakes.

The neighbour, Ivy, popped in, smiling approvingly.

How are you both today?

Oh, what business do ninety-year-olds have? Michael chuckled.

Well, if youre joking, youre doing alright. Do you need anything from the shops?

Ivy, could you get some meat? Michael asked.

You know youre not supposed to

Chickens allowed.

All right, Ill get some and make you a nice noodle soup!

She tidied the table, washed up, and left.

Helen, lets get back out on the balcony, Michael suggested. We can warm up in the sun.

Why not?

Ivy soon returned, poking her head out.

Basking in the sun, are you?

Its lovely out here, Ivy! Helen smiled.

Ill bring your porridge out here, then, and get started on lunch.

Shes a good woman, Michael said, watching Ivy go. What would we do without her?

And you only pay her two thousand a month.

Helen, weve left her the flat, havent we?

She doesnt know.

They sat on the balcony until lunchtime. That day, lunch was chicken noodle souprich, with soft chunks of potato.

I always used to make soup like this for Natalie and Max when they were little, Helen reminisced.

And now its strangers cooking for us in our old age Michael said, sighing heavily.

Well, Michael, maybe thats how its meant to be. When were gone, no one will shed a tear.

Thats enough, Helen. Lets have a nap!

You know, Michaeltheres truth in old men are like small ones. Were back to puréed soup, afternoon naps, and snacks between.

Michael dozed for a bit and then woke, restless. Weather must be changing. He went back into the kitchen. On the table sat two glasses of juice, thoughtfully prepared by Ivy.

He took them both, careful not to spill, and walked to Helens room. She sat on the bed, gazing out the window.

Whats the matter, Helen? he smiled. Drink your juice.

She took a small sip.

You cant sleep either?

Must be the weather.

I havent felt quite right since this morning, Helen said softly, shaking her head sadly. Theres not much left of me, Michael. Do give me a good send-off, will you?

Helen, dont say that. How could I go on without you?

One of us will have to go first.

Enough. Lets get back to the balcony.

They sat out until evening. Ivy brought over some cottage cheese fritters for supper. After eating, they watched the television as usualthough the plots of the new films confused them, so they stuck to old comedies and cartoons.

Tonight they only managed one cartoon. Helen stood, tired.

Ill go to bed. Im worn out.

Ill join you in a bit.

Let me have a proper look at you, she said suddenly.

Whatever for?

Just because.

They stared at each other for a long time. Perhaps thinking of days long past, when life was ahead of them.

Let me help you to your bed, she said.

Helen took Michaels arm, and together they strolled slowly.

He gently tucked her in and went back to his own room.

His heart felt unbearably heavy. He couldnt sleep.

It seemed he didnt sleep at all, but the clock said it was two in the morning. He got up and went to Helens room.

She was lying there, eyes wide open.

Helen!

He took her hand.

Helen, love, whats happened? He-len!

Suddenly, Michael felt his own chest tighten as if he couldnt breathe. He made his way back to his room, took out the documents he had prepared, and placed them on the table.

He returned to Helen, gazed at her face for a long while. Then he lay down beside her, closing his eyes.

In his mind, he saw Helenyoung again, radiant, as she was seventy-five years agowalking into a bright, distant light. He followed after her, caught up, and took her hand.

In the morning, Ivy entered the bedroom. They lay side by side, peaceful, with matching gentle smiles on their faces.

At last, Ivy picked up the phone and called for paramedics.

The doctor who arrived looked at them, astonished, and shook his head.

Both gone together. They must have loved each other very deeply

They were taken away, and Ivy sank into a chair by the table. There, she noticed the documents and the will in her name.

She bowed her head onto her hands and weptFor a long while, Ivy sat quietly, sunlight from the window warming her folded hands. A faint scent of tea and flowers lingered in the flat. Silent, she stood and went to the balcony, looking out at the cherry tree. Its leaves danced in the early breeze, shining a brilliant green.

Memories hovered at the edge of the airsoft laughter, murmured stories, old songs drifting in the sun. In that moment, Ivy understood what it meant to be truly remembered.

As the day wore on, neighbors stopped by, word traveling gently from door to door. Some brought flowers, others polite condolences, but the flat remained peaceful, filled only with light and the quiet afterglow of lives well-lived.

Ivy tidied the kitchen as she always had, making tea for herself. She took a seat by the table, tracing her finger over the will. Thank you, Michael. Thank you, Helen, she whispered.

From the window, the cherry trees branches swayed, scattering petals across the balconylike a blessing, or perhaps a final promise.

That night, as Ivy closed the door for the last time, she paused, listening. The flat hummed softly with the memory of voices, a gentle laughter echoing down the years. She smiled to herself, stepping out into the warm, glowing dusk. And from high above, the green crown of the cherry tree watched over, sheltering all that remained with its quiet, living grace.