Lena stood before the sagging little house, clutching a crumpled paper with the address in her hand. The wind tickled her neck, tugging at her light jacket, while inside, she felt emptyjust like the abandoned dwellings darkened windows. Twenty years had passed within the walls of the orphanage, and now she was here, alone, with a small suitcase and a handful of money. What came nextLena didnt know.
The house looked as if it had been deserted since the last century. The roof sagged, the shutters hung by a thread, and the porch creaked dangerously underfoot. Tears welled in her eyes. Was this really all she had after two decades without a family?
Suddenly, a neighboring gate creaked. An elderly woman in a floral robe stepped onto the narrow path. Spotting Lena, she paused, studied the girl intently, and then resolutely approached.
“What are you doing standing here?” she asked with concern. “Youll catch a chill. Its coldOctobers out, and youre barely dressed.”
Lena pulled out a notebook and quickly wrote: *”I was given this house. Im from the orphanage. I dont speak.”*
The woman read it and sighed sympathetically.
“Oh, you poor dear! Im Margarita Andreevna. And you?”
*”Lena,”* she wrote, her letters uneven.
“Well, come inside, warm up, have some tea. Tomorrow well look at the housemaybe something can be fixed. The men in the village can help.”
Margarita Andreevnas home smelled of fresh pies and coziness. Yellow curtains, embroidered tablecloths, potted plants on the windowsillseverything radiated warmth Lena had never known. A photo of a young man in a police uniform hung on the wall.
“Thats my son, Evgeny,” the hostess noted, following Lenas gaze. “Hes a patrol officer. A good man, just rarely home. But tell me, child, how will you manage? Do you need work?”
Lena nodded and wrote: *”Desperately. Any job. I can clean, cook, and care for people.”*
“Listen, I know someoneValentina Petrovna. Shes quite old, needs a caregiver. Familys around, but they dont help much. More interested in what they can take than give. Maybe you could visit her? Ill give you the address.”
Valentina Petrovnas house was large but neglected. Peeling paint, overgrown garden, junk strewn about. A tired, irritated woman in her forties answered the door.
“Are you the caregiver?” she asked, eyeing Lena. “Im Olga, the granddaughter. Thats Artyom, my husband.”
A man slouched in a chair with a beer barely nodded, eyes glued to the screen. The smell of alcohol clung to him.
“The works heavy,” Olga continued, lighting a cigarette. “Grandmas mostly bedriddenfeeding, washing, cleaning. Shes cranky, might snap. We pay three thousand a month, foods whatevers around. Deal?”
Lena wrote: *”Deal. Im mute, but I understand and work carefully.”*
“Mute?” Olga exchanged glances with her husband. “Maybe better. No gossip, no complaints. Come, meet Grandma.”
Valentina Petrovna lay in gloom, the curtained room reeking of medicine and mustiness. Frail, her eyes held pain and loneliness. Lenas heart clenched at the despair.
“Gran, this is Lena. Shell take care of you,” Olga announced loudly. “Were leaving for a week. Sort yourselves out.”
The old woman looked at Lena. Something flickered in her gazehope?
*”Whats your name?”* Lena wrote.
“Valentina Petrovna And yours?”
*”Lena. Ill take good care of you.”*
For the first time that day, a faint smile touched the old womans lips.
Once alone, Lena got to work. Dust, dirty dishes, grimy floorsbut worst were Valentina Petrovnas bruises. Helping her wash, Lena noticed marks too deliberate for accidents.
*”What happened?”* she wrote.
“I fall often,” Grandma whispered, avoiding her eyes. “Im weak”
Lena didnt believe her but stayed silent. She aired the room, changed the sheets, gently bathed her, and cooked a light soup, feeding her patiently.
“Havent eaten this well in ages,” the old woman murmured, near tears. “Thank you, dear.”
Over the next month, Valentina Petrovna transformed. Fresh meals, books read aloud, movement exercises, flowers by the windoweven old TV shows. She began flipping through photo albums, sharing stories of her youth.
“Youre like light in my window,” she told Lena. “Id have never survived without you.”
The house changed toocleaner, warmer. Lena scrubbed, hung fresh curtains, made it a home.
But Olga and Artyoms visits soured the mood. They scowled at the cared-for grandma, grumbling about “wasted” food and medicine.
“She doesnt need this much!” Olga snapped. “Shell linger anyway.”
After one visit, Lena found new bruises. Valentina Petrovna wept, refusing food.
*”What happened?”*
“Nothing, dear Just old age,” she lied, hiding tears. “Nobody needs me anymore.”
Lena knew she had to act. The next day, she bought a hidden camera from an electronics store, explaining with notes and gestures.
“Protecting someone who cant fight back?” the clerk, Mikhail, guessed. He handed her the camera. “Take it. Just be careful.”
Lena hid the device in Valentinas room. The footage horrified her: Artyom shaking the old woman, demanding her pension, Olga threatening to seize the house, thena slap.
*”Why endure this?”* Lena wrote. *”We must report them!”*
“Wholl protect me?” Valentina whispered. “Im old, sick. Theyre young and strong. Wholl believe me?”
*”I will,”* Lena replied and ran to Margarita Andreevna.
Evgeny, her patrol-officer son, watched the video and sprang into action.
“This is criminalassault, threats, extortion. We go now.”
At the house, Olga and Artyom screamed *”Fake!”*until the footage silenced them.
“Youre detained,” Evgeny stated, cuffing them.
Valentina was hospitalizedbroken ribs, old bruises. “Without you,” the doctor told Lena, “itd have been too late.”
Margarita invited Lena to stay. “Youre a heroine, child.”
Two weeks later, Valentina returnedweaker, but her eyes held light.
“You saved me,” she said, hugging Lena. “How can I thank you?”
*”Just live well,”* Lena wrote.
Suddenly, the old woman declared, “Im leaving you the house. Notarized. Youve earned it more than my ‘family.'”
Lena tried refusing, but Valentina insisted. “Stay, care for menot as a nurse, but as a granddaughter. A real one.”
Life improved. Olga and Artyom got probation, banished from Valentinas life.
Mikhail, the clerk, visited oftenturned out he was Margaritas grandson, smitten with Lenas courage.
“Ever tried voice treatment?” he asked one day. *”What if it fails?”* she wrote.
“What if it works?” he smiled. “Lets try. Ill stay with you.”
Therapy was long, but support carried her. When Lena first rasped *”Thank you,”* the room erupted in joy.
A year later, Mikhail proposed in the garden. “Marry me. I love you as you are.”
“Yes,” she whisperedthe most beautiful word those walls had ever heard.
The wedding was modest yet full of love. Valentina beamed, Margarita toasted, Evgeny praised: “To kindness, justice, and those who defend the weak!”
Lena spoke, voice steady: “A year ago, I was aloneno voice, no family, no future. Now I have everything. Good wins. Never stay silent against injustice.”
That evening, over teaLena, Mikhail, and Valentinathe house glowed with warmth, pie smells, and happiness.
“I thought the orphanage was the end,” Lena said. “But it was just the start.”
“A real, beautiful start,” Valentina agreed.
Mikhail squeezed her hand. “Well always protect each other. This is our home.”
Lena smiled. Now she had a family, a voice, and a vownever to stay silent when someone needed help. Silence was complicity. Shed chosen love, protection, and light.
