Lena stood before a crooked little house, clutching a crumpled address in her hand. The wind tickled her neck, ruffling her light jacket, while emptiness filled her chestjust like the abandoned homes darkened windows. Twenty years in an orphanage, and now here she was: alone, with a small suitcase and a handful of money. What came next? She had no idea.
The house looked as if it had been deserted for decades. The roof sagged, shutters barely clung to the frames, and the porch creaked ominously underfoot. Tears welled in her eyes. Was this all she had after a lifetime without family?
A neighboring gate creaked. An elderly woman in a floral robe stepped onto the path, paused, and marched toward Lena.
“What are you doing out here?” she fretted. “Youll catch cold! Its October, and youre practically coatless.”
Lena fished out a notepad and scribbled:
*This house was given to me. Im from the orphanage. I dont speak.*
The woman sighed sympathetically.
“Oh, you poor dear. Im Margarita Andreyevna. And you?”
*Lena*, she wrote in shaky letters.
“You cant stand out here freezing! Come inside for tea. Tomorrow, well see about fixing up that house. The village men can help.”
Margaritas home smelled of fresh pies and warmth. Yellow curtains, embroidered linens, potted plantsit was everything Lena had never known. A photo of a young policeman hung on the wall.
“My son, Yevgeny,” Margarita explained. “A good man, but rarely home. How will you manage, dear? Need work?”
Lena nodded and wrote:
*Any job. I can clean, cook, care for people.*
“Theres an elderly woman, Valentina Petrovna. Needs a caregiver. Her familys useless. Want to visit her?”
Valentinas house was large but neglectedpeeling paint, an overgrown garden. The door was opened by a tired, irritated woman in her forties.
“You the caregiver?” She eyed Lena. “Im Olga, the granddaughter. Thats Artyom, my husband.”
The man barely glanced up from his beer.
“Its hard work,” Olga said, lighting a cigarette. “Shes bedriddenfeeding, bathing, cleaning. Pays three thousand a month. Interested?”
Lena wrote:
*Im mute, but Ill do everything carefully.*
Olga smirked. “Even better. No complaints.”
Valentina lay in a dim room reeking of medicine. Gaunt, her eyes held loneliness and pain.
“Granny, this is Lena,” Olga said loudly. “Were leaving for a week. Sort yourselves out.”
The old womans gaze flickeredhope?
*Your name?* Lena wrote.
“Valentina Petrovna and yours?”
*Lena. Ill take good care of you.*
For the first time that day, the old woman smiled.
Once alone, Lena cleaned everythingdust, dishes, filthy floors. But Valentinas bruises alarmed her.
*How did this happen?*
“I fall often,” the woman whispered.
Lena didnt believe her. She aired the room, changed the sheets, washed and fed Valentina.
“Havent eaten this well in ages,” the old woman nearly wept.
Over the next month, Valentina improvedfresh meals, old TV shows, revived photo albums.
“Youre my light, Lena,” she said.
But Olga and Artyom returned, scowling at the care.
“Why so much food?” Olga snapped. “Shell linger forever.”
After they left, Lena found fresh bruises.
*What happened?*
“Just old age, dear,” Valentina cried.
Lena acted. At an electronics shop, she scrawled a plea to the clerk, Mikhail, for a hidden camera.
“For someone who cant defend themselves?” he guessed. After reading her note, he gave it to her free. “Be careful.”
The footage revealed horror: Artyom shaking Valentina, demanding her pension, striking her. Olga threatened to send her to a nursing home unless she signed over the house.
Lena showed the video to Margaritas son, Officer Yevgeny.
“This is criminal,” he said, calling an ambulance.
Olga and Artyom screamed *”Fake!”*until the recording silenced them. Cuffed, they were led away.
Hospital exams revealed broken ribs, chronic abuse.
“You saved her,” the doctor told Lena.
Margarita took her in. Two weeks later, Valentina returned, faint but smiling.
“You saved me,” she said. “How can I repay you?”
*Just heal*, Lena wrote.
Instead, Valentina willed her the house. “Youve earned it.”
Life brightened. MikhailMargaritas grandsonvisited often, encouraging Lena to seek voice therapy.
“Ever tried treatment?” he asked.
*Afraid to fail,* she confessed.
“What if you succeed?”
Months later, she whispered, *”Thank you.”* The house erupted in joy.
A year later, Mikhail proposed in the garden.
“Marry me. I love you as you are.”
“Yes,” she saidher voice clear, strong.
At their modest wedding, Yevgeny toasted:
“To kindness, justice, and those who defend the weak!”
Lena spoke:
“A year ago, I had no voice, no family. Now, I have everything. Good *does* triumphif we act.”
That evening, sipping tea with Mikhail and Valentina under the moonlight, Lena realized: the orphanage hadnt been her end.
It was her beginning.
