Rita lazily stretched, loosening her stiff limbs beneath an old, grimy blanket that had long lost its original shape and color. Her body felt as if it were made of lead, and every movement sent an unpleasant tingle through her muscles. Reluctantly, she opened her eyes, blinking against the bright sunlight that filtered through the cracks of their feeble shelter. In the distance, the cawing of crows could be heard—they circled above the dump, searching for something edible amid the mountains of garbage.
She remembered nothing of her past. The emptiness in her mind was like a black void, with not a single clue that could shed light on her identity. Several years ago, a local tramp nicknamed Kilka—a woman with a hard life and a former convict—had found her beaten nearly to death on that very dump. From that day on, Kilka took her under her wing, as if protecting a fragile life in a body that was on the brink of collapse. When Rita first came to consciousness, her memory was completely erased, as if someone had intentionally crossed out all her recollections.
— I think you’ve had quite a difficult life, and you might be in danger. So it’s better not to stick your neck out for now, Kilka warned, extending a piece of stale bread and a slice of smoked sausage. — Take it, don’t be afraid, it’s not from the dump—I got it from the store. Although even here, at the dump, you can find some decent things, she added with a smirk, fixing her disheveled hair. — But judging by the way you were dressed, you must have been a real nuisance to someone. Do you remember anything at all? What’s your name? Where are you from?
Rita shook her head, her gaze staring into nothing.
— I remember nothing, she replied quietly, as if afraid to hear her own voice.
Kilka pondered for a moment, then sighed deeply and said:
— Well, from now on, you’ll be called Ritka.
Thus, Rita became part of a small community of tramps settled at the city dump. Their leader was a man with the grim nickname Khmury, and that name perfectly reflected his harsh character and cold stare. At dawn, Rita cautiously left their flimsy hideout, built of plywood boxes and covered with torn tarpaulin. The fresh air met her with the same nauseating stench of decay, to which she had never managed to get used over all these years. Shaking off the dust and straightening her worn-out clothes, Rita resolutely headed toward the nearest residential area.
— We just need to get out of here. The sooner the better, she whispered to herself, quickening her steps to leave this place where every day seemed endless.
About half an hour of walking later, she reached the neighborhood. Here, she was interested in any events—fairs, festivals, concerts. She felt as comfortable in such places as a fish in water. Not only because she could deftly swipe someone’s wallet—a skill taught to her by Khmury himself, and in which she turned out to be a capable student—but also because she was fascinated by the organization of events: Rita imagined how she would run things her own way if given the chance.
In the park, a pavilion with ice cream caught her attention. Pretending to be an ordinary customer, she stealthily snatched an ice cream cone from someone else’s basket and, pleased with herself, sat on a bench. Someone had also left a fresh newspaper there. Crossing her legs, Rita leaned back on the bench’s backrest and began to flip through the newspaper, browsing the latest news.
Any piece of information could prove useful. Her efforts soon paid off: on the last page, within a bold frame, an announcement for a fair called “Gifts of Autumn” was published, with precise dates and location provided.
— This is interesting! Rita thought, already formulating a plan in her head. She jumped to her feet and hurried back to the dump to share the discovery with Kilka.
— Kilka! Where are you? Come out, I have a surprise for you! Rita shouted, peeking behind piles of garbage scattered everywhere.
Soon, her loyal friend appeared from the heap of debris with a bag in hand. Her elongated, tanned face shone with curiosity.
— Well then, hurry up, what are you staring at like a cat eyeing cream? What do you have there?
— Aha! First dance, then I’ll tell you! Rita teased cheerfully, bouncing in place.
— Are you out of your mind? You want to dance for fun? Stop fooling around and spill it already! Kilka snorted, squinting.
— No, no, dance! Rita insisted stubbornly, playfully crossing her arms over her chest.
— Alright then, — Kilka conceded reluctantly and began to clumsily dance, succumbing to her friend’s reckless mood.
Rita burst into hearty laughter, but then, satisfied with her small victory, she handed her the newspaper:
— Look, here! An interesting fair is coming up. I think we’ll definitely find something useful there!
— And what good does that do us? Kilka asked suspiciously.
— What do you mean? There will be plenty of people with pockets full of cash! And no cards!
— Yes, but there will be plenty of security too, Kilka noted skeptically, not hesitating to express herself.
— Is it your first time or what? Rita retorted defiantly, proudly hitting her chest and lifting her chin.
Kilka burst into laughter:
— My friend, you could even talk a dead man to reason! Alright, let’s go have lunch. While you were gone, I wasn’t sitting idle either. I strolled around the market and even popped into a store. So set the table!
For Rita, in their current hard life, Kilka was not just a friend or partner—she had become like a mother, a savior who once brought her back to life.
In the past, Kilka was called Valentina, and she had been a surgeon. One day, on her operating table, the son of a local dignitary with the surname Mylnikov died, and after that, Valentina was convicted. No matter how hard she tried, after serving time she couldn’t return to a normal life, and her life spiraled downwards. Now Valentina, whom everyone simply called Kilka, lived among the tramps under the leadership of the thief Khmury.
— What was his surname again? Rita once asked, having heard Valentina’s story.
— Melnikov, Kilka replied. — Does that ring any bells?
Rita sighed heavily, her heart tightening with pain and worry.
— No, but for some reason, my heart tightened at that name, as if something inside protested against it. Finally, the long-awaited days of the fair arrived. Rita and Kilka retrieved their neatest outfits, which they had slowly managed to scrounge from stores while cleverly blending in with the shoppers. The clothes weren’t new, but they were clean and tidy enough not to arouse suspicion. They even put on a little makeup, using cosmetics that Kilka had “borrowed” from one of the boutiques.
Within a couple of hours, they were completely ready. From the dump, two rather presentable women headed toward the fair, indistinguishable from the other visitors. The fair was crowded with people discussing goods, bargaining with sellers about prices, yet still buying something. Money actively changed hands. The women exchanged satisfied smiles—conditions were ideal for their line of work.
As Rita walked past the stalls, she noticed a man who caught her attention. From the back pocket of his trousers, a plump wallet peeked out.
“How attractive men with such pockets are,” she thought to herself, smirking, and deftly extracted the wallet as if she had been doing it all her life.
With the agility of a seasoned pickpocket disappearing into the crowd, Rita made her way back to Kilka, who was twirling nearby. Both, trying to keep calm and feigning an animated conversation, quickly headed for the exit. As soon as they left the fair, their steps quickened, and soon they were sprinting back to their dump.
Reaching their hideout, they finally felt a sense of relief. With trembling, impatient hands, they opened the wallet. It was full of money, but they paid it no mind. Both froze in shock upon seeing a photograph in a plastic pouch.
That image turned their world upside down.
— That’s you! And the suit is the same in which I found you, Kilka finally exclaimed when her speech returned. Overwhelmed, Rita began to stutter:
— So, I have a family?
— It appears so. But how did you end up at the dump? Could it be that your husband sent you here? Kilka asked with a squint, waving her hands.
— No, not him, I feel… Rita replied, dismissing the thought with a wave.
Through tears, Rita pleaded:
— Don’t mention the wallet to Khmury. I’ll try to find that man myself.
— What’s this about, my friend? Of course I’ll keep quiet. You know me—I’m a tomb, Kilka responded.
— A tomb, you say?— a low voice resonated, and a figure representing Khmury squeezed into the shack.
— Everything acquired must go to the common fund; that’s the rule. Forgot? Khmury bellowed, extending his huge hand toward the wallet.
— I’m not giving it up, Rita declared firmly, surprised by her own bravery, and hid the wallet behind her back.
— Oh, you… Khmury roared.
His fist descended on her with devastating force. Through the haze of pain, Rita saw the emaciated Kilka clenching his hand, straining to stop him. She couldn’t speak, only gestured to her friend: “Run!” Rita grabbed the wallet and bolted out of the shack, racing as if never before in her life. The wind whistled in her ears, and she did not look back. When she reached the street, dusk had already set in, and vendors were closing their stalls. The man from whom she had taken the wallet was nowhere to be seen. Rita sat on a step near a store and began to cry. Tears streamed down her face, leaving black smudges from her mascara.
“That’s why I was drawn to him… There was something familiar in him; it wasn’t the money that interested me,” she thought, choking on her tears.
She didn’t notice when a little boy approached her. He stared at her with sympathetic eyes for a while, then gently patted her hair and shouted loudly:
— Dad, look! That lady from the photo in your wallet is crying! Let’s treat her to something!
Rita, trying to compose herself, wiped her face. Standing before her was the little boy, holding the hand of the very man from whom she had recently stolen the wallet. The man’s face transformed before her eyes—in his expression were reflected surprise, joy, relief, and sadness. Without hesitation, he scooped Rita up as if she were a feather and embraced her, speaking quickly:
— Lenka! Where have you been? I was looking for you, and everyone said to give up and forget. But I didn’t believe them. Did you really live at the dump? I found you! What happened to you, my dear?
The little boy, who had been standing nearby the whole time, finally understood what was happening and shouted at the top of his lungs:
— Mom’s found! Mommy!
He rushed to Rita—or Lenka—embracing her by the neck. Passersby looked on in amazement at the scene—three people standing in front of a store, crying and embracing.
— Alright, that’s enough standing around like three poplars on Plyushche, Nikolai said. — Time to go home.
When they returned, Nikolai immediately called a doctor. The doctor examined Rita, who turned out to be Lenka, and said that treatment was necessary, but in a familiar environment, her memory would surely return. And he was right.
Lenka gradually began to recover all the memories of what had happened to her: her little son Maksimka, her beloved husband Kolya, and her cherished work. She had been the owner of a large agency specializing in the organization of weddings and celebrations.
But most importantly, she remembered the man who had tried to take her life—Mylnikov. At first, he had wanted to seize her business, but when Lenka refused to comply, he ordered her to be killed and her body dumped at the landfill.
—I remember everything now. We must file a report against him, Lenka said firmly.
But Kolya, shaking his head, replied:
— There’s no one left to report to. He got so carried away that even his own people turned on him. Recently, his “friends” finished him off, cementing him in his tracks.
Lenka sighed, her gaze turning serious.
— Kol, I have a big favor to ask of you. I’ve long wanted to do this, but something always held me back, she murmured.
Kilka, who still lived at the dump in her ramshackle shack, was stunned into silence when a sleek black luxury car pulled up. Out stepped an elegant Lenka, accompanied by a distinguished-looking man, and she shouted loudly:
— Valentina, come out! I’ve come for you!
Kilka, bewildered, began to protest, urging Lenka not to do it. She had no intention of leaving her shelter. But she wasn’t listened to—Lenka and Kolya simply loaded her into the car and drove away.
— Consider yourself kidnapped. Now you are my elder sister, Lenka declared with a smile.
From that moment on, they all lived together in a big, cozy house as one family.
A few months passed after these events. Lenka fully recovered her memory and returned to managing her agency. She organized several grand weddings that gained widespread renown in the city. Her name was once again on everyone’s lips, and clients literally lined up to receive her services.
Kilka, now known as Valentina, gradually adapted to her new life. She no longer wished to return to her past. Her medical skills proved invaluable—she began working at a local clinic, helping those in need. The experience and knowledge she had acquired during her years as a surgeon once again proved beneficial to people.
Nikolai, her husband, continued with his business, but now he spent more time with his family. Maksimka, their son, grew and developed, delighting his parents with his successes at school and in sports. He often recounted the story of how he found his mother at the fair, adding new details each time that made everyone laugh.
One evening, when the whole family gathered for dinner, Lenka raised her glass of wine and made a toast:
— To our family! To the fact that we found each other despite all the hardships. To new beginnings!
Everyone supported her, and in that moment she realized that happiness was not just about luck or chance. It was about having the opportunity to start over, with those who truly love and support you by your side.
Now their home was filled with light, warmth, and joy. They had created a real family, where each person was important and irreplaceable. And although the past had left its mark, they learned to move forward together, overcoming every obstacle as one.
Lenka often recalled the times when she lived at the dump. To her, it was like a nightmare from which she had finally awakened. Now she knew for sure: life always gives a second chance if you’re ready to accept it and fight for your future.