Katya had moved into her new apartment a week earlier—and for almost that entire week, she barely went outside.
How could she, with so much to handle? She bought the only place her budget allowed. Her grandmother, a genuinely kind-hearted woman, had left her an old summer cottage and a room in a communal apartment. Katya sold both, added the savings she’d been building for about five years, and finally had enough for a tiny studio in an older building.
The downside was that the apartment’s previous tenants were the rough sort, so the place wasn’t just “a bit worn.” It was basically wrecked.
Katya had nothing left for renovations or a cleaning service—she’d spent every last ruble just to buy the apartment. But she wasn’t the type to panic over hard work, so from the first day she rolled up her sleeves and got to it.
She scrubbed the floors, washed the windows, and even cleaned the walls until they looked bright again. She hauled out piles of trash—there was an unbelievable amount of it. She attacked the bathroom and kitchen next, and once all the grime was gone, she realized they were actually in fairly decent shape.
Furniture came from friends and family. The sofa migrated from her parents. Her best friend gave her a kitchen table—she’d been wanting to replace it for ages anyway. Chairs appeared from whoever felt like contributing: mismatched, different colors, different shapes. Where the computer desk came from, Katya couldn’t even remember anymore.
Every few days, someone would show up. Her dad came over to help fix the kitchen cabinets. Her friends teamed up to strip the old wallpaper so Katya could put up new ones—donated rolls from someone who’d miscalculated and ended up with extras. Her mom helped organize and tidy. Even her brother drove in to assemble furniture.
Katya was honestly overwhelmed—in the best way. She had an incredible family and loyal friends. People she could count on. And the thing was, she hadn’t really begged anyone. She didn’t want to be a burden. They called her themselves, asking what she needed.
A week later, the apartment was unrecognizable: solid furniture, fresh wallpaper, and cleanliness everywhere. In the middle of the room, a beautiful fluffy rug—her mother’s gift—sat like a final, cozy touch.
That was when Katya realized she needed to leave her little den at least for a bit. Maybe even get to know the neighbors.
Almost immediately, she ran into the woman who lived on the same landing. Katya learned the neighbor had two kids (the woman apologized in advance for the evening noise when homework time rolled around—because she “helped” them very loudly). Katya also heard a little about the other residents. Overall, the building felt friendly. People here seemed to know each other.
Gradually, Katya met almost everyone—except one neighbor. She didn’t see her until two weeks later.
An elderly woman, leaning on a cane, was carefully making her way down the chipped, uneven stairs. Katya politely held the door for her, and the old woman thanked her.
“So you’re the new one, are you?” she asked.
“Yes,” Katya replied. “I moved in recently. Apartment thirty-five.”
“Oh… right. Before you, there were some rather unpleasant people living there. But you don’t seem like that sort.”
“I’m definitely not,” Katya said confidently. After scrubbing the apartment for a week straight, she knew for a fact she wasn’t. “I’m Katya.”
“And I’m Nadezhda Vasilievna.”
“Nice to meet you. Where are you headed?”
“To the store. I want some fresh bread.”
“Then let me pick it up for you,” Katya offered. “I’m going to the shop too.”
She could tell the walk was difficult for the old woman.
“Oh no,” Nadezhda Vasilievna said. “I’ll go myself. I need to keep moving. Besides, I’m only getting bread. The rest… Masha will bring tomorrow. She comes to see me three times a week.”
“Is that your daughter?” Katya asked.
“No,” the old woman said. “My granddaughter. Well… sort of.”
The elderly woman shuffled off toward the store, while Katya watched after her, puzzled.
Sort of? What did that mean?
It was tempting to ask, but Katya decided it wasn’t her place. If the woman wanted to talk about it, she would.
In time, Katya mostly forgot the strange phrase—until one day she bumped into a young woman struggling with heavy grocery bags.
Katya held the door for her and smiled.
“Are you Nadezhda Vasilievna’s granddaughter?” she asked warmly.
“Yes—how did you know?” the girl smiled back.
“She mentioned you. And I haven’t seen you around before, but then I saw you with bags, and I thought: that has to be for her.”
They exchanged another smile and then headed their separate ways.
Katya was waiting for a taxi. She’d decided to visit her parents, have a proper chat. Ever since she’d gotten her own place, she’d been coming by less and less—and her mom, it seemed, was starting to feel hurt about it.
But the taxi, as luck would have it, was taking forever. One driver canceled, so she had to order again. Then no one wanted the ride, and finally someone accepted—but the wait would be fifteen minutes.
The weather was lovely, so Katya sat on a bench, enjoying the soft warmth of the spring sun. And while she sat there, the very same Masha—the “granddaughter”—came out.
“You’re quick,” Katya said with a smile.
“I am,” Masha smiled back. “I’m rushing to work. I wait tables in a café in the evenings. During the day I study.”
“Got it. Which direction are you going?”
Masha answered, and it turned out they were headed the same way.
“I’m waiting for a taxi,” Katya said. “I can give you a lift.”
“That would be amazing,” Masha said. “I’ve been running around so much I completely lost track of time.”
Masha sat down beside Katya on the bench, tipping her face up to the sunlight too.
“Nadezhda Vasilievna is lucky,” Katya said, smiling. “She has such a caring granddaughter. She told me you come three times a week, bring groceries.”
“Oh, she’s exaggerating,” Masha said. “I do a big grocery run once a week. The other days I just stop by with little treats.”
“Still,” Katya said, “that’s wonderful. Not every child does that—and grandchildren even less.”
Masha’s smile turned a little sad.
“Honestly,” she said quietly, “I’m not really her granddaughter.”
Katya blinked. “What do you mean?”
And instantly she remembered that odd phrase—sort of.
“It’s a long story…” Masha looked at Katya, and Katya assumed she’d stop there. But then Masha went on:
“My mother drank. I never knew my father. When I was seven, my mother met a man. He drank too—that’s what brought them together. And I was terrified, because now there were two adults in our home who were constantly drunk. There wasn’t much food. No one cared about clothes. At least they managed to enroll me in school.”
Katya listened, heart aching for her. But she still didn’t understand how Nadezhda Vasilievna fit into any of it.
“Then one day my stepfather said we were going to visit his mother—his ‘grandmother,’” Masha said. “Nadezhda Vasilievna. My mom didn’t have parents—hers had drunk themselves to death long ago. And I had no idea what kind of woman my stepfather’s mother was.”
Masha gave a small, bitter laugh.
“I remember it like it was yesterday—she didn’t even want to open the door. She didn’t get along with her son. He used to steal money from her. But she told me later that she looked through the peephole and saw a little girl standing next to him. Me.”
Katya didn’t interrupt. The whole thing sounded like a movie plot—except it was real, and that made it worse.
“She opened the door immediately and asked who I was. And he said, ‘This is my daughter now.’ Of course, it was just a performance. He didn’t care about me. Neither did my mother, honestly. He only wanted to get inside so he could steal money. But she wasn’t weak. She shoved him back out into the stairwell—and pulled me into the apartment.”
Masha’s eyes softened.
“I remember that meal. It was the first time in my life I’d eaten something so delicious. I felt embarrassed that I cleaned the plate completely… but I couldn’t stop.”
“What happened after that?” Katya asked, barely breathing.
“She asked me everything,” Masha said. “She figured out where I came from, what kind of life I was living. And I was terrified of the moment she’d say, ‘Alright, time to go home.’”
Masha paused, as if seeing it all again.
“And then she said, ‘Get dressed.’ I remember walking beside her, holding her hand tightly. With her—basically a stranger—I felt… safe. She went to my mother and told her she was taking me. And if they tried to argue, she’d call child services and make sure they regretted it.”
Masha’s mouth curved into a small, sad smile.
“But honestly, I think my mother was relieved.”
“She really took you?” Katya whispered.
“She did,” Masha said, and for the first time her smile looked warm. “She turned to me and asked, ‘Do you want to live with me?’ And I nodded. I don’t know whether she made it official or not, but I lived with her. And from that moment, I finally had a happy childhood.”
Katya shook her head in disbelief.
“She took in a child who wasn’t hers,” Masha continued, “knowing exactly what her son was like—and knowing he’d chosen a woman just like himself.”
“Wow,” Katya breathed.
“I don’t know how she found the courage,” Masha said. “Even back then she wasn’t young. But she raised me. She gave me a life. Then my mother died. My stepfather died even earlier. I inherited an apartment. When I went to college, I moved there.”
She glanced toward the entrance of the building.
“But I’ll never forget her. I visit her, and I always will. It doesn’t matter that we’re not related by blood—she’s the closest person I have. The one I love most. I don’t even want to imagine what would’ve happened if she hadn’t entered my life.”
Just then, the taxi arrived.
They rode to Masha’s job in silence. And when Masha was stepping out, Katya finally said what she’d been thinking:
“You’re lucky to have Nadezhda Vasilievna… but don’t forget—she’s lucky to have you too. She isn’t alone now.”
Masha smiled, nodded, and then walked briskly toward the café.
Katya continued on to her parents’ house, but she couldn’t stop replaying the conversation in her mind. It was incredible how one brave decision could save more than one life. Nadezhda Vasilievna and Masha had found each other—and without that, who knows what would have become of either of them.
And thank goodness it turned out exactly the way it did.