Valeria closed her eyes and slowly inhaled, trying to calm the storm inside her. In her chest, it felt as if a conflicting sea was boiling: pity for her family, resentment toward her mother, heavy disappointment in her own future, and bitter fatigue from constant decisions she had made not for herself.
With every breath, that long-ago phone conversation played again and again in her mind — it was frozen in her memory like a film that couldn’t be stopped.
“Valeria, forgive me, my daughter… I have nowhere else to turn… I’ll have to ask you for help again,” her mother’s voice trembled, breaking off, sounding as if she had been crying for a long time before and now had simply exhausted all her strength.
After that call, Valeria waited for them in the apartment she was renting for now. She knew it would be another reason to spend what she had barely managed to save. But even realizing that, she couldn’t say no. A mother was a mother, no matter what.
When Irina Mikhailovna came in, her face was pale, hair disheveled, eyes lost. Standing close to her mother was Yulia — her younger stepsister, but sharing the same blood, the same name, the same childhood. Only now the girl’s face looked even more exhausted than usual. Her lips were bluish, movements slow, breathing uneven.
Valeria listened as her mother, through sobs, laid out everything she could gather from scattered phrases: Yulia was seriously ill. She needed surgery, expensive medications, rehabilitation. And there was no money. No one had any. Even the stepfather, Vasily, who once was considered “stable,” had suddenly fallen apart.
The only way out was to sell the last thing they had left: a room in a communal apartment that Irina Mikhailovna had inherited from her grandmother. But there was no time to find a buyer. Deadlines pressed like iron clamps. So, money had to be found here and now.
“Daughter, I know you’re saving for your own apartment… but we have nowhere else to turn…” her mother’s voice trembled. “I’m in debt up to my ears… I just don’t want to lose my sister. I can’t.”
Valeria wanted to say “no.” She wanted to explain that she was building her own future too, that the mortgage, her own life, the chance to be independent — these weren’t just dreams, but goals she had been working toward for years. But then she looked at Yulia. She saw that fragility, that fear in her eyes, and understood: if she refused, then who would help? Who?
“How much do you need?”
“Preliminarily — one million three hundred thousand. We have gathered two hundred… About a million one hundred remains…” Irina Mikhailovna spoke cautiously, almost in a whisper, as if ashamed of her request. “I wouldn’t ask if it weren’t for desperate need…”
“All right,” Valeria answered after a pause. “But there’s one condition: this room will become my property. After the operation, you can live there or rent it out — as you decide. But formally, it will be my real estate.”
“I agree,” the woman quickly replied. “Tomorrow we’ll do all the paperwork properly.”
And indeed, the next day they went to the notary together. Valeria handed her mother one million rubles — the amount she had saved for years, denying herself much, working overtime, economizing on everything. These were her dreams of a normal life, shattered in an instant, but for saving a person’s life, she couldn’t act otherwise.
Yulia’s operation was successful. Within a few months, the girl began to recover, her complexion returned, a sparkle appeared in her eyes. And Valeria, to compensate for the loss of her savings, decided to sell the room in the dormitory and take out a loan for a one-room apartment. So she became the owner of her own corner, albeit with debts for the coming years.
It seemed everything ended well. The mother was grateful, the sister was recovering, Valeria had started a new chapter in life. But fate, as always, was preparing new trials.
A couple of years later, Irina Mikhailovna and Yulia again appeared at her apartment door. This time the situation seemed even more tragic: the stepfather lost his job, began abusing alcohol, made scandals, and drove them out of the house. The mother and daughter were again left homeless.
“Lera, darling, help us… we’re completely exhausted… Live with us a little, just temporarily…”
Valeria felt herself shrink inwardly. The thought of living together sparked resistance. It was not just an inconvenient step, but a real blow to her personal freedom. But she couldn’t throw them out on the street. No matter how much she wanted to say “no,” her heart wouldn’t allow it.
Thus began a new era — life within four walls where every step was watched, where every breath became a reason for conflict. Tension grew daily. Valeria felt caught between two fires: on one side — care for family, on the other — the desire for her own life, love, harmony.
Her boyfriend, Kirill, began to hint that he saw no future for their relationship if Valeria was constantly surrounded by family, living with them, solving their problems, and forgetting about herself.
Unable to endure it, Valeria decided to talk with her mother. The conversation took place late at night when everyone else was asleep. They sat in the kitchen, the dim lamp light creating an intimate atmosphere, which nevertheless did not match the tension of the moment.
“Mom… What are we going to do next?” Valeria asked quietly, massaging her temples as if trying to ease fatigue.
“What to do? What do you mean?” Irina Mikhailovna frowned, visibly nervous, hiding her hands under a towel.
“About our way of life. It’s been two months, and nothing is changing. You live here, but don’t solve your problems. Vasily won’t take you back, I understand… But you can’t stay with me forever either.”
Her mother fell silent, staring at the table. Her face expressed helplessness.
“Living with me isn’t a solution,” Valeria continued, trying to speak softly but firmly. “I need to have a personal life, I have a right to a family, to my own space. Kirill is already talking about breaking up because of this situation. Do you understand that I’m a living person too? That I don’t have to always sacrifice myself for others?”
Yulia, standing against the wall, pressed her back to the cold surface. Tears welled in her eyes, but she didn’t cry. She just watched as the adults tried to find a way out that seemed not to exist.
“Where should my daughter and I go?” Irina Mikhailovna said quietly, lowering her head. “We have no money, no work… We can’t go back to Vasily. And we don’t want to.”
“But living with me isn’t an option,” Valeria repeated. “I can’t live like this forever. I need to build my own life. That’s why I bought this apartment — to not depend on others. And now it’s the opposite.”
“Sorry we’re burdening you,” her mother whispered, wiping away tears. “I just didn’t know what to do… I didn’t think Vasily would kick us out so cruelly…”
Valeria rolled her eyes and sighed heavily. She wasn’t angry, just tired. Responsibility weighed on her like a rock.
The decision came unexpectedly. During one of her walks in the city, Valeria met her school friend Oksana, who worked as a realtor. She offered an interesting option: an affordable one-room apartment near the school where Yulia studied. Convenient location, reasonable price.
Back home, Valeria shared the idea with her mother:
“We can rent a place. Temporarily, but at least everyone will have their own corner.”
“That sounds good,” Irina Mikhailovna agreed. “But we have no money.”
“Don’t worry about that. I’m willing to pay half the rent,” Valeria declared. “It’s temporary help, but it will help you start a new life.”
The next day, the mother and daughter moved into a small but cozy apartment. Though modest, it was their first step toward independence.
Wanting to help, Irina Mikhailovna found evening work as a cleaner in an office. Valeria regularly visited, brought groceries, clothes, and moral support.
Six months passed. One Saturday night, Yulia woke up with a severe cough. Her temperature spiked sharply, and breathing became shallow. They had to rush her to the hospital, where doctors diagnosed pneumonia.
Irina Mikhailovna ran through the corridors in panic, clutching at medical staff, not knowing what to do. Upon hearing the news, Valeria immediately arrived, paid for necessary procedures and medicines.
“How will we live on now?” her mother sobbed. “Now I owe you too… I will definitely repay! I’ll find a third job!”
“Mom, calm down,” Valeria smiled gently. “You don’t have to repay anything. The main thing is Yulia’s health. By the way… Kirill proposed to me. We’re getting married soon.”
Irina Mikhailovna’s eyes widened. The news caught her off guard. But then a genuine joy appeared on her face.
“Oh, Lerochka… I’m so happy for you! You deserve happiness…”
The wedding was modest but warm. There were few guests, but those present felt the sincere love and bright celebration. It was at this celebration that Irina Mikhailovna met Viktor Nikolaevich — a kind, successful man who genuinely loved her and her daughter.
He invited them to move in with him — to a spacious house outside the city, where everyone would have their own space, and most importantly — stability and love.
Thus, after years of suffering, mistakes, and sacrifices, the lives of Irina Mikhailovna, Yulia, and even Valeria began to change for the better. Perhaps it is through such trials that people find the true value of love, family ties, and mutual support.