— Tomorrow they’re coming to look at your village house. We’re selling it, — said the mother-in-law so casually, as if it were her own summer cottage, not the house filled with Natasha’s memories.
Natasha ran her palm over the wooden wall, feeling the roughness of the old log. This house remembered her first steps, her first tears, her first joys. A sturdy, though old, village house with a carved porch and a small but well-kept garden had been her refuge since childhood. After her grandmother Anna Mikhailovna’s death, … Read more