I need a caregiver with a degree in psychotherapy to be around my daughter 24 hours a day. I have a well-appointed country house with excellent living conditions. You will be provided with full comfort, but during the three-month probationary period, you will not have a single day off. A generous salary will compensate for these temporary inconveniences.”
And the man, who introduced himself as Yaroslav Borisovich, named such an amount for her fee that Oksana’s legs nearly gave out. Her monthly income would be equivalent to her annual earnings at the hospital, including all bonuses and additional payments.
They agreed that she would start her duties in three days. During this time, she would gather all the personal items she needed.
She would then be given the right to make a list of anything else she might need for her work.
“The car will pick you up at the entrance at exactly 8 AM. The driver’s name is Denis. Please send me your home address to this number.”
Yaroslav Borisovich spoke sharply and clearly, as if coining money.
Oksana even thought that every minute of this man’s time was apparently very expensive. Such a business approach, but she even liked it.
At her age of 26, she firmly knew that time puts everything in its place and marks the characters, showing what they are worth.
Here she is, Oksana Vyacheslavovna, a psychotherapist with honors, the beauty and pride of the faculty, the hope of the department. In school, her light-hearted friends flitted through discos and bars in the senior years, while she crammed.
A place in the medical university on a budget was only partially guaranteed by a gold medal. Excellently passed final exams were supposed to help. There was no money for serious education in the family of plumber Mikhail and his wife Lyudochka, who worked as a baker.
The population in their village was finally drinking itself to oblivion, there was no work, everyone was leaving for the city in droves. Only her father and mother held on to their little house and ten acres of land. But then they gave up too. Oksana was fourteen at the time. So with the money earned from selling the land and house, they bought a two-room apartment on the secondary market in the city.
The five-story building made of red brick was sturdy, it would stand for a long time. Mikhail was warmly welcomed at the factory. The salary was small, but their family made ends meet. Lyudmila quickly made friends with the neighbor ladies.
They told her that there was a vacancy at the bakery. The old saleswoman had just retired. Hardworking Lyuda was well-received, not mistreated. Happiness ended abruptly.
Mikhail went to pick up his wife from the bakery in his old Lada. A clumsy bread van in the courtyard awkwardly turned, crushing a small car underneath, not even noticing immediately what had happened.
Fate. The driver and passenger died instantly.
City life for Oksana began with orphanhood. Earlier, Oksana rushed to school as if possessed. She always loved to study. Books about human relationships she would devour overnight.
She found it interesting to see how the characters would act when cornered or faced with a choice. In the orphanage, where she ended up after the tragedy, she initially became depressed but then focused on her studies to not think or remember her relatives who had passed away prematurely.
After six months, she was taken in by foster parents, but they never developed a warm, emotional relationship. She moved into their two-room communal apartment; still, it wasn’t an orphanage, where everyone dreamed of a family and parents even in their teenage years. But she dreamed of growing up and living alone.
Naive, touching lady Oksana tried to evaluate the behavior of people herself, guessing who and how would behave, considering nature and character. A sort of homespun psychologist. And she liked even more to think that a person could be broken, change their behavior line, be convinced. In the tenth grade, Oksana disappeared into the scientific library, where she read Freud, Jung, Bekhterev.
Her classmates didn’t even know such names, but she melted away from her new discoveries. She earned her gold medal at school, sitting days and nights on her fifth point over textbooks. Her achievements involved no gifts or offerings to teachers, no one could pay. The talented student received high grades sincerely and generously.
Peers didn’t chase the crazy girl, having long given up on her oddity, although there were solid reasons to show increased attention to her. Oksana was delightfully beautiful, possessed that very feminine magic when men turn into slaves, admirers, as soon as they see such a rare specimen of external perfection.
Hair the color of ripe wheat cascaded in waves down her smooth back. Green eyes with dark pupils beckoned to drown in their depth. Lush forms created an aura of sensuality. The elegance of her wrists and ankles hinted at blue blood, charm, aristocracy, refinement. Nature did not rest on her appearance.
Only Oksana herself seemed to notice none of this, stubbornly biting the granite of science and ignoring the languid glances of representatives of the strong sex of all ages. After receiving her high school diploma, the orphan, and moreover, a medalist, was pitied at the Medical University.
“A dramatic life for the girl, you can make an exception, look for a place on the budget.”
She passed the entrance exam excellently, without tutors.
She returned to live in her apartment left after her parents’ death. Private property, nothing to write off or take away. She dressed not at all fashionably, modestly. Not like a scarecrow, of course, she adhered to strict classics. She didn’t notice men around her at all, so engrossed was she in madam psychology.
But one day she got hooked by an experienced lovelace.
Vlad was also good-looking, ironic, bold, unpredictable. And that’s how he managed to captivate her. She fell head over heels. Responded enthusiastically to his invitation to drop by his place for a glass of wine, well understanding what would follow. Only the guy had a nasty soul.
Vlad laid her in bed on a bet with a guy from the majors who had been courting the girl but was turned away at the gate. Then he told his fellow student,
“I’ll lay this girl down quietly and without dust,” he sneered vilely. “And then you go along the beaten path, understand, rookie?”
“Don’t teach the learned,” replied the golden child of an important daddy. “Secure her compliance for me, I’ll slobber you a hundred grand.”
That’s how Vlad tried his best. Oksana figured out the catch at their next meeting after their stormy night. Her hot cavalier suddenly turned too icy. She didn’t faint, chalked up her infatuation with handsome Vlad to the machinations of hormones.
Only the fee for the self-assured handsome guy never reached him. Oksana made far-reaching conclusions for herself.
She now kept representatives of the male sex a kilometer away from herself. Coffee with pastries at the nearest cafe between classes, always, please, go to a movie premiere with the whole group, why not? Any other advances toward her, reminiscent of courtship, she nipped in the bud.
The crowd of hopefuls only hoped in vain. They all awaited outright refusal.
The young doctor’s troubles didn’t end after finishing the theoretical course. She earned her place in residency deservedly in a prestigious psychotherapeutic clinic. There she eagerly caught every word of her new idol, the head of the rehabilitation department after serious cognitive disorders.
He taught the resident a lot. Entrusted her with complex patients. Then he helped with a referral to another prestigious place. And there, the pursuits by men continued.
The first swallow, rather an insistent courting eagle, was one, having professional weight in the clinic, a doctor.
Didn’t beat around the bush, called the young specialist to his office.
“We need to have dinner together tonight to discuss your career prospects at our institution. Let your home know that you won’t be coming home tonight.”
That’s how he said it directly, without hesitation, straight to the face, that her career was only through his bed.
She sharply and without regret refused the invitation, for which she soon paid a price. It turned out that before her arrival at this institution with sedatives under strict control, everything was in order. She appeared, and expensive pills started disappearing by the packs. They didn’t bother to find out whether she was involved or not in the thefts.
They quickly pointed her to the door, threatening an investigation followed by a ‘wolf ticket’ and a blacklist in the profession. The next incident happened at a specialized emergency medical station where she had gotten a job. The teams had a narrow focus. They dealt with bringing people out of binge drinking, dealing with aggression that led to fights, and addressing injuries caused to loved ones in a state of temporary affect.
Their patients were on the edge, balancing between being ‘capable’ and ‘incapable’, living between episodes of mental disorders and remissions.
Why weren’t they isolated from society? There were many reasons. In some cases, relatives would redeem their kin, and in others, the border guards themselves could absolve themselves with money and connections from suspicions of insanity.
Oksana hadn’t even suspected that such medical services existed in their city. She ended up here following the same call from a professor who was providing her protection during her residency. Her outings to the so-called ‘inadequates’, as her team called them, ended after a month. That time, she was teamed up with the head of their office.
He also sometimes participated in psychological raids. He said he hadn’t been to the circus in a long time and wanted some entertainment. Oksana Vyacheslavovna was disgusted by his cynicism, but she had no choice. After a fairly calm shift, the boss offered to drive her home. The facility was located outside the city, the first bus wasn’t for another hour, and everyone was tired after a sleepless night.
Recklessly, the young woman agreed, but instead of heading to the city, he took her to the nearest woods.
‘Doll, I don’t like ceremonies,’ he breathed into her face with the stench of alcohol.
He wasn’t afraid of anything, having already downed half of a flat glass flask of brandy in the car. Oksana immediately wanted to leave the vehicle, but he just laughed.
‘Half the town gets sanity certificates from me when needed, neither the authorities nor the traffic police scare me.’
She later couldn’t explain where she got the strength to slap him hard. The man’s head jerked, and he stared at his colleague in surprise.
‘Uncooperative, you say? Well, well, go on, fish, walk away from here. It’s eleven kilometers to the city; you’ll have a nice walk and cool your head. No place for prudes in my team, ask any of our female employees. Now get out.’
Oksana didn’t ask anyone anything. She submitted her resignation during the next shift and that was that. Again without practice, again without a job.
She sat at home for a month and a half.
No clinic wanted to hire her even as a nurse. The medical world was rife with rumors about her unreliability, and how they were interpreted was up to each individual.
Psychotherapist Oksana Vyacheslavovna, advanced in matters of various types of aggression, was well aware of such a Western phenomenon as harassment, but she never even remotely imagined that she would become its victim.
She still didn’t know how, as a possessor of striking feminine beauty, to set barriers against disgusting advances that grossly violated her personal space. She had a lot to think about for the future.
A call from Yaroslav Borisovich, received the day before, interrupted a long series of failures. She wouldn’t just go to this job. She would crawl to it if necessary. Why she felt both terrified and excited at the same time, she couldn’t explain herself.
The vacancy was ambiguous. A caregiver for a girl suffering from a terminal blood disease, plus Asperger’s syndrome.
The infamous syndrome was little known to ordinary people, far from medical terms.
In a nutshell, its impact on patients could be described as an inability, impossibility, disinclination to interact with the outside world, existing in their own narrow world, into which outsiders were very rarely admitted. In society, such people are called autists. The medical history of Oksana Vyacheslavovna’s future charge was complicated by a serious autoimmune blood disease.
Within the unfortunate victim, some cells were constantly proving to others that they were the main ones, destroying any body tissue they encountered on their path of war.
Now the condition of the patient was assessed as moderately severe. A prolonged remission gave her father a chance to spend more time with his beloved daughter, but how much longer the cunning disease would behave decently, probably only the Almighty in heaven knew.
Doctors just sympathetically shrugged their shoulders.
‘Yaroslav Borisovich, we are doing everything possible, but only a miracle can help the girl. We live in the real world with its cruel laws of mother nature.’
‘I’ve heard all this a thousand times,’ the grief-stricken father replied. ‘What do you advise? How can I brighten her life if she doesn’t respond to anything, is indifferent, inactive, quiet, silent? I’ve never seen whether she can smile. Sixteen years of constant uncertainty. It’s enough to drive one mad.’
A renowned specialist in autism spectrum disorders, sitting in a chair opposite Yaroslav Borisovich, pondered for a couple of seconds and then said…
‘I have one doctor. She doesn’t get along in any medical institution, and I can’t get to the bottom of the reasons for her failures. She was one of the most promising students on my course, eager to bring benefit to people in need, kept up with techniques and innovations in our field, but seemed to deflate in clinics.
Unfortunately, I can’t keep track of each of my brilliant students. I made a couple of recommendations for her, but it didn’t work out. We recently met in a pastry shop where I was buying a birthday cake for my wife. We exchanged contacts.
Invite this girl. She did her residency in my hospital. I can vouch for her almost as much as for myself.’
Yaroslav Borisovich weighed the pros and cons and decided he had nothing to lose. Previous caregivers hadn’t managed with Kira; maybe this young woman could?
There were plenty of residents in his large house. His favorite—cook Glasha, who had been working for him for 30 years.
Her son Viktor—a gardener and Glasha’s assistant in the household. The maid with the exotic name Gabriela, there was also room for Oksana Vyacheslavovna. Look, four guest rooms were vacant. He would have to give Gabriela an order.
The ice of the experiment that would change their lives was broken. Radical changes in her life, Oksana decided to start with her appearance. She needed to create a work image that maximally concealed her natural beauty. The last thing she needed was for this heavenly gift, as she considered it, to interfere with her work.
Her wardrobe included loose pants, baggy skirts of dark colors, oversized sweaters, low-heeled shoes, a couple of pajamas with Cheburashka and bunnies. She loved exquisite lingerie but wore it under loose clothing. Her hair had to be styled into braids that formed a bun.
The look was completed with ordinary glasses. She had bought them for a masquerade at university. Satisfied with the fitting, Oksana packed everything in a large bag and happily went to collect professional books.
While her patient rested, she would study everything about autists in detail. Treatment couldn’t start abruptly; a sensible approach was needed.
At eight in the morning, a young man rang her doorbell.
‘Hello, I’m Denis. Let’s take your belongings to the car. The boss asked to carefully check everything for forgotten items. There shouldn’t be any trips for three months.’
And so Oksana felt warm from his words, thinking: we’ll work well together.
‘I’ll do everything in my power for this.’
The journey to the new home took just over three hours without traffic.
‘The train station is two kilometers from us,’ Denis seemed to read her question. ‘There are six cars in the garage, two drivers. Anything you need to buy, assign it to me.’
Oksana looked around the house with interest, its gentle sand color with brown decorative elements, balconies, and a terrace.
The house was surrounded by a park. In the distance, a swimming pool, covered with a protective material. The paths were paved. Coniferous trees, a path with birches, a rose garden under a film. On the other side of the house, utility buildings resembling greenhouses.
A guard of honor was lined up on the porch.
‘Welcome to our home!’ said a tall, hefty woman with a mane of bright red hair. ‘My name is Glafira Andreyevna. To my own, Aunt Glasha. I’m the housekeeper and also a cook,’ the woman smiled and extended her hand to Oksana. ‘This fellow with the rake—my son Viktor. He’s our jack-of-all-trades, but his favorite is the garden,’ continued Aunt Glasha. ‘You’ve already met Denis. The second driver’s name is Sergey. The maid, Gabriela, her mother is Spanish.’
A girl with brown eyes looked at Oksana.
‘Well, well,’ Oksana Vyacheslavovna thought, just as a man of noble appearance appeared on the threshold.
‘Oksana Vyacheslavovna, I am Yaroslav Borisovich. Now Gabriela will show you your room and give you a tour. Make yourself at home. Glasha will inform you of the meal schedule. I expect you in my office in two hours for a discussion. If it satisfies me, I will introduce you to my daughter Kira,’ he turned and left.
Viktor picked up the luggage, Gabriela invited her to follow.
‘Lunch at 2:00 PM. The master does not tolerate tardiness. We’ll get acquainted then. Now you have more important things to do.’
Oksana followed Gabriela and almost didn’t listen to her, impressed by her room with a bathroom, windows to the garden, elegant decor. She didn’t know how life in this house would unfold, but she already wanted to become a part of it and be useful.
Her relationship with her foster parents was normal, but their interests differed. They met infrequently, communicating through obligatory calls like ‘Daughter, how are you? All good? Us too.’
Oksana felt stifled within such bounds. They saw each other on birthdays and New Year’s. There was no talk of discussing life’s difficulties. She was independent, the connection with her guardians never really developed. Her parents did not support her career choice but approved of her move. She stopped chasing them for their time in front of the TV. Different fates, different roads.
In this house, Oksana felt a unity among the household members. It hadn’t been half an hour, and she already wanted to stay. Tired from Gabriela’s monologue, she led her to Yaroslav Borisovich’s office door, saying:
‘Let’s be on a first-name basis. I don’t like ceremonies, we’ll be rubbing shoulders. Knock first when you go to the master; he doesn’t like familiarity,’ Oksana nodded in agreement, switching to informal speech and thanking her for the tips.
Gabriela left, and Oksana thought:
“This nymph is not without reason trying so hard. There must be someone of interest in the house. Could she have set her sights on the master? How good that I took care of my modest appearance. I won’t catch the public’s eye like Gabriela does. Let them figure it out themselves; I have other tasks.”
Oksana Vyacheslavovna resolutely knocked on the office door and entered after the master’s words. The office, though to an inexperienced practitioner but to a strong theorist, was likable at first sight.
The furniture made of expensive wood, shelves with books, statues, landscapes on the walls. A desk, a music center, a cabinet with discs. She did not know Yaroslav Borisovich, but the office screamed: “My owner is no fool, well-read, smart, and successful.”
Yaroslav Borisovich himself invited her to a soft armchair by a small table. Ringing a bell, he called Gabriela.
“Make us a couple of cups of coffee, please. Or would you prefer juice or tea?”
Oksana gratefully accepted the coffee. She had been so nervous in the morning that she hadn’t even had breakfast at home, and now feared that her traitorous stomach would betray her with its loud rumbling at the most inappropriate moment.
She was lucky. Along with the coffee, Gabriela brought a small bowl with nut cookies, a box of chocolate candies, and a little pitcher with cream.
Out of anxiety, Oksana pounced on the treats like a hungry wolf, but saw no judgment in Yaroslav Borisovich’s eyes. He appreciated sincerity and spontaneity in people, even smiled.
“We have received you poorly on your first workday from the road, didn’t even offer you tea.”
With her mouth full, Oksana tried to say that everything was fine, then helplessly smiled in response, wiped the crumbs from her lips, and thoroughly chewed the remains of the cookies.
“Forgive me, it’s my nerves. I just pounced on the sweets. Thank you for the coffee. Let’s get back to our business.”
Yaroslav Borisovich would never admit to either his partners or this young woman that he loved to conduct tests according to an old principle. He borrowed this approach to selecting workers from his father, a simple peasant who had spent his life cultivating the land and growing cereal crops. Unfortunately, his father could no longer work now.
Five years ago, Yaroslav bought a cottage in a nearby settlement where his parents were now living out their years. The older generation flatly refused to move into Yarik’s luxurious estate, arguing that the soil in their garden was much closer and more interesting to them than the park landscapes at their son’s estate. After introducing a kind housekeeper to them, the son stopped trying to persuade them to live together.
Now, they only visited each other and gathered for family holidays. But the father’s command that any hired worker must first be well-fed, observed how he handles the meal, and then conclusions drawn, Yaroslav remembered. If a person eats sincerely, without affectation and false modesty, eats, he will be of use; if he claims he is not hungry, takes only a couple of crumbs from the table for decency, he will work just as listlessly.
Any qualified recruiter would die of laughter from such a recruitment method, but Yaroslav Borisovich had long been convinced from his own experience—the method works infallibly. Handing Gabriela the tray with empty cups, Oksana’s boss began the conversation.
“Your candidacy was recommended to me by a professor who occasionally consults my daughter. Before you start your duties, I would like to briefly tell you our background. Not as a stranger to me. As a psychiatrist-psychotherapist.
Kira is our late child with my wife. My wife passed away a week after her birth, her heart couldn’t bear it. I have an older son, Roman, he lives and works in Europe, in our branch in Prague, and visits here occasionally.
Roman was born when my wife and I were very young. Now he is 33 years old. Our student marriage, entered into out of great mutual love, turned out to be very strong. We lived soul to soul, and only one thing saddened my chosen one. After Roman’s birth followed a series of miscarriages. My wife dreamed of a second child, a girl. She even pre-named her after her mother, to whom my wife was endlessly attached.
At forty-four, my wife got pregnant again. She was infinitely happy, but the doctors were in despair. Even a routine examination, which all expectant mothers undergo, revealed a serious arrhythmia.
Her heart couldn’t handle the double load. There were problems with blood vessel function. Doctors feared that the child was not getting enough of the necessary nutrients, and my wife, almost always on bed rest in the clinic, just looked at me pleadingly and asked:
“Do not let them terminate this pregnancy. I will take care of myself, follow all their prescriptions. I must carry this baby.”
Her zeal increased even more after the ultrasound showed that she was carrying a girl.
“My wife became completely obsessed with the idea that heaven had finally taken pity on us and granted us this last chance. My wife bravely endured nine months of agonizing waiting and an endless series of procedures and injections, and surgical intervention in the form of a cesarean section. The verdict of the neonatologists struck her. The girl was immediately suspected of some deviations. Detailed examination showed that she had inherited an extremely rare genetic blood disease, transmitted along the female line. People with it do not live long, ten-fifteen years at most. The news broke my wife, twisted everything in her already sick heart.
Arrhythmia attacks began to repeat with evil enviable persistence. She did not return home from the hospital. Kira was discharged after two months of scrupulous observation. At first, I was in despair, offended at the little one for taking away my beloved woman, leaving me alone in this world. Roman was seventeen at the time.
I am still amazed that he was already wise and mature then. He convinced me that everything was preordained by fate, that he also lost his mother, but it was her life, her dream, and her choice.
You wouldn’t believe it, but it was he, along with the nanny, who cared for the baby girl. Quickly learned to change her diapers and feed her specialized formula.
The second blow was that soon doctors noticed that Kira… was different, not like other children. Her genetic disease had not yet manifested itself, but she drove us crazy by not reacting to our presence at six months, a year, or after. Imagine the scene. The child eats, sleeps, but does not react to us, to a multitude of colorful toys around her. Her face, like a frozen mask, no live mimicry, no gestures. As you seat or lay her down, so she will freeze. Sometimes for quite a long time. The girl turned out pretty, even good-looking, big-eyed, a lock of light hair, chubby arms and legs, but behaved like a doll, like an artificial doll.
After some time, she was diagnosed with Asperger’s syndrome or autism. Doctors assured that this type of autism spectrum disorder holds prospects, body functions will be partially developed, but not fully. I took Kira to Europe. There, doctors were able to perform almost a miracle. Removed sleep disturbances, adapted food intake to the required regimen, taught the girl to react at least a little to what was happening. I returned from Germany almost happy. Kira began to recognize household members, babbled something in an unknown language to us, sometimes tried to express something with gestures, only still did not learn to smile.
On the street, she turned around at the noise during walks, on a trip to the Black Sea she tucked her legs when Roman and I tried to bathe her in it. A little later, I sent Roman to study in Great Britain. Fortunately, as if in reward for troubles, my business grew and strengthened, bringing me more and more income.
This house we built together with my wife, it was her idea—to live away from the city bustle, in the soothing rural area.
The man paused his narrative for a moment. It was visible that the story stirred old memories in him…
Looking at the clock, Yaroslav Borisovich became a little worried.
“There are only fifteen minutes left until lunch. You will learn most of the information in the course of work. I will only add the main thing. When she was 14, the former merits of the doctors quickly evaporated. It seemed that the destruction of tissues and cells lulled her brain activity.
The few dozen words she spoke were forgotten. She became indifferent to what was happening around again. She walked happily with Aunt Glasha in the air and even swam in the pool with Viktor’s help, the girl forgot all these skills.
Now she no longer lets herself be lifted from bed, moves only in a wheelchair, hardly eats anything, and loses weight. I understand, Oksana Vyacheslavovna, that you are neither a magician nor a god. Doctors predicted that the girl has no more than a year left. The process of destruction in her fragile body is progressing.
For myself, I have defined your task as easing her departure to another world. I know it’s impossible, but I still dream that she will smile, looking at our park, at the people around, at the sky and the sun. Perhaps I want too much from you.”
Oksana Vyacheslavovna was in shock.
She will do everything she can, apply all her knowledge. In the man’s eyes splashed such pain and despair. He so courageously spoke about his daughter soon leaving this world that the invited psychotherapist’s blood ran cold.
So much for the high fence, the rich house, within whose walls misfortune has lived for so many years.
Lunch was exquisite. Glafira Andreevna cooked so deliciously that Oksana did not even notice how she ate everything offered and reached for an addition of an unusual salad. To her silent question,
“Where is Kira?” several people responded.
“Kiryusha is having lunch in her room,” said Yaroslav Borisovich. “After lunch, we will go to meet her.”
“I’ve already prepared her favorite meatballs and mashed potatoes,” added Aunt Glasha.
“And I picked bright September flowers of all shades behind the house,” added Viktor. “I think Kira Yaroslavna is excited by their sharp autumn scent.”
Only Gabi—as in the conversation and in the office Kira’s father once called the maid, and Oksana immediately mentally picked up this nickname, as it was shorter and simpler—ate, focusing on her plate. It seemed that Kira’s fate concerned her less than everyone else, if at all.
“I’ll have to keep an eye on this person,” decided Oksana.
The room she prepared for me was perfect, no complaints. But are there any actions on her part towards the patient?
In working with autism, all means are good, and all details may turn out to be significant.
After these words, they were again distracted by sweet pies and compote, and Oksana thought through her sorrowful thoughts.
“It’s nice here, soulful. The servants dine at the same table with the owners. Everyone prays for the girl as best they can, everyone tries to brighten her life.”
Her reflections were interrupted by the voice of Yaroslav Borisovich.
“Oksana Vyacheslavovna, are you ready to go to your patient?”
The woman enthusiastically replied that she was looking forward to it and was not disheartened.
In Kira’s room, the curtains were drawn, creating a gloomy and despairing atmosphere. Oksana Vyacheslavovna immediately noted that this needed to change.
“It’s clear, a seriously ill person lives here, but there’s no need to emphasize this with decorations.”
The girl did not react in any way to their arrival. At that moment, Aunt Glasha brought a tray with the girl’s favorite dishes.
The psychotherapist decided not to delay work.
“Yaroslav Borisovich, Glafira Andreevna, allow me, I will feed Kira myself, and we will also talk. Leave us alone.”
“Kirochka, this is your new doctor, Oksana Vyacheslavovna. She will be with you almost constantly. You don’t mind if we leave you two alone?”
Again, no noticeable reaction. The girl obediently opened her mouth to the food, chewed and swallowed it like a marionette. But Oksana began her monologue.
“I’m not a doctor or a nanny for you, Kira. I prefer the role of a friend. I will be with you of my own volition, though as a hired employee. To tell the truth: I would stay with you for free. So far, I like everything in your house. The place, the people, you. Tomorrow we will turn your world upside down. I don’t think it will be bad for your health.”
For a fraction of a second, Oksana thought she saw something flicker in the girl’s eyes, but it quickly faded.
“Or maybe it was a play of light and shadow in the room?”
Thinking about this, the doctor decided later in her room.
She dressed Kirushka in warm clothes and took her out to the yard in her wheelchair to breathe the autumn air.
From that moment, the days in the house flowed as usual.
In the mornings, Oksana and Kira had breakfast in the girl’s room, there were drips and injections to combat the disorders. A mandatory walk in the garden, where Viktor was always working. Lunch in the large hall with the household, then feeding Kira, therapeutic sleep, a new dose of medicine, dinner with Yaroslav Borisovich, who worked in the office in the evenings. Exhausted by the procedures, the patient would fall asleep by 10.
Oksana studied works on autism. So far, there were no shifts in her contact with Kira. The condition remained stable. Oksana talked animatedly with Kira. She talked about very important events, about her favorite books, read poems, showed illustrations.
As if she was listening to her monologue…
Then Oksana found information that communication with animals might be helpful in reducing isolation symptoms in autism patients.
There were no pets in Yaroslav Borisovich’s house. After a general meeting, it was decided to get a large breed puppy. Everyone liked the little Newfoundland. Two days later, Denis brought a fluffy black treasure from the kennel.
The puppy was irresistible. It is generally believed that our lesser brothers do not have reason. What then prompted Tim, full name Timofey, that he was destined for Kira? Once in her room, the puppy headed straight to the girl and nudged her palm with his wet nose.
The doctor was sure that she saw a reaction in Kira’s eyes, bright and positive.
For the first time, Oksana felt that they were on the right path.
By New Year’s and Christmas, everyone in the house was waiting for Roman from Prague. Oksana Vyacheslavovna had not met the young man and only remembered Aunt Glasha’s words:
“He’s our golden boy. Kirushka transforms when her older brother comes. She doesn’t know how to smile, but it’s as if her face lights up,” she said.
Gabriela, present during their conversation, added:
“And what a handsome man our Roman Yaroslavovich is! Respectable, decent, wise, but at the same time a typical romantic hero. Two images in one face—it’s so intriguing!”
“Tsk, Gabriela, better go change Kira’s bedding while she’s out with Oksana Vyacheslavovna,” Aunt Glasha retorted. “You always have Cupids on your mind, you’re not that kind of berry, roll your lips up.”
Gabi, as usual, swayed her hips and left. The cook snorted at her and said to Oksana:
“That girl is completely off her rocker when the owner’s son flies home from Europe. She makes eyes at him non-stop, and he looks at her as if she’s nothing. He had a fiancée, but she cheated while he was making money in the Czech Republic. They split up, although that wayward lady was beating our doors down here, shedding tears, practically tearing her hair out in despair of losing a rich catch. Nothing helped. Roman stopped trusting her completely. Couldn’t forgive her for seeing another man at the same time.”
Sighing mournfully, Aunt Glasha unexpectedly offered:
“Come to my room in the evening. We’ll have some tea. I’ll tell you my story, how Yaroslav Borisovich saved me from trouble and why I’ve called him an angel of goodness ever since.”
On the walk, Oksana again thought she saw Kira, sitting in a wheelchair, make a movement towards the pampered puppy, but she didn’t rush to voice her assumptions aloud.
“You need to observe, observe, and observe. Again and again. It will be clear then,” she thought.
After dinner, reassured that Kirushka had fallen into a blissful sleep, Oksana lightly closed her door and knocked on the neighboring one.
“Come in, I’ve been waiting,” came the voice of red-haired Glafira Andreevna. “I’ve brewed us some green tea with lemon balm, and I’ve stashed some raspberry jam. Now we’ll feast.”
Oksana had been in the cook’s room before only briefly, but now she could examine the space more closely. The same elegance and homey comfort, seasoned with Aunt Glasha’s personal, dear-to-heart items. There were many framed photographs on the wall: Yaroslav Borisovich with his wife, still very young, Kira from different angles, Viktor in the garden—by the gazebo, by the pool. A handsome young man on a horse.
“That’s our Romasha, a beautiful man,” Aunt Glasha said. “God grant him personal happiness! He’s like his father, all in business. He should already have his own kids, but he’s still traveling around those foreign lands. I understand that he’s certainly not a monk, but all those flighty girlfriends are not what he needs for marriage. He would make a wonderful father, see how he loves Kira.”
Glafira Andreevna ate another spoonful of jam and began her story:
“After high school, 35 years ago, I trained as a public catering technologist. Graduated from an institute in Kharkov, not just some culinary school. Dreamed of a career as a head chef, such that they’d award me Michelin stars for my cooking artistry. But it didn’t work out. My appearance was to blame, nearly six feet tall, size 42 shoes, overweight, bright copper hair, angular movements, no taste in choosing a wardrobe. Of course, chefs are not chosen by their clothes, but the personnel representatives in all the cafes and restaurants where I tried to get a job after getting my diploma refused me under any pretext. In one prestigious restaurant, only the lady in HR was honest:
“Our guests often invite the head chef to the dining room if they liked the dish. You cannot be the face of our establishment. You’d only fit in a circus buffet. I like to be honest with people I hire. Better that way than to shyly avert my eyes and keep a fig in my pocket.”
And yet, my trials and tribulations one fine day ended in success.
I was taken to a private cafe “Queen Tamar” with Georgian cuisine. The owner was a small bald Georgian with hooked fingers and crooked legs. He temporarily even dispelled the myth for me that Caucasian men are always endowed with sharp Eastern beauty—curly, dark-eyed, bold. This lothario told me:
“My wife is ill, can’t sleep with me, and I’m a man, I need to save my physiology. You’ll work in the kitchen and visit me a couple of times a week. Do well—I’ll appoint you head chef, and then, possibly, chef.”
I was initially taken aback by his words. I said I’d think about it, then weighed my options. Six years of part-time study at the institute, two years before that as a cook’s assistant in a canteen. I was about to turn twenty-six, and I was still walking around as a single lady. No queue for my red soul was forming. No one even looked at me with that enveloping male gaze, full of desire. Never. Blushing and paling, I informed him two days later that I agreed to all conditions.
The owner of “Queen Tamar” squinted at me, invited me to the back room. There I learned the basics of love between boxes of vegetables, herbs, and cases of vodka, which they later served in jugs as chacha. It was embarrassing, annoying, but oh well. A quick big physiological love honestly lasted between me and the chef for a year and a half, and then I got pregnant. Learning the news, my lover didn’t mince words, fired me on the spot, all agonized to keep me quiet. His wife must know nothing, he has three adult kids. They’d see who he’d set his sights on, the relatives would laugh. He paid me three months’ salary in advance and washed his fatherly hands of it.
I didn’t tell him right away that a baby was supposed to be born. I kept delaying, sensing that the news would not end well. Given my overall fullness, my belly became noticeable only around the sixth-seventh month. Just before the usual official maternity leave, I ended up on the street. Money for a rental apartment ran out two weeks before Vitushka was born. I only had an aunt in a faraway village. I couldn’t even tell you how we’re related. Never saw my own father, my mother drank herself to death when I was about twenty. She initially wandered the streets, then disappeared without a trace, vanished. But I never doubted for a second—the baby had to be. I was alone in this white world, but this way, I’d have my own little dear bloodline.
My apartment’s landlady couldn’t be called compassionate, but she took pity, waited until I gave birth and was discharged from the maternity hospital. Gave me another month for everything. Tolerated me for free. Then her children came. They had nowhere to live, so she showed me the door. My month-old infant and I went begging. We managed to stay in a shabby hotel for a week. But my son was restless. Poor sound insulation in the building. Other guests started complaining that we kept them up at night. We moved out to nowhere. Sitting with my belongings and child at an intercity bus stop, I decided to head to the countryside, maybe find an abandoned house. Barely a week’s worth of money in my wallet.
When a fancy dark jeep slowed down near the stop, I didn’t even immediately understand that its driver was asking me. I sat, drenched in burning tears. Yaroslav Borisovich, and it was he, was building a house in these parts at the time, was looking for a local specialty store that had recently been built on the highway. I gave him the address, why not, and he didn’t drive away immediately. Later he told me that my eyes were like those of a beaten dog, and there was so much endless despair in them that he couldn’t help but ask:
“Woman, why are you sitting in the wind with a nursing baby? Can I give you a lift somewhere? I can, even if it’s completely in the other direction.”
I don’t know how it happened, but I told him all my troubles in a nutshell, just like that. He grunted, thought about something for a couple of minutes, then asked:
“A chef, you say, professional? I’m actually looking for such a specialist. I need to feed two teams of workers daily. We can allocate a trailer-warm house for you to live in.”
Of course, I didn’t hesitate for a second. Day was turning to evening, the bus was delayed, might as well sleep in the field. Taking my bag, I sat in the warm interior of the car. Not a trace of fear or apprehension. I’m used to work, adore my craft, gods don’t fire kilns.
Glafira Andreevna interrupted her long story and poured them another cup of fragrant tea. She brought a dish with ruddy pies left over from dinner, glanced briefly at Oksana.
“Have I tired you yet with my tales, doctor?”
“What are you, Aunt Glasha, rarely does anyone talk so soulfully with me, trusts me with their secrets, and I am very grateful to you for this frankness,” Oksana replied.
“Then I’ll continue,” the woman said. “Afterward, everything was much more pleasant. The workers greeted me like their own mother, starved on dry rations, and I immediately cooked them a hearty borscht on the bone, made cutlets, steamed wheat porridge in a cast-iron pot with butter.
When they brought compote to the table, the foreman couldn’t hold back.
“You cook delightfully, Glasha! We haven’t seen such delicacies here for a long time. Therefore, guys, I’ll arrange it this way. There are fifteen of us working here. Feeding such a crowd without an equipped kitchen is difficult. So we’ll distribute daily duty, who among the men will help with firewood for the stove, who will haul water.
With the other heavy work, the cook will help. She’s got the little one in her arms, needs to feed and care for him. So have some conscience, brothers, don’t burden this young woman or offend her in word or deed.”
That’s how I ended up in our yard about 30 years ago when they were still only building the foundation.
Vityusha, my native gold, grew up here. After construction ended, I stayed in the house with the owners. Yaroslav Borisovich and his wife already had little Romochka back then. Oh, what a table I set for them at the housewarming. Guests only managed to marvel at where he’d found such a cook. Various people visited the house, high-ranking and connected.
Many times they tried to lure me to other houses. But how could I? An angel of goodness once appeared to me on a stop one autumn evening, and I’d betray him when others tempt with bread rolls.
“Kirushka was born while I was here. Yaroslav Borisovich appointed me to supervise her nannies and caretakers. Everyone here became family to me, even this empty Gabriela with her dreams of ensnaring the son of Yaroslav Borisovich doesn’t seem like an enemy.
There’s my tale to you, Oksanochka. Maybe it’ll help in your work, give you some guidance.
Oksana came back to her room thoughtful. Before, she believed that rich meant stingy in spirit. In Yaroslav Borisovich’s house, she saw another world, full of warmth, respect, and a desire to help each other in difficult life situations.
Her fervent conviction to do everything to make it a little easier for Kirushka was even more solidified in her mind. From the next day, she increased the therapeutic load for the girl. Insisted that massage procedures be returned, deciding they in no way harmed the body broken by illness but rather contributed to its tone.
Kira still didn’t react to anything. Only the appearance of the shaggy puppy Timofey seemed to slightly animate her face. Oksana Vyacheslavovna did not give up. She dragged the patient’s wheelchair around the park. She sat Kira down to watch Viktor’s training with the dog.
He took on the assignments seriously. Little Tim already knew the commands sit, lie down, place, come to me, walk. In the house, the puppy recognized only two masters—Kira, beside whose feet he spent all his free time, and Vityusha, who fed and raised him.
Days ran, the beloved holidays—New Year’s and Christmas—approached.
Oksana, Gabi, and Glafira Andreevna gladly decorated the already charming dwelling with pine compositions, colorful wreaths, sculptures of fairy-tale heroes. Viktor installed artificial Christmas trees in all the rooms, richly decorating them with expensive toys. The mood was festive.
Three days before New Year’s, Oksana unexpectedly received a call from her only close friend.
“Ksyushka, you’ll fall now. I have grand news. I’m getting married urgently and moving with my beloved to the Far East. He’s a military engineer. We’ll live near the Vostochny Cosmodrome.”
Oksana immediately felt sad. She and Nastya were like sisters. They’d been together since the orphanage, always supporting each other, and now a separation was looming.
Meanwhile, the friend continued to chirp on the phone.
“December 30th is my farewell bachelorette party at a nightclub, January 2nd our one-way flight. No refusals accepted. Ksyushek, I even prepared a gift for you for the road, sewed an evening dress, you’ll be stunned. Of course, it’s not worthy of your beauty, but it’ll highlight it beautifully.”
If Nastya saw me now, she’d die laughing,—thought the sitter.
She recently overheard a remark about herself from Gabi. The maid disdainfully watched her after dinner and summarized.
“Our psychotherapist is a pale moth, a gray mouse. How does the earth even carry such shapeless, faceless women? They’re useless. Men probably bypass such a scarecrow by a kilometer.” Oksana Vyacheslavovna promised Nastya to call back by night and headed to Kira’s room. The girl, after a hearty dinner and a walk beforehand, was already soundly asleep, sprawled on soft pillows. Adjusting the blanket, she slipped into the corridor. A difficult conversation with Yaroslav Borisovich was pending, and she timidly knocked on the door to the owner’s office.
“Come in, I just finished with the papers. Something happened?”
“I’ve encountered unforeseen circumstances,” she outlined briefly, “but I’ll accept any decision you make. The fact is that someone close to me is leaving for distant lands for a long time, and we won’t have a chance to see each other if I can’t break away for the meeting my friend has set.”
“I’m not a prison overseer or a godfather in the zone to keep you locked up, Oksana Vyacheslavovna.
You’ve been in this house non-stop for a month and a half. Things with Kira are going, if not brilliantly, then without hints of deterioration.
I’m satisfied with your initiatives, methodologies, practical experiments. None of them has harmed my sick daughter. Be sure to go to the city. I give you a day. On December 31st after eight in the evening, you must return to these walls.”
From his office, Oksana didn’t leave. She flew on wings. Aunt Glasha was bustling in the kitchen, and the freed sitter couldn’t help but share her news with her.
“Even though I’m plain-looking,” Oksana babbled, “everyone still wants a piece of a bright holiday. And when else will I see my Nastya again?”
“You plain-looking?” Aunt Glasha smiled in response, “leave those tales for others, my good woman. Me, a cunning and lived woman in this world, an old lady, all your masquerades don’t fool me. I’ve long guessed that you hide beauty under a dismal guise with glasses. But don’t worry, this secret will remain between us. If you behave this way, you have serious reasons for it. Your profession doesn’t hinder these disguises, and it’s my business to stay out.”
Oksana turned on the run, rushed back to the kitchen, and hugged the cook warmly and tenderly.
“I know two angels of goodness in this house, Glafira Andreevna. Your kindness and readiness to understand and accept are no less than the owner’s mercy.”
She shyly pecked Aunt Glasha on her plump cheek, smelling of vanilla and apples. Hurried to call Nastya to cheer her up with the news.
Given that Nastya worked as a designer in one of the city’s ateliers, the dress for Oksana turned out to be luxurious. Soft, form-fitting dark blue silk highlighted every curve of the graceful figure.
A strand of pearls, a bracelet, and earrings, given by her foster parents for her 25th birthday, matched the outfit perfectly in tone and overall style.
Nastya, having dressed her friend, froze in admiration.
“Ksyusha, you’ll be the goddess of this evening. I’m sure of my fiancé, he won’t flinch. He’s already seen you in our common photos. But everyone else will be at your feet, just watch.”
“I’d prefer to stay away from all these signs of male attention,” Oksana replied bitterly. “I’ve had enough sad experience in this area.” It seems decent men, if not knights, then at least adequate suitors, are extinct in this world. I’ve only encountered representatives who managed to disappoint me for a long time.
I’ll go home to my apartment, tidy up my hair, nails, and the like. We’ll meet at the club in the evening.
The establishment named “City Lights” greeted the taxi-arriving Oksana with a stunningly colorful appearance. Decorated fir trees and pines, colorful lights shining in their glow, tinsel, a crowd dressed to the nines.
Her beloved friend Nastya was mistaken. On the dance floor, at the tables, at the bar, there were many real beauties, worthy of being the prima donnas of this evening and the approaching night. On the eve of the new year, it seemed, everyone tried not to disgrace themselves. The audience was already relaxed by a fountain of alcoholic drinks, and Oksana sighed with relief, no one cared about her.
But she rejoiced too soon. At one of the tables, a company already significantly tipsy entertained themselves with friends, including Vlad, her first and only man. Seeing the relaxed Oksana, blissfully chatting with Nastya and the other girls, a greedy sparkle lit up in the man’s eyes.
“And this girl has become even more beautiful, I was wrong to let that bird out of the love cage back then. Such a friend by my side would enhance the image of any successful man,” he thought to himself. “Tonight I’ll drag her back into bed.”
Deciding to let the victim drink at least one cocktail to make her more talkative, Vlad returned to his company, but he kept an eye on Oksana. After about an hour, Vlad’s patience ran out.
He decided to go and teach the wayward crumb a lesson, humiliating her in front of her friends. Unexpectedly behind Oksana’s back, he appeared with a banal greeting.
“And I see, what people and without security. Want, baby, I’ll protect your gorgeous body from the claims of other suitors.”
Oksana recoiled from Vlad in surprise, but she really didn’t want to spoil Nastya’s wonderful evening, so she quickly got up from the table and led Vlad away from the bar.
“What do you want? We’ve already put all the dots above the ‘i’ with you. Return to those with whom you’re spending the night here, and leave me alone.”
But stopping the smug rascal wasn’t that simple. He wasn’t about to give up his intentions to sleep with such a charming woman again.
“Don’t rush, Oksana. Let’s drink a glass of good red wine to this unexpected meeting and part as friends. I didn’t mean to anger you. Just thought you might also have something to remember from the pages of our brief romance.”
The woman prudently decided not to escalate the scandal from random circumstances and obediently followed the man.
At the bar, Vlad ordered two glasses of some expensive wine from the overseas collection, splurged on a chocolate bar and sugar-coated nuts, masterfully embraced Oksana by the waist. The man’s calculation was trivial. Now his long-time acquaintance would get tipsy and become more pliable, but he was mistaken. Oksana drained her wine glass in one gulp, not even tasting it, and boldly looked into her ex-lover’s eyes.
“Now I’m free from you. Ritual observed?”
Vlad was unaccustomed to such behavior from the girl. He’d never been refused by anyone, so he began whispering in her ear.
“This, my dear, won’t be the end of our pre-New Year’s date, don’t even hope for it. Now I’ll rent a private room, and you’ll be tender with me. I remember everything, my dear.”
“Well, it starts again,” Oksana thought bitterly. “Why, when a man appears nearby, do all his desires always come down to one thing?”
She helplessly looked around. There was no one nearby except a young man calmly sipping whiskey at the bar. Their eyes met, and whatever the stranger read there, he leisurely slid off the bar stool and approached them.
“This woman is here with me. I just stepped away from the table for a moment, and you, young man, took advantage of my absence.”
Vlad’s eyes widened in surprise.
“And who are you, some kind of business pepper? Where did you come from?”
What followed, Oksana later remembered like a terrible dream. The man who came to her rescue lifted Vlad off the floor like a light feather and delivered a solid slap in addition.
But the mean-spirited, drunk man didn’t calm down. Before retreating from the battlefield, he grabbed his unfinished glass of red wine and splashed it directly onto Oksana’s dress. A huge burgundy stain instantly spread across the silk. The woman turned pale, and her unexpected knight grabbed her hand and dragged her to the restroom.
On the way, he mentioned something about needing to quickly wash the fabric, then there wouldn’t be any traces left. Oksana was more concerned about something else—no one had ever stood up for her in her life. Suddenly, in some impulse, she hugged the man by the neck, dragged him along to the exit from the club, pausing only for a minute at the cloakroom to grab her coat.
“I have a car,” the dumbfounded savior muttered. “I had a meeting scheduled here with an old friend, but he’s running late.”
But Oksana wasn’t listening, as if in a dream, she dragged him along the cold autumn street to a car with checkers, just having dropped off passengers. She didn’t care about propriety, the ruined outfit, the surprise of the compliant companion following her, in her head only one single thought was beating—how good that I love to wear expensive silk lingerie, it won’t be shameful.
In her apartment, where she brought the random knight from the club, she pounced on the man like a tigress, like a hungry March cat. And he didn’t resist. Everything that happened between them was comparable to finding oneself in a paradise garden.
The body sang, the soul rejoiced, thoughts danced the cancan.
“How tired I am of being well-behaved and decent. Let it all be for once, I don’t even know his name, although my random lover is clearly handsome and not stupid.”
In the last, she was somehow sure, although they hadn’t said a couple of words to each other. They fell asleep together in the morning, not breaking their embrace.
But Oksana woke up alone. Except for the rumpled bed and a pillow still smelling of amazing men’s perfume, nothing in her apartment reminded her of the past night.
She made coffee, took a stash from a shoe box to buy New Year’s gifts for everyone in Yaroslav Borisovich’s house. She’d already started to consider all these people family.
And the night, what to do, it came to an end.
All New Year’s magic eventually ends. Even Santa Claus disappeared, freeing her from the nasty Vlad.
Only too bad, she didn’t even feed breakfast to the stranger. True, the fridge was empty, and there wasn’t a piece of bread. But she knew how to bake delightful pancakes. So, flour, sugar, vanilla, milk.
There’s a block of frozen butter in the freezer. But away with dreams, she needs to return to her duties. Oksana returned to her masquerade costume of a plain-Jane, gathered her bag, and called Denis.
Yaroslav Borisovich’s driver promised to drive her shopping for gifts and make it back to the estate on time.
Oksana suddenly thought that the man with whom she spent this magical night was also an angel of goodness and protection, at least personally for her. Her mood was mixed.
Sadness from parting and something unattainable, and joy that such a firework had happened in her rather bland life.
In Yaroslav Borisovich’s house, she and Denis were exactly at 20.00, like clockwork. At the doorstep, Viktor with the puppy detained Oksana.
The gardener, blushing, handed her a bouquet made from spruce branches with cones and shiny tinsel ribbons.
Gabriella appeared on the porch, painted today, apparently in honor of the New Year’s night, in all the colors of the rainbow. Colored mascara, eyeliner around the eyes, eye shadow, blush, lipstick.
“What, Vitek, are you handing out signs of attention here and there? And you said you love me to the grave? What, feelings have already withered? Switched to our doctor?”
The modest, quiet, and ordinary gardener suddenly dared to retaliate.
“I haven’t had time to give you my New Year’s gift yet. And don’t touch Oksana Vyacheslavovna, don’t even dare to speak disrespectfully to her. You’re not worth her nail.”
Gabriella disdainfully looked in Viktor’s direction and said.
“Shut up already, garden-scarecrow. I’m not blind. I see how everyone treats her. Get back to your earthworms. You’re not a match for me. I’ll go look for our prince myself, better ask him what kind of souvenirs he brought from abroad.”
The gardener handed Oksana a postcard, then added.
“Thank you for your kindness to Kira. I see how you treat her. It’s impossible not to appreciate you.”
After that, he left, and Oksana realized that in the hospitable house of Yaroslav Borisovich, she was appreciated and respected even by ordinary workers. How could she have guessed when she first crossed the threshold of this unusual dwelling that she would find more than just work?
Meanwhile, the son of the master, Roman Yaroslavovich, was expected to arrive soon, and Oksana was determined to present a New Year’s surprise to his father and his wife.
“I’ll put on a New Year’s play for Kira. She’ll play a Snow Maiden, Gabi will be Snegurochka, and Viktor will be Santa Claus.”
Everyone in the house willingly agreed to participate in her initiative. Oksana didn’t tell anyone about the adventures of her crazy night. The colorful dress with the burgundy stain was securely hidden in the far corner of her wardrobe.
It would take time to wash it, then give it to the dry cleaner. But there were other, no less important, matters on her mind. First, the holiday, then work with Kira. Oksana believed that the girl’s condition could be improved. Timofey’s joyous barking only confirmed this.
By the way, where did the puppy come from? Who made the decision to take it to the house?
Oksana asked the cook about it after the holiday bustle subsided.
“That’s our caretaker’s idea. Viktor is very worried about the girl, spends all his free time with her, takes her for walks. He was the first to notice that Kira reacts to living creatures. He told Yaroslav Borisovich, and they decided to get a dog for therapy.”
But it was not only Timofey who helped Kira. From the New Year onward, she began to slowly come into contact, respond to touches, and even smile faintly at her brother Roman, who finally appeared in the house.
Their communication was touching. The young man did not leave his sister’s side for a minute, spoke to her tenderly, trying to reach out, to penetrate the closed world of the autistic girl.
Oksana thought about her random knight. Maybe the New Year had its own special magic, bringing something important and necessary to each person’s life.
For her, it turned out to be a stormy, unforgettable night of love. For Kira, the appearance of a caring brother and a loyal four-legged friend. And for Viktor, the gardener, perhaps the hope of reciprocity from Gabi.
The festive fireworks outside the window splashed the sky with colorful lights, and Oksana smiled, sipping hot mulled wine. There was a whole year ahead, and it promised to be no less interesting than the previous night.
Who knows, maybe her knight would find her after all. Or maybe she would again have to save herself. But that was the future, and it was not yet evening.