It was a sunny but bitterly cold morning. Light clouds drifted across the sky, and snowflakes began their dance in the air.
Elizabeth Johnson carefully descended the bus steps and struggled to pull her heavy bag. Trips to the market had become a real ordeal lately—her heart ached, every bone complained about the weather, but she had to go. No one would bring the groceries for her, and supermarket prices were beyond her meager pension.
Slowly shuffling along the festive main street, the elderly woman tried to encourage herself: *Just two more blocks, and I’m home.* But her optimism waned. Her heart throbbed painfully, and the bag grew heavier with each step.
She needed to rest and take her medicine. Elizabeth looked around for a bench, but as far as she could see, the street was lined with high-rise buildings housing boutiques, expensive shops, and parking lots for cars.
There were no benches or other spots for a brief rest, so the old woman continued her slow journey, hoping to find somewhere to pause.
*Soon, soon,* she comforted herself. *I see a fur boutique up ahead. They have wide windowsills by the displays. I’ll rest there, take my medicine, and then it’s not far to home.*
Gathering her last reserves of strength, Elizabeth hurried toward the fur store. She stopped by the farthest display window and heavily sat on the cold marble of the oversized sill. With trembling fingers, she rummaged through her purse and shook out her precious medicine onto her palm.
*If only I had something to wash it down with,* the elderly woman fretted, lightly tapping on the thick glass of the window. Standing and walking to the door was already too much for her. *I’m sure the salesgirls won’t mind giving me a glass of water,* she hoped, tapping cautiously again.
Within seconds, the shop’s doors flew open, and an enraged woman stormed out. Before Elizabeth could say a word, the woman unleashed a tirade. The old lady heard plenty of unflattering things about herself, followed by threats of fines for smudging the glass.
— Dear, please don’t be angry, — Elizabeth whispered, clutching her heart. — I’m just so tired. If I could just have some water to take my medicine, I’ll leave.
The furious woman glared at Elizabeth, shivered in the cold, and hurried back inside, slamming the door behind her.
Elizabeth peered hopefully into the shop through the window, but the salesgirls were busy with their tasks, and no one rushed to help.
Struggling to her feet, Elizabeth shuffled toward the door. She cracked open the glass panel and softly called to the nearest girl.
— Sweetheart, could I have some water?
The salesgirl, named Sarah, twisted her face into a grimace of irritation.
— Have you completely lost it, old lady? We told you plainly to leave. This isn’t a rest stop for beggars. You’ll scare off all the customers.
The other girls watched approvingly as Sarah scolded her, bursting into laughter when Elizabeth, frightened, closed the door.
The elderly woman returned to her bag and tried to lift it, but disaster struck. One of the bag’s handles tore off.
Elizabeth broke into tears of helplessness. She grabbed the broken handle and dragged the heavy load behind her. To keep moving, she had to bend forward deeply, but she didn’t notice the discomfort, so desperate was she to leave this place. The sound of mocking laughter followed her.
As she turned into her familiar courtyard, Elizabeth felt terribly out of breath. *I’ll sit on the bench by the entrance, rest, and figure out how to get the bag upstairs,* she thought.
*Thank God, I made it,* was her final thought. At that moment, the elderly woman collapsed sideways and lay still.
The cheerful chatter of the fur boutique’s salesgirls, who were having lunch, was interrupted by the loud wail of an ambulance siren. The girls crowded at the window, curiously watching as the vehicle struggled to navigate a narrow alley around the corner. The maneuver failed, and the paramedics entered the courtyard on foot.
Soon, they wheeled out a stretcher, followed by a sobbing five-year-old girl clinging to it. Neighbors tried to pull her away and calm her, but at that moment, a worn-out boot fell from the foot of the woman on the stretcher. The girl grabbed it and clutched it to her chest.
The medics worked to save the old woman in the blaring ambulance, while the little girl stood on the cold pavement in short socks, tears pooling in her wide eyes. Suddenly, the siren stopped, and a deafening silence fell. The vehicle slowly pulled away. A woman crossed herself broadly, picked up the child, and carried her back.
Sarah, standing closest to the window, sank onto a chair and quietly wondered:
— Did she die?
The girls around her stared at the speaker.
— Who? — asked the shift supervisor.
— The old lady with the boot who was here earlier, — Sarah replied.
In the heavy silence, the girls avoided each other’s eyes and dispersed to their posts.
Preparing dinner took Sarah an unusually long time; everything slipped from her hands. Her husband, Michael, flipped through a newspaper on the wide windowsill nearby. While setting the table, Sarah dropped a fork, crouched to pick it up, and suddenly forgot why. The morning’s incident was stuck in her mind.
*Who was that old woman? And who was the little girl running after her?* The thoughts nagged at her. *Did I cause her death? Or is she still alive somehow?* Sarah thought absently, picking at her meat casserole.
The oppressive silence was broken by her husband:
— What’s wrong, Sarah? I can see you’re not yourself, — Michael said, looking at her with concern.
Without fully understanding how, Sarah poured out everything troubling her in one breath. Michael’s face changed.
— Are you serious? Since when did my wife become a guard dog protecting her master’s property? I get that your store has a certain image to uphold, but how could you not help someone in need? When did you change so much? I married a different woman.
Sarah wept silently, but the tears brought no relief. A sense of hopelessness settled deep in her soul. She lifted her miserable face to her husband.
— What do I do now?
— You’ll have to live with it. Mrs. Elizabeth really did die today—my neighbor Tom told me. I never could’ve imagined you were involved.
Sarah trudged to the bathroom and locked the door. She sat on the edge of the tub, turned on the water, and sobbed loudly. For the entire week, she walked around as if in a daze. The child’s eyes, filled with terror and hope, clutching the old boot, haunted her.
On Saturday evening, she decided to approach her husband with questions.
— Do you know what happened to that little girl? — She sat on the armrest of his chair and placed a hand on his shoulder.
— Emma, her name’s Emma, — Michael said, shrugging off her hand. — She was taken to an orphanage the day before yesterday.
— Why? Where are her parents? — A chilling dread spread through Sarah’s chest.
— Her deadbeat mother disappeared three years ago. Emma had no one but her grandmother.
Michael looked pointedly into Sarah’s eyes. She turned away and bit her lip.
From that moment, Sarah thought constantly about Emma, and with each passing day, her desire to take the girl from the orphanage grew stronger. But how could she discuss this with her husband? He’d become so distant lately. Yet, it was Michael who helped her confront the situation.
One evening at dinner, he asked gruffly:
— Doesn’t your conscience bother you? Are you just going to live calmly, knowing a child became an orphan because of you?
In another time, Sarah might have taken offense, but now she saw it as a chance to talk.
— Don’t try to hurt me. I can’t possibly feel worse than I already do. You’re right—I think about the child all the time. If you’re okay with it, I’d like to adopt Emma.
For the first time in a long while, Michael looked at her with approval.
— I’m not against it. It’s the right decision.
Three months later, after completing the paperwork, Sarah stood in the hallway of the orphanage. The director had gone to fetch the child, and Sarah was terribly nervous.
Would Emma accept her? Could she, Sarah, be a good mother to the girl? Hundreds of questions swirled in her mind, with no answers in sight. She suddenly felt terrified, wanting to run downstairs to where Michael waited in the car, to hug him and hide from the world in his arms.
Her legs nearly carried her to the exit, but a door creaked in the hall, and footsteps approached. Sarah froze, gripping the door handle, and heard a quiet voice:
— Mommy, Grandma said you’d come back. Why did it take you so long?
Sarah spun around and crouched, embracing the girl.
— I’m sorry, Emma. I was very busy, but I promise I’m not going anywhere now.
The girl looked trustingly into the young woman’s eyes, and Sarah knew she’d do everything to earn that trust.
— Come on, let’s go. I’ll introduce you to a kind man who really wants to be your dad. Are you ready? — Emma nodded seriously.
— Will you buy me a fluffy kitten? Grandma promised one for my birthday, — the girl asked, her big eyes full of hope.
— Of course, I remember Grandma wrote about it. You’ll have the fluffiest kitten. I promise.
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