All her school years she was an outcast – the daughter of a homeless person, an object of ridicule and contempt. But at the graduation, her classmates fell silent when the governor himself came up to congratulate her. Tatyana woke up at 6:45 – as always, by the alarm clock. Monday. The kitchen smelled of oatmeal – her grandmother was already up. Life went on as usual: ninth grade, lessons, homework, rare meetings with friends. It would seem that everything was like everyone else. But in reality – a little different. Since childhood, Tatyana knew one thing that was repeated to her more than once: her father was a hero, died before she was born. So said her mother. So said her grandmother. And it was easy to believe it. They told this story without unnecessary details, but with a special trepidation in their voices, as if it were a sacred secret that could not be touched. Her father was a “real man”, he “left too early”, and she was his “main legacy”. This story became a protective shell for her. It was easier to live behind it. She could tell it to her classmates – without shame, even with a bit of pride. Some people’s fathers beat them, others disappeared altogether, but hers was a hero who died for the Motherland. Sometimes images from films appeared in her head: a man in uniform, a determined look, saying goodbye to relatives before a battle. Fantasy replaced reality. After school, Tatyana often helped her grandmother – she went to the store, carried groceries. Grandmother was getting old, her legs often gave in. They had dinner together, at a small table. These evenings were filled with peace, but so fragile that it seemed – one wrong move, and everything would collapse. And the destruction happened suddenly. The disease took her mother quickly. First – general weakness, then – pain, an ambulance, examinations. The diagnosis – oncology. A word that breaks the familiar world. Lena hid the truth as long as she could. But when it became impossible, Tatyana began to take care of her mother: she held her hand in the ward, learned to cook, got certificates, called doctors. All this – at fourteen years old. Her childhood ended prematurely. Mom di:ed quietly, almost imperceptibly – she simply stopped breathing one night when Tatyana dozed off, resting her head on the edge of the bed. After the funeral, she did not cry. Not right away. It seemed like it wasn’t happening to her. That her mother had simply left and was about to return. In the evenings, Tatyana caught herself thinking that she was waiting for familiar footsteps in the hallway. But no one broke the silence. Her grandmother became her guardian. All the formalities were completed according to the law – documents, payments, benefits. Svetlana Petrovna held on with all her might. She cooked, washed, ironed, hugged. And every evening she repeated: – Mom is with us now – looking down from heaven. You are not alone, Tanechka. We are together. But this “together” became more and more fragile. The house became colder, even when the radiators were red-hot. Emptiness filled the rooms, even when they were both inside. Tatyana sat for hours by the window, looking at the street lamp – the only constant light in her life. As if it was there, in the beam, that the answers were hidden. One evening, when Grandma was ironing and Tatyana was pretending to read a textbook, a question that had been brewing inside her for a long time burst out of her chest: — Why did Mom and Dad… both die? Her voice trembled. It was not a question, but a cry of pain. The words she said out loud for the first time, to check: were they really real? Or maybe this pain was just a dream? Grandma shuddered, lowered the iron. A pause. Then a look – full of anxiety. — Sometimes it happens. People leave early. But we are alive. We must live on. “Both died.” These words became a new spell for Tatyana. She repeated them over and over again, as if hoping to understand the meaning. But somewhere deep in her soul, a suspicion was already growing – something was bothering her. The morning began as usual. Tatyana came to school early, wearing a worn-out sweater knitted by her grandmother. The air was sharp with autumn cold, her fingers were frozen on the way. But it was strange in the building. They were looking at her. I mean, they were really looking. Some were looking away, some were whispering. The teachers avoided her gaze. Her friends were behaving unnaturally. During recess, Nastya, the darling of school rumors, came up to her. With a mixture of sympathy and curiosity, she said: — Listen, Tanyusha… Just don’t be offended, okay?.. But do you know that your dad… didn’t die? Her heart stopped. — What do you mean? — Well, my mom saw some tramp in the park. He called himself Pavel. She said he used to be with your mom. Like… your dad. The words fell into the void. “Alive.” “Pavel.” “Homeless”. At home, in the evening, Tatyana demanded the truth. Her voice was sharp, almost adult – like a person who had been deceived. At first, the grandmother tried to distract her, to avoid the conversation. But Tatyana did not back down. And then Svetlana Petrovna sat down on the sofa and told everything. Slowly. Without embellishment… (full story in 1st comment)👇👇