CHAPTER 15

Final Transaction

     The pub in Knezha was nearly empty that afternoon.

      A thin line of cigarette smoke floated lazily toward the ceiling while muted voices murmured somewhere near the bar. The smell of old wood, coffee, and cheap alcohol lingered in the air. It was the kind of place where people came not only to drink, but to talk business quietly, away from curious ears.

      Natasha sat at a small corner table, her hands folded tightly around a cup of tea that had already gone cold.

      A folder of papers rested on the table in front of her. The deeds of her mother’s house. Or rather, what had been her mother’s house.

      She had barely slept the night before. Selling it felt like closing a door she was not ready to close. Every room in that house carried memories—her mother’s voice in the kitchen, the smell of bread baking in the oven, the sound of quiet prayers whispered before sleep.

      But memories could not buy food. They could not pay debts. And they could not take care of Stefan.

      The door of the pub opened with a short creak. Natasha looked up.

      Mr. Petrov stepped inside, brushing the cold air from his coat before spotting her at the table. He was a large man in his late fifties with a thick gray mustache and the confident posture of someone used to making decisions.

      He gave her a polite nod and walked over.

      “Natasha,” he said warmly. “Thank you for meeting me.”

      “Of course,” she replied quietly.

      He placed his leather briefcase on the table and sat down across from her.

      “I brought everything as discussed,” he said, opening the case. “All the documents are ready.”

      He carefully removed a stack of papers and laid them neatly on the table between them.

      Natasha felt her stomach tighten slightly as she looked down at the familiar address printed on the top page.

      Her mother’s house. Soon it would belong to someone else.

      Mr. Petrov slid one of the documents toward her.

      “This is the final transfer agreement,” he explained. “Once you sign here, the house will legally belong to me.”

      Natasha nodded slowly.

      But before reaching for the pen, her eyes moved to the number written near the bottom of the page.

      She blinked. Then looked again. The amount was higher than she had expected. Much higher.

      She raised her eyes toward Mr. Petrov.

      “This… is more than we discussed.”

      Mr. Petrov smiled gently. “Yes. It is.”

      Natasha frowned slightly, confused. “I don’t understand.”

      He leaned back in his chair and folded his hands.

      “I spoke with Father Georgi some time ago,” he said calmly. “He mentioned that you and your brother had fallen on difficult times after your mother passed.”

      Natasha lowered her eyes. “It has not been easy.”

      Mr. Petrov nodded slowly.

      “I can imagine.”

      He paused for a moment before continuing.

      “I also heard about your brother refusing to talk… after the tragedy your family has endured. Your father already gone. And now your mother.”

      Natasha said nothing.

      “There are not many people left in the world willing to help others,” Mr. Petrov continued. “But I have been fortunate in my life. More fortunate than many.”

      He gestured toward the papers.

      “So I decided to pay a little more for the house.”

      Natasha looked at him again, surprised.

      “Not too much,” he added quickly with a small smile. “But enough to make things easier for you.”

      For a moment Natasha didn’t know what to say.

      “Thank you,” she said quietly. Her voice trembled slightly. “You don’t know how much that helps us.”

      Mr. Petrov nodded.

      “I can imagine you have many expenses.”

      Natasha sighed softly.

      “Yes. More than I expected.” She looked down at her hands. “Stefan needs clothes badly,” she admitted. “He has outgrown almost everything.” She paused before continuing.

      “And I need schoolbooks so I can teach him at home.”

      Mr. Petrov raised his eyebrows slightly.

      “The school will not take him?” Natasha shook her head. “They tried… but he refuses to speak. Not a single word. The teachers say they cannot teach a child who will not answer questions.”

      A brief silence passed between them.

      “And there are debts,” Natasha continued quietly. “My mother had accounts with several merchants in the village. Food, supplies… things she sometimes had to take before she could pay.”

      Mr. Petrov nodded again.

      Natasha finally picked up the pen. Her hand hesitated for a moment above the paper.

      Then she signed.

      The ink dried quickly on the page. Just like that, the house was no longer hers.

      She placed the pen down slowly.

      Mr. Petrov took the papers and carefully placed them back into his briefcase.

      “Everything is now official,” he said.

      Natasha opened the folder she had brought and handed him the ownership documents.

      “The house papers,” she said.

      He accepted them and placed them inside the case as well. For a moment neither of them spoke.

      Then Mr. Petrov stood.

      “I wish you and your brother the best,” he said kindly.

      “Thank you,” Natasha replied.

      They shook hands. Then he picked up his briefcase and walked toward the door of the pub. Natasha remained seated for a few seconds after he left.

      Outside, the afternoon light had begun to soften as the sun slowly moved toward the horizon. She stood, pulled her coat tighter around herself, and stepped out into the street.

      The cold air touched her face. For the first few steps she walked slowly. Then the doubt came. It rushed into her chest so suddenly that she stopped in the middle of the street.

      Was it the right decision?

      Her eyes drifted down the road where Mr. Petrov had disappeared. For a moment the urge was almost unbearable. She wanted to run after him. To catch him before he reached the end of the street. To ask him to tear the papers apart and give her back the house.

      Her heart ached with a deep, heavy sorrow.

      That house had been the last real piece of her mother left in the world. Memories flooded her mind all at once. Her mother standing in the doorway. Her laughter in the kitchen. The quiet evenings when the three of them had still been a family.

      Millions of thoughts rushed through Natasha’s head, crashing into each other like waves. Again, she felt the same familiar weight pressing down on her. The same terrible thought.

      I failed.

      First her father. Now her mother. Now the house.

      She clenched her hands tightly.

      And once again, the anger toward God returned.

      If everything hadn’t happened the way it did… If her mother had not died… If Stefan had not fallen into silence… None of this would have been necessary.

      Her chest tightened. The thoughts were too loud. Too heavy.

      Without even realizing it, Natasha turned and began walking quickly down the street. Past the quiet shops. Past the empty square. Toward the only place that had ever brought her even a small amount of peace.

      The church.

      She pushed the heavy wooden door open and stepped inside. The familiar smell of incense and old wood wrapped around her like a quiet embrace.

      The church was empty.

      Only the faint glow of candles and the soft red light of the vigil lamps illuminated the dark interior.

      Natasha walked slowly toward the icon of the Theotokos. Her knees touched the wooden floor as she knelt.

      At first, she could not even form words. Her heart was too full. Too broken.

      Finally, she lowered her head and whispered a simple prayer.

      The small lamp before the icon flickered gently in its red glass. Its flame burned quietly.

      Steady. Unwavering.

      Natasha watched it for a long moment.

      And somewhere deep within her sorrow, a fragile thought began to form.

      Maybe one day… Somehow…

      Everything would be okay.