Читать книгу: «Nine coins»

Nadyusha

That October felt strangely desolate – cold in a way that seeped into the bones. Damp air crept through the window frames like an unwelcome guest, and the world outside seemed to be cooling down slowly, shedding its colours until only grey remained.

I was deep into my ninth month. In this freezing city I appeared to be the last surviving pocket of warmth. My body felt enormous, slow, almost absurdly heavy – a tender planet quietly circling the kitchen stove. That old stove, with its soft blue flame and faint hiss of gas, had become my only reliable anchor. I would stand beside it for long minutes, pressing swollen palms to its warm side, letting the heat drift inward.

My belly ached – a dull, constant pull. Little Ksyusha kicked hard, restlessly, as though she had already outgrown the fragile space I could give her. She was cramped. I was afraid.

Soup stood in the refrigerator. A whole chicken waited in the freezer, wrapped in frost. We weren’t starving. No. But every time I opened my wallet something inside me froze. For a whole week now no orders had come in. The wallet had grown noticeably lighter – almost hollow – and that emptiness pressed harder than my own swollen frame.

From the next room Ilyusha’s voice rang out – loud, alive, certain. He was on the phone again. His voice had always been both anchor and sails: steady enough to hold me, yet carrying the promise of wind and open sea. He spoke of expansion, new clients, growth. “We just need to ride out this quiet patch before the real takeoff,” he repeated. I listened from the doorway. I believed. I waited. I wanted so desperately to believe that his faith alone could fill every gap – the silent phone, the empty fridge shelves, the nine coins left in my purse.

Ilyusha

I hung up and felt my whole body humming. The deal was so close I could almost taste it – sharp, metallic, victorious. The project I had carried in my head for years was finally taking real shape. I wanted to move mountains for her – for my Nadyusha – and for the tiny girl who would soon be here, kicking her way into our lives. Soon I would hold those small, restless feet that pressed so insistently against her mother’s belly. The thought sent warmth flooding through my chest.

I walked into the kitchen feeling almost triumphant. And there she was: pale, luminous, beautifully rounded with our child, watching me with that quiet, steady gaze that always saw straight through me. In that instant I wanted so fiercely to pull her out of this ordinary life – out of the smell of reheated soup, out of endless small reckonings.

“Nadyush,” I said, trying to keep my voice light, “look – the sun’s finally broken through. Let’s go to the park. Just breathe. We’ll buy a big cup of sea-buckthorn tea from the kiosk – one for both of us. We’ll walk, hold each other. We have to live beautifully, even while the company is still growing.”

I truly believed in that cup of tea. I believed we would drink it slowly from the same paper cup, sharing every warm, fragrant sip – tart, golden, like bottled sunshine mixed with honey and late-autumn berries. I believed that small act would somehow defeat the grey autumn pressing down on us.

Nadyusha

Air. Movement. Sunlight – soft rays like a faint memory of summer.

I agreed at once.

The park was quiet, almost intimate. The rare sunlight felt like a gift. Dry leaves rustled under our feet in soft waves, and it was easy – so easy and sweet – to walk beside him, my Ilyusha, arm in arm. Even Ksyusha inside me grew still, as though she too was drinking in the fragile peace.

We reached the little wooden kiosk where they sold sea-buckthorn tea. The scent reached me before we even got close: bright, tart, golden, alive – crushed berries warmed by the sun, laced with honey and something wild and northern. That fragrance wrapped around you, promising warmth that would spread from your fingertips all the way to your toes, thawing even the coldest corners of your heart.

It cost ten coins. Just ten. A small paper cup of comfort.

Ilyusha

At the takeaway window I ordered one large cup. While the girl poured the steaming amber liquid and swirled in honey, I asked Nadyusha to take out the money. She poured a handful of coins into her palm. I added everything from my pocket. It had to be enough.

A cold wind swept through the park, sharp and merciless, scattering dry leaves like ash. The air turned biting.

We stood there, pushing the little metal circles with our fingers, counting.

One. Two. Five. Seven. Nine.

“Let’s count again,” I said quietly.

I couldn’t believe it.

I stared at the nine coins in our joined hands and felt something inside me stop – a small, quiet click, like a door locking.

Then I looked at her fingers. They trembled slightly as she recounted, the coins clinking softly.

And in that moment, for the first time, I didn’t see my partner, my co-dreamer. I saw a woman who was afraid. A woman who could not let herself fly because she was holding my legs – terrified I might soar straight into emptiness and leave her behind.

Nadyusha

Between nine and ten coins that day an abyss opened.

One single coin. Almost nothing.

And yet something deep in my chest clenched so hard I could scarcely breathe.

But right then I saw us from the outside – clear, mercilessly clear. He lived in tomorrow – in new offices, big contracts, bright futures. I lived here – with soup on the stove, chicken in the freezer, and the quiet impossibility of allowing ourselves even this small joy, because it was “still not the time.” Just a little longer. We only had to wait a little longer.

Ilyusha gave a small, crooked smile. But there was so much bitterness in it, so much bitten-back defeat, that I suddenly wanted to cry.

“Well,” he said softly, almost apologetically, “I guess today we’ll skip the sea-buckthorn. We’ll have tea at home, Nadyush.”

I nodded. My hand clenched around the coins. My shoulders curved forward, as if trying to shield the child inside me from the wind that had grown sharper.

The girl behind the counter held out the steaming cup. The warm, tart-sweet fragrance of sea-buckthorn brushed my face – promising, golden, alive. I swallowed hard and looked away.

We walked home. His arm was around my shoulders. From the outside we probably looked like the perfect couple.

Ilyusha

We walked in silence. But it was a strange silence now. Before, our silences had always felt safe – like coming home. Now something new had slipped inside them – something careful, heavy, protective.

I wanted to say: “I’ll fix everything. Just wait a little longer.” But the words stuck. Because that “little longer” had already lasted… years?

Nadyusha

At home we drank ordinary black tea in our kitchen. The nine coins stayed in the wallet. I placed it on the small table in the hallway.

That day I understood something for the first time: Scale does not begin with millions. It begins with honesty. With the ability to admit the truth – that right now we have only nine coins.

But we said nothing.

I protected his belief. He protected my hope.

We were both protecting each other.

And in that careful protection, silence began to grow between us.

Back then we still didn’t know that silence can grow too.

***

Author’s Afterword

This is the first story in the “Nadyusha and Ilyusha” cycle, written in preparation for my first book. Based on real events.

Thank you for reading.