On that suffocatingly hot city day, when the letter arrived, the air felt especially stifling to Alice. The aged envelope emanated the scent of the sea, salt, and something indescribably familiar—the fragrance of her childhood. With trembling hands, she opened it and carefully read the neatly penned, old-fashioned handwriting. Grandma Sophia had bequeathed her the very house by the deep blue sea, the place where her happiest summers had unfolded.
Alice’s heartbeat quickened, mingling joy with sorrow as vivid memories flooded her mind. She could almost feel the warm sand beneath her bare feet, hear the waves gently breaking, and sense her grandmother’s tender embrace, always waiting at the doorstep.
Without hesitation, she dialed Mark. His voice over the phone sounded detached and a bit annoyed, as if interrupted from something important.
— Mark, I have to leave, — she began, striving for firmness despite the knot tightening inside her. — Grandma left a will. I’ve inherited the house by the sea.
Silence fell on the other end for a moment.
— The house? That old, rundown one? — he questioned with a slight sneer in his tone.
— It’s not rundown! — Alice retorted immediately. — It’s an ancient, spacious home filled with history. You know I spent every summer there. My parents trusted it was safe since Grandma Sophia adored me and watched over me closely. She used to walk by the sea holding my hand until I grew older and played there with neighborhood kids. Oh, how we enjoyed the sea! We’d pack sandwiches and fruit, stay all day until dusk. Sun, waves, laughter…
— And for how long? — His dry, businesslike voice interrupted, dragging her back from the nostalgic bubble.
— I’m not sure exactly, but definitely more than a few days, — she sighed. — I must see it, tidy up. It’s been ages since I was last there. The last time was during my second year of university. Now, I’ve been working for three years. I’ll take a vacation and leave. And you… — she paused, entreating him silently, — come visit afterward. It’s just a day’s drive. Leave early morning, arrive by evening. Take some time off, and we’ll relax together. By the sea.
— I’m not really missing the sea, — he responded listlessly. — I can’t promise, but I’ll see about work…
Key Insight: Mark’s hesitation revealed a pattern—his commitments always took precedence over her, leaving her hopes hanging in uncertainty.
Three days later, Alice packed her bags, anticipation fluttering in her chest along with a secret hope Mark might reconsider—drive her to the station, kiss her goodbye, confess he would miss her. Yet, three hours before the train departed, his call came.
— Alice, sorry, I can’t take you. Urgent work matters. You can get a taxi, right? — His voice carried a false tone.
— Yes, of course, — she replied, swallowing the lump of hurt. — Don’t worry.
Summoning a taxi, she sat silently, gazing blankly out the window at the passing city streets. The gray, indifferent city seemed to see her off coldly. Suddenly, her heart dropped and came to a stop. At a red light stood his car. Not just standing—Mark was politely helping a slender young woman in a light summer dress out of the vehicle. They smiled, exchanged words, and walked into a cozy café around the corner.
— Stop the car, please! — Alice’s voice trembled. — I’ll pay for the parking; I need to get out!
She burst from the taxi, unsteady on her feet. A wave of anger and pain welled in her throat. She swung open the café door and froze on the threshold. They sat by the window table, heads bent over one menu; their fingers nearly touched.
— Hello, — her voice was icy and sharp as ice shards. — I see you really are incredibly busy. I just want to say one thing—goodbye. Don’t call me again. Ever.
Turning away abruptly, she left without allowing him to speak, unaware of his stunned expression or the fading echo of her name he shouted. She rushed back to the taxi, clenching her fists until her nails dug into her palms.
The journey was filled with turmoil—the taxi ride to the station, the stiflingly hot train berth, and then the long taxi drive along rural roads. In her ears, a relentless storm roared as she replayed the scene: his smile aimed not at her, his tender gestures. The betrayer. The liar. A worthless man.
The silent, sullen driver stopped before tall wrought-iron gates cloaked in wild grapevines.
— Here we are, — he muttered.
Alice paid, grabbed her suitcases. The driver called after her:
— Call if you need anything… — and sped away, leaving her alone before the gate of her new old home.
Everything was still—oversaturated air smelled of wormwood, sea, and the dust of bygone days. She pulled out a hefty bunch of old keys gifted by her grandmother. After some struggle, she found the matching key and unlocked the rusty padlock. The click sounded like a gunshot heralding a fresh beginning.
The heavy gates creaked open, and Alice paused at the threshold. The courtyard lay neglected, grandmother’s flowerbeds choked with wild perennials thriving against all odds, a silent reminder of past warmth. Grandma Sonya had planted flowers every spring; the yard would then bloom in exotic fragrances all summer. It was early July, scorching and shimmering heat waves hovered on the ground.
She approached the oak door, battled with the aging lock. Finally, it opened with a heavy sigh.
Silence enveloped inside. No scent of pies or fragrant herbs dried in the attic. Standing in the spacious hall with its soaring ceilings, Alice felt the weight of history—the house dated back to ancestors before her grandmother.
A wide stairway boasting intricate carved banisters, which she had playfully licked as a child despite her mother’s scolding, rose at the hall’s center. Above, a tall arched stained-glass window sprayed the worn parquet floor with living, colorful light patterns from the setting sun.
— Yes, now it’s all mine, — she whispered, voice echoing in the emptiness. — Thank you, Grandma. I have a home. And my own sea.
She slowly wandered from room to room, fingers brushing dust-covered furniture. There stood the living room with a massive fireplace where she and her grandmother roasted potatoes in winter evenings. The dining room held a sturdy oak table and chairs with tall backs. Approaching the old dark-wood cabinet, she noticed the porcelain dishes behind glass, carefully cherished and polished with a special suede cloth by Grandma Sophia.
Delicately opening the cabinet door, Alice lifted a cup from fine nearly translucent porcelain painted in cobalt. Turning it over, she found a gold inscription: “1890.” Goosebumps rose.
— This is a real treasure, — she murmured, returning the fragile relic to its place. — And Grandma used it every day.
She had never realized before the true value of these surroundings, once just her natural environment through a child’s eyes. Now, she recognized the pre-revolutionary, museum-like nature of the home, fully her inheritance.
Unexpectedly, a loud bang echoed upstairs, so sharp and abrupt that Alice startled and looked back. Likely a window blown by the draft. Her heart raced. Cautiously climbing the stairs, she listened. Upstairs, three rooms awaited. Moving quietly through them, she found Grandma’s bedroom last, where a lump rose in her throat again.
The bed was grand, elegant, with carved oak posts supporting a worn silk canopy.
— Here slept Grandma, — Alice thought. — And I in the next room. How I loved sneaking into her bed at night when bad dreams came, hiding under her down quilt. She was warm and reliable, a safe harbor…
Opening the large wardrobe, scents of lavender and age filled the air. Her grandmother’s dresses hung neatly on hangers—simple, strict, made of natural fabrics. Pledging to sort through them later, Alice collapsed onto the bed. The springs sighed plaintively; dust motes swirled into the air.
Then a loud persistent knock came at the door. Alice’s heart leapt—who could it be? Descending, she slowly unlocked and opened the door.
An elderly woman with a kind but tired face stood there.
— Hello, Alisonka, — she smiled. — Recognize me?
Examining her through wrinkles, Alice spotted the features of Aunt Anna, neighbor and mother of her childhood friend Vera.
— Aunt Anna! Hello! How did you know I was here?
— I was passing by and saw no lock on the gate. Means the housekeeper is home. I look after the house; Grandma Sophia asked me when she was alive. Vera… — the woman sighed, — recently got married and moved away. Me and my son Zachar stayed here.
Alice nodded; she remembered Zachar—Vera’s older brother, once an imposing, distant figure during her youth. He had left the town when she was still a teenager.
— Well, he split with his wife, moved back here two years ago. Need any help? Don’t hesitate. You staying long?
— Not sure, Aunt Anna. Just came on vacation.
— All right, come by anytime. And Zachar’s handy; he can fix and patch things… — She looked at Alice closely. — The older you get, the more you take after your Grandma Sophia. Truly a beauty, — she shook her head and left after bidding goodbye.
Alice spent the rest of the day tidying the kitchen. The dusty, expansive house required much effort. Exhausted by evening, she remembered she hadn’t eaten. Luckily, the supermarket was nearby.
On her way back, she admired the sunset—fiery hues of crimson and gold reflected on the calm sea surface. The breathtaking view urged her to call Mark, to share this beauty. But pride and the fresh, painful wound stopped her.
— Found someone to call, — she whispered bitterly. — Forget him. Forever.
Night fell rapidly, southern and warm. Alice retired to the bedroom, choosing to sleep in her grandmother’s bed. The spacious room featured a huge window facing the sea. She switched off the light and sank onto the soft mattress surrounded by pillows, leaving the night lamp glowing—a small comfort in the large, creaking house that felt eerie alone.
Fatigue overcame her, and she quickly slipped into sleep. In her dreams, gentle hands soothed her hair and adjusted the blanket with such realism she longed to open her eyes, but the dream held her tight. Then, Grandma Sophia’s image appeared, smiling wisely and kindness radiating. Softly, clearly she spoke:
“Alisonka, make the right choice, dear…”
Then she vanished. Alice awoke sensing someone in the room. Sitting up, she listened, hearing only the sea’s waves rolling in. What choice? she wondered as the dream faded, yielding to the reality and the looming tasks ahead.
The following morning, her gaze fell on a grand crystal chandelier hanging central in the room, thickly dusted with cobwebs. Cleaning it seemed nearly impossible, so she sought help from neighbors.
— Aunt Anna, hello! Could you tell me how Grandma cleaned this chandelier? I don’t even know where to start.
— Oh, the chandelier! — Aunt Anna exclaimed, waving her hands. — Zachar should be back from the garage soon. I’ll send him over with a ladder.
While Alice finished the living room, dusting the carved fireplace shelves, the doorbell rang again. This time it was Zachar. She hesitated recognizing the tall, broad-shouldered man with weathered skin and laughing brown eyes—the elder brother of Vera. He had changed and grown more confident, with laugh lines around his lips.
— Hi, — he smiled warmly. — I bet you’re the Alice who used to steal all the apples in our garden as a kid?
She laughed, surprised at herself.
— Hi! That’s me. And you’re Zachar, right?
— Bullseye! — He stepped inside with the folding ladder. — Show me where the work’s at?
— Right here, — Alice pointed at the chandelier. — Don’t know what to do with it.
— Oh yes, I remember it! — Zachar whistled in admiration. — Grandma Sonya used to scold us when we played ball here—worried we’d hit the chandelier. Give me a damp cloth; I’ll climb and wipe, you rinse and pass up the cloth.
Together they worked. Alice handed cloths from below, watching his skilled, gentle hands bring life and sparkle to the crystal’s facets, shedding centuries of dust. Zachar cracked jokes, recalled childhood antics, and for the first time in years, the house echoed not with creaks and whispered ghosts but with lively, ringing laughter.
When the chandelier glittered gloriously, reflecting sunbeams, Zachar descended and inspected their effort critically.
— Beautiful! Good job. What’s next? Plans for the day?
— Cleaning. The entire second floor.
— Let me help! — he offered unexpectedly. — You can’t do it all alone.
— Oh, Zachar, is it not too much for you? It’s a whole day’s work.
— Nonsense! Helping a neighbor is perfect. Then if you want, we’ll sneak off to the sea. I have a day off today. Remember how you and Vera trailed me around, and Grandma never let you out of her sight? — His laughter was contagious.
They spent the day together. Zachar proved incredibly handy—moving heavy furniture, washing windows, fixing creaky doors. Without him, Alice would have been cleaning late into the night. By four, the house gleamed and smelled fresh.
— Alice, I’m hungry like a wolf, — Zachar declared, washing his hands. — Got anything for a snack?
— I bought dumplings yesterday; they’re in the freezer. Nothing else—I didn’t have time for the store.
— Forget those dumplings! — he waved his hand. — Let’s hit a café—there’s a good one in town. I’ll run home, freshen up, and then out.
— Deal! — she agreed happily. — I’ll shower quick, too.
At the café, they finally ate. Zachar chuckled, sharing amusing life stories.
— See? You said it was boring. Life got a lot livelier. After dinner, we’ll hit the sea? The water’s warm as fresh milk. For now, let’s stroll.
They wandered the promenade, then headed to the beach. Evening crowds thinned, and the water felt incredibly tender and warm. They swam, talked, and laughed a lot. Zachar walked her to the gate, then said goodbye and left.
Alice climbed to the bedroom, overwhelmed by pleasant muscle fatigue and an unfamiliar, gentle joy. She collapsed onto the bed, ready to drift into sleep when the phone rang. Her heart jumped—Mark.
She answered. His voice was sweet and apologetic, as if nothing had happened.
— Hey Alice! How are you? How’s the house? Far from the sea?
— Hello, — her tone turned icy. — I’m doing fine. The house faces the shore. What about you?
— I’ve missed you, — he whined. — Planning to come visit. Give me the address.
She closed her eyes, seeing Zachar’s open, honest laughing face, then Mark’s image at the café with the other woman. The grandmother’s voice echoed: “Make the right choice.”
— Dream on, — she spoke quietly but firmly. — Traitor. I don’t want to see you. Don’t call again. Say hello to your new flame.
— Alice, wait! Don’t hang up! It’s not what you think! Please forgive me! — He almost shouted.
— Mark, it’s over. I said everything. Don’t call.
She ended the call, knowing he would ring all night. Setting the phone down, she lay gazing into the darkness. Suddenly, realization struck hard—her grandmother’s words about making a choice weren’t merely about city or sea, work or vacation. They were about a deeper decision: between past and future, betrayal and truth, and something new, pure, and genuine just beginning to blossom.
She had made her choice. For the first time in long while, she fell asleep wearing a peaceful smile. The sea and Zachar gently filled her dreams.
New Beginnings
Time passed.
Alice did more than clean the house—she breathed new life into it. Moving in permanently, she found employment in a nearby town, supported by modern technology that allowed remote work. The old house awakened to laughter, the fireplace lit with dancing flames again, while the kitchen filled with the scent of fresh baking.
She married Zachar. The celebration was a quiet, heartfelt gathering on the terrace with the sea’s waves as music. Their life unfolded happily and harmoniously. Zachar was not only a skilled handyman but a loving, attentive husband.
Now, together on that same terrace, they gazed at the moon casting a silver path over the water. Alice’s hand rested tenderly on the subtle curve of her belly—their baby awaited them.
She looked out at the sea and stars, feeling the warmth of Zachar’s hand upon her waist, and thought of Grandma Sophia.
— Thank you, Grandma, — she whispered. — For your home, your legacy, and for helping me make the right choice.
Somewhere deep within the house, as if responding, a crystal pendant on the shining, clean chandelier softly chimed.