Five years ago, Kate moved with her husband and daughter to a five-story flat on the outskirts of town. These kinds of buildings are often called “post-war council flats”modest in size, with small rooms, a tiny kitchen, and shared bathrooms.
The move came after yet another misunderstanding with her mother-in-law. During a family discussion, Kate and her husband decided to rent a one-bedroom flatthey couldnt afford anything better, but Kate was relieved to have their own space, even temporarily. After three and a half years under the same roof as her in-laws, her patience had worn thin. Living separately was the only way to save her marriage. Unfortunately, George didnt see the problemhis parents flat was just a ten-minute walk from work, and he could still save up for their own place.
From the start, Theresa clearly disliked Kateno, despised her. No matter how hard Kate triedgifts, housework, walking the dog, going out of her way to pleasenothing worked. Theresa saw her as nothing more than a provincial girl who had somehow trapped her precious son. At their first meeting, she had glared over her glasses and uttered the words that still haunted Kate:
“George, darling, are you trying to send me to an early grave? Shes not good enough for you! Wake up!”
But George was head over heels. Kate had been the prettiest in her university class, but it was her warmth and curiosity that had won him overshe listened, she cared, and her interests ran deeper than fashion and gossip.
Soon after their wedding, their daughter Emily was born. The first year was roughcolic, teething, sleepless nights.
“Couldnt even have a healthy baby,” Theresa would snipe. “No wonder she cries all the timeyou dont know how to care for her! I told George not to marry you, but did he listen? Now look! Ungrateful girl, living off us, acting like youre too good for this family!”
Kate had grown up without a fatherhed died when she was seven. Her mother never remarried, fearing a stepfather might mistreat her daughters. Shed often say, clinging to them:
“I gave up my own happiness for you, my darlings. No one else could love you the way I do. Once youre grown, maybe Ill find someonebut not before.”
Yet, there had never been much warmth in their home. When Kate and her sister Laura married, their mother sold the flat and moved abroad, finally finding love.
Kate rarely saw friends or family, pouring all her love into George and Emily. When Emily turned four and started nursery, Kate took a job as an accountant at a small bakery. The extra money helped, though life was routinework, home, repeat. Occasionally, Georges parents visited, or theyd visit in return.
The highlight of Kates week was watching Emily play at the park. Their block was a mix of charactersOlivia on the ground floor, whose children built sandcastles with Emily; Lucy and Steve, the couple upstairs who were always drunk, their parrots squawking from the balcony; the noisy Romani family down the hall, with kids running wild, their mother begging for milk and bread at months end when money ran out.
“How do they live like that?” Kate wondered. Yet, they were always cheerful, showering Emily with sweets while she shared her toys.
Then there were the quiet intellectualsMargaret, a maths teacher, and her husband, Simon, a university dean. Polite but distant, they kept to themselves.
And on the fourth floorIvanovna. A frail old woman who shuffled outside daily, rain or shine, with her little backpack. She fed pigeons, knitted in the summer, and never asked for help.
“Odd woman,” Kate thought. “No smiles, no complaintstoo proud, maybe.”
Her son visited occasionally in his black Lexus, dropping off groceries before leaving with red-rimmed eyes.
One autumn day, Emily came home from school to find her keys missing. A storm raged outside, and her phone was dead. Huddled in the stairwell, she was near tears when Ivanovna found her.
“Come dear, lets charge your phone at mine,” she said, offering tea and jam.
Emily hesitatedMum didnt let her visit strangers. But soon, she was devouring warm porridge and apple pie, her worries forgotten.
Later, Kate knocked on Ivanovnas door, grateful. “I dont even know your name,” she admitted.
“Elena Ivanovna. Call me Granny Lena.”
Over tea, Kate learned Elena had lost her husband years ago. Her son Paul lived in the city centre, childless despite years of trying.
That evening, something shifted. Kate and Emily became regular visitorshelping with groceries, sharing meals, filling Elenas home with laughter.
But as Kate grew closer to Elena, George grew distant. His “business trips” stretched longer, and unfamiliar perfume clung to his clothes.
Then, one dawn, he left. “Ive met someone else. Mum was rightyou were never good enough.”
The divorce was swift. “Give me back the ring,” he demanded outside the registry office. Kate flung it to the ground.
“Youll get nothing but the bare minimum,” he spat. “Dont come crawling to my parents.”
Elena became Kates rock. “Be strong,” she urged when Kate discovered she was pregnant. “Youll have a sonI know it.”
But soon, Elena fell illbreast cancer. Paul brought doctors, but nothing helped. Kate nursed her, changing bandages, bathing her, holding her hand.
One day, Elena handed Kate a blue foldera deed to her flat, signed over in Kates name.
“Paul knows. Youre like the daughter I lost,” she whispered. “This is yours now.”
A week later, Elena was gone.
Months later, Kate went into labour at night. The ambulance didnt come, so she knocked on Steves doorstill clutching a beer.
Within minutes, Simon was driving her to the hospital. “Tamaras friend is on dutyyoull be in good hands,” he reassured her.
By morning, baby Thomas arrivedhealthy, pink-cheeked. And when Kate left the hospital, her neighbours were thereSophia holding Emily, her four children waving flowers, Steve sober and grinning.
The flat felt like home now.
First impressions? Often wrong. Kindness? It changes everything.
Look aroundsomeone needs a hand, a smile, a listening ear. Thats the magic that moves mountains.
“Cast your bread upon the waters, for you will find it after many days.”
