Lyuba woke up from the freezing cold. Her old jacket, a rag long since deformed, no longer kept her warm. Autumn was coming steadily: the nights were getting longer, the wind was getting stronger, and even under the roof of the abandoned attic, it was unbearably cold. In winter, surviving there would be impossible… but Lyuba had no choice. The shelter was closed to her; his criminal record prevented him from doing so. No one hired her; As soon as they learned that he had served his sentence, their faces immediately changed and the conversation ended. As if it had written on its forehead: “None of us.”

Just outside the small window of his temporary shelter shone a huge billboard: bright images, intrusive banners, musical jingles; everything reminded him of another life, full of noise, light and warmth. A life that seemed so close but completely unattainable. In one corner of the screen, the time was displayed; Lyuba had chosen that penthouse precisely for that reason. At least I could control the hours. It was 8:20.

Rummaging through his pockets, he found some crumpled coins. It would probably be enough for a bun and kefir, at least some breakfast. He poured some water from the bottle on his face and washed himself quickly. His short hair was tousled all over; he tried to smooth it out. She always tried to stay clean: she washed her clothes whenever she could, she cleaned her shoes with a rag or a stick. He wanted to preserve at least the appearance of a normal life, of human dignity.

Near the store, next to the garbage containers, homeless people gathered. They were rummaging through boxes, sorting out a few things. Lyuba shuddered: would she soon have to become one of them? Not yet. He kept fighting, looking for odd jobs. But who would hire an ex-convict, as she was derogatorily called? Only her meagre income saved her from poverty.

After buying kefir and a roll, Lyuba sat down on a bench and began to eat slowly. The warm muffin made him feel almost like he was on vacation. And an idea occurred to her mind: perhaps today she would take a risk and ask the concierge Kuzmich for help? So many leaves had fallen during the night that I am sure he could not handle everything alone. “I’m going to ask. Maybe it will help me,” he decided, and headed for the pedestrian crossing.

But he had not yet reached the zebra crossing when his heart stopped: a girl of about ten years old on a scooter was rushing straight towards the red light. On the other side, a truck was approaching at full speed, honking its horn madly. The girl was wearing headphones; he didn’t even hear.

“Hey! Lyuba shouted, but the girl did not react.

Without hesitation, Lyuba lunged in, grabbed the girl by the jacket, and pulled her back. The girl fell at his feet, and at that precise moment, the scooter disappeared under the wheels. There was a squeaking, a creaking sound, and the plastic flew everywhere.

“Where are you going?” Didn’t hear the horn? Lyuba exclaimed, rebuking her.

“No… I was listening to music…” whispered the girl, her eyes filling with tears.

Don’t cry. It’s understandable that you freaked out. Are you upset about the scooter?

“Aha… But my dad would buy me a hundred more like that. That’s not what it’s about…

Let’s get to know each other. I’m Lyubov, what about you?

“Nadia…”

Well, Nadya, we’re almost done. We already know each other. Now let me take you home. We don’t want you to encounter traffic again.

Nadya turned out to be from the area, just three blocks away. They walked in silence; The girl was still shocked. They arrived at a large mansion with a high fence and an intercom. A guard, a stern man in uniform, stood at the door.

Nadya pressed the button and the door opened. He went inside, but the guard blocked Lyuba’s way.

“She’s with me, Roman,” Nadya said firmly, and the guard reluctantly let her pass.

“Is Dad home?” asked Nadya. Receiving an answer, he turned to Lyuba: “Wait here, okay? I hurry.”

Lyuba wanted to leave, but Nadya’s gaze was so firm that she stayed. She stood by the fence, twisting the sleeve of her jacket, feeling like an outsider. The guard grumbled somewhat disapprovingly about the “rags,” looking at her with a critical eye. His gaze reflected a mixture of disgust and contempt. He was clearly trying to guess his age: twenty-five? Thirty? Years and hardships were deeply etched on his face.

Meanwhile, inside the house, Viktor Nikolaevich, a majestic middle-aged man with an authoritarian look, was sitting in his office, carefully reading documents. His brow was furrowed and his gaze fixed, clearly disgusted with what he was reading. Nadya burst into the room.

“Dad, you’re not going to believe what happened!” he exclaimed.

She told him everything: about the scooter, the truck and the woman who saved her.

Viktor turned pale. She hugged her daughter tightly.

“You won’t go anywhere without company anymore!” he declared firmly.

“Dad, I’m eleven now!” I’ll be more careful, really!

“No, Nadya. The price of a mistake is too high. This decision is final.

He called the guard:

“Bring the woman who came with Nadya.”

A minute later, Lyuba walked into the office. She stood, modest and unsure.

“I’m very grateful,” Viktor Nikolaevich said fondly. “You saved my daughter. This is not just a feat, it is heroism. I am a businessman and have always been of great help. Tell me the amount you want to receive.”

“Oh, no… No need… It was just there at the right time.” Lyuba blushed and looked down.

But the man did not cowe. He began to ask her name, where she worked and where she lived. After hesitating for a moment, she briefly told him her story: about the attic, the odd jobs, and the difficulties after his release.

She was embarrassed but didn’t hide anything.

There is a good saying: it is better to give a fishing rod than a fish. So… Coincidentally, I have a vacancy as a domestic worker. I offer it to you. Nothing complicated: keeping the house tidy and clean. I give you a room on the first floor, the food is at the owner’s expense. And this is a preview. He spread the bills carefully on the table. The rest depends on your job. What do you decide?

Lyuba froze at the sight of the carefully arranged bills. The amount was huge for her, especially compared to the coins she lived on. He could not find words; He just nodded, unable to take his eyes off the money, as if he feared it would disappear.

“Angela Petrovna!” the owner called. “Show the new employee her room, explain her duties, and introduce her to the staff.”

Angela Petrovna, a tall woman with a straight back and a cold gaze, fulfilled the task. He guided Lyuba around the house, explaining everything dryly and precisely. The room was small but cozy: a bed, a bedside table, a wardrobe and a window overlooking the garden. The bathroom was shared. The maid was given a uniform and warned:

There must be order here. I don’t tolerate disorder. I hope you have no problems with that.

In the kitchen, she was greeted by Natalia Nikolaevna, the cook with a friendly face and permanently blushing. Upon seeing the newcomer, he immediately served her a cup of coffee and a plate of sandwiches.

“Now that you’re one of us, you have to be welcomed!” Eat, don’t be shy,” he winked.

Thus, unexpectedly for her, Liuba entered a new stage of her life. Viktor Nikolaevich didn’t tell anyone where the new maid came from. But when they were alone, he decided to find out more:

It’s important for me to know who lives in my house. Tell me a little about yourself.

Lyuba hid nothing. Calmly and frankly, she recounted how she grew up in an orphanage, graduated from nursing and wanted to work as a nurse. One night, on her way home from class, she was attacked by two drunken men. She defended herself, pushing one of them, who hit his head on a stone. The next day, he died. She was found guilty of his death.

“There was an investigator: Maxim Maksimovich,” Lyuba said quietly. “He was, arguably, the only one who treated me humanely. He showed that it was in self-defense. But even so, the court sentenced me to four years. And now… I am free. No family, no place to return to. Finding a job is another story. As soon as they hear ‘criminal records,’ faces change immediately.”

He spoke without complaint, simply listing facts. Viktor Nikolaevich listened attentively, nodded thoughtfully. Apparently, he appreciated her honesty.

The house accepted Lyuba better than she could have imagined. The owner’s driver, a large man with thick mustaches and always in formal suit, turned out to be an affable joker. Upon receiving it, he bowed theatrically:

“Accept my respects, Mademoiselle!” He winked at him like a hero from an old movie.

Margarita, Nadya’s mother, brought her a bag of clothes:

Here, take this. Dresses, sweaters… they were lying around.

Natalia Nikolaevna, the cook, even started calling her “daughter”. Every time he invited her to something delicious: a hot cake or a freshly made apple pie.

Not even the strict Angela Petrovna bothered her for no reason. If he made any comment, it was always fair and without malice.

Once Nadya proudly showed off her collection of dolls:

Look, an army of Barbies! Did you have any?

“Yes,” Lyuba said with a smile. Only I sewed their clothes myself, with scraps of fabric. Back then they didn’t buy anything from us.

Seriously? Will you teach me? The girl asked with a radiant smile.

And soon they were sewing dolls’ clothes together. Nadya sang happily, trying on all the dresses and learning to cut patterns.

The only one who still treated Lyuba with suspicion was the guard Roman. As soon as he spoke to her, he looked at her coldly and squinted, as if he were expecting something.

Meanwhile, Viktor Nikolaevich fully understood why it was so important for Nadya not to go out alone. The reason was not only the truck incident. His construction company generated large revenues, and Dmitry Molchanov, known in certain circles as “The Moth”, had been keeping an eye on him for some time. Once an ordinary thug, he had managed to make his way by creating his criminal empire.

He had repeatedly offered to buy Viktor’s business, and when Viktor refused, he began to insinuate:

“If you don’t want to do it right, it will be different,” he said with hints but with clear threats.

Lyuba, of course, knew nothing of this. He simply fulfilled his duties honestly: cleaning, washing, keeping order. On his day off, he decided to relax a bit: take a walk, visit a store, buy himself something.

After shopping, he walked into a coffee shop, ordered a coffee, and sat by the window, admiring the bustle of the street. Suddenly, his gaze was fixed on two men in a corner. One was a familiar face. The same man who attacked her many years ago. The second was his brother, the one who died that night. It was the Molchanovs.

His heart was pounding. The man was sitting just ten meters away, gesticulating, talking about something. His companion had his back turned. She needed to leave before she was seen.

“He definitely hasn’t forgiven me… He thinks I’m guilty,” he thought. Although, in reality, he was the culprit: drunk, unstable, he attacked first. She was just defending herself…

Lyuba was already getting up to leave unseen when the second man turned and almost dropped his purse. It was Roman. His own guard.

At home, Liuba immediately went to see Viktor Nikolaevich. What she had seen disturbed her.

I went into the café, doing nothing, and there was that scoundrel, Molchanov. And next to him, Roman. They were sitting at the same table, talking like best friends.

“Molchanov?” Viktor frowned. “The Dmitry who wants to take my business?”

“The same.”

Now everything was clear: where Molchanov got the information, how he found out about the deals, plans and meetings. The leak came from inside, from the house itself. And it was organized by the person most trusted: the guard.

“We must act immediately,” Viktor said decisively, rising from the table.

The next morning, he sent his wife and daughter on vacation to warm countries. Natalia Nikolaevna and Angela Petrovna got time off. He went to the police himself.

Researcher Denis Maksimovich listened carefully to the businessman’s account and sighed:

We have heard of Molchanov more than once. But they do not open cases: there is no evidence, no witnesses, no facts.

“Then I have to wait until the house explodes?” Viktor asked bitterly.

“There is a way,” the researcher suggested. “Install hidden cameras. That way no one will guess.”

The cameras were installed discreetly. Viktor said nothing to Lyuba; the less I knew, the better.

Several days passed. Life went on. Viktor worked, reviewing papers, but from time to time he reviewed the recordings. One showed the winter garden: Lyuba watering the flowers. Everything seemed normal.

And suddenly… Viktor saw Roman. He walked into the office, looked around, opened a desk drawer, and took out… a grenade.

“Damn…” Viktor whispered, watching as the guard carefully placed the device, hiding the wires.

Lyuba’s phone vibrated in his pocket. It was Viktor Nikolaevich who called.

Lyuba, listen carefully. Roman just placed a grenade in my office. The police are on their way. Try to contain it a bit. But be careful, don’t take any chances.

Lyuba took a deep breath, hid the phone, grabbed a rag, and headed for the hallway. When he heard footsteps, he began to act.

“Roman, please help me!” There’s something stuck, I can’t fix it,” he asked, blocking his way.

“I don’t have time,” he interrupted her.

“Wait a minute!” he insisted. I’m here alone, with no one to help me…

Roman started to get angry, tried to push her away, but at that moment a voice came out of the loudspeaker:

“¡Alto, escoria!”

Without hesitation, Lyuba hit his head with the mop. Strong, until his arms hurt. The guard collapsed on the ground.

Seconds later, police burst into the house. They handcuffed Roman, found the grenade, wires and fingerprints. Lyuba sat on the floor, breathing heavily, holding the mop as the investigator began to take statements.

There was sufficient evidence. Video, evidence, Roman’s own confession. He immediately broke down and told everything: who gave the order, how much was paid, what was promised.

Dmitry Molchanov ended up behind bars. This time, neither money nor contacts saved him.

Some time later, Denis Maksimovich called Lyuba:

Maybe we should see each other? Just like that. Not as investigators and witnesses, but as people. I want to thank you. You are very brave, Lyuba.

They met in a café. The conversation was pleasant and sincere. Over time, their relationship grew closer, and one day Denis proposed to her:

-Lyuba, ¿quieres casarte conmigo?

“Of course I do,” she replied smiling.

After packing her things, Lyuba said goodbye fondly to the house where she began her new life. Nadya hugged her tightly:

Do you promise me you’ll come back?

“Definitely,” he promised.

Viktor Nikolaevich shook his hand:

I’m happy for you, Lyuba. It’s hard to find people like you. Thanks for everything.

They left together, Lyuba and Denis. The car was moving slowly down the street where Lyuba, from the attic, had stared at the billboard clock, dreaming of another life.

She looked out the window and thought:

Somewhere, someone is also looking at that clock. And may he be lucky too. I really want to believe it.