Katya stepped off the bus just a stone’s throw from her childhood village, the growl of the engine fading as it rolled down the wet, cracked highway. She paused, slid her sandals off, and tucked them into her bag. The soil here had always welcomed her bare feet—warm in summer, cool in morning dew, rough enough to remind her she belonged.
Three hundred meters. That’s all that separated her from the gate she had left behind years ago. Yet every step felt weighted with questions.
The dawn was alive. Roosters clamored in discordant triumph, dogs barked at unseen foes, and from the far pasture, a cow groaned like it carried the whole morning on its back. Birds filled the hedges, shrill and exuberant. The scents of wet hay and woodsmoke drifted into her lungs.
As she passed along the lane, curtains twitched. Old neighbors, half-hidden, measured her return. Their silence spoke louder than greetings ever could.
“Ah, Katya, back at last…”
Her mother stood at the gate, arms open, her thin frame casting a longer shadow than it should. The relief on her face was tinged with suspicion, as though she had been bracing herself for disappointment.
“You should be resting,” Katya murmured.
“I’ve got goats to milk, the sun doesn’t wait,” her mother replied, pulling her daughter into a brief, firm embrace. “And you—you were supposed to bring that young man. The one you wrote about. Weren’t we to meet him?”
Katya swallowed, her eyes skimming the familiar wood grain of the gate. “He… didn’t come. Maybe he never meant to.” Her words slipped out like brittle glass. “I don’t know anymore. Maybe it was never love. Just distraction.”
Her mother leaned back, studying her with sharp eyes honed from decades of hardship. “That so? You chased him like a storm at first. Didn’t I sew you new dresses for him? And now you stand here saying it’s nothing?”
“I thought it was something,” Katya whispered. “But when he started asking for more—for me to change, to bend—I felt like I was vanishing. I cut my hair for him. Smiled when I didn’t want to. Wore colors I hated. I became his reflection.”
Her mother’s lips pressed thin. “So he’s a taker. Sweet words, heavy hands? You’d better decide quick, Katya. Choose wrong and you’ll be shackled when children come—too late to turn back then.”
Katya lowered her gaze. “I don’t want to be someone else’s puppet. I just… don’t know how to stop.”
Her mother’s voice softened, but it carried a warning edge. “If you spend your life wearing another’s mask, you’ll forget the shape of your own face. Don’t let yourself become a doll, girl. Porcelain cracks easy.”
Inside, Katya shed her travel clothes, slipping into an old cotton robe that smelled faintly of sun and lavender. She tied her curls into a loose bun and finally let out a sigh she hadn’t known she was holding.
“Home,” she said under her breath, testing the word on her tongue.
“Welcome back,” her mother replied, her smile faint but true. “We’ll have time now, you and I. Time to talk.”
The older woman disappeared toward the barn, the clang of pails announcing her chore. Katya slipped into worn rubber slippers and padded into the vegetable garden. The earth welcomed her fingers as she knelt, tugging weeds from between bean shoots. One row before breakfast, she told herself. Just one, to feel the rhythm of this place again.
The air was different here. It smelled of honesty.
Later, as she rinsed her face at the courtyard pump, a voice carried from the gate.
“Well, well! Katya!”
She turned, startled. An older man leaned against the post, broad shouldered despite the stoop of age. His cap shaded eyes that glinted with curiosity.
“Uncle Pavel,” she said, relief softening her posture.
He grinned. “So you’ve come back to remember us little folk, eh? Your mother’s been counting the days. Thought you’d run forever with city dreams.”
“I needed to breathe,” she admitted. “The city—everything feels borrowed there. Noise, lights, faces. Here, at least, I know the ground.”
Pavel studied her with an intensity that made her uneasy. “The ground remembers too. But it also whispers. People say things when someone comes home with empty hands and no fiancé at her side.”
Heat flushed her cheeks. “Let them whisper. I’m not here for their judgment.”
“Maybe not,” Pavel said slowly, “but whispers grow teeth if you ignore them.”
He tipped his cap and walked away, leaving Katya with a chill.
That evening, she sat across from her mother at the wooden table, spooning warm porridge into her mouth. Shadows flickered from the lantern, wrapping the walls in restless shapes.
“Katya,” her mother said quietly, “the land isn’t the same as when you left. People have long memories. And shorter patience.”
“I’m not afraid of gossip,” Katya said.
Her mother shook her head. “It isn’t just gossip. When your father died, he left more than goats and debts. There are… questions. About land. About promises he made. Some folks expect answers from you now.”
Katya’s spoon clattered against the bowl. “Me? Why me?”
“Because you’re his daughter,” her mother replied, eyes heavy with unspoken truths. “And because your suitor—” She hesitated, voice tightening. “He came here last week. Without you. Asking questions of his own.”
The room seemed to shrink. Katya’s chest tightened. “He came here? What did he want?”
Her mother’s gaze flickered to the window, as though afraid of listening ears. “To claim what he thought you would bring him. Land. Influence. A future he could carve with your name as his blade.”
Katya’s breath caught. The puzzle shifted into place. His attention, his pressure, the constant push to mold her—it had never been love. It had been hunger.
And now, she realized, he hadn’t let her go at all.
Her mother reached across the table, gripping her hand. “You must decide, Katya. Whether to face him here or flee again. But know this—this land will only belong to someone who fights for it.”
Katya looked down at her soil-stained fingers, the earth still clinging to her nails. She thought of her father’s voice, of childhood mornings when the world smelled of dew and possibility.
“I’m not leaving again,” she whispered.
Outside, the wind stirred the garden rows. Somewhere beyond the village, footsteps were already on their way.