When Lena’s mother started having health problems, she hired a caregiver.
A young woman named Marina seemed perfect — calm, tidy, and soft-spoken.
Lena lived in another city and came only on weekends. Each time, Marina greeted her with reports, the house was clean and orderly — yet something still didn’t sit right with Lena.
One day, a meeting ended early, and Lena decided to surprise them — she came without calling first.
She opened the door and froze.
In the kitchen, her mother sat at the table — smiling, holding a cup of tea.
Next to her was a man.
A stranger.
He was reading the newspaper aloud to her and pouring tea, as if he had been doing it all his life.
Lena was confused.
— Excuse me, who are you?
The man turned around.
— I’m… just a neighbor. I help when I can.
At that moment, Marina came out of the room — and everything became clear.
It turned out she wasn’t just a caregiver. She was the daughter of this man — a widower who lived next door.
He had started coming over every day when Marina went out for groceries. At first, he simply helped — and then he stayed because of the woman he had been helping to care for.
Lena sank into a chair. Her mother smiled.
— I thought you’d notice one day. He reads me the same newspaper your father used to read.
From that day on, Lena began visiting more often.
She no longer saw sadness in that old house — only warmth. And the understanding that sometimes care isn’t a job, but a second chance at happiness.
