I was en route to the abortion clinic due to financial struggles and mounting debts, but I reversed course to retrieve my ID. In the mailbox was a letter: my childless aunt, whom I hadn’t seen in 20 years, left me her entire inheritance, but with one STRANGE condition…

«No money, evicted from apartment, don’t know what to do!» I looked, felt no pity. «Your problems, Brandon. You chose this life.»

«But the money! It’s ours!» His face twisted in anger when pity failed. «I’m your common-law husband! Half is mine! Can’t just ditch me! I’ll sue!» He raised his voice; passersby turned. Before, I’d burn with shame, but now I just looked coldly.

«You have no rights!» I snapped. «Nothing to sue with, now get out of my way!» He stepped closer, eyes narrowing. «You!» he hissed, raising his hand. I didn’t back down, but he didn’t finish.

A sleek black car braked smoothly nearby; out stepped notary Victor Peterson. He was picking me up for the bank. «Young man!» he said in calm, weighty voice.

«I strongly advise against raising a hand on my client, or our talk will involve police.» The sight of a distinguished man in expensive suit from a luxury car sobered him instantly. He deflated like a popped balloon.

All aggression gone. He muttered something, glared angrily at me, hunched shoulders, and hurried away into the crowd. «You okay, Ashley?» Victor asked concerned, opening the car door.

«Yes,» I exhaled, sitting on soft leather. «Now yes, thanks.» «My job—to protect clients’ interests,» he said.

And Matilda asked me to watch over you. At the bank, I first saw exact figures. When the manager stated Aunt Matilda’s account sums, my head spun.

Not just comfortable living money; a universe of options. I could give my child best education, travel, do what I want. Never worry about money till payday again.

Victor helped with papers, gave financial advisor contacts. I felt like a movie heroine not fully grasping events. That evening, in my quiet living room, I still couldn’t believe. Told Anna everything; she teared up with joy. «See, dear, Matilda watches from there, guards you,» she said. «Forget that one; he won’t return.

Types like him fear strength and confidence.» We had tea; Anna suddenly asked. «Know Matilda had a country house too?» Said only there her soul truly rested.

«You should go, see. Different air, quiet. Best medicine now for you and baby.»

She brought an old velvet-covered photo album. I flipped through; saw photos. Small but cozy wooden house with carved shutters, drowning in greenery.

Huge rose bushes, apple trees, grapevines. And one photo: Aunt Matilda. Sitting in wicker chair on veranda, smiling.

Soft, a bit sad, but real smile. I looked at that photo; a decision ripened. I didn’t want to stay in the city, even in such a beautiful apartment.

I wanted there. Where my savior smiled. Where it smelled of apples and roses.

I wanted my daughter from birth to breathe that air, hear birdsong, not car noise. I wanted to build my nest there, in that garden. I closed the album.

No more doubts in my head. My path led out of town. I stood and went to the dresser where the key bundle from the notary lay.

Among them, one unlike others. Small, a bit rusty, like from a barn lock. I took it in hand.

It was warm. This wasn’t just a house key. It was the key to my real future.

I’d pack a small bag and drive there tomorrow morning. Toward quiet, garden, and a new, totally different life. The drive out of town felt like escaping to another reality.

The farther from noisy, dusty streets, the easier I breathed. City with grimy subways and tired pedestrian faces receded, giving way to golden fields and blue river ribbons. I drove, gripping that old key tightly, feeling like an explorer sailing to unknown but promised land.

I found the house easily, using Anna’s descriptions. It stood at the edge of a small, quiet village, hidden behind overgrown garden. Seeing it live, I realized photos captured only a fraction of its charm.

Cozy, a bit fairy-tale, with carved window frames and veranda twined in wild grape, like from an old book page. I shut off the engine and sat minutes, listening to silence broken only by birdsong and leaf rustle. This was peace silence, not loneliness.

The key turned with a creak. I pushed the heavy oak door and entered. Same smell as city apartment enveloped me…