Chapter 3 — Chapter 3

The second time I decided to open my laptop was in the evening, justifying my action by wanting to check how much money was in my account. After opening the bank's page and entering my PIN, I stared in amazement at two accounts. Not only did I have just one account and a card, but the amount on the second one was mind-boggling. "Fifty million rubles?" I couldn't believe it, recounting the zeros after the number five. On the account I had opened myself, there were a modest two hundred thousand rubles. Plus a bit of interest had accrued, though the card was blocked due to expiration. After thinking for a moment, I applied for a card replacement and specified that I wanted it mailed to me, writing the address of the hospital where I was staying.

Almost mechanically, I clicked on the email icon and was horrified by the number of unread messages. Shaking my head, I started reading from the most recent ones, among which there was only one spam email from stores, which I immediately began sending to the trash. I lingered on one email because it talked about a sale on clothes from my favorite brand and a clearance. I used to love this little store for its frequent discounts and stylish items that I could afford. Following the link and visiting the store, I immediately opened the sports section, where there was a wide variety of hoodies, sweatshirts, pants, and sneakers. Knowing my size in this brand, I chose one size larger, paid for my purchases, and arranged for delivery, feeling a sense of peace.

Things moved faster after that, as I clicked through all the messages one by one, deciding what I wanted to look at and then unchecking them as read. The surprise came from emails from travel agencies, as I didn't remember registering anywhere. They offered to visit various resort destinations, from five-star hotels to solitary chalets. I got excited about the idea of going somewhere, especially since I could afford it financially.

Marking these offers as important, I looked through notifications from real estate agencies, one of which I had left a request with. I remembered wanting to buy something inexpensive, but the prices of the offered options shocked me with their numerous zeros. Apparently, in anticipation of summer, houses, cottages, castles, and even boarding houses were being advertised for sale. However, nothing caught my eye, so I deleted all the emails, completely clearing my inbox.

Exhaling, I closed my laptop with a sense of accomplishment. Soon, the nurse who brought vitamins and sedatives was supposed to arrive. "I need to warn her tomorrow that a package from the bank and some clothes will arrive in my name," I suddenly remembered, waiting for her visit.

The next morning, I woke up early and, ruffling my short hair, tried to remember my dream. I just lay there until the doctor arrived, staring at one point on the ceiling. Then I slowly scanned the room with my eyes. There was no white color here; everything was decorated in gentle cream shades with various tones. Only the blinds on the windows were white, and the smell... probably unforgettable, disinfectants had literally seeped into my skin and clothes.

"Hello, Angeliya. How did you sleep?" Zinaida Viktorovna asked me.

"I didn't dream of anything..." I confessed.

"Most likely, you just didn't remember. Your brain considered this information unimportant."

"Is that good?"

"How do you feel?" the woman changed the subject.

"Good. My body doesn't hurt, I think I slept well. Yes, I ordered some clothes yesterday and requested a new bank card," I warned her.

"That's good. The main thing is that you understand you are healthy. Right now, you're living here like someone who's just decided to take a break. No one is rushing you anywhere."

Thinking it over, I decided not to mention the money in the account, as I didn't know who put it there and why. As it turned out, it had been there for six months. "If it was a mistake, they would have returned it long ago, and the account was being credited with five hundred thousand every month. Who and why? Well, I guess I don't really care. I'm grateful to the unknown benefactor," I realized, quietly slipping into my thoughts.

"Thank you, I'm not ready yet," I replied to the doctor's words, suddenly feeling a chill.

"Stop it, all your fears are imaginary! We've already figured that out," she said, approaching and shaking my shoulders.

"Yes, I remember," I said, then got up and went to the bathroom to wash off the remnants of sleep.

"Rest, gather your strength. Let go of the unnecessary..." the doctor urged me.

"I'll try," I honestly promised in response.

A couple of days later, a package with my purchases arrived, and when I put on a loose hoodie and sweatpants, I felt relief. There was a sense of being unnoticed in a crowd and not drawing attention, and when I put on a cap and sunglasses, I realized I looked more like a boy or a teenager, not an adult woman.

For the first time in the past two days, sitting at my laptop again, I searched for pictures of the sea. The next hour was spent looking at views, and I realized that for the first time in a long time, I wanted to paint on canvas again. Hesitating a bit, I searched for the nearest store with art supplies, but it didn't offer delivery.

Suddenly, my email pinged, indicating a new message. "Another message about selling a property?" I thought, opening it without interest and unexpectedly clicking on one of the offers. It was about a small house located three kilometers from the sea, with the nearest neighbors also being quite far. A good dirt road, a nearby forest, picturesque fields... It was a sixteen-hour train ride from the hospital. My thoughts raced, calculating options, as I didn't want to travel by train because of the crowds and the enclosed space. Shuddering, I slammed my laptop shut, feeling an unconscious fear wash over me again, impossible to escape.

"Good afternoon. I brought the documents and decided to check on you," Zinaida Viktorovna informed me, looking into my room three days later.

"Good afternoon," I greeted her, taking the offered envelope.

"How are things going?" the woman inquired.

"I can't," I replied and fell silent, trying to formulate my thoughts. "Well, I wanted to go to the sea, but the train will be crowded."

"I don't see the problem. There are plenty of men in the dining hall, and you eat calmly," she said.

"I'm safe here..." I tried to argue back.

"Anyone could have an episode at any moment," she disagreed.

"There are doctors, nurses, security..." I responded, making another attempt.

"They're not always around," the doctor countered.

"Are you trying to scare me?" I asked, looking at her doubtfully.

"Not at all. I'm just trying to explain that you shouldn't be afraid of what doesn't exist."

I just sighed, and she left, leaving me in doubt. Opening the envelope, I found my passport, social security card, health insurance policy, and completely forgotten driver's license. I used to drive for my previous employers because they didn't have a driver or security, but they gave me a car to take the kids to their classes. "Now the question is: am I allowed to drive? I have a diagnosis..." I thought, looking at the documents. This thought haunted me until the next morning when I asked the nurse to tell the doctor to come see me.

"Anna said you were looking for me?" the doctor asked, peeking into the room.

"Yes. What's my diagnosis?" I asked directly.

"You don't have a diagnosis. You were admitted with a nervous disorder that has a secondary branch of fear of men. That's all."

"So, my driver's license is valid?"

"Of course. You are fully capable, and therefore have no restrictions. Will you tell me what you're planning?"

She sat down on a chair and looked at me expectantly.

"To buy a car and drive away..." I confessed.

"Great idea, just don't rush the purchase. I'll give you the contact of a trusted person who can help you so you don't get scammed. She'll send you models by price range over the internet, and once you approve, she'll bring the documents for you to sign," the woman suggested.

"Really?" I asked, looking at her as if she were my lifeline.

"Don't worry," Zinaida Viktorovna reassured me, patting my shoulder. "I'll always help you. I'll give you a phone number you can call 24/7."

After promising that, she left, writing down the agent's email on a piece of paper.

Looking at it, I hesitantly placed my hand on the paper and pushed it away. Opening my laptop, I entered a search query, wanting to find cars priced up to five hundred thousand. There were many, so I entered the email from the paper and wrote a message, attaching images of the desired models.

Opening the listing for the cottage again, I scrolled through the photos and decided to check the price. It seemed modest, only two million. "What's the catch?" I didn't understand, but after a brief hesitation, I wrote to the agent. After browsing the internet a bit more, I unexpectedly started downloading a movie. It was a light comedy, so I moved the laptop to the bed and settled in comfortably. Unexpectedly, the plot turned out to be engaging, and I didn't notice when I started laughing at what was happening on the screen. A nurse peeked into the room, but when she saw what was going on, she quietly left.

After lunch, I took a notebook and pencil and went to the park near the hospital. Sitting on a secluded bench, I resolutely started drawing, and when I finished, I suddenly realized I had drawn myself with an easel on the seashore. At some point, a poem also came to me, which I jotted down on the next page in a few moments.

"Maybe I've already received a response to my email?" I wondered, exhaled, and headed back. A sense of lightness and euphoria was awakening in me, and my worries were receding into the background. "Essentially, what reasons could there be for worry? I don't even remember how and why I ended up here. They just said it was a nervous breakdown," I consoled myself as I returned to my room.

However, there were no responses to my messages yet, but I decided not to rush things. "People don't check their email every five minutes, right?" I thought correctly, and by evening, I received two emails. The first was about the car; the agent sent their options with prices and a guarantee that they were not new but had passed a full inspection. After looking through them all, I chose a small green SUV and sent it back with a question about payment and registration. Soon, I received an invoice where I needed to transfer the money and was asked to fill out a form with my passport details and numbers of all documents I had.

Quickly transferring the money, I sent the necessary information and received confirmation of the deal, then eagerly opened the second email. In it, the realtor explained the reason for the low price, attaching more detailed photos of the outside and inside of the house I had chosen. It was openly old and sold as a plot for construction. The photos captivated me, so I looked with interest at the old furniture, someone's portraits, and the cloudy windowpanes. It felt like it was my lost home, which I never had.

I couldn't sleep all night, tossing and turning in bed, trying to understand if I had rushed things. In the early morning, I finally managed to fall asleep, missing breakfast for the first time, and the nurse, peeking into the room, woke me up asking if everything was okay.

"Yes, I just couldn't sleep last night," I mumbled in response, then hurried to the dining hall.

Barely managing to eat, I made a final decision that I needed to buy the house, but on special terms.