It was a house with a soul. < img src = "https://zycie.news/crrops/AD1992/620x0/1/0/2025/04/06/sqp4azl48q7ldr3ht0ftcrc4g4g4gnsw0stlSrkv4bb.jpg" alt = "old lady @pexels" styles = "background-color: rgba (49,41,24,1)" > < p > old wooden beams in the ceiling, creaking stairs and the smell of apple pie floating from the kitchen. There I took my first steps as a wife, mother, woman. There, I hugged C & Amp; Oacute; when she had a fever, baked the dough for her eighteenth birthday, and then waved her porch when she was leaving.

< p > The house was m & oacute; j. My safe place. M & oacute; j world.

< p > until she called.

< p > & ndash; Mom & Hellip; We are in huge trouble. Bank, bailiff, credit & Hellip; We can't do it. If we lose the apartment, the little one will have nowhere to sleep & hellip;

< p > I didn't think long. This is my C & Amp; Oacute; Rka. My child. Her safety and grandson were more important than the walls, roof or memories. I sold the house. I gave her money entirely. & AMP; BDQUO; Start again & rdquo; & ndash; I said. & ndash; & AMP; BDQUO; I can handle &.

< p > At the beginning everything was fine. She promised that I would live with them, that they would find a corner for me. I was to wait only a few weeks. I agreed to live with a neighbor & ndash; a good soul who gave me a sofa in her salon.

< p > A week turned into a month. Then in three. Then in silence.

< p > When I called, she was busy. When I wrote, she wrote back after three days: < br /> ~ & ampquo; Mom, we can't. Michał does not feel comfortable. We have no place. I'm sorry. & Amp; Rdquo;

< p > sorry ? I had nothing. Or home. Neither & oacute; Żka. Nor C & Amp; Oacute; Rki, which I thought was the closest person.

< p > in the evenings I look at the ceiling at the neighbor. The couch creaks, the quilt smells like someone else's house. And I ask myself: can you really stay with nothing ?

< p > m & oacute; that good comes back. But maybe not always. Maybe sometimes just disappears & ndash; Like echo Sł & oacute; w & thank you & rdquo;, kt & oacute; re.

Natasha Kumar

By Natasha Kumar

Natasha Kumar has been a reporter on the news desk since 2018. Before that she wrote about young adolescence and family dynamics for Styles and was the legal affairs correspondent for the Metro desk. Before joining The Times Hub, Natasha Kumar worked as a staff writer at the Village Voice and a freelancer for Newsday, The Wall Street Journal, GQ and Mirabella. To get in touch, contact me through my natasha@thetimeshub.in 1-800-268-7116