At first, you still convince yourself it’s about to start. That someone will press a button downstairs, the cabin will shudder, a light will come on, and everything will return to normal. But for me, the ninth floor became something else. A limit.
I knew that if I lost my balance, no one would catch me. Two rooms, a small kitchen, a balcony with a view of the next apartment blocks—the same ones I’d kept for years. I didn’t want to go anywhere new, even if it had fresh walls and an elevator that smelled of plastic. My son Marcin even wanted me to come stay with him for a while, but I just waved him off.
Not a sister, but no stranger either. At first, I was calm. I remember sitting at my kitchen table, the same one where Teresa had made dumplings for Christmas Eve for years, and he held my hand with both of his, as if I were about to disappear. I was still walking better back then—slower, but I was walking.
And then Oliwia stepped into it all so smoothly, as if she’d been waiting by the door for a long time. Even I agreed then, because what could I say? Two quick taps of her heel, then the scrape of a bag on the floor. But sometimes you smile not because you’re doing well, but because you don’t have the energy to explain why you’re not.
She took a photo, then a second one because she didn’t like the first one. She sent it immediately. She read it quietly before pressing send after lunch. And that day, I’d only eaten a dry roll and washed it down with tea that had long since cooled.
Not because I was afraid of her. No, not yet. Those words stayed with me longer than the chicken soup, because it was rising, and I ate it immediately, still warm. People were complaining, each in their own way.
Not enough time to do the shopping, administer medication, cook, or even ask the person if they were in pain. I held the phone in my hand for a long time before pressing his name. No, not everything. I sat at the table, staring at the empty cup, and felt something inside me quiet down, because then I realized she wasn’t just taking my money, groceries, and medicine.
Not because I was better, I simply didn’t know any better. But Oliwia never saw that smile. Some of the furniture, documents, and family heirlooms also stayed with me, because they were simply there. No one argued back then.
It seems like nothing, and then the water never tastes the same. I didn’t understand this until the end of one afternoon. Oliwia came in with papers from the clinic—or rather, she said papers, because I didn’t see any. I simply sat at the table with my hand on the cup, and she spoke louder and louder, like someone who’s been holding something in for a long time.
In an instant, I saw all the unpurchased medications, all the empty promises, all the bags of the cheapest food differently. From the days when I used to write down orders. I showed him two pages, no more. I was ashamed to ask Zofia, because how much can you do?
On the seventh floor, I was still telling myself I could do it. Only then did he say what had probably been on his mind for a long time. Suddenly, that old notebook seemed like the only thing in the apartment that still spoke the truth. An elevator failure, my name appeared, and for the first time in a long time, I thought that maybe I wasn’t alone after all.
He called most often on Sundays. These conversations used to be longer. I’d tell him about little things, because little things are what an old man’s life is made of. Not his fault, and not entirely mine either.
I answered the way you answer when you know that any other word will trigger an avalanche. Sometimes he’d stay silent for a second longer, as if waiting for me to add something more. Only later did he tell me what it was like. He took two days off, bought a ticket, and didn’t tell anyone, not even Oliwia.
After all, according to her, I couldn’t go anywhere. Bogdan, all the best. Not like Livi’s, short and impatient. My heart leapt into my throat even before I stood up.
I wanted to embrace him, but something else immediately followed. Shame, because he hadn’t stepped into the prepared photo, but into the truth. He stood there for a moment, looking inside. That Oliwia had told him not to worry, that I no longer knew if I had the right to ask for more.
Before I could form a coherent sentence, the key turned in the lock. Bogdan, you should have called. Oliwia poured water into the kettle, even though no one had asked for tea. These are our family matters.
Marcin, I need to tell you something else. Reports of elevator breakdowns, neighbors’ signatures, notes from conversations. He didn’t show any private recordings or anyone else’s data. It was clear from these that the caregiver Marcin paid for rarely showed up, while Oliwia only dropped in briefly.
Usually just to take a photo and say everything was under control. Don’t overreact, he likes to stay home. I had to find the short circuit there too. That was years ago between you two, and you left my father without his medication.
Marcin stood still with my notebook in his hand, and only then did he realize that I wasn’t just being deceived. I’ll check everything, everything. Exactly, Ola, family doesn’t do that to family. Marcin didn’t return to Bergen the next day, or the day after that.
Instead, he sat down at my kitchen table, the same one where the notebook had been the day before, and started tidying up. First the medications. Not through Oliwia, not through any aunt who was on site, but himself. Dad, do you take these in the morning or evening?
That was the first difference. No one spoke for me, no one corrected my sentences. No one waved their hand, saying the old man must have made a mistake. The locksmith simply came, did his job, and Oliwia’s old key no longer fit.
I won’t go into detail about this, because justice wasn’t the most important thing to me. Yes, I wanted the truth to have consequences, but I wanted something simpler, something that no one would ever again take my old age into someone else’s hands without asking my opinion. Still firm, but not as confident as before. My son looked at me as if to confirm whether he should speak in front of me.
Silence fell on the other end. He ended the call calmly, and for the first time in a long time, no one raised their voice in my kitchen. Neighbors’ signatures, reports, notes, calls to the service center. That’s why I’m walking alongside you, not instead of you.
As if the apartment building I’d lived in for so many years had remembered I was still here. Nothing to anyone else. For others, an ordinary sound, for me, like breathing after a long dive. But the most important thing was something else.
When it first rang after returning, I sat down at a clean table. Okay, son, I said, and for the first time in a long time, it was legal. Because money sent from afar doesn’t always translate into care.