She was sure she’d stumbled upon a rug… until muffled cries and restless rustling emerged from it

The day turned warm and bright, so Sima seized the chance to air out her “pillows” and “blanket.” Her pillows were paper bags filled with sawdust, and the blanket was an old wall carpet decorated with a deer motif. She carefully hung it on a line strung between two trees and set a wooden bench nearby, covered in red leatherette, where she spread her makeshift “pillows.”

Serafima had been homeless for over a year. Her goal was to save enough money, recover her lost documents, and return to one of the southern republics — a place holding memories of family and a stable life. For now, she lived in an abandoned forester’s hut that once stood deep in the woods. But the forest was gone, replaced by a vast garbage dump.

At first, the stench was faint, but the piles of trash grew rapidly — not by days, but by hours. Construction debris, broken furniture, old clothes, and dishes were all dumped there. That’s how Sima came by a small cabinet, a tattered pouf, and even a wooden chest filled with discarded clothes someone had deemed worthless.

Eventually, vans from supermarkets started arriving — unloading expired products. After thorough sorting, sometimes there were quite edible vegetables, fruits, and even frozen semi-finished products. But water was scarce. She had to fetch it from a dirty river, filtering it through rags and charcoal collected from the same garbage.

Firewood was abundant — broken tree trunks lay everywhere, so heating the stove was no problem. The days merged into a monotonous existence, and saving even a little money was rare. Coins in the pockets of discarded clothes were very rare, and wallets were considered the find of the century.

One night, she was awakened by the sound of a car approaching. This was usual — most people brought garbage under cover of darkness to avoid being recognized. But this time something seemed strange. The car was expensive, large, almost an SUV. In the moonlight, it looked like a beast on wheels.

A man got out slowly, pulled a massive roll from the trunk, and dragged it deeper into the piles.

“Could it be roofing felt? I could patch the roof… The rains are coming soon,” Sima thought, mentally urging the stranger: “Come on, come on, leave quickly!”

The man left the roll in a pit between the garbage heaps, looked around as if reconsidering, then waved his hand and went back to the car. A couple of minutes later the engine roared, and the car disappeared into the darkness.

“Finally,” Sima exhaled and began changing into work clothes.

She put on huge rubber boots and stepped into the yard. The sky was already lightening, the air was filled with the scent of the forest. She remembered there was a clearing over the hill where mushrooms grew — worth checking in the morning.

Approaching the place where the man left the roll, she expected to see a strip of roofing felt or thick polyethylene. But instead, on the ground lay a neatly rolled-up carpet. Not just any — one that resembled those that once adorned wealthy homes.

“Wow… Bukhara style, I think. So beautiful, heavy. Too bad it’s not for roofing,” Sima noted disappointedly, but then added, “Maybe I’ll take it? Fold it in half, it’d be a better mattress than those sawdust bags.”

Traveling across Quang Binh to stunning cinematic locations
She was even happy about the idea and quickly ran to the roll. She tried to lift it — too heavy. Then cautiously pulled the edge to unroll it. And then she heard — someone moaning inside!

Sima, who had seen all kinds of things during her year on the streets, was scared for the first time until her knees trembled. She stepped closer and called out:

“Who’s there?”

Silence. Then moaning again, and a barely audible female voice:

“It’s me… Maria Filippovna…”

Pulling the carpet edge with effort, Sima finally freed the woman. She fell out, struggling to turn over, and moaned quietly.

“Hold on, I’ll help you!” Sima shouted, running to her.

When the carpet was fully spread out, on the ground lay a small, thin woman in decent clothes. She had a bruise on her temple. Looking around in confusion, she said:

“Well, where did he bring me? To the dump? Like this…”

Without a word, Sima helped her up and slowly led her to her shack. Seating her in a chair, she went to change into clean clothes, while the woman, only now realizing she was saved, quietly sobbed:

“So I’m alive… He wanted to bury me alive, and even ruined his beloved carpet…”

Sima put on the kettle, took herbs from the cupboard, brewed a warm, strong tea, and placed the mug in front of her guest.

“I’m Serafima Egorovna,” she introduced herself. “A former Russian language and literature teacher.”

“Are you a girl?” the woman asked in surprise, eyeing her short haircut and men’s clothes.

“Yes, it just happened that way…” Sima sighed. “I came to the capital, wanted to work as a governess. But at the station, I was robbed. Everything: bag, money, documents…”

“Why didn’t you go to the police?” Maria Filippovna asked sternly.

“I did. But they told me to restore everything through the embassy. And that costs money. Consular fees, paperwork… And I have nothing. Useless.”

Maria looked carefully at the young woman. Through the pain and tears in her eyes flickered something like sympathy.

“Is there really no help?” she asked. “I don’t know any such services,” Sima sighed. “Now tell me, how did you end up in that carpet?”

At the question, Maria Filippovna shuddered again and burst into tears:

“That’s how life turns out… Oh, how did it come to this…”

Sima muttered under her breath:

“Oh, why did I ask…”

Maria wiped her tears, straightened a little, and gave Sima a look full of either alienation or irritation:

“Why should I help you? Do you even know who I am? Once I get out of here — I’ll make such a scandal that he won’t forget! And you better think about yourself. Can one live like this?”

Sima lowered her eyes, feeling guilty for her life, for her rags, for this hut that now seemed almost a palace compared to what was inside the carpet.

Her guest finished the tea, took a deep breath, and as if addressing someone invisible, said:

“It’s okay… I will reach you…” — she added, shaking her fist into the air as if her offender was already waiting there.

Outside, dawn was breaking. The first rays of the sun shone inside, lighting the tiny dust particles in the air.

“Serafima, have you lived here long? So you know the way to the highway?” Maria asked, slowly getting up from the chair.

“Of course, I do,” Sima nodded. “Then will you escort me?” — the woman commanded rather than asked.

She left the shack and shrugged — the dawn was cold, and she was only in a thin wool suit.

“Take a cardigan or a jacket,” Sima suggested, but Maria wrinkled her nose disdainfully: “I won’t freeze. Just take me to the road — that’s all.”

“The highway isn’t far,” Sima replied, walking beside her. “But how will you walk with that injury?”

“If you want to live, you’ll learn to manage, kid. Lead on, don’t hold me up,” said the old woman, leaning on Sima’s arm.

On the way, Maria kept grumbling:

“What have they done here? Cut down the forest — and abandoned it. No nurseries, no new plantings. Used it up — and get out! It’s disgusting to look at!”

They reached the highway quickly. Maria stopped, thanked her with a short nod, and let go of Sima’s hand:

“Well, that’s it, Simochka. From here on your own. And you… I’ll try to help you.”

Sima slowly turned and went back, thinking to herself:

“Interesting woman. Walks like a queen, voice is strict and confident. Either a businesswoman or a former boss of some sort. Although, of course, it doesn’t matter now. If she helps — I’ll be grateful for life.”

At home, she went about her business: heated the stove, brewed tea, took flour from the storeroom to bake flatbreads. She poured boiling water into a mound of grainy dough, salted it, rolled it out with a bottle, and began frying on an old tray.

“This will taste good,” she thought, watching the breads start to brown.

Just as the flatbreads were ready, the door to the hut suddenly burst open. Maria Filippovna stood at the threshold. She was trembling from the cold, her face pale, and her hands clutched her side convulsively.

“Sima, help…”

Serafima grabbed the woman’s arm and carefully seated her on the bench. She lay down, curled up, and groaned:

“Oh, it hurts, hurts… I can’t starve, can’t stay out in the cold! And these drivers! Not one stopped, except one. I told him: ‘Take me to Starodubnilovsky!’ And he said: ‘How will you pay?’ Grandma, do you understand?! Who am I — a nobody?!”

Maria sobbed, and Sima handed her half of a still warm flatbread.

“Is that from expired goods?” the woman frowned.

“No, just thrown away. Sometimes bugs get into the flour — then I sift it and pour boiling water over it. It comes out almost homemade. And tasty too.”

“Well, you surprise me!” Maria fell silent, digesting what she heard. “Haven’t seen anything like this in a hundred years… and wouldn’t want to again.”

“You’re almost ninety, right?” Sima ventured to ask.

“Well, almost. And what now? You can’t get to the city from here. And at home… there is no home for me. Only that scoundrel who dumped me like a sack of sand.”

“You’re not going to walk, are you?” Sima remarked. “That would be too hard for you.”

At that moment, she noticed a familiar SUV outside the window. It pulled up to the dump, as if searching for something. Sima immediately understood: it was the same man who brought Maria.

“Aunt Masha, quiet!” she whispered. “He’s back!”

The woman raised an eyebrow questioningly, but Sima already grabbed her hand and sat her down on the floor, pinning her knee:

“Not a sound! He might hear.”

Maria shivered at the sudden movement but obediently froze. Outside, the man walked around the garbage heaps, looked around, then headed toward the hut. Sima pressed a finger to her lips, then helped Maria down into the cellar, closed it with plywood, and waited.

When there was a knock at the door, she took a deep breath and opened it. A tall, solid man stood at the threshold, dressed expensively, but with an expression as if everything around was beneath him.

“Good day,” he began, looking at Sima disdainfully. “You live here?”

“Something like that,” she replied, trying to sound calm.

“And at night too?” he continued. “Listen, have you seen anything strange? Found anything odd?”

Sima put on an innocent face:

“What did you lose?” she asked, as if she knew nothing.

The man scratched the back of his head:

“Lost? You could say that…”

“So you spent the night here?”

“Yes, I said so.”

“And you didn’t notice anything strange last night?”

“No,” Sima answered calmly, trying not to let her voice shake. “Only the dogs didn’t bark as usual. And other than that, all quiet.”

He looked at her intently, as if trying to see the truth in her eyes, then silently turned and went to the car, glancing at the hut. Sima watched him out the window until he left. Then she opened the cellar hatch.

Maria Filippovna, groaning, climbed out. She held her side but no longer cried — only angered:

“Unbelievable! Came back to get me… Scoundrel! But you, Simochka, are a good girl — you saved my life twice!”

“So who is he to you, Maria Filippovna?” Sima could not help asking.

“Son-in-law, and not just any — a rare scoundrel! My daughter died, and he, you see, is now after me to get my share. But I told him long ago: he won’t get a penny. Neither he, nor his new ‘fiancée’!”

Maria spoke with such emotion as if the son-in-law stood before her:

“I left all the inheritance to my grandson. And that greedy man — nothing. Only what he earned himself: business, cars, house…” The woman laughed bitterly and spitefully again. “But it’s not enough for him — he wants to ruin my name too.”

Sima listened, stunned by the scale of wealth and greed, things she had only read about before. By her standards, a person with such wealth should be calm and confident. But here — betrayal, danger, even an attempt on life.

Maria, as if reading her thoughts, added:

“My husband and I created a whole extraction company. We had government contracts, real estate abroad, yachts, a private plane. This son-in-law was ready to squander it all if not for my grandson. He is a true manager. I know our business is in good hands.”

“So he wanted you to leave him something too?” Sima guessed.

“Of course! After my wife’s death, he decided to marry some young lady. Wanted to send me to France or Austria so I wouldn’t interfere. My youngest daughter has long invited me to her, but I can’t stand Germans. And my grandson — he is in Russia. I would move to him if not for this scoundrel. He didn’t let me… Just took me and dumped me in a carpet at the dump.”

Sima looked at the woman with sympathy:

“Don’t worry, Maria Filippovna. If you give me your grandson’s address, I’ll get there myself. He must know where you are.”

Maria’s eyes lit up with hope:

“Really? Oh, my dear, how grateful I’ll be! But there’s a problem — they won’t let people like you to the grandson. Security will call the police immediately.”

“Then let’s play another game,” Sima smiled. “You’ll dress in my clothes, and I’ll go to him instead of you.”

Maria didn’t object. She threw off her wool suit and quickly changed into a long skirt and shapeless sweater. When Sima put on her clothes, the old woman nodded approvingly:

“It suits you! If only you had heels, you could go to a party!”

“I have a pair,” Sima smiled and took shoes from the chest. “Not my size, but they’ll do.”

While finishing preparations, Maria wrote a note. The handwriting was strict and confident:

“Oleg will recognize me. Let him take me away from here. Then we’ll deal with that Gleb properly!”

Before leaving, Sima hugged the woman:

“Take care, Maria Filippovna. Watch the window, lock the door. If you hear anyone — immediately go to the cellar and hide as deep as possible.”

“Yes, commander!” smiled the grandmother.

Sima went onto the road and slowly headed toward the city. Cars rushed past, no one paying attention to the lonely figure in someone else’s suit. Suddenly brakes squealed behind her.

“Need a ride?” asked the driver of a passenger car. “To the city?”

She turned around. Behind the wheel was a young man with a soft southern accent. Seeing his face, she immediately spoke in her native language:

“Fellow countryman?”

“Of course!” He got out of the car. “How did you end up here?”

“Long story,” she sighed, handing him the note. “I need to deliver this to an address. Can you help?”

He looked at the paper and whistled:

“Far! But I’m always glad to help a fellow countrywoman.”

Sima got into the car, carefully pulled on the unfamiliar shoes:

“They’re big, so I was walking barefoot.”

The driver only smiled and started moving.

Along the way, she told him everything: how she found Maria, helped her hide, and that the son-in-law could return at any moment. The man listened attentively, sometimes commenting but mostly silent — sympathetic.

When they reached the cottage, Azis, that was the driver’s name, whistled again:

“Wow, your acquaintances live well!”

“They’re not acquaintances,” Sima replied. “They’re salvation.”

She pressed the intercom button. A female voice answered a few seconds later:

“Who’s there?”

“Serafima sent me. A letter from Maria Filippovna.”

The gate opened. A tall young man in glasses ran out:

“What’s wrong with grandma?! Why isn’t she calling?!”

“She’s alive,” Sima hurriedly answered. “But she’s in danger. The sooner you take her, the better.”

Oleg nodded, ran to the garage, got in the car, and drove onto the highway:

“So she’s in the city?”

“At the dump, in the hut,” Sima replied. “Her son-in-law dumped her there in a carpet. We hid, but he might come back.”

Oleg looked thoughtfully at the road:

“I left because my uncle said grandma flew to France. Showed me a plane ticket order. But I didn’t believe it. Her phone number became unreachable. I felt something was wrong.”

They got onto the right highway. In the distance, against the gray garbage heaps, the hut smoldered. Sima gasped:

“Faster! That’s Maria!”

The roof had already begun to collapse. Oleg rushed forward, shouted for her to wait, and ran to the house. Crackling fire sounds came from inside. At that moment, the stove fell, and the entire roof collapsed inward.

Sima fell to the ground, covering her face with her hands. She didn’t even notice the rain — light, cold, helplessly dripping onto the fire. Oleg stood nearby, internally saying goodbye to grandma. And Sima mourned the acquaintance who in these days became almost family and for her miserable shanty that turned to ashes before her eyes.

Suddenly, through the crackling flames and rain noise, they heard a faint but alive voice:

“Sima! Serafima! Open up quickly!”

They rushed toward the sound — it came from the bushes behind the fence. There, among tangled branches and roots, they found a second exit — a secret passage covered with an old iron sheet. The guys barely moved it and saw Maria Filippovna’s dirty but living face. She sat on wooden stairs, barely holding on.

“Olezhek! My grandson… Don’t cry!” Her voice was hoarse but full of strength. “Nothing went as he thought. That bastard got nothing!”

It turned out Gleb had returned. He poured gasoline on the hut and set it on fire. Maria saw him through a window crack and descended in time into the cellar. When the floor collapsed, she fell into the old passage she herself once found, hiding from a sudden storm. And it saved her life again.

Sima could not hold back tears — such emotions she hadn’t felt even when she lost everything: documents, money, hope.

Maria took her hands:

“Don’t cry, kid! You’re coming with us! You now owe us a debt — I’ll pull you out of poverty. As long as I live — you’ll be safe.”

At her grandson’s home, Maria first tidied herself, took a shower, and dialed several phone numbers. An hour later, she happily announced:

“Olezhek, everything will be ready at the consulate tomorrow at 10. You’ll take Sima there, I have the contract. But first, the girl must be dressed decently. You can’t go restore documents in someone else’s suit and oversized shoes.”

“Grandma, like nothing happened,” Oleg smiled. “In character!”

They spent the evening shopping, visiting salons and hairdressers. By night, a completely different woman stood before them — well-groomed, beautiful, confident. Even Oleg, usually strict and restrained, blushed seeing her in the new look.

“Departure at nine tomorrow,” he reminded before sleep. “Sleep peacefully. We’re nearby.”

Sima lay down, feeling as if floating between sleep and reality. A thought flashed in her mind:

“I must thank them if I ever get home.”

Two weeks passed. She was given a temporary passport and visa. But before leaving, they asked her to stay — only as a witness in the case against Gleb. Sima agreed without hesitation.

When in court Gleb saw Maria alive and unharmed, and Sima — the very ragged woman he thought dead — his face twisted. He lowered his eyes like a beaten animal.

The testimony was decisive. Gleb was sentenced to the maximum term.

After the trial, a celebration was held at Maria’s house. Someone laughed, someone drank, someone just rejoiced that the story ended well. At one point, Oleg extended his hand to Sima:

“Dance with me?”

She nodded. He moved lightly, confidently, and she followed him as if in a dream.

“I offered grandma to rest in France, in her favorite chalet,” he said, spinning her in the dance. “Will you go with us?”

“Did grandma ask you?” she smiled gently.

“No. I want to. Simply because I feel good with you. And I’d like… to be near much longer than just at the celebration.”

Sima pondered.

“I wanted to return to my parents. They waited a long time for me at home.”

“Then we’ll go together,” he declared decisively. “I’ll meet your family. We may have a wedding there, and then a trip. For example, to France. Grandma has a house there.”

She looked into his eyes — and for the first time in years, a true feeling flared in her heart. The very one worth no less than love — the kind that destroyed this nightmare.

A month later, in a distant southern city, to the sounds of accordion and drums, a noisy, real Eastern wedding was held. All neighbors gathered in the street, wishing the newlyweds all the best. After the ceremony, the couple set off on a journey. But before that, they stopped by Maria Filippovna’s to say goodbye. And brought her a gift — the very Bukhara carpet that started the whole story.