The phone was literally exploding with calls. It didn’t stop for a second, trembling on the table like a living creature ready to bolt into a furious run. I had muted it yesterday when the first journalist tried to squeeze a comment out of me, but even in silent mode, the screen still beckoned, blinking as if mocking me. And now — it lights up again. “Aunt Nina.” That was already the fifth call this morning. The fifth time in the last two hours she had tried to reach me, as if I suddenly decided that talking to her was a gift from fate.
“God, when will they finally leave me alone?!” I threw the phone onto the couch irritably, as if it were to blame for all this madness. Sighing, I reached for my cup of cold coffee. It was bitter — like the realization that the silence I had lived in for ten years suddenly collapsed like a house of cards.
Ten years. Ten long years when no one from the family even bothered to ask how I was. When I could have died, disappeared, burned in fire — and no one would have noticed. And now? Now it was like they all woke up from a many-year coma, suddenly remembered they had a niece, their own flesh and blood, a lost soul from the big city. And all this — thanks to journalists with their “success stories” they love to write, as if they know everything about your life except the truth.
A knock on the door made me jump as if someone hammered a nail into a nerve. At the threshold stood Alexey — my business partner, my rock in a turbulent stream, the only person who knew my real address. And even he, it seemed, did not expect what he saw.
“Svetа! Did you see the news? We’re everywhere!” Lesha literally burst into the apartment, waving a tablet. “Stocks went up another six percent! It’s a triumph!”
“Yeah, a triumph,” I snorted, glancing at the phone that blinked again. “Only now I’m more occupied with a family reunion.”
“Are you serious? That’s those… relatives?” He frowned, recalling my stories.
“Yeah. The very ones. Who didn’t even come to our parents’ funerals. Who thought I was ‘wrong,’ ‘too smart,’ ‘impractical.’ But now — oh miracle! — I suddenly became interesting to them.”
The phone rang again. I sighed as if preparing to jump into icy water and picked up.
“Svetochka! Baby! Finally!” Aunt Nina’s voice was honeyed, like sugary syrup clinging to the soul. “Uncle Valera and I nearly went crazy! Saw you in the magazine! You’re such a beauty! So clever!”
“Hello, Aunt Nina,” I replied dryly, without emotion.
“Svetik, you can’t imagine how happy we are for you! Always knew you’d go far! Remember what Uncle Valera used to say? ‘Our Svetka will show everyone yet!’”
I rolled my eyes. Uncle Valera said something quite different. He said: “Our Svetka is a show-off. A Muscovite, thinks she’s smarter than everyone.”
“I don’t recall that, Aunt Nina.”
“Oh, come on! Remember how we used to bake pies? And go to the river?”
Alexey stood nearby, watching my face, silently laughing. He knew these were not memories but a masquerade. A game of nostalgia, where every role was assigned except mine.
“Aunt Nina, let’s skip this. What did you want?”
A pause. Deafening, slow, like old glue.
“Svetochka, why so cold? We just missed you! Life’s been hard here, you know. I have high blood pressure, Valera’s back hurts. Kirill’s unemployed…”
I counted to ten in my head. To twenty. To thirty. Then said:
“Let’s meet. Come to Moscow, we’ll sit, talk.”
Silence hung on the line. Then joy, almost hysterical:
“Really? Svetochka! We knew you had a kind soul!”
When I hung up, Alexey looked at me in surprise.
“Are you serious? Why do you even want anything to do with them?”
“I want to look them in the eyes, Lesha. And say a few things.”
The doorbell rang again. This time — Marina. My best friend since we sat in the library, drank coffee from a thermos, and dreamed of a big future. She stormed into the apartment like a hurricane.
“Star!” she hugged me. “I told you your financial analytics system would take off!”
“Marin, imagine, the family showed up. All at once. Ten years of silence, now — all at once.”
“And what are you going to do? Don’t tell me you fell for those tearful stories!”
“I invited them to Moscow.”
“Are you crazy? They’ll just suck money from you!”
“Let them try. I have a plan.”
A week later I was sitting in a small restaurant near Patriarch’s Ponds. Not trendy, not fancy — ordinary. I chose it on purpose. Modest interior, simple tablecloths, food without frills. I wore jeans and a sweater, hair tied back. No diamonds, no designer bags. No pretending to be rich.
They barged in as a noisy crowd — Aunt Nina, Uncle Valera, Kirill and his wife Vika. Aunt immediately threw herself at me like we parted yesterday, not ten years ago.
“Svetochka! Darling! How we missed you!”
She smelled of cloying perfume, old promises, and lies. Uncle Valera awkwardly patted my shoulder, as if afraid I’d break.
“Well, look at you, Svetka! You’ve grown up!”
Kirill acted important. Tried to look businesslike, but his eyes showed greed, like a man who came not for a meeting but for a hunt.
“Looking great, sis. Success suits you.”
We sat at the table. I ordered simple dishes, nothing expensive. Aunt immediately started looking around.
“I thought you’d invite us to some fancy place! You have the means now…”
“I like it here,” I shrugged. “Home cooking.”
“So tell me, how did you get so rich?” Uncle Valera drummed impatient fingers on the table. “The news said millions of dollars! Is it true?”
“Valera!” Aunt snapped at him. “Why so blunt? Svetochka, tell us how you lived all these years. We were so worried!”
“Worried?” I smiled. “Interesting. Why didn’t you call then?”
“Well… we thought you were busy… You had your own life, we didn’t want to interfere.”
“Didn’t want to interfere,” I repeated. “Even when Mom and Dad died.”
Silence fell over the table. The waiter brought snacks but no one reached for the plates.
Kirill tried to lighten the mood:
“Come on, Svet! Let’s talk about something good! By the way, I have an amazing business plan. Listen, with your connections, we could do something big!”
“Really? What business?”
“Technology! Like yours, only cooler! Needs some investment, a million or two. But the profit — you won’t believe it!”
Meanwhile, Aunt Nina pulled out a bunch of papers from her bag.
“Svetochka, I brought prescriptions. I have high blood pressure, heart issues… Medicines are so expensive, we barely make ends meet…”
“And my back hurts,” added Uncle Valera. “Need surgery, but no money. Took out loans up to the roof.”
I silently listened as they took turns telling their problems. Their voices grew more pleading by the minute. Aunt no longer hid tears, Kirill spoke about shares and percentages, Uncle complained about banks.
“Svetik, you can help now, right?” Aunt grabbed my hand. “We’re family!”
“Family,” I nodded. “Where were you for the last ten years?”
They fell silent. Exchanged glances. Aunt started mumbling something about distance and being busy.
I opened my bag and pulled out an old envelope.
“Do you know what’s inside? Unpaid funeral bills for Mom and Dad. I kept them all these years.”
I laid the bills and photos on the table. In the pictures, I stood alone at two graves — first fresh ones, then simple monuments.
“Remember, Aunt Nina, how I called you? Asked you to come? You said you were sick.”
“Svetochka, but I really…”
“And you, Uncle Valera, said you had a shift at the factory, no day off. And Kirill didn’t even answer the phone.”
They sat with lowered eyes. Only Vika — Kirill’s wife — looked away, clearly uncomfortable.
“Do you know how much the funerals cost?” I tapped the papers. “I gave all my scholarship money. Then worked nights to pay the rent.”
Uncle Valera sharply changed tone:
“Enough of the sad stuff! Who remembers old things… Now everything’s fine for you! You can think about family.”
“Yes, Svet,” Kirill joined in. “We didn’t come for nothing. I have a really cool idea! Look…”
He rummaged in his briefcase for some papers. Aunt started sobbing again, fiddling with the prescriptions.
“I only need half a million for surgery,” Uncle spoke businesslike. “For you, that’s peanuts now. I’ll pay back later…”
I raised my hand to stop the flow.
“I’ve been thinking about this meeting since you called. Do you know what was the hardest part? Deciding what to do.”
They froze, staring at me. Their eyes read impatience — when will I take out a checkbook or start transferring money from my phone.
“I created a charity fund,” I said calmly but firmly, as if every word was cast in steel. “In our hometown. For talented children from poor families. Scholarships, educational programs, internships.”
Their faces immediately fell. They clearly didn’t understand what I meant. Expected me to take out a checkbook or press the phone screen to send them a large sum. But instead — the fund. For strangers’ children. Not for them.
“I invested three million dollars there,” I continued, not looking away. “And I’ll keep investing until every child is seen for their potential. Until every child born in poverty gets a chance to change their life.”
Kirill smiled nervously.
“Cool, sis. Noble. But why help us?”
“Not at all,” I answered, looking him straight in the eyes. “Not at all.”
Aunt Nina gasped and clutched her chest as if I just slapped her face.
“How not at all? Sveta, what’s wrong? We’re family! Blood relatives!”
“Family isn’t about blood, Aunt Nina,” I said almost in a whisper but with such force the room fell silent. “Family is about support in hard times. About not turning away when a person falls. About standing by when everything collapses.”
Aunt gasped in outrage.
“You… you must help relatives!” she raised her voice. “It’s your duty!”
“No, Aunt Nina. I owe no one anything. Not you, not Uncle Valera, not Kirill. Duty isn’t about money. Duty is about humanity. About memory. About conscience. And if you don’t have it, there’s nothing to talk about.”
Uncle Valera turned red with anger. His face became purple, like he was about to burst.
“Well, you’re so proud! Got a big head! Think if you have tons of money, you can spit on family?”
I laughed. Not angrily, not mockingly — with relief.
“I’m not spitting on family. I just don’t consider you family,” I smiled, but there was no warmth in my eyes. “Real family was with me when I was down. Marina, who helped with the funerals. Alexey, who believed in me and my ideas. People who didn’t wait until I was rich to hug me.”
Kirill hissed through his teeth:
“How cold you are. Your parents would be ashamed of you.”
I laughed again — loud, almost hysterical.
“Really? You want to talk about what my parents would like? You never even came to their graves. Didn’t come, didn’t call. Didn’t ask how I was. And now you dare to judge?”
I got up from the table.
“Lunch is on me. You can order more if you want. But I have to go. I have a meeting with the fund team.”
“That’s it?” Aunt Nina jumped up like stung. “You called us to humiliate? To brag?”
“No, Aunt Nina. I called you to close the past. And so you never call again. Never.”
I took the photos, carefully put them in my bag, left money for lunch on the table, and headed to the exit. Behind me came indignant shouts, but I didn’t look back.
Six months flew by like one day. Time seemed to speed up when you’re busy not with yourself but with others. Our fund “New Horizons” gained momentum. We opened an education center in my hometown, launched a scholarship program, organized internships at big companies. Every day brought new success stories. Every child studying with us proved I was right.
I flew there every month. Today was the final of the young programmers’ contest. The kids showed incredible projects: smart greenhouses, apps to help the elderly, eco-monitoring systems. Their eyes shone with hope. In their hands — the future.
“Svetlana Andreevna, may I have a minute?” the center director Olga approached me. “There’s a teacher who wants to meet you. His students took first and third place.”
I turned and froze. Standing before me was a young man about thirty, with familiar facial features.
“Misha?” I asked uncertainly. “Is that you?”
“Hi, Svet,” he smiled. “Didn’t think you’d remember me. We haven’t seen each other for fifteen years.”
Mishka. My cousin. The last time we met, he was fifteen, and I was twenty.
“Do you work here?”
“I’m a math and computer science teacher at the third school,” he nodded toward the group of kids. “These are my students. Talented kids, right?”
We moved toward the window.
“I heard you came to see our family,” he said quietly. “They’re still upset.”
“And you?” I tensed. “Did you come for money too?”
Misha laughed.
“No, not at all. I came to thank you for the fund. My students got opportunities we never dreamed of. Now they have a chance.”
He paused, then added softly:
“And I wanted to apologize. For the family. For how they treated you.”
“You’re not to blame,” I shrugged. “You were fifteen then.”
“I know. But still, I’m ashamed. I tried to come to the funeral, but my mother didn’t let me — said I was too young. And then… then it was too late to fix anything.”
We stood watching the kids happily taking photos with their diplomas.
“I have a proposal,” Misha suddenly said. “The center lacks programming teachers. I can take extra hours. And also prepare a few kids for the international olympiad.”
“You don’t have to,” I shook my head. “I didn’t create the fund for this.”
“I know. But I want to help. Not for you or money. For the kids.”
That evening, Misha and I talked for a long time at a café. He told how he went against his parents’ wishes, choosing teaching over law. How he fell in love with teaching and his subject. How he found talented kids and tutored them extra, for free. How he dreamed of giving them a chance that no one gave him.
A month later, Mikhail became the coordinator of the educational programs at our fund. And six months after that, I caught myself thinking that for the first time in many years, I felt I had a family. Not by blood, but by spirit — the fund team, the kids we help, and Misha, the only relative who shared my values.
Aunt Nina called sometimes — complaining about life and hinting at help. I politely offered her volunteer work at the fund. She hung up.
One evening, after another event, Misha and I sat in a park. Kids were releasing lanterns into the sky with their dreams written on them. The glowing lights rose like stars born from hope.
“You know,” he said, looking at the lights, “you did the right thing. With the fund. With the relatives. With everything.”
“Do you think so?”
“Sure. True wealth is the ability to change lives for the better. And build relationships not out of profit, but genuinely.”
I looked at the children’s faces lit by the lantern lights and realized: millions in the bank mean nothing compared to these moments. Now I have what no money can buy — the chance to see other people’s dreams come true, and people around me who value not my wallet, but me.
That is true wealth.