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Prologue
Life is not a crossroads with signs where you can stand for a long time, looking at the options. More often than not, it is a path in thick fog, where every step is a choice, and only looking back, you understand where it led you. And even more rarely does it happen that Destiny itself, tired of your throwing, puts you in front of two clear, distinct and completely different roads. One is straight, well-groomed, with predictable turns. The other is overgrown, leading into the unknown, but beckoning with the aroma of wild grasses and the twittering of unfamiliar birds.
Alice had to choose exactly this decisive path.

Part 1. Granite Confidence
Alisa Orlova walked along the polished granite of the embankment in her new, incredibly uncomfortable heel. The heel was part of her image. The image of a successful, collected, sought-after woman. At thirty, she was a senior lawyer in a prestigious firm, her partners valued her, her competitors feared her, and her interns looked at her with reverent horror.
In her hand she clutched a folder with a contract that was supposed to bring the company millions. The air of St. Petersburg was cool and humid, but Alice barely felt it. In her mind she was already at the meeting, parrying objections, clearly and coldly stating her position.
Her life was like this granite - smooth, solid, beautiful and cold. She built it this way herself, throwing away everything unnecessary: doubts, stupid dreams, unnecessary emotions. After university, when her friends were rushing between work, travel and searching for themselves, Alisa knew exactly what she wanted. Career. Stability. Success. And she achieved it.
In the evening, she had dinner with Maxim. Maxim was the same as she was - ambitious, smart, practical. Their relationship was a partnership, a union of two strong personalities who were comfortable with each other. They were building a common future as they would build a business plan: rationally, without unnecessary sentimentality.
Everything was perfect. Almost.
Sometimes, waking up in the middle of the night from the hum of a car under the window, Alice caught herself feeling that she was not in her bed. That her life was a set, and the real her was somewhere far away, lost and unable to find her way back. But she immediately chased these thoughts away with a cup of strong espresso and immersion in work.
Everything changed in an instant. Banal, like in a bad novel: a call. Not to her work number, but to her personal, old number, which she almost never used.
"Alice? This is Aunt Lyuda from the village. Sorry to bother you... Grandma is not feeling well. The doctors say her days are numbered. She keeps calling for you."
The world of granite and glass cracked. Grandmother. A sunny house in a remote village near Pskov, the smell of baked apples and freshly cut grass, a river reflecting clouds. That life that she diligently forgot, crossed out as an unnecessary weakness.
Maxim winced when he heard the news.
— Do you need to go? It’s such an important time now. The agreement, negotiations with the Chinese… Can’t you send someone? Hire a nurse?
“She’s calling me, Max,” Alice answered, and surprised herself at the firmness in her voice. “I have to be there.”
She took a day off. The bosses looked on with disapproval. She bought a bus ticket. For the first time in ten years.

Part 2. The heat of the earth
The road to the village of Podgornoye was a journey into another dimension. Highways gave way to broken country roads, the sky became higher, the air thicker and sweeter. From the bus window, Alice watched the landscape change, the gloss of the city fade away, revealing a simple, slightly shabby, but real life.
Grandmother's house stood on the outskirts, just like in her memory: carved shutters, a front garden with mallows, a bench by the gate. Only now it seemed smaller, drooping.
Grandmother, always so strong and cheerful, was now small and fragile, like a bird. But her eyes shone with the same wise light.
"You've arrived, granddaughter," she whispered, squeezing Alice's hand with her withered palm. "I was afraid I wouldn't live to see you."
The days merged into one in a strange, unfamiliar rhythm. There were no meetings, no contracts, no time pressure. There were only quiet conversations, cooking on the old stove, medicines by the hour. Alice read aloud to her grandmother, sat by her bed, listened to stories of her childhood.
And here, in this silence, broken only by the crowing of roosters and the noise of the forest, her city confidence began to melt. She remembered another self - a girl who could lie in a field for hours, looking at the clouds, who collected herbarium and wrote poetry in a notebook with a squared pattern.
One evening, when the sun was slanting through the window with long rays, my grandmother said:
- Don't be afraid to change your path, Alyonushka. The one you chose at twenty may not be right for you at thirty. The heart knows the way. Listen to it. Your mother... she was always running somewhere, afraid of being late. And where did she run to? She missed the most important thing.
Alice squeezed her hand. She thought about Maxim, about her apartment with panoramic windows, about the desk in the mahogany office. It all seemed so distant and… alien.
A week later, Grandma was gone. She died quietly, in her sleep, with a smile frozen on her face.
After the funeral, Alice was left alone in an empty house. She had to go back. The ticket was bought for the next day. She started packing and came across an old cardboard box on the mezzanine. There were her childhood diaries, drawings, that same notebook with poems. And at the bottom lay a thick envelope. On it, in her grandmother's handwriting, was written: "For Alice."
Inside were old photographs and a letter.
"My dear girl, if you are reading this, it means that I have already passed away. Do not be sad. I have lived a long and happy life. And I know that you are confused now. You have always strived to be strong, and I am proud of you. But strength does not come from not feeling, but from having the courage to be happy in your own way.
I leave you this house. It is yours. You can sell it and invest the money in your brilliant career. It is a wise choice. Or you can stay. Find your true self here. It is a choice of the heart. Don’t be afraid to make mistakes. Any path will be right if you walk it with love. Your grandmother, who always believed in you."
Alice stepped out onto the porch. The night was bottomless, strewn with stars like she had never seen in the city. The air was heady. She looked at the shining Milky Way and realized that she was standing at her own crossroads. There were two roads right in front of her.
One is to return to St. Petersburg, to Maxim, to a career, to guaranteed success.
The other is to stay here. In the unknown. In the silence. In the possibility of starting over.
She took out her phone. The last barriers fell. Maxim, having learned of her hesitation, did not even argue.
- Are you crazy, Alice! To give up everything for some shack? This is infantilism! We made plans!
"They were your plans, Max," she replied calmly. "Or the plans of the person I was trying to be. Goodbye."
She sent a letter of resignation. The management responded with a polite regret and good luck, in which there was a hint of bewilderment.
Alice stayed. The first few days were terrible. The silence was oppressive, the absence of her usual routine was driving her crazy. She didn't know where to start. But then she gradually began to settle in. She found some old tools in the shed and began to tidy up the garden. The neighbors, who had initially looked at the city eccentric with suspicion, began to drop in, give advice, and bring milk and eggs.
She started writing. At first, just for herself, to pour out what had accumulated. Then her stories about the village, about her grandmother, about simple life began to be published in one popular blog. Unexpectedly for her, this caused a response. People were tired of the fuss, they found her discoveries, her search for simple happiness close to them.
A year passed. Alisina's estate was transformed. She did not become a farmer, but she found her way: she opened a small creative workshop and a summer campsite for the same tired city dwellers who were looking for peace and solitude. Her life was filled with work, but it was a different kind of work - creative, physical, bringing visible results and peace.
She still sometimes missed the glitter of the city, the adrenaline of negotiations. But it was only a slight sadness, not a longing to return.
One spring day, when she was painting the shutters, a man approached the gate.
- Excuse me, I'm looking for Alisa Orlova. I was told that here you can find a place to stay for the night and... a little peace.
It was Alexei. He was an architect from Moscow who had escaped burnout. In his eyes, she saw the same turmoil that had once been in her own heart.
They sat in the evening on that very porch, drank tea from a samovar and talked. They talked about life, about choices, about fears and the courage to overcome them. Alice told her story. Alexey listened without interrupting.
"You know," he said as he left, looking at the stars. "I think you didn't just choose a different path. You found it. You found yourself.
Alice smiled.
- My grandmother used to say that any path will be right if you walk it with love. I just followed her advice.

Epilogue
A year later, a small festival of original music and poetry opened in the village of Podgornoye. Alisa and Alexey, who remained in the village, organized it together.
Alice stood by her house, which was now not just a house, but the center of her little universe, and looked at the guests. The guitar sounded, laughter, it smelled of smoke from the fire and apple pie.
She pulled a tattered photograph out of her pocket, where she, as a little girl, was sitting on her grandmother's lap on this very porch. She had chosen a path. Not the easiest, not the most obvious, but her own. And it led her exactly to where she was happy. Home.
She made a choice. And that choice became her life.