**The Matryoshka of Fate: A Helping Hand in Hard Times**
I was just drifting off when my phone shattered the silence. Bleary-eyed, I glanced at the screen—my younger sister, Katie, was calling. *Again? What now?* I sighed and answered, my voice heavy with sleep.
“Katie, we’re already in bed.”
“Hey, sorry, just a quick one. Can you lend me a bit till payday? Please? Greg still hasn’t sent the child support.”
“How much?”
“Just enough to get Sophie and me through till Monday. They’ve announced a nursery trip tomorrow, and we need to chip in. Can you help?”
“Alright, Katie, I’ll transfer it now.”
“Thank you, sis, you’re a lifesaver!” She blew a kiss into the phone and hung up.
I turned over, but sleep wouldn’t come. That call had stirred up too much. Katie’s life had taken such strange turns. Growing up, she had it all—top grades, sports, friends. But after marrying Greg, everything unraveled. Maybe it’s wrong to admit, but their divorce was a relief. With him, she’d faded, like a shadow of herself.
With thoughts of her and little Sophie swirling, I finally fell asleep.
The next evening, Katie showed up at my flat in a quiet suburb of Manchester.
“Hey, need your advice,” she said, pulling a ring from her pocket. “Thinking of pawning my wedding band. Dug through everything last night—this is the only thing worth selling. Don’t need a reminder of Greg, anyway.”
“Things that bad?”
“Yeah. Was up for a promotion at work—boss praised me, gave me extra tasks. Then they gave it to Laura Smith instead. She barely tries, always bolts early. Me? ‘You’ve got a kid, always off sick.’ Just my luck, hey? Think the ring’s worth anything?”
“It’s lovely, practically new with that stone. Should fetch a decent amount. But honestly, Katie? Get rid of it. Bad juju, keeping a ring from a failed marriage. Pawn it and don’t look back.”
The pawnbroker examined the ring carefully before naming a fair price.
“Selling it? Need the cash? Divorced? Both?” He chuckled. “Ah, well. Got a daughter? Good for you.”
While he filled out the paperwork, Katie wandered along the display cases—phones, tablets, jewellery. Then her eyes landed on a painted matryoshka doll.
“Handmade, antique,” the old man remarked. “Some bloke brought it in ages ago. No one’s bought it. Previous owner won’t reclaim it. Take it, I’ll give you a deal. Your girl’ll love it.”
Katie hadn’t planned to buy anything. But on impulse, she paid and tucked the doll into her bag.
Sophie was over the moon. Wooden dolls like this were rare now, something she’d never seen before.
A knock at the door—it was me, arms laden with grocery bags.
“Claire, you’re impossible! Thank you!”
“You think I’d sit still knowing my girls have an empty fridge?” I unloaded milk, bread, cheese, sausage, yogurts.
“Auntie Claire, look what I got!” Sophie grabbed a yogurt and thrust the doll into my hands.
“Gorgeous! Look, Sophie, it opens—see? And there’s another inside! And another! Try it yourself.” I handed it back.
“Claire, tea’s ready. Stay for a bit?” Katie sliced cheese and sausage.
“Mum, the dolls stopped,” Sophie pouted, clutching the tiniest one.
“No, sweetheart, this one opens too—just stiff.” I twisted it firmly. “Oh, Katie—look!”
Inside, rolled tightly, were crisp banknotes and a note:
*”To the one who helped me. Pay it forward when you can. Someone did this for me.”*
“Should we return it?” Katie turned the note over.
“Don’t be daft. You bought it fair and square. A matryoshka’s a symbol of luck. It came to you—it’s meant to stay,” I said firmly.
And I was right. The dark streak ended.
Katie quit the job that undervalued her, polished her CV. The money tided her over till she landed a new role—better pay, a team that appreciated her.
Even Mum, who’d held a grudge over Greg, softened. She offered to watch Sophie after nursery, giving Katie peace to work.
Then there was Andrew from IT—charming, drawn to her laugh and drive.
Bit by bit, life realigned. So when stability returned, Katie remembered the note. She tucked away the same amount, slid it into the doll.
Every morning on her commute, she passed a young mum pushing her son’s wheelchair in the park. One day, spotting the boy asleep, Katie quietly nestled the matryoshka beside him and hurried off.
Her heart swelled, imagining their surprise. She’d repaid the unseen kindness that saved her.
Sometimes the smallest help works wonders. And a matryoshka—a symbol of hope—well, that’s pure magic.
