The Russian Ballerini

1

The air in the orphanage was thick with the scent of pine needles and snow. It had been snowing for days, and the entire city of St. Petersburg looked like it was covered in a layer of white lace. I watched the snow fall from the window of the common room. The quiet sound of the world outside filled the space, almost soothing in its stillness. But inside the orphanage, there was a tension in the air that made my heart race.

Madame Zoya, the orphanage matron who had cared for me since I was three years old, had been acting strange all morning. I wasn't sure what was going on, but I knew something was happening. Something big. She hadn't spoken to me yet, but I could feel the weight of her gaze from across the room.

For most of my life, I'd lived within the walls of this place. The orphanage had become my world. I had no family that I could remember—no parents, no siblings. Just the orphanage, and the girls who lived there with me. We had always been like sisters, even though we knew none of us would stay forever. The older girls would leave as soon as they turned eighteen, or whenever someone chose them. The rest of us, we just waited, each year feeling longer than the last.

I had started ballet at the age of four, when Madame Zoya had taken me in. She had always believed in the power of dance, and she was right. Ballet had become my escape, the one thing I could truly lose myself in. Every year, I grew stronger, more skilled. I had just started pointe work, and I was beginning to think that maybe I could go somewhere with this, make something of myself. But today was different. Today, everything changed.

"Ялена, иди сюда." (Yelena, come here.)

I looked up as Madame Zoya called me from the door. Her voice was soft, but there was something in her eyes that made me uneasy. I walked over to her slowly, unsure of what to expect.

"У меня есть новости." (I have news.)

Her eyes were kind, but I could see the sadness there too. I had learned to read people's faces over the years—sometimes, they didn't need words to communicate. This was one of those moments.

"Какие новости?" (What news?)

Madame Zoya smiled gently, placing a hand on my shoulder. "Ты будешь усыновлена." (You are going to be adopted.)

Adopted? The word was foreign to me. I had heard it before, but I didn't truly understand what it meant. It sounded like something from a storybook, something that wasn't real. But as Madame Zoya's words settled in my mind, I realized that she wasn't joking. This was happening.

"Как? Кто меня усыновит?" (How? Who will adopt me?)

"Это семья в Америке." (It's a family in America.) Madame Zoya continued, her voice soothing but firm. "Они хотят тебя. Ты будешь частью их семьи." (They want you. You will be part of their family.)

I blinked, trying to understand. America? Family? It was too much for me to grasp all at once. For as long as I could remember, the orphanage was all I had. But now... now I was being taken away to live with strangers.

"Америка?" (America?) I repeated, the word heavy on my tongue.

"Да, Америка." (Yes, America.) Madame Zoya smiled kindly at me. "Семья Свифт." (The Swift family.)

I nodded slowly, trying to process it. "Семья... Свифт?" (Family... Swift?)

Madame Zoya nodded. "Да, они живут в Пенсильвании. Ты будешь жить с ними." (Yes, they live in Pennsylvania. You will live with them.)

I tried to picture it. Pennsylvania? It sounded so far away. Would it be cold there? Would I be okay? So many questions swirled in my mind, but I could hardly focus on them all at once.