The Twelth Player

Chapter 13

A crappy day. No other way to put it. In the morning, a client at work lost it because the couch he wanted to move was bigger than the door and stairs combined. Like it's my fault he bought a giant sofa that doesn't even fit in the elevator. Lunch? Forget it. Training? Even worse. Coach ran us up and down hills because we've got a cup game away next week.

I was trying to figure out where to disappear after all that crap. Didn't want to go home—Michael's dumb jokes would've just pissed me off even more. In the end, the answer was obvious: Eli and the Kids Center.

The Kids Center was busier than usual. I was there on a different day than when I usually visit Katie, so I ran into completely different parents and kids. I could hear the noise from the door, but in the middle of all the chaos, I caught something unique—Eli's voice. But she wasn't speaking German. The language sounded like... Russian?

I peeked in and saw her. She was standing by a table, talking to a group of kids clinging to her like glue. Even the tiniest ones wouldn't leave her side, like she was their mom. Beside her stood two women I'd never seen before. Eli was talking to them in that same language, calm and soothing, like she was reassuring them. One of the women had some papers in her hand.

"Eli?" I called out.

She looked up and smiled. "Matti! What are you doing here?"

"I wanted to see you," I shrugged. "What language was that?"

"Russian," she said without hesitation. "And a bit of Ukrainian. These women fled the war in Ukraine."

"Seriously?" I looked at the women in surprise. Nothing about them stood out, but now that I noticed their tired faces and the way they held their kids so tightly, it all made sense. "Where'd you learn Russian?"

"My mom was a Russian Latvian," she explained with a small smile. "She spoke Russian to me. My dad spoke Latvian. So I have two native languages."

"Two native languages?" My eyes went wide. "And on top of that, German and English? That's four languages! And if you can speak a bit of Ukrainian, that's five!"

She blushed and looked down. "It's nothing special," she mumbled so quietly I almost didn't hear her.

Before I could tell her how amazing that was, one of the women came over, took her child, and started thanking Eli: *"Spasibo bol'shoye, vielen Dank,"* and some other words I didn't understand. When I asked Eli what it was about, she stayed quiet, but the woman explained in broken German: *"Elina... helped us... office, translate, papers..."*

I started piecing it together: office, translation, documents. Eli must've been helping them with their paperwork.

"You went to the office with them? Eli, you're amazing! I can barely handle reading my own work contract, and you're dealing with a ton of paperwork and translating for others!"

She shook her head, her eyes down. "No, they're the ones who did something big. Escaping a war-torn city, traveling hundreds of kilometers to the unknown with small children. I... I just helped with little things."

I stared at her. I couldn't tell if she was just modest or crazy. Helping strangers with paperwork in a foreign language didn't seem like a "little thing" to me. But when I looked closer, I noticed things I'd missed before: dark circles under her eyes, how she fidgeted with her fingers. Her skin was paler than usual, and her expression was blank. Like something inside her was slowly fading.

"What's wrong? Why are you so sad?" I asked, my voice quieter than I meant it to be.

"Nothing," she said quickly. She smiled, but it was barely a shadow of the smile I knew. She always had a small, kind of sad smile, but this wasn't the Eli I knew—the one who found joy in giving to others.

"Really?" I tried again. "How are the kids at the orphanage? Is everything okay there?" It crossed my mind that it might have something to do with the place she called home.

"Everything's fine," she said, but her gaze shifted to the side, like she was looking for something there.

"Eli?"

"I need to get back to the kids," she mumbled and quickly turned away. Before I could say anything, she was gone, disappearing among the kids like she was hiding from me.

I spent the weekend thinking about her. Her tired eyes and empty smile kept running through my head. I didn't know what was going on, but one thing was clear: something wasn't right. And then I saw her at the supermarket checkout.

She was scanning items like a robot. No smile, no small talk with the customers. She looked like she was about to drop.

"Eli, are you okay?" I asked as I stepped up to her.

"Yeah, work," she said flatly, not even glancing at me.

"How many shifts is this for you today?" I couldn't hold it in anymore.

"Presents for the kids," she blurted out quickly.

I looked at her. Something didn't add up. Sure, she was always the one thinking about others, but this felt different. Why would she need so much money? Eli didn't say another word, and I had to hold myself back from interrogating her right there at the checkout.

On my way home, my mind was spinning. How brilliant she really is. She speaks five languages, helps people, does things most people wouldn't have the patience or ability to do. And what does she get out of it? A bunch of lousy side jobs that barely pay.

This isn't normal. Why does someone so smart and capable live like... well, almost like a servant? Why does she work herself to the bone and act like it's fine?

The thought weighed on me. I would've lost my mind by now. But her? She just quietly takes it. Why doesn't she demand something better for herself?

That question stuck in my head, and I couldn't find an answer. And it drove me crazy. If she's so kind and smart, why does she act like she doesn't matter?