☺️: ПИСЬМО пока на англ, чуть позже дропну перевод

A Clean, Neat Page from the Diary

After her mother "left," the child's life in this manor became highly regular, or rather, to call it "life" may not be quite accurate, for I could only ever see her in a few fixed places:
Dining Room. Each morning, she appeared there, not to eat, but to sit by the window and gaze thoughtfully at her doll.
Foyer. As noted before, she would sometimes speak to the statue. As time passed, she began to stand in silence before the front door. Yet she never once stepped outside, though the door had never been locked.
Corridor. This was the strangest place of all. She would appear there at night and run without pause, sometimes as though fleeing something, at others as though pursuing something.
The rest of the time, she would likely remain in her room.
What I could not understand most was this: why would she not leave?
She had already lost her mother here. What was left in this place of painful memories that could make her stay? Or was she, like me, searching for something? Or waiting for something?
Soon, I found my answer.
That day, she rose very late. It was the first time I had seen her eat in the dining room, toast spread with glistening honey. Then, in the afternoon, when she entered the foyer as usual, a sealed envelope awaited her there, its flap stained with soot.
She opened it, and her face showed sorrow, yet also relief. That was what she had been waiting for.
An invitation to the final game.