All Amazing Babies

— If you don’t take your son to his father tomorrow, I will throw both of you out of the house! I don’t want to deal with your snot and tears at night! Do you understand me?

The words struck Veronika like a slap, stinging her cheeks more painfully than a smack. She was sitting on the edge of their shared bed, her back to Stanislav, rocking the feverish, restless Kirill who was asleep. The three-year-old boy was breathing heavily, sweat covered his forehead, and from his chest came occasional plaintive, strained sobs — not a tantrum, but the agonizing cry of a sick child. The fever didn’t go down despite the medicine given an hour ago. Veronika felt with her hand how hot his little body was, and her own heart clenched with helplessness and anxiety. Behind her, on his half of the bed, her husband was tossing and turning, grinding his teeth.

She knew he wasn’t asleep. She heard his irritated snorting, sharp turns from side to side, demonstratively shaking the mattress. This had been going on for a good hour since Kirill’s temperature rose again and he began crying in his sleep. Stanislav was silent, but the air in the bedroom literally crackled with his restrained rage. Veronika instinctively tried to muffle the sounds, holding her son tighter, whispering some incoherent consolations in his ear, but the fever and pain did their work — Kirill could not calm down.

And then — an explosion. He didn’t just say it — he growled it, jumping out of bed so sharply that the springs creaked in protest. Veronika flinched and turned around. Stanislav stood in the middle of the room, lit by the dim nightlight — tall, tense like a stretched string. His usually handsome face was now distorted with anger. His eyes flashed like lightning. In his hand, he clenched a pillow — his pillow, which he apparently had just torn off the bed.

Veronika hadn’t even managed to say a word when he threw the pillow forcefully against the opposite wall. A dull thud — and the pillow slid down in a shapeless heap on the floor. The gesture was so unexpected, so wild in this quiet night room filled only with a child’s cry and her own anxious breathing, that Veronika froze for a moment. Was this the same Stas who six months ago carried Kirill on his shoulders in the park, laughed at his clumsy attempts to throw the ball into the hoop, patiently read the same tractor book to him ten times in a row? The same one who promised her before the wedding that Kirill was like his own son, that he had always dreamed of a boy and was ready to become a real father to him? Three months of official marriage had erased that idyllic picture completely, as if it had never existed. The mask of the perfect stepfather and loving husband had fallen off, revealing an ugly, selfish core.

 

Stanislav stepped toward the bed, looming over her. His shadow fell on her and the child — large, threatening.

— I asked you, do you understand me? — he hissed, lowering his voice to a dangerous whisper that sent chills down Veronika’s spine. — I’ve had enough of these nightly concerts! I work, I need to rest, not listen to this howling! Tomorrow! And I don’t want to see his face here! Take him to his daddy, let him babysit!

Veronika slowly lifted her eyes to him. The shock began to fade, giving way to cold, ringing indignation. She hugged her son tighter, as if trying to protect him not only from illness but also from this wave of hatred coming from the man who had recently sworn love to both of them.

— Stas, are you out of your mind? — she asked, trying to keep her voice steady. — What father? You know perfectly well that Igor lives a thousand kilometers away, he saw Kirill only once in his life, when he was a month old. He pays alimony irregularly, after scandals. He doesn’t care about his son, you know that well! Where would I take him? Especially now, when he’s sick!

She said what was obvious, what they had discussed many times before the wedding. Stanislav always agreed, nodded sympathetically, sighed, called Igor an irresponsible bastard, and promised that he, Stas, would never be like that, that Kirill was his son. Where did all that go?

— That’s not my problem! — Stanislav cut her off, with no sympathy in his voice, only icy irritation. — I don’t care where his daddy lives or what he wants or doesn’t want there. I only care that I can’t sleep in my own house because of your child! You’re the mother — so solve the problem. If you want to live here — get rid of him. Out of sight, out of mind. Tomorrow morning pack his things — and off you go. To daddy, grandma, boarding school — anywhere! But no more of him here!

He looked down on her, his jaws clenched tight, his eyes showing that same expression of disdainful superiority she had begun noticing more and more in recent weeks whenever he was displeased. And now the object of that displeasure, of that disdain, was her sick, helpless son. And herself.

Stanislav’s words — “boarding school — anywhere!” — hung in the stale bedroom air like a poisonous fog. Veronika looked at him, and there was no more confusion in her eyes. Deep inside, a cold, furious fire was burning. Boarding school. Her son. Her sick, little Kirill. This man, her husband, had just suggested sending her child to a boarding school because he disturbed his sleep. Realizing this didn’t just hit her — it scorched her through and through, burning the last remnants of illusions, the last grains of hope that this was just a moment of weakness, bad mood, fatigue. No. This was his true face, and it was disgusting.

— You… — she began, and to her own surprise, her voice sounded even, without a tremble, only with icy notes that made Stanislav twitch his shoulder slightly. — Did you really say that? About boarding school?

He hesitated for a moment, possibly not expecting such a calm, almost steely reaction. But he quickly recovered, putting on the mask of righteous anger again.

— So what? — he snorted, crossing his arms defiantly. — I’m just offering options. If you can’t handle your child yourself, maybe there are people who can do it professionally? I’m not obligated to put up with this every night! I married you, not your problems with your… offspring.

“Offspring.” The word cut Veronika to the core. He had never spoken like that before. Always “Kiryusha,” “sonny,” “our boy.” Now — “offspring.” She slowly, very carefully so as not to disturb the sleeping Kirill, began to get up from the bed. Every movement was deliberate, full of inner resolve.

— You know, Stas, — she said, now standing in front of him, looking him straight in the eyes, now almost on the same level, — I think I made the biggest mistake of my life believing you. When I decided you could become part of our family with Kirill.

She stepped aside toward the dresser where her things and some children’s clothes lay. Stanislav watched her, his face tensed.

— What are you planning? — he asked, a worried note creeping into his voice. He apparently expected tears, pleas, excuses, but not this cold calmness and action.

— I’m planning to do what I should have done much earlier, — Veronika replied without turning around. She pulled out a drawer and took out her travel bag, which she hadn’t used for a long time. — We’re leaving. Right now.

Stanislav let out a short, angry laugh.

— Where do you think you’re going in the middle of the night with a sick child? Running to mommy to complain? She’ll throw you out herself when she finds out you left your husband because of a child’s crying.

Veronika turned, the bag in her hand looked unexpectedly heavy.

— It’s none of your business where I go, — she cut him off. — The main thing is to get as far away from you as possible. I won’t let you humiliate me or my son anymore. You’ve shown your true face, Stas. And it disgusts me.

She moved toward the crib standing in the corner, intending to take Kirill’s warm jumpsuit. Then Stanislav lunged at her, grabbing her arm above the elbow. His fingers dug into her skin like a vice.

— I said, you’re not going anywhere! — he growled in her face, his eyes narrowing with rage again. — You’re my wife! And you’ll do what I say!

For a moment, Veronika was scared. His face was too close, twisted with anger, his grip painful. But the fear was quickly replaced by a flash of fury. She jerked her arm sharply, and to his surprise, he didn’t hold her. The strength born of desperation and maternal instinct was unexpected.

— Don’t you dare touch me! — her voice broke into a scream, but it was a scream not of fear, but of rage and warning. — If you touch me or my son again — you’ll regret it badly, Stas! Very badly! I’m not that defenseless sheep you apparently thought I was!

Stanislav stepped back, stunned. He looked at her like a stranger. This woman, who had always been so soft, so compliant, now stood before him like a fury, ready to protect her child at any cost. Her eyes burned with such fire that he involuntarily felt uncomfortable. He realized he’d gone too far, that direct aggression wouldn’t work now. And he instantly changed tactics.

A suffering grimace appeared on his face. He ran a hand through his hair, sighed as if carrying all the burdens of the world on his shoulders.

— Nika, what are you saying? — his voice suddenly became coaxing, almost pitiful. — I’m not doing this out of spite. I’m just tired, my nerves are shot. Work is hard, I don’t get enough sleep… And Kirill crying on top of that… I love you both, you know that. Didn’t I take care of you? Didn’t I try to be a good husband and father? Remember how good we were before… before all this.

He tried to take her other hand, but she pulled it away as if from fire.

— Don’t, Stas, — she said tiredly but firmly. — No need for these plays. I understand everything. Your love and care were just a game while it was convenient for you. While Kirill was healthy, obedient, and didn’t cause you “inconvenience.” But as soon as he got sick, as soon as some patience and sympathy were required — all your “love” evaporated. Only naked selfishness and irritation remained.

— What are you talking about? — Stanislav started getting angry again, seeing his attempt to play on guilt failed. — You’re just a bad mother, that’s all! You can’t calm your own child! You probably do it on purpose to annoy me! To show who’s boss here! You thought I’d dance to your tune and your brat’s? No way! I’m a man, and in my house it will be the way I say!

He raised his voice again, his face beginning to flush. But Veronika was no longer afraid. She looked at him with cold contempt. Every word he said only strengthened her conviction in the rightness of her decision. She saw through him — his immaturity, his egocentrism, his inability to feel basic compassion. The mask was completely torn off. Underneath was a monster.

— Bad mother? — Veronika repeated quietly, but her voice carried such blatant, icy sarcasm that Stanislav involuntarily recoiled. She took another step toward the dresser, ignoring his attempts to resume accusations. — Am I a bad mother because my child got sick and cries? Or because I ignored for three months how you turned from a “loving stepfather” into an irritated, selfish tyrant?

She turned to face him, her gaze direct, harsh, leaving no room for his manipulations.

— Let’s remember, Stas. Who begged me to move in faster because “he couldn’t wait for us to become a real family”? Who swore to Kirill, looking him in the eyes, that he would be the best dad in the world? Who took him on weekends to the zoo and amusement rides, took pictures hugging him and posted them with captions like “my favorites”? Was all that a lie? Just a show to get me?

Stanislav curled his lips in a contemptuous sneer. The mask of a loving man slid off completely, revealing the face of a cynic tired of pretending.

— And you believed that? — he snorted. — Well, then you’re even dumber than I thought. Of course, it was a game. Men have to tell women what they want to hear, especially if a woman has… a baggage. I thought you understood that. I expected after the wedding you’d somehow calm your puppy down, keep him in check. So he wouldn’t interfere with my life.

— Keep in check? Interfere with life? — Veronika shook her head, overwhelmed by a strange, cold calmness, as if she was watching a disgusting scene from the outside.

— He’s three years old, Stas. He’s a child. And he was the perfect child — quiet, obedient. Until you started hissing at him for every fallen block, until you started grimacing demonstratively when he laughed too loud. He just got sick! His temperature is almost 40, he’s in pain, scared! And you… you suggest throwing him out or sending him to a boarding school!

— Yes, I suggest it! — Stanislav barked, losing control again. — Because I’m fed up! Fed up with your child, his snot, his toys all over the apartment, his night screams! I’ve put up with it for three months, pretending to be a dad, enough! I want a normal life! I want silence! I want my wife to belong to me, not to be forever busy with her brood!

Kirill whimpered again in the corner — softly, plaintively, as if reacting to the adults’ shouting. Stanislav threw an angry look at him.

— See! It’s starting again! Can’t stand it!

— I hear it, — Veronika answered calmly, approaching the crib and adjusting the blanket on her son. She didn’t look at Stanislav, but every word was addressed to him. — I hear my sick child crying. And I hear you too, Stas. And I finally understood what kind of person I brought into our home. What kind of monster I almost made the stepfather to my son. Thank you for this revelation. It came late, but better late than never.

She straightened and looked at him again. There was no hatred in her eyes, only cold, ice-like disgust and firm determination.

— You’re right about one thing. This can’t go on anymore. This circus really needs to end.

Stanislav looked at her, not fully understanding what was happening. He was used to women in such situations either crying, yelling, or trying to appease him. But Veronika stood before him calm, collected, as if having made a final decision. And that scared him more than any scream. He felt he was losing control, that his usual tricks — pressure, accusations, attempts to evoke pity — no longer worked. She looked at him as if he no longer existed for her as a close person, as if he was just an unpleasant obstacle in her way. And that annoyed him even more.

 

— Circus? — Stanislav shifted from foot to foot, his fists involuntarily clenched. He felt the ground slipping from under his feet. This cold, distant Veronika was unfamiliar to him and scared with her impenetrability. He expected anything — hysteria, pleas, even insults back — but not this icy statement of fact. — Do you even realize what you’re doing? You’re going to leave me, your husband, because of a child’s tantrums? Who would want you with that… baggage? You think there’s another fool like me ready to put up with someone else’s son?

He tried to put as much venom and contempt as possible into his words, wanting to hurt her, make her doubt, fear the future. He wanted to see at least a shadow of fear or a glimmer of regret on her face. But Veronika slowly walked to the wardrobe and took out a small sports bag. She opened it on the bed next to the sleeping Kirill and methodically began packing children’s things: a couple of spare bodysuits, warm pants, socks. Her movements were calm, almost mechanical.

— You know, Stas, — she said without turning her head, her voice just as even and cold, — just a few hours ago, I probably would have been scared of your words. I would have thought about how hard it would be alone, how awkward in front of my parents, what acquaintances would say. But you cured me of all those fears so quickly and efficiently. You showed me something much scarier — life with a person capable of such meanness, such cruelty towards a defenseless child. Life with you. And compared to that, everything else seems like a trifle.

She zipped up the children’s bag, then took her own bag lying on the floor, and calmly began packing the essentials for herself: change of underwear, jeans, sweater, hygiene items. Stanislav watched her, and helpless rage boiled in his chest. He didn’t know what to do. Shout? He had already shouted. Threaten? His threats no longer seemed to work. Grab her, stop her by force? Something in her icy calm, her straight back, her determined gaze told him this would be a bad idea. That she really was capable of what she warned about.

— So that’s it? — he croaked, feeling his mouth dry. — You’ll just take off? Erase everything we had? Because I just want to get some sleep in my own house?

Veronika turned, the bag in her hand. She looked him straight in the eyes, and her gaze was full of such cold, annihilating contempt that Stanislav involuntarily shrank.

— There was nothing between us, Stas, — she said clearly, each word falling like an ice drop. — There was an illusion that you so carefully created. And that I, foolishly, took at face value. And you want to sleep? Well, now no one will bother you. Sleep peacefully. Enjoy the silence. Enjoy your home, where there is no more room for “snot and tears.”

She went to the crib carefully, so as not to wake the child, picked up the sleeping Kirill. The little boy murmured something in his sleep and snuggled close. Veronika adjusted his hat.

— And about your ultimatum… — she paused, looking at his face twisted with anger. — “If tomorrow you don’t take your son to his father, I will throw both of you out of the house! I don’t want your snot and tears at night!” Remember? I understood, Stas. I understood everything perfectly. Consider your wish granted. We’re leaving. Only you’re not throwing us out. We’re leaving ourselves. From you.

She moved to the door. Stanislav watched her go, his face crimson, his jaw muscles twitching. He wanted to shout something, do something, but the words stuck in his throat. He saw her retreating back, the fragile figure with the child in her arms, and understood it was the end. Complete and unconditional. He lost. Not to her — to himself, his anger, his selfishness.

When Veronika was already in the hallway, putting on shoes and throwing on her jacket, he still found the strength to squeeze out:

— And where are you going now? Do you think someone’s waiting for you with open arms?

Veronika, already opening the front door, paused for a moment. She didn’t look back.

— That’s none of your business anymore, Stas, — her voice came calmly and detachedly, as if speaking to a stranger. — For me, you no longer exist.

The door closed behind her. It didn’t slam — the lock just clicked quietly. Stanislav was left alone in the bedroom, where a few minutes ago passions had boiled. Now there was deafening, oppressive silence, which he so longed for. But this silence brought no relief. It was empty, cold, hostile. He looked around: the disturbed bed, the pillow he threw by the wall, the empty crib. He was alone. And that realization was much scarier than any child’s cry. The rage boiling inside him began to be replaced by emptiness and a dull, muffled hatred of himself, which he would never admit. He got what he demanded. Silence. And absolute, ringing loneliness…

— Sveta, here’s the thing. Mom needs help: the balcony windows have to be washed — she can’t manage it herself anymore. And groceries need to be bought for the week, the list is quite long. Can you go today?

Kirill entered the kitchen wearing casual sweatpants and a crumpled T-shirt, radiating that relaxed weekend vibe. He went to the water filter, poured himself a glass, barely noticing his wife as usual. Svetlana was sitting at the small table by the window, slowly sipping her morning coffee. Sunlight played on the tablecloth in whimsical patterns, but her gaze was focused somewhere inward.

This wasn’t the first time she’d been asked for something like this. It had started with innocent errands: “Sveta, pass some bread to Mom,” “Can you drop by with some medicine?” Then it turned into regular trips across town with heavy bags, thorough cleanings at her mother-in-law’s, and even minor repairs that Anna Lvovna insisted “only someone young and agile could do.” Meanwhile, Kirill hardly ever showed up to his mother’s place. He always had things to do, was tired, or simply “didn’t feel like it.” “Well, you’re free,” he’d say, and Svetlana would sigh and go. She dragged bags, cleaned, fixed things, patiently listening to her mother-in-law’s complaints about her health, prices, neighbors, and… how “poor Kiryusha got the short end of the stick.”

— Kirill, — her voice sounded surprisingly calm, but there was steel in it, enough for him to turn his head. — I’ve already told you. I’m your wife, not your mother’s assistant, and certainly not a free housekeeper. If Anna Lvovna needs help, especially something serious like this, why don’t you go yourself? You have the day off, don’t you? Or did you forget?

Kirill blinked, confused. Usually, conversations like this ended with Svetlana agreeing after a little persuasion.

— Well… I thought you… — he stumbled, frowning. — It’s not difficult! Women’s work — washing windows, buying groceries… You know better than me how to handle this.

Svetlana grimaced, and that smirk promised trouble.

— “Women’s work?” — she repeated sarcastically. — Interesting. So carrying five-kilogram bags of potatoes and then hanging out on the seventh floor scrubbing dirt off windows is now exclusively a woman’s duty? And you’ll be resting at home, saving your strength to settle comfortably on the couch in the evening?

 

Tension in the room grew. Kirill sharply set his glass down on the counter. His face began to redden.

— What are you starting again? I just asked! You know, Mom is alone, her age, it’s hard for her! Instead of help — hysterics!

— Hysterics? — Svetlana raised an eyebrow. — So my unwillingness to be a slave is “hysterics”? Listen carefully.

— What else?

— I’m your wife, not a running girl! If your mommy needs help — you should go and help yourself!

— What does that have to do with me? I told you…

— She’s your mother. Yours. And if she’s really struggling, it’s your duty as a son to help her. Or do you think the son should dump all this on his wife? By the way, I’m not asking you to help my mother. Her problems are mine, and I handle them myself. So, darling, take the list, the rag, the bucket, and go to your mother. You can even use my gloves if you don’t have your own. I’ll take care of my own business. No more of these “requests” will be accepted. Got it?

Kirill looked at her like she was an alien. The familiar order was breaking down. Svetlana always gave in. But now — coldly, decisively, without options.

— Do you even understand what you’re saying?! It’s disrespect for elders! For my mother! — he raised his voice, stepping forward.

Svetlana didn’t flinch.

— No, Kirill. This is self-respect. Basic self-respect. If you don’t understand this — that’s your problem.

She stood up, calmly walked around the table, and left the kitchen, leaving him alone among the sunlit spots, broken comfort, and a sudden thought: the world was no longer so comfortable.

Kirill wasn’t going to give up. He followed her into the living room where Svetlana deliberately sat down with a book. He stopped in the doorway, clenching his fists, his face burning with anger.

— You just decided to refuse like that? — he hissed. — Decided you don’t have to listen to my requests? To my mother? Is that normal for a wife?

Svetlana slowly lowered the book.

— And you think it’s normal, Kirill, to shift your son’s duties onto your wife? — she asked without raising her voice. — You talk about your mother, but somehow forget that she’s yours. She has a son. An adult, healthy one, with a day off. Why does this son send his wife instead of helping himself, while he plans to spend the day on the couch?

— Because before no one minded! — Kirill almost shouted, stepping sharply into the room. — You always helped, and everything was fine! What’s changed? Maybe you think you have a crown on your head now or imagine yourself special?

— What’s changed is that I can’t do it anymore, — Svetlana answered calmly. There was no anger in her voice — only deep, long-accumulated fatigue. — I’m tired of being a convenient helper for both of you, not a full human being. Tired that no one considers my time, strength, or desires. You say: “You always agreed.” But have you ever thought about what it cost me? How many times I sacrificed my plans, my rest, even my health, just to please you and your mother?

Kirill snorted and waved his hand as if shooing away a pesky fly.

— Oh, here come the sacrifices again! A real saint martyr! Nobody forced you. You went willingly. So you must have been comfortable with it!

— I went because I wanted to keep peace in the family, — Svetlana said bitterly. — Because I hoped you’d appreciate it, feel how much I do. But you took it for granted. As if I’m obligated to serve all your relatives. And you know what’s interesting? My mother has never once asked you to come help her with windows or the garden work. Even though it’s hard for her too. She understands that we have our own life. But your mother, along with you, somehow sees me as a kind of free resource to use on demand.

 

— Don’t compare them! — he snapped, his face twisted with anger. — My mother always tried for us! And now, when she asks for help, you behave like this? That’s just selfishness!

— And who’s going to think about me if not me? — Svetlana looked him straight in the eyes, without fear or guilt. Only confidence and resolve. — You? Who doesn’t even notice how I look after the next “help” to your mother? Or Anna Lvovna, who after cleaning starts telling how the neighbor’s daughter-in-law even bakes pies every day? No, Kirill. That stage is over. I will no longer be a doormat everyone wipes their feet on, hiding exploitation behind words like “duty” and “help.”

Tension grew. Kirill felt himself losing control. His usual status, his right to command and influence — everything was collapsing before his eyes. He was used to Svetlana being soft and compliant. But this woman with cold eyes and a firm voice was throwing him off balance.

— You’re just ungrateful! — he gasped, outraged. — We come to you with all our hearts, and you… You appreciate nothing! You don’t care about our feelings!

 

— Oh, feelings! — Svetlana laughed, but there was no joy in that laugh. — When was the last time you cared about my feelings, Kirill? When I crawled home after a whole day at your mother’s, and you just said: “Good. Did everything get done? Well done.” My needs? My need to rest, to simple human attention — was that taken into account? No. It’s much easier to have a wife who silently does everything she’s told.

Kirill paced the room like a trapped beast. His usual tactics of pressure, accusations, and reproaches didn’t work. It only made him more furious.

— Fine, — he finally stopped, breathing heavily. — If you don’t want to be nice about it, it’ll be different. Now you’ll hear my mother’s opinion!

He took out his phone and quickly dialed. Svetlana sat calmly, a slight shadow of contempt on her face. She knew this move — the “heavy artillery” of the mother who’s always on the son’s side.

After a few seconds, Anna Lvovna’s displeased voice came through:

— Kiryusha, why are you calling so early? I’m just measuring my blood pressure, trying not to worry.

— Mom, can you imagine what’s going on?! — he began loudly so Svetlana could hear every word. — I asked Sveta to go help you with windows and groceries, like usual. But she threw a tantrum! She says you’re my mother, so I should go and “work hard” myself, and she’s not a running girl! Can you imagine?

A heavy silence hung. Svetlana smiled inwardly. She knew how her mother-in-law liked to show outrage with pauses.

— Whaaat? — finally Anna Lvovna stretched the word out, voice full of fake surprise and triumphant indignation. — So she said that? About me?!

— Yes, Mom, exactly! — Kirill took over. — She says you’re my mother, not hers, and I should take care of you! And she’s tired! Nonsense! I’m shocked!

— Well, Kiryusha, young people… — the mother-in-law’s voice became plaintive. — I thought the daughter-in-law was like family… But she’s like that…

— Give me the phone, — Svetlana asked evenly.

Kirill looked at her like a winner.

— Afraid? Want to apologize to Mom?

— Give me the phone, — she repeated, and in her voice was such cold certainty that he wilted a bit and handed her the phone, putting it on speaker.

— Hello, Anna Lvovna, — Svetlana began calmly, professionally. — I heard your conversation and want to clarify the situation.

— Svetočka, dear, what’s wrong with you and Kiryusha? He’s so upset… Why are you like this with him? And with me… We’re family.

— Anna Lvovna, if you really need help, especially physically demanding help like washing windows and carrying groceries, then you need to ask your son, — Svetlana continued firmly. — He has the day off, he’s healthy, and it’s his duty as a son to take care of his mother. I’m his wife, not your housekeeper.

— Sveta, dear, you’re the lady of the house… — the mother-in-law sang, now with a note of irritation. — Kiryusha is a man, he has other tasks. He provides for the family…

— I work too, Anna Lvovna, — Svetlana interrupted. — And my day off is just as valuable. I’m not going to do regular work for your family for free. If it’s hard for you to clean, you can hire a cleaning service. That’s a real solution.

— Cleaning service?! — Anna Lvovna was outraged. — To let strangers into the house? People will judge! They’ll think son and daughter-in-law forgot about me!

— I don’t care what strangers think, — Svetlana replied firmly. — I care about my right to my own life and rest. And I won’t allow myself to be manipulated anymore, hiding behind age or supposed frailty. If Kirill is ashamed to help his mother himself or thinks it’s beneath his dignity — that’s his problem, not mine.

A tense silence hung on the line. Only the heavy, uneven breathing of Anna Lvovna was audible.

— So that’s how it is? — she finally hissed, and there was no softness left in her voice. Only cold anger and resentment. — Decided to show who’s boss in the house? Well, Svetočka… I won’t leave it like that. If you’re against family, against order, against respect for elders — I’ll come myself and settle it. We’ll have a serious talk. You’ll learn how to behave!

With a loud click, she hung up. Kirill shot Svetlana a victorious look: now we’ll see how long you stick to your guns. And she just put the phone on the table. She was ready. It was only the beginning.

Forty minutes later, the house was rocked by a sharp, insistent knock — as if they were trying to break down the door. Kirill, who had been nervously pacing, rushed to open it. Svetlana stayed in her chair, though inside she was trembling. But her resolve was iron — she wouldn’t show weakness.

— Mom! Finally! You have no idea what happened here! — Kirill shouted from the hallway, full of indignation and righteous outrage.

Anna Lvovna entered the living room like a hurricane. Her cheeks were flushed, eyes blazing, scarf half-slipped from her shoulders. Everything about her screamed readiness for battle.

— Come here, girl! — she lunged at Svetlana, who calmly stood up to meet her. — What do you think you’re doing?! How dare you boss my son around?! How dare you talk to me like that?!

— Hello, Anna Lvovna, — Svetlana replied, keeping her outward politeness, which only made the mother-in-law more furious. — Glad you came. Now we can talk calmly, without misunderstandings.

— Talk?! — she shrieked. — I have nothing to discuss with a woman who’s rude to her husband’s mother! We took you into the family, and you turn out to be a snake! And where was Kiryusha when you said that?

 

— He was right there, Mom! — the son supported her. — He says I should wash your windows myself! That she’s not obliged! Can you imagine?

— I didn’t just “say that,” Kirill, — Svetlana calmly corrected. — I told the truth. You’re this woman’s son. So it’s your duty to care for her. And if you think your wife should do it for you — then you’re either lazy or not a man at all.

— How dare you?! — Anna Lvovna gasped. — My son works! He has no strength! And you sit at home doing nothing!

— I work too, Anna Lvovna, — Svetlana’s voice hardened. — And I earn no less than your son. And my home is not a free service center for your family. You raised a man who can’t make decisions without you. And I’m tired of being part of this system, where I’m forever a helper and a scapegoat.

Her words hit like slaps. Kirill faltered, unsure what to say. His mother trembled with rage.

— I gave him my whole life! Didn’t sleep nights! And you come in ready-made and judge me?!

— Precisely because you gave him everything, he remains a dependent child, — Svetlana didn’t give her a chance. — He should have become independent long ago. But you preferred to keep him on a short leash. And I will no longer be part of this family theater.

Kirill finally exploded:

— Shut up! — he shouted, stepping forward. — You crossed all boundaries! My mother is a saint! And if you don’t like it, you can leave! I choose my mother! She’s the only one I have, and there are plenty like you!

Those words were the final blow. Svetlana looked at him with a long, cold stare.

— Fine, Kirill, — she said quietly but firmly. — You made your choice. And now I know what you’re worth. I want nothing to do with you or your mother. Pack your things. Or you can go to her right away. I don’t care. This nightmare is over.

She turned away, making it clear the conversation was finished. Behind her, the hysterical shouting of mother and son continued. But Svetlana no longer listened. She looked out the window where a new day was beginning. A huge burden lifted from her shoulders. Ahead was the unknown. But there was freedom. And behind her were two people who lost not just a daughter-in-law or wife — they lost their chance for a normal life, finally closing themselves off in their toxic union.

From this moment on, I’ll tell you more in detail!” Nastya murmured with interest, carefully wiping dust and cobwebs off her face. True chaos reigned in her temporary hideaway.

Sitting in that awkward position was extremely uncomfortable: she felt like sneezing, and her legs had long fallen asleep. But even such discomforts she was willing to endure in order to learn the truth about her husband’s intentions.

Boris was talking loudly on the phone, completely unaware that his wife was at home. He had just entered the apartment, even though he was supposed to be at work. His voice was so distinct that Nastya, who happened to be home during the day, could hear every word. And yet, he apparently had no inkling of her presence – as she had hidden in the closet.

Nastya had returned home specifically for the folder with documents that six-year-old Polina – the little hooligan – had tossed upstairs a week ago. The girl had merely been playing “hide and seek” with her mother’s important papers as a joke. It was probably her way of grabbing the attention of the parents she rarely saw. “Let them search together and then praise me,” the little one had decided.

The documents had gotten wedged between the wall and the cupboard, and now, to retrieve them, she had to move the heavy furniture. Nastya had repeatedly asked her husband to help her, but he constantly found new excuses: either he was busy, or tired, or promised to do it tomorrow.

“I’ll call my brother on my day off – I can’t manage on my own anyway,” Boris declared once again, demonstrating his infantile approach to matters.

Nastya, however, was of a completely different temperament – active and decisive. Therefore, when her boss demanded the contracts for the latest deals, she made the only correct decision: drive home personally and sort out this problem.

“I’ll bring them right now!” she confidently told her boss and set off for home.

“Long overdue! You’ve been feeding me promises for a week now!” grumbled the displeased boss.

To Nastya’s own surprise, she managed to shift the cupboard. Perhaps the strength came from her anger toward her husband. Besides the folder, she found several long-lost items and a thick layer of dust.

“I’ll quickly run the vacuum, then head to work,” the woman thought. “Let Boris put the cupboard back in the evening.”

However, her plans were interrupted by a sudden sound – Boris had entered the apartment while still talking on the phone. He was entirely absorbed in his conversation.

“What is he doing here?” Nastya wondered, crouched with the folder in her hands.

Her curiosity grew when she caught snippets of the conversation. It turned out that Boris had deliberately taken time off work so that no one would interrupt his “delicate conversation.”

“What delicate conversation?” Nastya pondered, straining to listen.

Now, leaving her hiding place would have been reckless. Nastya decided to stay hidden and find out with whom exactly her husband was having these “delicate” conversations.

“Go ahead, dictate the number – I’m writing it down,” Boris continued. “Of course, I’ll call you later! How could I not report back? Yes, I’ll tell everything!”

After a short pause, he spoke again, this time more formally:

“Hello! Can I have a paternity test done at your facility?”

At those words, Nastya froze, overcome with shock.

“What?!” she whispered, unable to believe her ears. “Come on, explain in more detail! What is he up to? What kind of test is this? Whose paternity? Is he doubting that Polina is his daughter? Or does he have someone else?”

Meanwhile, her husband continued his conversation:

“Understood. And how much will it cost? And how fast will I get the results? That expensive? This is nothing but a rip-off! I understand, it’s not just a regular blood test… I’m not a child who needs everything explained to me! Okay, how long does the procedure take? Yes, understood. And what materials are needed? Hold on, I’ll write it all down…”

Nastya stood, holding her breath, recording every word Boris said. Her thoughts raged: should she come out now and give her husband a good dressing down or wait and listen until the end? His intentions seemed obvious, but one important question remained: who was the subject? Could it be that there really was someone else besides their daughter?

After finishing the call with the clinic, Boris immediately redialed his mother. Now everything became clear – the first call had been to her. Boris’s tone took on the apologetic air familiar to Nastya when he spoke with his strict mother. It was a reminder of his childhood, when a stern woman had raised her two sons with particular severity. Though he loved his mother, it seemed Nastya believed he feared her a bit. And now, by all appearances, he was executing her orders, coordinating every move with her.

“Hello, Mom, I found out everything. Yes, I just called. They explained what needs to be done. But can you imagine the price they asked for? I’m just in shock! How can they rip people off like that? We’re only trying to learn the truth. We have that right,” Boris began, clearly already feeling guilty.

After waiting for his mother’s response, he continued, “Thank you, Mom! I knew you’d help with the money. Without that, Nastya would immediately suspect something amiss. She’d ask where I spent so much money. And you know I’m not good at lying.”

His words completely threw Nastya off balance.

“He’s not good at lying! Truly!” she whispered, barely holding back her indignation. “And who is this sly one that makes you suspicious? Spill your secrets, you scoundrel! Lay all your cards on the table!”

Nastya needed to find out whom her husband suspected – was it Polina, their daughter, or was it a child born out of wedlock? The answer could change everything.

She recalled how she had met Boris. It had happened purely by chance. He had approached her in a bar where Nastya, along with her friends, was celebrating receiving their diplomas. They were having such a carefree time, dancing with such bright energy that those around them applauded.

“Girls, hooray! We’re now lawyers!” they joyfully exclaimed, infecting everyone around with their enthusiasm.

And then a rather modest young man, watching their merriment from afar, invited Nastya for a slow dance. From the very first moment, he charmed her with compliments, declaring that he had never met a more beautiful woman.

From that moment, their romantic acquaintance began. Boris wooed Nastya with special passion, repeating daily that he was madly in love and couldn’t imagine life without her. However, Nastya was not in a rush to tie the knot, so she agreed only two years after their meeting.

For her, family was not the main goal in life. She dreamed of a career, of achievements, and financial independence. But fate had other plans: a year after their wedding, she learned she was pregnant. Polina was born – a little girl they both cherished with all their hearts. Nastya had always felt that Boris was even more attached to their daughter than she was. He spoiled her immensely, forgave all her mischief, and allowed almost everything. Their resemblance shocked all their acquaintances – they were like two peas in a pod. “There’s no need for a DNA test here,” people often said when they saw them together.

So why, then, was Boris now beginning to doubt his paternity? These thoughts tormented Nastya. Had these doubts haunted him since Polina’s birth? Or was it not about their daughter at all?

Her head pounded from the tension. It turned out that she knew nothing about the man with whom she had spent so many years.

“Mom, you really came up with something clever with this test,” Boris continued, outlining his intentions. “Of course, before taking such a serious step, one must be one hundred percent sure that Danilka is my son. I have no doubts about Polina – she’s like a sister to me. But this boy… He doesn’t resemble me at all, and that raises concerns.”

“Traitor! When did you ever have such doubts?” Nastya, still hidden behind the cupboard, seethed.

“So there really is a child on the side. Lika and Danilka… What an interesting life you have, Boris! And I thought you loved us – me and our daughter.”

Nastya took a deep breath, striving to remain calm even though inside she was boiling with anger. Meanwhile, Boris continued talking with his mother:

“Yes, Mom, you’re right. Before making a decision – to leave for Lika and the child – I have to be sure that he is indeed mine.”

Nastya had long suspected that her mother-in-law was meddling in their relationship, trying to sow discord between her and Boris. The woman clearly harbored little love for her granddaughter Polina, unlike her elder son’s children. Polina, sensing this, also did not strive to get close to grandma Zhenya. She much preferred spending time with her parents.

Realizing that not only was Boris cheating on her, but he had also managed to father a child on the side, was a true shock to Nastya. And his plans to leave her and their daughter for a new family – that surpassed all her expectations.

The woman was so stunned by what she had heard that she was even afraid to move. If her husband noticed her now, she would simply lose control. The only way out seemed to be to kill him on the spot. But to prevent that, she needed to calm down quickly, gather her thoughts, and weigh all her options. Only then could she decide how to take revenge on this traitor.

“Mom, you know, after the incident with Sergey from our department, when his wife claimed during the divorce that their son wasn’t his, I started to treat this matter with caution. That was a long time ago. And it’s as if you read my mind. If everything is confirmed, a new life awaits me – with a new wife and the son I’ve always dreamed of.”

With these words, Boris left the apartment, and Nastya finally managed to get out from behind the cupboard and stretch her numb legs. In her hands she still clutched the folder with documents that needed to be delivered to the office. That was exactly what she would now do, and on the way she would decide on her next actions. For what she had learned promised nothing but divorce, property division, and a life for Polina without a father, whom the girl adored.

In the toughest moments of life, Nastya always switched to rational thinking. That trait had helped her overcome stressful situations many times. And now, during her ride to work, her mind began working exactly that way.

She recalled the argument with her future mother-in-law that had taken place a week before the wedding. The reason had been trivial, but Evgenia Alekseevna had not held back and revealed her true attitude toward her daughter-in-law:

“Who are you? Where did you come from? You spoil everything! You’re turning my son against me!”

At that time, Nastya had only silently endured the attacks.

“Angela – now that’s a different matter! She’s such a good girl, she loves Boris! And you… Where did he ever find you?”

“Angela! Of course, it’s her!” Nastya suddenly realized. “Lika from Boris’s conversation – that’s Angelika! The very ‘good girl’ who perfectly fits under the control of the mother-in-law.”

This discovery made the woman shake her head. Now everything was falling into place: her mother-in-law had never refused to realize her dream of having that very girl by her son’s side.

“So, war it is!” Nastya declared confidently aloud. “I never officially declared it, but I have been preparing for it from the start.”

After that pre-wedding quarrel, Nastya had even refused to accompany Boris to the registry office. Convincing her had been extremely difficult.

“Alright,” she had said then. “But I have one condition. It’s the guarantee that one day you – like your dear mother – won’t betray me.”

“I agree to anything!” Boris had passionately replied. “I’m not going to betray you!”

“Then let’s finalize the purchase of the apartment we chose today. We have the money – what’s there to wait for? Let’s register it in my name. Before the wedding. Do you trust me? If not, let’s draw up a notarized contract specifying the amount you invested. I’ll never cheat you, but if anything happens – you’ll have a document. Agreed?”

“Yes! Write it down!”

Nastya quickly drafted the text of the contract, noting that she would sign it at the notary’s office the next day. However, she never remembered it again afterward. That document held no legal force, but the apartment purchased before the marriage remained her personal property.

Back then, they were happy and didn’t anticipate any betrayal. Now, having handed the folder with documents to her boss, Nastya headed to the lobby with its soft sofas and green plants, where the staff could relax. There she dialed her mother-in-law’s number.

“Hello?” replied Evgenia Alekseevna in noticeably gruff tones.

“Listen carefully! Unlike your son, I don’t need to wait for the paternity test results. I already know he is cheating on me,” Nastya stated calmly.

“What? How can you be so sure?” Evgenia Alekseevna exclaimed, startled.

“That doesn’t matter. What is important is: I do not know where your Lika and her child live, and I’m not interested. But starting today, Boris will no longer live in my apartment. And I will file for divorce today,” the woman asserted firmly.

“What—your apartment?! Have you lost your mind? This is a shared apartment! Boris invested just as much as you did!” Evgenia Alekseevna protested angrily. “If you’ve decided to divorce, then prepare for property division!”

“No, this apartment belongs solely to me. And we won’t share it. Perhaps Boris never told you because he was afraid of your negative reaction. But that’s your problem.”

“What are you even saying? This is just stupid lying!” the mother-in-law refused to believe.

“I’m not lying; that’s just not in my nature. The facts are: we bought the apartment before the wedding, and it’s registered entirely in my name. With your family, one must always be on guard – that’s why I took care of myself in advance. See? It wasn’t for nothing!”

“This just can’t be! I’ll call Boris right now and find out everything!” Evgenia Alekseevna fumed.

“Please, do. And tell him that his belongings can be picked up from the neighbors this evening. Polina and I will go to my parents’ place, so as to avoid scenes that might traumatize the child.”

After hanging up, Nastya decided it was time to go home and get rid of everything that reminded her of the traitor. The divorce papers could be filed later – it was now quite easy, just a matter of opening the internet and acting.

When Boris returned home after work, a surprise awaited him. He had expected a serious conversation, unable to believe that Nastya could really do such things. He even had his excuses prepared, but reality exceeded all his expectations.

There was a new lock on the door, and next to it a note informing him that his belongings were in apartment No. 17.

Gathering his bags, Boris went to his mother’s place. Lika and her son were temporarily living with her, and living with them would be strange, especially considering that the paternity test had not yet been done, and there was no certainty that Danilka was his son.

“How could you so foolishly lose your money?” Evgenia Alekseevna shouted at him. “Where will you live now? With me? And what, are you planning to drag Lika and the child here?”

“So far, there’s no other option. We’ll figure something out later,” Boris shrugged.

“You’ve already ruined everything once! Now you have to deal with it on your own. You’re left without a home and money. And you know what? I’ve never liked your Nastya from the very first day I met her. What a despicable and unprincipled person she is! I won’t let this go!”

“Yes, unprincipled,” Boris agreed, lowering his head. “She once promised me…”

Evgenia Alekseevna stared at her son with concern while he nonchalantly dined at her kitchen table. His wife had just kicked him out of the house, yet he behaved as though nothing special had occurred.

“Mom, why are you looking at me like that? Who else but you was pushing me against Nastya? Who was trying to set me up with Lika after all these years? And now you say that we are blameless?” Boris remarked between bites.

“How dare you blame your own mother for everything! Come on, son, keep it up! Say that I wished you harm, not happiness!” Evgenia Alekseevna couldn’t contain her emotions. They bubbled within her, making her visibly agitated.

Everything was going terribly wrong. But, as they say, water wears away stone. Once, three years ago, on the occasion of Boris’s daughter’s third birthday, the old story took a new turn.

Then, after a small celebration of Polina’s birthday, Boris decided to drive his mother home.

“Son, do you remember Angelika?” his mother asked casually, glancing out the car window at the houses passing by.

“Angelika? Of course I do. But isn’t she married? As far as I know, everything is fine with her,” Boris replied in surprise, having long forgotten about the girl he had dated before Nastya.

“No, Boris, things aren’t fine with her. Quite the contrary – terribly bad. Her husband turned out to be a scoundrel, abandoned her without money. Thank goodness they didn’t have children,” Evgenia Alekseevna answered sadly. “Now she lives with her mother.”

“How do you know all this? Do you still keep in touch with Antonina, her mother? Why, Mom? Wasn’t one person enough in the past?” her son reproached.

“We never really stopped communicating. You know, I owe Antonina my life. If it weren’t for her, I’d be sitting behind bars because of debts,” sighed Evgenia.

“Come on, stop dredging up the past! That was a long time ago. Forget it and don’t talk to her anymore. She’s a real manipulator. And she keeps you on a short leash!”

“It’s not that simple, son…”

—

Evgenia Alekseevna’s thoughts drifted back fifteen years. At that time, she was working as an accountant in a shady private company. At first, it seemed she had hit the jackpot – her salary was twice as high as in a government job. However, it soon became clear why.

The woman had to turn a blind eye to numerous legal violations by the management. Not only did she silently observe them, but she also signed documents that could have landed her behind bars. One day, they simply set her up, claiming that she owed the company a large sum.

How she managed to get out of that situation, Evgenia still did not understand. She had to borrow money to cover the debt. And then Antonina – a neighbor she only knew superficially – entered the scene. After the death of her general husband, the woman was left with considerable savings, and she readily agreed to lend the needed sum.

Antonina practically latched on to Evgenia, making her her constant assistant. Every day she called her over: sometimes to help with household chores, sometimes to go shopping together, or just to chat. Evgenia complied without protest because she knew – only this woman was willing to wait patiently until she repaid her debt.

“I’m not rushing you, Zhenya. You’ll pay back the debt gradually. I understand – you have two sons and a useless husband who just sits at home. Where would you get money from? If he were even a little useful, I wouldn’t have to put up with him by my side. Kick him out!” Antonina admonished, watching Evgenia mop the floor in her spacious apartment.

Six months later, Evgenia’s husband indeed left her. Perhaps he realized that his wife had completely succumbed to the domineering neighbor. Or maybe he simply found someone else – a woman who was always there, baking pies and listening attentively.

One day, Evgenia invited Antonina along with her daughter Angelika to her birthday. The girl was turning eighteen then. She turned out to be quite enterprising and immediately took an interest in Boris. From that moment, Antonina began actively matchmaking her daughter with Evgenia’s younger son.

“Zhenya, imagine what a pair they would make! Your Boris is smart and easygoing – the ideal qualities for a husband. And studying at the institute shows his prospects. Of course, I would have preferred someone else for my daughter, but she fell in love with Boris. What can you do,” Antonina coaxed, trying to use her influence over Evgenia on her son.

Boris, young and carefree, paid some attention to Angelika for a couple of months. But fate intervened – he met Nastya. Although the future wife took a long time to commit, keeping him in the dark for almost two years, Boris never gave up.

Antonina came to despise Evgenia for allowing her son to choose another. She held her responsible for Boris’s decision to marry Nastya.

“I remember, dear, that you never returned the full sum to me. I can take you to court. All the receipts are in order,” she threatened Evgenia.

“What can I do, Tonya? He just doesn’t listen to me. But I will work off my debt to you. Ask me anything – I’ll do it,” Evgenia A. nearly burst into tears.

Eventually, the situation subsided. After Boris’s wedding, Evgenia learned that Angelika had also gotten married.

—

Years later, Antonina reappeared in Evgenia’s life, announcing that her daughter had divorced. The reason – unrequited love for Boris.

“They must be together, and that is not up for discussion! How to achieve that – I don’t care. You are a cunning woman; come up with something so that my daughter never cries alone again!” Antonina ordered enthusiastically, waving old receipts in Evgenia’s face.

Antonina did everything possible to bring Boris and Angelika together again, who now called herself Lika.

“Sounds simpler and is trendier!” she explained when visiting Boris’s mother.

Boris was already there – a situation deliberately set up by his mother-in-law had led to their meeting. The table was overflowing with food and drinks, and the former lovers found themselves in a romantic setting.

“Well, I’m off. My friends have invited me to the theater,” Evgenia Alekseevna said with a smile, leaving them alone.

“Good for you! You did the right thing! If they end up together, I’ll burn all the receipts and forget about the interest,” Antonina praised over the phone.

“Enough already! You’re getting on my nerves!” Evgenia snapped, hanging up.

But Boris soon reconciled with Nastya and no longer wished to see Lika, despite all his mother’s insinuations.

Evgenia tried to influence him by other means. She said that Nastya wasn’t a match for him, that his wife didn’t take care of herself and didn’t love him as Lika could.

“Mom, we have a daughter. I love both my wife and Polina. Stop interfering in our relationship,” his son pleaded.

“And what if Polina isn’t yours? Are you sure?” his mother pressed further.

“Come on, you’ve got to be kidding! She’s an exact copy of me!” Boris argued.

Everything seemed hopeless. But as the saying goes, water wears away stone. One day, Evgenia Alekseevna accidentally saw her son and Lika together. They were sitting in a car near her house. The woman laughed, flirted with Boris, and then they even kissed.

—

Half a year ago, Antonina called Evgenia and announced that Lika had given birth to a son by Boris.

At Antonina’s shrill shouts, Evgenia Alekseevna’s blood pressure spiked.

“What, you want a child to grow up without a father? I’ll drag you all to court, one by one!” she raged over the phone.

“Calm down, I’ll take care of everything,” Evgenia replied, trying to seize control of the situation.

After hanging up, she realized: this woman would never let her go. She would manipulate her until her dying day. Then she decided to call her son and devise a plan.

“Son, you know Lika has a son, right?” began Evgenia.

“Yes, I know. We’re in touch,” Boris answered calmly.

“Are you absolutely sure it’s yours? Answer honestly.”

“How could I know for sure? She says it’s mine, and the timing matches. But where’s the guarantee?” he philosophically noted.

“What will you do if it really is yours? They won’t leave us alone, you understand.”

“I’ll go to Lika. She’s been calling me for a long time. Besides, things with Nastya have been growing increasingly difficult these past months. It seems she has fallen out of love with me – all she does is nitpick. I do love Polina, though. Well, I’ll pay alimony like everyone else.”

“And you’ll have to split the apartment with Nastya. You don’t really plan to just give up your share, do you? That’s another problem. After all, you’ve stirred up quite a mess,” his mother declared accusingly, forgetting her own role in this story.

“Mom, that’s an even bigger problem than you think,” Boris sighed, remembering that the apartment had been registered in Nastya’s name a few days before the wedding. Fortunately, his mother still did not know about it.

“I’ve got an idea. Perhaps you won’t have to part ways with your wife and daughter. And with these two, we’ll shut their mouths for good,” Evgenia Alekseevna announced excitedly.

“What?” Boris asked, seemingly indifferent by now regarding whom to live with. “Just don’t tell me you’re planning something illegal!”

“Don’t joke around – now’s not the time. We need to do a paternity test!”

“What test?” he asked in surprise.

“Find out if you’re the father of Danilka. Understand now? If you’re the father, you’ll raise the child. And if not – we’ll prove that they were wrong and get rid of them once and for all. You’ll save the family.”

“That sounds not bad at all! Give me the number of the clinic where I can do it. I’ll call from home so that no one overhears,” Boris rejoiced.

But who could have predicted that Nastya, who was at home at that very moment, would inadvertently hear his conversation? Such was fate.

—

That very day, Nastya gathered the things of her unfaithful husband and sent him off to his mother, having changed the locks on the apartment. After all, on paper, it belonged only to her.

“Are you satisfied now? Sitting there like a beaten puppy. How could you so foolishly agree to her conditions? To give up your money for the purchase of an apartment and allow it to be registered in Nastya’s name? I simply cannot believe my ears!” Boris’s mother berated him furiously.

“Mom, enough. The past is the past. How else would I have persuaded Nastya to marry me after the scandal you instigated? Right now, I need to concentrate on getting that paternity test done as soon as possible. Only then will I decide whether to move in with Lika and the child.”

“Act! Who’s stopping you? Tomorrow, go to her, fetch the necessary materials for the analysis, and do everything quickly and quietly.”

Learning that Boris had left his wife and temporarily taken refuge at his mother’s place, Lika and her mother Antonina were ecstatic.

“You’re doing the right thing! Here you have your son and the woman you love. I always knew, Boris, that you and Angelika loved each other. That marriage was a mistake. But now, everything will fall into place. You’ll get a divorce, split the apartment, buy a new place – and you’ll live happily!” Antonina gushed, not suspecting that her plans would collapse because of one simple fact: Boris had no share in the apartment he and Nastya shared.

Evgenia Alekseevna emphatically advised her son to keep the paternity test matter a secret. Thus, he acted cautiously, following his mother’s advice. Now, all that remained was to wait for the results and start planning the future.

—

“Mom, the results have come! They sent them to my email, and the paper version can be collected later,” Boris announced hastily in the evening.

“Well, then? What does it say?” Evgenia Alekseevna burst out of the kitchen into the living room, where her son was lazily sprawled in front of the TV.

“Hold on… I’m reading. Let me see…” Boris stared at his phone’s screen.

As he read the message, his face grew increasingly surprised and confused.

“It says… No match at all. Zero percent… What does that mean, Mom?” he asked quietly.

“That means you were deceived by your perceptive Lika! She’s as cunning as her mother! They tried to pin someone else’s child on you, you villains! I’m going to shove that document right in their faces! Now the end of your little celebration is here, Antonina!” Evgenia Alekseevna screamed in outrage.

“How can that be… I ruined my family for her sake… Abandoned my own daughter…”

“You didn’t abandon your daughter because you decided to. You were simply booted out because you talk too much and don’t watch your words. If Nastya hadn’t found out about the test, you would still be sitting at home – happy and unsuspected,” her mother retorted with a snort.

Boris looked utterly lost, unable to reconcile his emotions with his mother’s. His future now seemed murky. He understood that he would have to pay alimony for Polina and try to see his daughter as often as possible. But for that, he needed Nastya’s agreement. The rest of his life seemed bleak and joyless.

The boomerang had returned to his life – as inevitable as ever. It was a pity that earlier, when he was running from his wife to Lika, he hadn’t been wise enough to consider the consequences.

By the way, Lika stubbornly refused to give up for a long time. She continued to cause a ruckus, coming to Boris with her son. She insisted that everything had been arranged and intended to conduct an independent expert examination. She even threatened to go to the television to expose Boris’s “unprincipled” nature.

He fully understood that he had acted wrongly. But now, there was no way to fix the situation.

— Who is this? — Sergey Alexandrovich asked coldly as soon as Anna entered the house, tightly holding a small baby wrapped in a soft blanket against her chest. There was no hint of joy or surprise in his voice. Only irritation. — Do you seriously think I will accept this?

He had just returned from another business trip that had lasted several weeks. As usual, he was immersed in work: contracts, meetings, endless calls. His life had long become a series of business trips, conferences, and flights. Anna knew this even before their marriage and accepted this lifestyle as a given.

When they met, she was only nineteen. She was in her first year of medical school, and he was already a mature, confident man — respectable, successful, reliable. Exactly the kind she had once dreamed about in her school diary. He seemed to her a support, a rock behind which she could hide from all troubles. She was sure: with him, she would be safe.

That’s why the evening that was supposed to be one of the brightest days in her life suddenly turned into a nightmare. The moment Sergey looked at the child, his face became alien. He froze, then spoke — his voice ringing sharp in a way she had never heard before.

— Look for yourself — not a single feature! Not mine at all! This is not my son, do you understand?! Do you think I’m stupid enough to believe this fantasy? What are you up to? Trying to hang noodles on my ears?

His words cut like knives. Anna stood, unable to move, her heart pounding somewhere in her throat, her head buzzing from fear and pain. She could not believe that the person she trusted with all her heart could suspect her of betrayal. She loved him completely. For him, she had given up everything: career, dreams, her former life. Her main goal was to give him a child, to create a family. And now… he was reproaching her like an enemy.

From the very beginning, her mother warned her.

— What did you find in him, Anyuta? — Marina Petrovna often repeated. — He’s almost twice your age! He already has a child from his first marriage. Why be a stepmother if you can just find someone who will be an equal partner?

But young, in love Anna didn’t listen. For her, Sergey was not just a man — he was fate, the embodiment of masculine strength, a support she had long sought. Without a father she never knew, she had spent her life waiting for exactly such a man — strong, protective, a real husband.

Marina Petrovna, of course, was cautious about him. It was natural that a woman Sergey’s age would see him more as a peer than as a suitable partner for her own daughter. But Anna was happy. Soon she moved to his large, cozy house where she dreamed of building a life together.

At first, everything really seemed perfect. Anna continued studying medicine — as if fulfilling her mother’s cherished dream, who once wanted to become a doctor but couldn’t because of an early pregnancy and the disappearance of the man who became her daughter’s father. Marina raised Anna alone, and although the daughter never knew a father’s love, that void pushed her to seek a “real” man.

For Anna, Sergey became that person — a figure replacing the absent father, a source of strength, stability, family. She dreamed of giving him a son, creating a full family. And then, two years after the wedding, she found out she was pregnant.

This news filled her life like spring sunshine. She shone like a flower. But for her mother, it was a cause for concern.

— Anna, what about your studies? — Marina Petrovna asked worriedly. — You won’t quit everything, will you? You put so much effort into your education!

There was truth in these words. The path to medicine was not easy — exams, courses, constant stress. But now it seemed distant. Ahead of her was a child — living proof of love, the meaning of her whole life.

— I’ll return after maternity leave, — she replied softly. — I want more than one. Maybe two or three. I need time for them.

Such words stirred anxiety in her mother’s heart. She knew what it was like to raise children alone. Experience taught her caution. So she always believed: you should have as many children as you can manage if the husband leaves. And now her fears were coming true.

When Sergey threw Anna out like an unwanted guest, Marina Petrovna felt something important inside break. For her daughter, for her grandson, for the shattered dreams.

— Has he lost his mind?! — she cried, holding back tears. — How could he do this? Where is his conscience? I know you — you would never betray!

But all her warnings, years of advice, and anxious words crashed against her daughter’s stubbornness. Now she could only bitterly state:

— I told you from the start what he was like. Didn’t you see? I warned you, but you went your own way anyway. Here’s your result.

Anna had no strength for reproaches. A storm raged inside her. After the scene Sergey threw, only pain remained in her heart. She never thought he could be so cruel, so capable of throwing such humiliating words in her face. They burned into her memory, especially sharply the day she brought their son home from the maternity hospital. Then she still thought — their son.

She imagined a different picture: how he would hold the baby, thank her for giving birth, hug and say now they were a real family. But instead, she got coldness, anger, and accusations.

Reality turned out crueler than she could have imagined.

— Get out, traitor! — Sergey shouted furiously, as if losing the last shreds of humanity. — Did you have someone behind my back? Have you completely lost your mind?! You lived like a princess! I gave you everything! It was a real fairy tale — and this is how you repay me?! Without me, you’d be crammed in a dorm with some failing student, barely finishing medical school! Working somewhere in a forgotten clinic! You’re incapable of anything else, understand?! And you brought someone else’s child into my home! Do you think I’ll swallow this?!

Anna, trembling with fear, tried to somehow stop his anger. She begged, said he was wrong, that she had never cheated on him. Every word was a thrown stone hoping to hear reason in his eyes.

— Seryozha, you know your daughter, remember what she was like when you brought her home from the hospital? — she pleaded desperately. — She didn’t look like you right away! Babies aren’t born looking alike. Resemblance comes over time — eyes, nose, manners. You’re a grown man, why can’t you understand such simple things?

But his face remained cold as ice, as if his soul had left his body.

— Not true! — he sharply cut her off. — My daughter was an exact copy of me from the first minute! And this baby isn’t mine. I don’t believe you anymore. Pack your things and leave. And remember: you won’t get a single penny from me!

— Please, Seryozha! — Anna sobbed. — He’s your son, I swear! Do a DNA test, it will confirm everything! I didn’t lie to you, hear me? I would never do this… Believe me, at least a little…

— Like I’m going to run to labs and humiliate myself?! — he roared in rage. — Do you think I’m such a fool to believe you again?! Enough! It’s over!

Sergey Alexandrovich finally locked himself in his paranoid certainty, in a world full of accusations and lies. He did not want to hear pleas, arguments, or even the voice of love. His truth was one, and no one could break through that wall.

Anna had no choice but to silently pack her things. She gently took her son in her arms, looked back one last time at the house she wanted to make a family hearth, and left. Left into the unknown, into a bottomless void from which it was almost impossible to escape alone.

She returned to her mother — there was no other way. Crossing the threshold of her childhood home, Anna finally allowed herself to cry.

— Mommy… how foolish I was… so naive… forgive me…

Marina Petrovna did not cry. She knew she had to be strong now. Her voice was strict, but each word was full of care and love.

— Stop whining. You gave birth — we’ll raise him. Life is just beginning, understand? You’re not alone. But you must pull yourself together. Don’t you dare quit your studies. I’ll help. We’ll manage with the child. What are mothers for if not to pull their children out of trouble?

Anna could not say a word. Her heart was full of gratitude that words could not express. Without her mother, without that firm support, she would have simply broken down. Marina Petrovna took care of the baby herself, giving her daughter a chance to finish university and start a new life. She did not complain, did not reproach, did not lose hope — she kept working, loving, fighting.

And Sergey Alexandrovich, the man Anna once considered her whole life, truly disappeared. He didn’t pay alimony, didn’t care about their son’s fate, didn’t give any news. He just left, as if their past together was only a hallucination.

But Anna stayed. Only now, not alone. She had a son. And she had her mother. Perhaps here, in this small but real world, she first found true love and support.

The divorce was a real tragedy for Anna. Something inside seemed to collapse, and everything happening felt like a nightmare with no way out. The man she had planned her whole life with suddenly cut all ties, as if there had never been love, trust, or endless evenings dreaming of the future.

Sergey had a difficult character, often bordering on obsession. His jealousy had long become a painful trait that destroyed many marriages. However, meeting Anna, he skillfully hid his true self, presenting her with a carefully crafted story that his previous marriage ended over money disagreements.

And Anna believed him. She couldn’t imagine how prone he was to jealous outbursts and how easily he lost control over even the slightest, most innocent gesture.

At the very beginning, everything seemed perfect. Sergey was attentive, caring, romantic. He gave expensive gifts, flowers without reason, always asked how she was. Anna was sure she found her one and only.

But when Igor was born, a new chapter began. Anna fully devoted herself to the child, trying to surround him with care and love. But when her son grew older, she realized she had to think about herself too. She decided to return to university because she wanted to become a true professional, not just a graduate.

Her mother, Marina Petrovna, supported her in every way. She took care of her grandson, helped financially and morally. The first work contract was an important victory for Anna. Since then, she supported the family herself, living modestly but with dignity.

The chief physician of the clinic where Anna started working after graduation immediately noticed her potential. In the young woman, there was determination, inner strength, and a desire to develop. The chief physician, a woman with vast experience, saw in Anna the reflection of dreams she herself once could not achieve.

— Becoming a mother early is not a tragedy or an obstacle, — she once said, looking at Anna with warmth and approval. — It’s your strength. Your career is ahead. You’re young, your whole life is ahead. The main thing is you have a backbone.

These words became a ray of light for Anna in a dark time. They warmed her and instilled faith in the future.

When her son turned six, during one of the visits to his grandmother, kind Marina Petrovna, the senior nurse, said with sympathy:

— Anna, it’s time to think about school. The year will fly by — and Igor will be in first grade. And now, to be honest, he’s not ready for the school workload. Without proper preparation, it will be very difficult, especially nowadays.

These words added another worry to those already on her shoulders. But Anna did not let fear win — she always acted even when afraid. In the following months, she fully focused on her son’s development. Lessons with tutors, revising daily routines, creating a comfortable environment at home for studying — all became part of her new reality.

— I wanted to promote you for a long time, but I couldn’t before, — Tatiana Stepanovna, the chief physician, admitted once. — You understand — without experience they don’t promote here. Everything must be based on facts.

She paused as if gathering her thoughts, then continued:

— But you have talent. It’s obvious right away. Not just ability — a real medical gift.

— I understand perfectly and am not trying to argue, — Anna replied, her voice confident and grateful. — On the contrary, I sincerely thank you for your support. You helped me more than anyone else. Not only me — you were there when Igor needed help. We will never forget it.

— Oh, stop it, — Tatiana Stepanovna gently waved it off, slightly embarrassed. — Enough with the pathos. The main thing is for you to justify the trust. I’m counting on you.

— No doubts at all. I’ll do everything possible — and more, — Anna assured her. Her words were not just beautiful phrases — they were backed by every step, every decision.

Over time, Anna’s reputation as a doctor grew. The young surgeon quickly earned respect from colleagues and trust from patients. Every review was full of admiration. Sometimes Tatiana Stepanovna wondered if there were too many compliments.

But even on the day a person from the past entered her office, Anna remained composed. Her face stayed calm, her voice confident.

— Good afternoon, come in. Sit down, tell me what brought you here, — she said, indicating the chair opposite.

The visit was painfully unexpected. Sergey Alexandrovich, following a recommendation about the city’s best surgeon, did not expect that the initials hid her. He thought it was a coincidence. But opening the door, he recognized her immediately. No doubt remained.

— Hello, Anna, — he said quietly, with a slight note of inner excitement, taking an uncertain step forward.

The meeting happened against tragic circumstances. His daughter Olga had been suffering for almost a year from a mysterious illness that no one could diagnose. No tests or specialist consultations gave results. The girl was exhausted, her strength nearly gone.

Anna listened carefully to Sergey’s story without interrupting. Then, strictly and professionally, she said:

— I’m truly sorry you’re in this situation. Especially painful when a child suffers. But we cannot delay here. A full examination must be done urgently. Time is against us — every day can be decisive.

Sergey nodded. He knew — this time they found the right doctor.

— Where is Olga today? Why did you come alone? — Anna asked, tilting her head slightly, looking intently into his eyes.

— She’s very weak… — he whispered barely audibly, as if he himself didn’t believe the words. — So tired she can’t even get out of bed. It’s a real struggle.

He spoke restrainedly, but Anna, as an experienced doctor, felt behind that external coldness a deeply hidden anxiety. Behind the seeming composure raged a storm of feelings he desperately tried to control.

— I was told you are one of the best surgeons. A top professional. If that’s true — help. I beg you. Money doesn’t matter. Name any price — I’ll do whatever it takes, — he said tensely, as if throwing a last chance.

Years passed, but he remained the same — still convinced any problem could be solved with effort… and money. He didn’t even bother describing his daughter’s condition in detail — as if thinking his own grief was enough to make everything clear without extra words.

Igor’s name never came up in their conversation. As if he didn’t exist. That might have hurt before. Now Anna just noted indifferently: old grievances were in the past.

She was a doctor — and that meant more than any personal relationship. A professional does not divide patients into theirs and others. She must help everyone in need. Nevertheless, Anna wanted Sergey to understand: she was not all-powerful. So later, in moments of despair, he would not blame her for failing.

— I can’t even imagine how I’ll live if she doesn’t make it… — he suddenly uttered, and these words affected Anna more than she expected.

She gathered herself, remaining professionally distant. Preparation for the operation went as usual — with maximum precision and attention.

A week later the girl was examined, all tests collected. Then Anna called Sergey. Her voice sounded clear and firm:

— I agree. I will take the operation.

Silence hung on the other end, broken by a trembling voice:

— Are you really sure?.. What if something goes wrong? What if she doesn’t survive?..

— Sergey, we have to try, — she said firmly. — If we just wait — it will be like a death sentence. Do you want to watch her slowly fade away?

He didn’t answer but nodded — like a man accepting the inevitable. It was not surrender but conscious consent.

On the day of the operation he came with his daughter. He did not leave the clinic for a minute, as if his presence could influence the outcome. When Anna came out of the operating room, he rushed to her, his eyes mixed with fear and hope:

— Can I see her? Even for a minute! I need to talk to her!

— You’re talking like a child, — Anna replied lightly reproachful. — What kind of conversation do you think about now? She just woke up from anesthesia, will rest a few more hours. The operation was successful. No complications. Soon she’ll be moved to the ward. Come tomorrow — you’ll see her.

It was true. Sergey did not sleep all night, tormented by terrible thoughts and dark images. But he did not argue. For the first time in many years, he did not throw a scandal or demand immediate access to his daughter. He just nodded and left.

It was unexpected. The old Sergey would have exploded: “How come?! I’m her father!” But now he understood — yelling would not help. The only thing he could do was trust.

And that night he did something that used to seem ridiculous and unnecessary. He knelt and began to pray. Not to doctors, not to fate — he begged for a miracle.

Sergey Alexandrovich lost faith in a happy outcome. All his strength was exhausted, and now he was alone with a harsh reality where there was no consolation, only hopelessness.

He returned home like a broken man. His legs barely held him as if he had lived a whole life in the last day. But he did not allow himself rest — barely pausing, he gathered himself and headed back to the hospital.

— May I see my daughter? — he asked the tired-faced doctor. Outside, the city was immersed in deep sleep, streets deserted, only lanterns flickered through the damp fog. But Sergey noticed none of it. Neither cold nor time nor space — his thoughts were entirely about Olga.

By then, the girl had regained consciousness. Her condition improved noticeably, although weakness remained. Seeing her father at night, she was genuinely surprised:

— Dad? What are you doing here at night? Is it even allowed to receive visitors now?

— I just couldn’t sleep until I knew how you felt. I had to see you, — he answered, a little embarrassed. — Wanted to make sure you’re alive, that you’re better… even a little.

At that moment, Sergey suddenly and sharply understood what it meant to be a father. What family was. How little true family he still had. And the bitterest realization — that he himself destroyed most of what was valuable — twice, by his own will or weakness.

When dawn cautiously touched the city with its first rays, father and daughter said goodbye. After a long and deep conversation Sergey went out into the corridor — exhausted, but somehow a little relieved inside. But barely a few steps later, Anna suddenly appeared before him.

— What are you doing here? Explain! — her voice was sharp, almost irritated. — I clearly said — visiting patients outside visiting hours is forbidden. Who even let you in?

— Sorry for breaking the rules, — he said quietly, lowering his eyes like a schoolboy caught by a strict teacher. — It was my initiative. I just asked the guard… He had nothing to do with it. I begged. I had to see Olga. Make sure she was okay…

— Same old story? Thought money would help you get through any barriers? — Anna sighed reproachfully. She paused, then, as if shaking off irritation, added: — Okay, doesn’t matter. You came, saw, made sure. Now you can consider the task done.

Without waiting for an answer, she passed him and entered Olga’s room. She stayed there about half an hour, while Sergey remained in the corridor. He wasn’t going anywhere.

He didn’t expect what awaited him in her office. What happened next shocked him.

When the door swung open and Sergey appeared in the doorway, Anna raised an eyebrow questioningly. Fatigue was clear in her eyes.

— You’re here again? — she said with mild annoyance. — What happened?

In his hands was a large bouquet of fresh flowers filling the air with a light spring scent. Under his jacket, he held a neatly folded envelope — inside was gratitude expressed not just in words but in deed.

— I need to talk to you. It’s important, — he said seriously, meeting her gaze.

— Okay, but not for long, — she agreed, nodding. — I don’t have extra time.

As if by habit, she opened her office door and gestured him inside. And at that moment Sergey realized: either he speaks now or never dares again.

He stood hesitating, unable to find words, not knowing where to start or what thought to grasp so the conversation would take shape.

But fate, as if hearing his inner call, intervened. The door slammed open and an eleven-year-old boy full of energy and indignation ran into the room.

— Mom! I’ve been standing in the corridor for half an hour! — he exclaimed, pouting and angrily looking at his mother. — I called you, why didn’t you answer?!

That day was reserved for her son — no operations, no urgent calls. Work took most of Anna’s time, and every minute with Igor was a small bright island in an ocean of duties. Now she felt a pang of guilt — again she had broken her promise, let the child down.

Sergey froze as if doused with ice water. He looked at the boy, unable to look away — as if he saw not just a child but a living reflection of the past.

And finally, he managed to say:

— Son… my little son…

— Mom, who is this? — Igor frowned, casting a suspicious glance at the man. — Has he lost his mind? Talking to himself?

Anna tensed inside. The thought boiling within her was full of pain: here he was — the very man who once accused her of cheating, abandoned them, disappeared as if they never existed, crossed them out of his life like a spoiled page.

But she clenched her teeth, holding back tear-inducing words. Her heart ached, but in her chest still flickered a spark of something alive — faint, but real.

Sergey was tormented by regret and fear. He didn’t know if he deserved a chance to fix everything. Didn’t understand why he, of all people, was given the opportunity to return. But he was immensely grateful — for every dawn, for every night spent in hope.

Elena was folding the kitchen towels — new ones, with a delicate floral pattern — when the phone vibrated. She sighed: four missed calls from Katya, a friend from work. It was probably nothing important. Elena returned to the cupboard, but the phone vibrated again.

“Lena, why aren’t you answering?” Katya babbled. “Did you know that Antonina Pavlovna has a jubilee on Saturday?”

Elena froze, holding the towel tightly in her hand.

“What jubilee?”

“She’s turning seventy-five. Svetka called me, she’s invited with Dimka. She says Antonina sent invitations to everyone two weeks ago.”

The towel slipped from Elena’s hands. Thirty-two years of marriage to Igor, and she had never missed a family celebration. But now, Antonina’s jubilee — and nothing.

“Maybe they forgot?” Elena whispered, though she didn’t believe it herself.

“Forgot? Svetka says there’s a guest list for twenty people. Everyone’s invited: Igor’s brothers with their wives, even their former neighbor from the fifth floor.”

Elena sat down on a stool. Memories rushed back: how she had taken care of her mother-in-law after her gallbladder surgery, how she had given up her vacation days so Antonina could get new dentures, how she had babysat her grandchildren when everyone else was busy.

“I’ll tell you what,” Katya continued, “it’s all because of that cake last New Year’s. Remember how you bought the wrong one?”

“Katya, the cake has nothing to do with it. She just… always thought of me as an outsider.”

The front door slammed — Igor had returned. Elena quickly said goodbye to her friend.

Her husband walked into the kitchen, shaking the rainwater out of his hair like a boy. Elena looked at the wrinkles around his eyes, the familiar features. Thirty-two years together. And still — an outsider.

“Igor, is your mom having a jubilee on Saturday?” she asked, trying to keep her voice steady.

He froze in front of the fridge, not turning.

“Yeah, something’s planned.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Igor opened the fridge and studied its contents as though he was seeing them for the first time.

“Mom doesn’t want a big celebration. Just the closest family.”

“Closest family,” Elena repeated, echoing his words. “And I’m not part of that?”

“Lena, why start this? You know mom. She has her quirks.”

“Quirks?” Elena felt a surge inside. “I’ve been tolerating her quirks for thirty-two years! These aren’t quirks, Igor, this is… this is…”

She couldn’t find the right word and just waved her hand dismissively.

“I helped her after her surgery when you were on a business trip. I gave up my vacation time so she could get new dentures. I babysat her grandkids when Irka went on a holiday. Thirty-two years of trying to be a good daughter-in-law. And this is how it is?”

Igor rubbed the bridge of his nose.

“Lena, do you really need to count every little thing? Who owes whom?”

“I’m not counting!” Elena’s voice trembled. “I just want to be part of the family. Your family. Is that really too much to ask?”

Igor sighed deeply and sat down on a chair.

“Listen, you’re exaggerating. Mom just wants a quiet celebration.”

“Quiet? For twenty people?” Elena felt every word scrape her throat. “And even the neighbor from the fifth floor is invited!”

“How do you…?”

“Does it matter how?” she grabbed the kitchen towel and began frantically wiping the already dry countertop. “Thirty-two years, Igor! What did I do wrong? Tell me!”

Igor reached for her hand, but she pulled away.

“Lena, you know mom. She still thinks you took me away from her.”

“Took you away?” Elena laughed bitterly. “You were twenty-five when we met! Not five!”

She remembered the first time she entered Antonina’s house, how she tried to make a good impression, baking a pie from her grandmother’s recipe. But her mother-in-law just pressed her lips together and said, “We don’t cook like that in our family.”

“All my life,” Elena continued, “I’ve tried to please her. And what has she done? Remember how she told everyone I was raising Deniska wrong? Or how she told my parents I couldn’t cook? And you’ve always stayed silent, always! You maintained neutrality!”

“So what do you want me to do?” Igor’s voice grew irritated. “Should I fight with my mom over some party?”

“Not over the party!” Elena exclaimed. “Over the way she treats me! The fact that your mom hasn’t considered me part of the family for thirty-two years, and you let it happen!”

She turned toward the window. Outside, the rain drizzled, gray and dreary, just like her mood.

“Lena, stop dramatizing,” Igor walked over and awkwardly put his arms around her shoulders. “Do you want me to talk to her? Maybe it’s just a misunderstanding.”

“A misunderstanding?” Elena freed herself from his embrace. “No, Igor. That would have been a misunderstanding if this was the first time. But now… now this is just a slap in my soul.”

The following days, Elena walked around in a fog. At work, she smiled through clenched teeth, at home, she stayed silent. Igor tried to smooth things over, but every argument only intensified the pain.

“You have no idea how upset she was last year over that cake,” he said Thursday night as they were having dinner. “Mom thinks you did it on purpose.”

“On purpose?” Elena put down her fork. “I went to three bakeries to find a gluten-free cake because she’s allergic!”

“But you know she only likes meringue, and you got the one with cream.”

“Because they were out of the meringue ones!” Elena felt tears welling up in her eyes. “Do you really think I spent half a day looking for a cake just to purposely get the wrong one?”

Igor fell silent, and that silence spoke louder than any words.

On Friday evening, Elena went into her son’s room. Deniska had come for the weekend. He was lying on the couch, glued to his phone.

“Denis, grandma’s jubilee is soon.”

“Yeah,” he responded without lifting his eyes from the screen. “Dad told me.”

“And you’re… going?”

Denis finally looked up at her.

“Grandma asked me. What, I’m not gonna congratulate her?”

Elena nodded, trying to hide her disappointment. Even her son didn’t notice the injustice.

“Of course,” she said quietly. “Of course, congratulate her.”

Saturday came, and the house was empty. Igor and Denis left in the morning, loaded with gifts and flowers. Elena was left alone. She aimlessly wandered through the rooms. In every photo, Antonina Pavlovna stood slightly apart.

Elena ran her finger along the edge of a photo frame. It was a family picture from five years ago — Deniska’s wedding. She wore a blue dress, Igor was in a sharp suit, the newlyweds were glowing. Antonina Pavlovna looked like she’d been forced to drink vinegar.

“Even on such a day,” Elena whispered, speaking to the photo. “Even at my grandson’s wedding.”

She remembered how her mother-in-law had pulled her son aside and loudly, for everyone to hear, said, “At least my grandson married a decent girl, unlike some.” And how Igor stayed silent once again.

That evening, Igor and Denis returned, drunk and happy. They smelled of expensive perfume — Antonina Pavlovna’s.

“How was it?” Elena asked, trying to keep her tone neutral.

“Great!” Igor flopped into a chair. “Mom was so happy. You should have seen how she lit up when we…”

He stopped, noticing the expression on his wife’s face.

“Sorry, Lena. I didn’t think.”

Denis awkwardly shuffled in the hallway.

“I think I’ll go to sleep,” he mumbled, disappearing into his room.

“Say hi to mom from me,” Igor added after a pause.

“Hi?” Elena felt her insides clench. “She remembered I exist?”

“Lena, come on…”

“No, you come on!” She couldn’t hold back anymore. “Stop pretending everything is fine. Your mother humiliated me. Again! And you don’t care!”

“I do care,” Igor stood up from his chair. “I just don’t want to be stuck in the middle. You both…”

“What are we both?” Elena interrupted. “Finish your sentence! What are we both?”

Igor rubbed his temples.

“You’re both too emotional. You’re making a mountain out of a molehill.”

“Ah, I see,” Elena gave a bitter smile. “So my pain is just ‘making a mountain out of a molehill’?”

She turned around and went into the bedroom, slamming the door.

Ten days passed.

Elena and Igor spoke coldly, businesslike. Denis left. Life returned to its usual rhythm.

Elena stopped calling her mother-in-law on Sundays like she used to. She stopped asking about her health. And strangely enough, instead of guilt, a strange sense of relief washed over her. It was as if she had taken off a heavy backpack she had been carrying for thirty years.

On the eleventh day after the jubilee, Elena’s phone rang. The screen showed “Antonina Pavlovna.” Elena froze, unsure whether to pick up the call. The phone kept ringing, and she stared at it as if it were a venomous snake. Finally, she decided to answer.

“Hello?”

“Lena, hello,” her mother-in-law’s voice sounded unusually soft. “How are you, darling?”

Elena closed her eyes. “Darling.” In thirty-two years, Antonina Pavlovna had never called her that.

“Hello, Antonina Pavlovna. I’m fine, thank you.”

“I’ve gotten so sick,” Antonina Pavlovna’s voice took on a plaintive tone. “After the jubilee, I collapsed. My blood pressure is all over the place, my heart is pounding, and I can’t walk.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Elena responded. “Have you seen a doctor?”

“Doctors? They just take your money and don’t help. I need to go to a sanatorium, to recover. Igor said you had some vacation saved up?”

Elena felt a chill run down her spine. Now she understood.

“Yes, we were saving for a trip to the sea,” she replied cautiously.

“Darling,” Antonina Pavlovna’s voice turned even sweeter, “you know how I feel about you. You’re like a daughter to me. I would never ask, but the situation is so tough…”

“Like a daughter,” Elena repeated mentally. Thirty-two years, and she had never once been called a daughter. And now — this.

“Does Igor know about your request?” she asked.

“No, don’t worry!” her mother-in-law sounded anxious. “He’s so worried about me, I don’t want to upset him. We’re both women, we understand each other.”

Elena was silent. Images flashed through her mind: giving money to her mother-in-law, postponing the trip to the sea she had dreamed of for three years, Antonina Pavlovna at the sanatorium, boasting to her friends about how she had cunningly extracted money from “that upstart.”

“Antonina Pavlovna,” Elena’s voice was unexpectedly calm, “how much do you need?”

“Oh, darling, the ticket costs forty thousand, but if I could at least get half…”

“No, I’m not asking about that,” Elena interrupted. “I’m asking how much more humiliation do you need from me? How many more years do I have to prove that I deserve to be part of your family?”

A deafening silence hung in the air.

“How dare you…” her mother-in-law faltered, then her voice suddenly turned cold as usual: “So, you’re refusing to help a sick old woman?”

“I’m refusing to be used,” Elena replied firmly. “You didn’t invite me to the jubilee. But now you remember me when you need money.”

“How dare you!” Antonina Pavlovna shrieked. “After everything I’ve done for you! I gave you my son!”

“Gave me?” Elena laughed bitterly. “You didn’t give him to me. Igor and I chose each other. And you… you’ve spent thirty-two years trying to prove I’m not good enough.”

“I’ll tell Igor everything! He’ll have to choose between us, you’ll see!”

“Tell him,” Elena replied calmly. “I’m no longer afraid of the truth. Respect should be mutual, Antonina Pavlovna.”

She hung up the call and sat there for several minutes, staring blankly. A strange cocktail of emotions swirled inside her: shame, relief, fear, and… pride?

That evening, Igor returned. By his face, Elena knew the call from his mother had already happened.

“What have you done?” he started as soon as he entered. “Mom’s in hysterics! She says you were rude to her, refused to help!”

Elena took a deep breath.

“Sit down, Igor. We need to talk.”

They sat at the kitchen table until midnight. Elena spoke calmly, without accusations, just telling him how she had felt all these years. How she had tried, how she had hoped, how she had hit a wall of alienation. Igor started off defending himself, then got angry, and finally just listened.

“What do you want from me?” he finally asked. “You want me to give up on my mother?”

“No,” Elena shook her head. “Just don’t demand that I be an endless donor. Emotional, financial, whatever. For someone who doesn’t respect me. Stand by my side. Just once.”

Igor was silent for a long time, rubbing his temples.

“You know, I always thought I was staying neutral,” he finally said. “But now I realize it was… cowardice. Pure cowardice.”

Elena gently touched his hand.

“Not cowardice. The desire for everyone to be happy. But it doesn’t work that way, Igor.”

“And what now?” he looked at her wearily.

“Now, we’re going to learn to respect boundaries. Mine, yours, your mother’s. I won’t bend anymore to please anyone. But I also won’t ask you to choose between us.”

The next day, Igor went to his mother. He returned grim but calm.

“I talked to her. I told her we wouldn’t give any money for the sanatorium. And from now on, she has to respect you if she wants to see both of us.”

“And how did she react?”

“At first, she threw a tantrum,” Igor smiled weakly. “Then she started blaming you for everything. But when I was about to leave… she cried. For real, not fake. She said she was afraid of being left alone.”

Elena felt a stab of sympathy.

“We won’t leave her,” she said quietly. “We just won’t let her boss us around anymore.”

A week later, Antonina Pavlovna called again. This time, she called Igor right away. She asked him to bring her medicine. Igor brought it, and Elena came along. Her mother-in-law greeted her warily, but without the usual coldness.

“Would you like some tea?” she asked awkwardly.

“Yes,” Elena nodded.

They sat together, sipping tea with cherry jam, talking about the weather, health, and news. Not a word about the jubilee, not a word about the sanatorium. Elena felt that something had changed. Not in Antonina Pavlovna. In herself.

Maxim Artemyev adored his balcony. Especially on Friday mornings, when the city was still slowly digesting the last hours of the workweek, and he was already free — a successful head of a bank department who had been the first to slip away from the weekday bustle, eagerly anticipating the long-awaited weekend.

The air smelled of ozone after the night rain and the sweet pollen of blooming lindens. Maxim took a sip of his cooling coffee and glanced at the corner of the balcony where his fishing gear stood neatly. A new spinning rod, a shiny reel, a box filled with lures of all shapes and colors — a fisherman’s pride, almost like a collection of rare wines.

His phone vibrated in his pocket. It was his mother calling.

“Hi, Mom,” he answered with a smile.

“Maximushka, will you drop by? I baked some pies — your favorites.”

“Of course, I’ll stop by. Just for a bit — the guys are waiting at the dacha by the lake.”

“Fishing again?” His mother’s voice held a mix of concern and gentle reproach. “Maybe bring a girlfriend along? You’re thirty-two now!”

“Well, Mom, we talked about this. As soon as I find someone — I’ll introduce her. Okay, love you, I’ll be there soon.”

He hung up and exhaled thoughtfully. This “fishing” wasn’t just a pastime — it was their sacred tradition. Pavel’s dacha, barbecue, sauna, campfire, and endless men’s talk. Pavel and Grisha, his longtime friends from university days, already had families: one had a daughter growing up, the other was expecting a child. And every time they met, they teased Maxim:

“So, the last bachelor of the bastion — ready to surrender?”

“Our eagle’s still fighting off the chains of family life,” Pavel laughed, patting him on the shoulder.

Maxim just smiled in response. He wasn’t fighting. He was waiting.

“I’ll marry only for true love,” he said seriously as the car left the city behind. “The moment I understand — that’s her. The one. The only one. The one I want to be one with, to breathe in unison.”

“Oh, Max, you’re such a romantic,” Grisha drawled from the back seat. “That only happens in girls’ books. Real princesses don’t exist.”

“But I believe they do,” Maxim replied firmly, watching the road stretch away.

At the dacha, after the sauna and the first barbecue, the conversation picked up again. Girls from neighboring plots kept walking by, throwing playful glances at the three friends.

“Let’s test your theory of ‘fate’ in practice?” Pavel suggested slyly. “Let’s play a staring contest: whoever blinks or looks away first loses.”

“And what’s the bet?” Maxim accepted the challenge willingly.

“The loser has to go to the highway and propose to the first woman he meets. Right there.”

Confident, Maxim agreed. But maybe the beer hit his head or the sun played a cruel trick — he lost. When a tall blonde woman passed by, he caught her gaze, smiled involuntarily, and then looked away. The friends howled with delight.

A man’s word is his bond. Half an hour later, they were driving on the highway. Maxim’s heart pounded with a mix of shame and wild excitement. A few kilometers from the dacha, they spotted a solitary figure at a table with greens and berries. A short woman in a cotton dress, her headscarf tied tightly so her face was barely visible.

“Well, groom, go for it!” his friends nudged him.

Maxim got out and approached. The woman looked up at him — frightened but clear, strikingly blue eyes. He noticed her hands were covered with burn scars. Without a word, she took out a notebook and pencil and handed them to him.

“What do you want?” was written in neat handwriting.

Maxim hesitated. All his rehearsed words vanished. Before him sat a fragile, silent woman, and he felt like the worst scoundrel.

“Sorry… This is a stupid bet. My friends and I wanted to see how much a person could lose their mind. And now I need to… propose to you.”

He expected anything: anger, mockery, even contempt. But the woman only paused for a second, then slowly nodded. Maxim couldn’t believe his eyes. She tore a page from the notebook and handed it to him. On it was an address.

The next day, tormented by conscience, Maxim went to the given address. He found a small house on the edge of the village — neat, with geraniums in the windows and lush peonies by the fence. On the bench by the gate sat a woman with a stern but kind face.

“Are you here for Vera?” she asked without unnecessary words.

“Yes. Maxim.”

“I’m Galina Sergeyevna, her grandmother. And what are your intentions?”

Maxim lowered his eyes.

“I acted like an idiot. It was a foolish bet. I wanted to explain…”

Galina Sergeyevna sighed.

“City folk… For you it’s a game. But her life isn’t sweet. Did you see her hands? That’s from a fire. Her parents died back then, and I pulled Vera out of the flames. Her face was hurt too… She lost her voice from the shock. Since then, she doesn’t speak — only writes.”

At that moment Vera came out of the house. Seeing Maxim, she stopped, clutching the notebook to her chest.

“I came to apologize,” he said, looking straight into her blue eyes. “And to say that if you haven’t changed your mind… I agree. The marriage will be a sham, of course. We’ll register it, live together a little, then divorce. But I’ll help as much as I can — financially, in every way.”

He didn’t even understand why it mattered so much. Something about her silence, her strength and fragility at the same time, touched him deeply.

Vera quickly wrote something in the notebook and showed it to her grandmother. She read it for a long time, then looked at her granddaughter, then at Maxim.

“Well… If that’s her decision. Only one condition, dear: don’t hurt her. She’s my only one. Hurt her — you’ll pay.”

The registration went quickly. Maxim organized everything precisely and efficiently, like at work. He picked up Vera and her grandmother from the village. Only four people were at the registry office: the newlyweds and two friends, Pavel and Grisha, who still couldn’t believe what was happening.

Vera wore a simple but elegant cream dress. A veil pinned to a small hat covered her face. This mystery gave her a special, tender beauty. When the registrar pronounced them husband and wife, Maxim, caught up in a sudden impulse, lifted the veil’s edge and touched her lips with his.

He felt her shiver. And at that moment felt a strange, aching feeling inside — not just pity, but a kind of tenderness he hadn’t expected to feel.

After the ceremony, they simply returned to Galina Sergeyevna’s, where simple country food awaited them — potatoes with mushrooms, fresh vegetables. That dinner held more warmth than all the restaurants Maxim had ever been to.

As the evening drew to a close and it was time to leave, Vera looked at him. For the first time, he saw her true smile — not with her lips, but with her eyes. They shone with such warmth and gratitude that it took his breath away.

And suddenly he realized: he didn’t want to leave. His sham wife was becoming more precious to him than he had imagined.

Back in his quiet, almost lifeless apartment, Maxim couldn’t sleep. He paced around the room as if trying to break free from the closed circle of his thoughts. His head buzzed with memories — of the chance meeting on the highway, of the paper with the short note “I agree,” of her frightened gaze and his foolish, childish promise.

Embarrassment, shame, pity, and some strange, unclear attachment intertwined in his soul. He felt lost, as if someone had turned a page in his life without asking permission.

In the morning he decided: he needed to tell someone. So he went to his mother.

Nadezhda Petrovna, a doctor through and through, knew how to listen so that even the most intimate words found space in her presence. She didn’t interrupt or judge, just sat quietly while Maxim told everything — haltingly, mixing up details, but honestly.

“Mom, what should I do?” he finally asked, his voice trembling.

“What is there to do, son?” she answered softly. “You stirred this mess. You took responsibility for a living person, for a girl life hasn’t spared. You acted like a boy… now be a man.”

She came over, put her hand on his shoulder. Not harshly, but firmly.

“Conscience is not a toy, Maxim. You can’t run away from it. You gave her hope. And now what — will you leave her there, all alone?”

Maxim lowered his head.

“Go. Take your wife.”

Those words became his point of no return. He understood: his mother was right. That same day, he returned to the village. Convincing Galina Sergeyevna didn’t take long — she saw the glow in her granddaughter’s eyes every time Vera saw Maxim.

When they were alone so Vera could pack her few belongings, something unexpected happened. The girl slowly approached him, hesitated as if gathering courage, then took off her headscarf. Then she unbuttoned several buttons on her blouse.

Maxim froze. Before him were scars — terrible, red, winding across her neck and cheek. Vera looked at him with pain and fear — afraid to see disgust.

But he didn’t look away. He stepped forward, very carefully kissed Vera’s forehead, right above the scar. It was the first real moment of trust between them. Vera closed her eyes, and a single tear rolled down her cheek.

Vera’s meeting with Nadezhda Petrovna was warm and sincere. Maxim’s mother embraced the girl like her own, looked into her eyes, and said:

“It’s okay, dear. We will manage. The scars will fade, I will find the best specialists. And you will speak again. I believe in this.”

That night they dined together in Maxim’s apartment. He watched Vera shyly but happily smile at his mother and understood: it was the first time in many years she felt part of a family. And he had created that family for her.

Months of treatment began. Nadezhda Petrovna kept her word: the best doctors, modern procedures, therapy. Maxim took Vera to every consultation, sat with her in clinics, held her hand when she was in pain or scared. He became patient, attentive, caring — a completely different man.

The scars gradually lightened, her skin softened, and Vera grew ever more beautiful. But her voice returned slowly. The fear she had held inside for many years did not let go easily. She still communicated through her notebook.

However, their life was filled with new meanings. Every weekend they visited Galina Sergeyevna. The grandmother saw how her granddaughter blossomed and finally accepted Maxim as family. They worked together in the garden, drank tea on the veranda, made plans. Vera, leaning on his shoulder, listened to their conversations and smiled — happily, truly.

One day in the park, they met Pavel and Grisha. They were amazed.

“Is that really Vera?” Pavel couldn’t believe it.

“Yes,” Maxim smiled, hugging her. “My wife.”

Grisha whistled.

“Wow… That’s a transformation.”

“This isn’t a sham,” Maxim added quietly. “This is love.”

Pavel’s wife handed her baby to Vera. At first, she recoiled, but then, encouraged by Maxim, cautiously took the child. Such deep, untapped love sparked in her eyes that Maxim’s heart tightened.

And in that moment he realized: he wanted her to hold their child in her arms.

Time flew. And then — the long-awaited event: Vera became pregnant. Those nine months were their happiest time.

The labor began at night. Maxim fussed, helped, trying not to show his anxiety. And then a miracle happened: Vera, who hadn’t spoken for years, suddenly screamed in pain. And in that cry was not only pain — but awakening, liberation.

“Ma-ma!” she cried out.

She listened to her voice, then screamed again — this time with joy. She could speak. She was whole again.

A few hours later, their son was born. Small, crying, perfectly alive. When Maxim heard her voice on the phone:

“Max… We have a son. I… I love you…”

He stood in the hospital corridor and couldn’t hold back tears. It was the happiest day of his life.

A year passed. A quiet evening. Little Artyom slept in the nursery. In the kitchen, Vera, now speaking freely, laughed and told stories. Nadezhda Petrovna and Galina Sergeyevna knitted booties. Maxim stepped out onto the balcony — the very one where it all began.

He looked at the city lights and thought about how unpredictable fate is. He sought perfect love in romantic stories but found it in a silent girl with scars on her hands. He journeyed from shame to responsibility, from duty to true love.

Vera came up behind him and hugged him.

“What are you doing here alone?”

“Thinking…” he smiled, turning and kissing her. “About how lucky I am.”

He looked into her shining eyes and understood: fairy-tale love really does exist. But to find your fairy, sometimes you first have to become a real prince — not because you’re handsome, but because you’re ready to stand by her when the pain outweighs the joy.

And he became that prince.

Grandfather left me an old house in the village in a dilapidated state as an inheritance, while my sister got a two-room apartment in the very center of the city. My husband called me a failure and moved in with my sister. After losing everything I had, I went to the village, and when I entered the house, I was literally struck with amazement…

The room in the notary’s office was stuffy and smelled of old papers. Anna sat on an uncomfortable chair, feeling her palms sweat from nervousness. Beside her sat Elena — her older sister, dressed in an expensive business suit with a perfectly done manicure. It seemed she had come not for the reading of the will, but for an important meeting.

Elena was scrolling through something on her phone screen, occasionally casting indifferent glances at the notary, as if eager to leave. Anna nervously twisted the strap of her worn-out bag. At thirty-four, she still felt like the timid little sister next to confident, successful Elena. Working at the local library was not well-paid, but Anna loved her job and enjoyed it.

However, others treated this profession more like a hobby, especially Elena, who held a position in a large company and earned significantly more than Anna made in a whole year. The notary, an elderly man wearing glasses, cleared his throat and opened a folder with documents. The room grew even quieter. Somewhere on the wall, an old clock ticked softly, emphasizing the tense atmosphere.

Time seemed to slow down. Memories suddenly came to Anna’s mind of how grandfather often said: “The most important things in life happen in silence.”

— The will of Nikolai Ivanovich Morozov, — he began in a monotonous voice that echoed around the small office.

— I bequeath the two-room apartment on Tsentralnaya Street, house 27, apartment 43, together with furniture and household items, to my granddaughter — Elena Viktorovna.

Elena didn’t even lift her eyes from the phone, as if she already knew in advance that she would get the most valuable thing. Her face remained calm and expressionless. Anna felt a familiar pain in her chest. It happened again. Again, she was second.

Elena was always first, always getting the best. In school, she studied excellently, then entered a prestigious university, married a wealthy businessman. She had a stylish apartment, an expensive car, fashionable clothes. And Anna? She always remained in her older sister’s shadow.

— And also, the house in the village Sosnovka with all the buildings, outbuildings, and a twelve-hundred-square-meter plot of land, I bequeath to my granddaughter — Anna Viktorovna, — the notary continued, turning the page.

Anna flinched. A house in the village? The very one, almost falling apart, where grandfather had lived alone in recent years? She remembered it vaguely — had seen it only a few times in childhood. At that time, the house seemed ready to collapse any moment. Peeling paint on the walls, leaking roof, overgrown yard — all caused anxiety.

Elena finally looked away from the screen and glanced at her sister with a slight smirk:

— Well, Anya, you at least got something. Although, honestly — I have no idea what you’ll do with this junk. Maybe you’ll tear it down and sell the land for dachas?

Anna was silent. The words stuck in her throat. Why did grandfather decide this way? Could it be he also considered her a failure who didn’t even need a new house? She wanted to cry but held back — not here, not in front of Elena and that stern notary who looked at her with barely noticeable sympathy.

The notary continued reading formalities, listing the terms of the will. Anna listened distractedly, not fully grasping what was happening. Grandfather had always been a fair man. So why did he now divide the inheritance so unfairly? Finally, the formalities were over. The notary handed each sister the necessary documents and keys.

Elena quickly signed all the papers, neatly placed the keys in her stylish purse, and stood up. Her movements were confident, businesslike.

— I have to go, I have a meeting with clients, — she said without even looking at Anna. — We’ll be in touch. Don’t get too upset — after all, you got at least something.

And she left, leaving behind a light trail of French perfume.

Anna sat in the office for a long time, holding the keys to the village house. They were heavy, iron, rusty at the edges, old-fashioned, with long teeth. Completely unlike the elegant keys Elena received. Outside, her husband — Mikhail — was already waiting. He stood by his worn-out car, smoking and impatiently looking at his watch.

Irritation was clear on his face. As soon as Anna came out, he stubbed out his cigarette with his foot.

— So, what did you get? — he asked without any greeting, not even saying hello. — Hopefully, at least something worthwhile?

Anna slowly told him the contents of the will. With each word, Mikhail’s face grew darker.

When she finished, he just stood silently, then suddenly punched the car hood.

— A house in the village?! Are you serious? You ruined everything again! Your sister gets an apartment downtown worth at least three million, and you — some wreck!

Anna flinched at his rudeness. Earlier, Mikhail rarely swore, but lately, he had become more irritable, especially when it came to money.

— I didn’t choose anything, — she tried to defend herself, her voice trembling. — It was grandfather’s decision.

— But you could have influenced him! Show him that you deserve more! Talk, explain the situation!

— No… You were always too quiet a mouse.

— Always standing aside, incapable of anything. You can’t even get a decent inheritance.

His words cut like a knife. Anna felt tears welling up. Seven years of marriage, and he talks to her as if they were strangers.

— Mikhail, please don’t yell at me. People are watching.

— Maybe we can figure something out with this house? — she quietly suggested, looking around.

— Figure something out? What can you figure out with a wreck in the middle of nowhere? Nobody will give even a hundred thousand for it. Maybe tear it down and sell the land.

Mikhail sharply got into the car, slammed the door loudly, started the engine, and was silent the entire way home, muttering something occasionally. Anna looked out the window and thought about grandfather. Nikolai Ivanovich was a kind, taciturn man. He worked as a tractor driver on a collective farm, then a train engineer, and after retiring, moved to the village Sosnovka.

He said the city was stuffy, but the air was clean in the village, and finally, one could live for oneself. Anna remembered visiting him in the summer as a child. Grandfather taught her to distinguish edible mushrooms from poisonous ones, showed places where strawberries and raspberries grew, talked about birds and animals.

He never raised his voice at her or forced her to do what she didn’t like. He was simply there — kind, calm. Thanks to him, Anna felt needed and significant. Grandfather often repeated:

— You are special, granddaughter. Not like everyone else. You have a delicate soul; you can see beauty where others don’t. It’s a rare gift.

Back then, Anna didn’t understand what he meant. Now those words seemed like cruel mockery. What was special about her if even her own husband considered her a worthless failure? At home, Mikhail immediately turned on the TV and buried himself in the news. Anna went to the kitchen to prepare dinner.

While peeling potatoes, she pondered what to do next. Maybe really try to sell the house? Although who would buy a half-ruined house in an abandoned village without proper roads? She remembered that almost no young people were left in Sosnovka — everyone had left except the elderly who refused to leave their native land.

There was no store, and the post office worked once a week. Complete wilderness. During dinner, Mikhail was silent, occasionally glancing at the TV. Anna tried to start a conversation about weekend plans, but he replied shortly and dryly. Finally, he put down his fork and looked at her seriously:

— Anna, I’ve thought a lot today. Our marriage didn’t work out.

— You don’t give me what I want from life.

Anna lifted her eyes from the plate. Her heart was pounding.

— What do you mean?

— I need a woman who will help me succeed. Not someone who works for pennies in a library and inherits some wrecks. I’m 37.

— I want to live well, not save on everything.

— You knew who you were marrying. I never pretended, never hid who I was.

— I know. And that was my mistake. I thought you would become more ambitious, find a good job. But you stayed a gray mouse, content with little.

Anna felt like everything inside her was breaking.

— And what do you suggest?

— Divorce. I’ve already consulted a lawyer. Meanwhile, you can live with friends or in your wonderful village.

The last words he said with such mockery that Anna shuddered. Mikhail got up from the table and headed for the door.

— Wait, — she quietly asked.

— What about everything we had? Seven years together. Our dreams.

— Seven years of mistakes, — he cut her off without turning around.

— By the way, Elena is right — you’re not the one for me. She is a smart, practical woman. Not like…

He didn’t finish, but Anna understood. He meant Elena.

“Of course, Elena. Successful, beautiful, rich Elena. And now with an apartment downtown. So you… you chose her?” Anna barely whispered, feeling cold inside.

— We’ve just been talking a lot lately, — Mikhail answered calmly. — Her husband is often on business trips, she feels lonely. And I find her interesting. We have similar views on life. She understands me.

What does “striving for the best” mean? Anna stayed at the table, looking at the man she had lived beside for seven years. Was this really the same Mikhail who once gave her flowers on her birthday, complimented her, promised to be there always? Now he seemed like a stranger, indifferent, even cruel. Like a mask had fallen from his face, revealing the true nature.

— Pack your things, — he said without a trace of emotion.

— Tomorrow evening, I want you gone for good. I’m registering the apartment in my name; there won’t be any problems.

With those words, he left, leaving Anna alone at the table opposite the cold dinner. She sat, unable to believe what was happening. In one day, she lost everything: hope for a good inheritance, husband, home. Only an old building in an abandoned village remained, about which she remembered almost nothing.

That night, Anna couldn’t sleep. Lying on the couch in the living room — she didn’t have the strength or desire to go to the bedroom — she reflected on her life. Thirty-four years old. What did she have? A job no one valued, a husband who left for her own sister, and a sister who always considered her a failure. And now this mysterious house in the wilderness, about which she knew almost nothing.

She recalled childhood years, rare trips to grandfather. Then the house seemed huge and a little scary. It had many rooms, old furniture, smelled of wood and something unfamiliar. Grandfather took her around the house, telling stories about the past, about those who lived here before. But that was so long ago that the memories had turned into vague, blurry, ghostly images.

— I completely forgot… — Anna whispered, looking at photographs. — I loved coming here. Why did I stop?

She remembered. Elena always found reasons not to visit grandfather. Either plans with friends, exam preparations, or something else important. And the parents didn’t insist, saying the older daughter was already grown and could decide how to spend holidays. Anna stopped asking too — didn’t want to seem intrusive.

And grandfather never complained. He called on holidays, asked about things, always said he was glad to hear from them. But sometimes a sadness sounded in his voice that she didn’t notice then, but now recalled with pain in her heart. Anna carefully put the photos back and closed the drawer.

The house grew quieter, dusk was thickening outside. She felt tired. The day was too heavy, too full. She just wanted to lie down and forget everything for a few hours, not think about a shattered life. Anna returned to the living room for her suitcases and dragged them to the bedroom.

She took out pajamas and essentials, then went to the bathroom. To her surprise, everything was in order — clean towels, soap, even a toothbrush and toothpaste in new packaging.

— Someone clearly prepared for my arrival, — Anna thought. — But who? And why?

After washing and changing, she lay down in grandfather’s bed. The bedding smelled fresh and herbal. The mattress was comfortable, the pillow soft. Anna lay in the dark, listening to the night sounds of the village: somewhere an owl hooted, leaves rustled, a cat purred under the window.

For the first time in many months, she felt safe. No Mikhail with his irritation and reproaches. No Elena with her contemptuous looks. No colleagues who considered her work unimportant. Only silence, peace, and a strange feeling that the house accepted her like family.

— Grandfather… — she whispered into the darkness. — If you can hear me… Thank you. Thank you for leaving me this house. I don’t know what I’ll do with it, but right now it’s the only place where I can be myself.

Sleep came slowly. Thoughts wandered: she’d have to arrange documents, decide whether to stay here or sell the plot. Call work, explain the situation. Start a new life. But all that seemed distant and not so important. Now the main thing — she found refuge.

A place to stop, catch her breath, and figure out what to do next. Grandfather’s house greeted her like an old friend, and for the first time in a long time, Anna felt she was not alone. Falling asleep, she recalled grandfather’s words that she was special. Back then, those words seemed just an expression of an old man’s love for his granddaughter.

Now Anna thought: maybe grandfather really saw something in her that others didn’t? Maybe by leaving her the house, he knew what he was doing?

— Tomorrow, — she promised herself. — Tomorrow I’ll understand everything. Definitely understand.

And with that thought, she finally fell into a deep, peaceful sleep she hadn’t known for a long time.

Anna woke up to bird songs. The morning sun shone outside, and the whole world seemed different — not as gloomy and hopeless as yesterday. She stretched in bed, feeling rested for the first time in months. In the city apartment, cars, neighbors, and construction constantly woke her.

Here there was such silence that only birdsong and leaf rustling could be heard. Anna got up and approached the window. Morning transformed the village — the sun gilded the tree tops, dragonflies danced in the air, somewhere in the distance a cow mooed.

Behind a crooked fence, she saw an overgrown garden. Anna spotted apple trees, pear trees, currant bushes. Everything was overgrown with grass, but under the thickets she could make out neat paths and beds.

— Grandfather worked hard here, — she thought. — And now it’s all forgotten.

She quickly washed, dressed, and went downstairs to the kitchen. Indeed, there were fresh products in the fridge — someone had clearly cared about her arrival. Anna brewed coffee, fried eggs, and sat down to breakfast by the window, admiring the view of the garden.

While eating, she kept thinking about who could have cleaned the house and bought the groceries. Maybe grandfather asked some neighbors to look after the house? Or had a housekeeper? But where would a housekeeper come from in such a wilderness?

After breakfast, Anna decided to thoroughly inspect the house in daylight. Yesterday she was too tired to pay attention to details. She started with the living room, carefully examining the furniture, pictures on the walls, trinkets on shelves.

Old photographs hung on the walls in frames — grandfather in his youth, his parents, some relatives Anna didn’t remember. One photo especially caught her eye. It showed this very house many years ago. It looked new and well-kept, with blooming flowerbeds and neat paths around it.

People in festive clothes stood near the house — probably grandfather’s family.

— What a beautiful house it was! — Anna muttered. — And what a wonderful garden!

Continuing the inspection, she noticed antique dishes in the cupboard — porcelain plates with patterns, crystal glasses, silver spoons. Everything was cared for and polished. In the drawers of the dresser lay yellowed letters, documents, other papers grandfather had kept for years.

Anna reached the sofa and suddenly stopped. Something was unusual about it. It stood a bit oddly — not parallel to the wall, but at an angle. As if it had been recently moved and not quite put back properly. She approached and noticed one pillow lay differently than the others.

Carefully lifting it, Anna gasped. Under the pillow lay a white envelope. On it, in grandfather’s handwriting, was written:

“To my beloved granddaughter Anechka.”

Her heart raced. Anna took the envelope with trembling hands. It was sealed, but the seal was old — clearly the letter had been here for a long time. Carefully opening the envelope, she pulled out a sheet of paper folded into quarters. The handwriting was unmistakably grandfather’s — neat, old-fashioned, with characteristic curls.

Anna unfolded the letter and began reading:

“Dear my Anechka. If you are reading this letter, it means I’m no longer here, and you have come to our house. I knew you would come. I knew it would be you, not Elena. Because you were always special, and I saw it. You must be wondering why I left you the old house, and Elena the apartment. You probably think I was unfair to you. But believe me, granddaughter, I left you much more than any apartment. Remember how you asked me about treasures in childhood? You always dreamed of finding treasures buried by pirates or robbers…”

Anna paused, rereading the last lines. Her heart beat so loudly she could clearly hear it in her chest.

“A treasure?” she thought. Grandfather was talking about a real treasure?

She continued reading:

“I spent my whole life collecting what I leave to you. I gathered bit by bit, hiding it from everyone. Even your grandmother, may she rest in peace, did not know the whole truth. I worked not only as a tractor driver and train engineer. I had another business that no one suspected. After the war, many families left villages, moving to cities. They sold or simply abandoned their homes along with their belongings.

I bought valuable things from them for pennies — antique jewelry, coins, items made of precious metals. At the time, almost no one understood their true value. Later I sold these items in the city to collectors and antique dealers. But the most valuable I kept for myself. Gold jewelry, old coins, precious stones — all this I hid and saved for you.”

“Because I knew you were the only one in our family who would understand that real treasures are not money, but memory, history, and connection to ancestors. My treasure is buried in the yard, under the old apple tree — the very one where we sat together, and I told you stories. Dig one meter deep, one and a half meters from the trunk, towards the house. There you will find a metal box.”

“Anechka, this treasure is your real inheritance. What will help you start a new life, become independent, fulfill your dreams. But remember: wealth should make a person better, not worse. Don’t become like Elena, for whom money is more important than family and human relationships. I love you, my dear granddaughter. I hope you forgive your old grandfather this little trick. Your grandfather Nikolai.”

Anna finished reading the letter and just sat there, holding the paper. A treasure. A real treasure buried in the yard. Grandfather had spent his whole life collecting treasures and hid them especially for her.

— It can’t be… — she whispered. — This must be a joke.

But the handwriting was unmistakably grandfather’s, the paper worn and old, and the details in the letter too precise. He really knew her character, remembered their long-ago talks about treasures. And the very apple tree in the yard — the one where they sat. Anna looked out the window. Behind the house stood an old sprawling tree — the largest in the garden. Under its branches was a bench where she once sat as a child, listening to grandfather’s stories.

“One and a half meters from the trunk towards the house,” she repeated the words from the letter.

“Depth — one meter.”

Her hands trembled with excitement. What if it was true? What if grandfather really left her a treasure?

But even if so — where to get a shovel? What would neighbors think if they saw her digging in the yard?

Anna went out onto the porch and looked around. Neighboring houses were barely visible — most were empty. The only sign of life was smoke from one chimney about two hundred meters away. From there, her plot was not visible.

Walking around the house, she found a shed. The door creaked but gave way. Inside were old gardening tools — shovels, rakes, hoes. All rusty but usable. She took one shovel and headed toward the apple tree.

Approaching the tree, she reread the letter: “One and a half meters from the trunk, towards the house.” Anna measured the required distance in steps, stood in the indicated spot, and stuck the shovel into the ground. The soil was soft, loose. Probably there used to be a flower bed or vegetable patch.

Anna began digging carefully so as not to damage anything. The work went slowly — physical labor was unfamiliar to her. After half an hour, her hands and back were already sore, but she did not stop. The hole deepened, but no sign of a find appeared.

“Maybe grandfather was wrong about the coordinates?” she thought and tried digging slightly to the left, then slightly to the right. The soil was the same everywhere — ordinary garden earth with roots and small stones.

An hour passed. Then two.

Anna was sweating, tired, her hands covered in blisters. But she did not give up.

Grandfather couldn’t have lied to her. He was an honest man. If he wrote about a treasure — then the treasure existed.

Suddenly, the shovel struck something hard.

Anna froze. Then cautiously started clearing the earth with her hands. Under the layer of soil, the edge of a metal object appeared.

— Got it! — she exclaimed and began digging with doubled energy.

In a few minutes, the box was completely freed. It turned out to be small — about thirty by forty centimeters, heavy, obviously containing something inside. The lid was tightly closed but not locked. Anna carefully pulled it out of the hole and put it on the grass.

Her heart pounded as if it wanted to jump out of her chest. She slowly lifted the lid and froze.

The box was filled to the brim with gold. Gold jewelry, coins, ingots. The metal shone in the sun with all shades of yellow. Anna had never seen so much gold at once.

She carefully took one piece of jewelry — a massive gold necklace with precious stones. It was heavy, cold, genuine. Then she took a handful of coins — old, with unfamiliar inscriptions and images. Some were clearly very ancient.

There were also gold rings, bracelets, earrings, pendants in the box.

Everything was carefully wrapped in soft cloth so they wouldn’t damage each other.

Grandfather had clearly collected this collection for a long time with love.

Anna sat on the grass by the box, unable to believe her eyes.

She really found a treasure.

A real one, like in children’s fairy tales.

And it now belonged to her.

— How much could this be worth? — she whispered, looking at the jewelry.

— A million? Two? Three?

She tried to estimate. The gold in the box weighed two or three kilograms. Gold prices were high now. Plus the antique value of the pieces. Plus precious stones.

— It’s a fortune, — she said aloud. — I’m rich. I’m really rich.

The realization did not come immediately. First, there was shock at the find. Then surprise, joy. Then a slow understanding of what it meant.

She was no longer dependent on Mikhail.

No need to endure his humiliation.

No need to look for a rented room.

She could buy an apartment — any one she wanted.

She could travel.

Study.

Do what she liked.

Help others.

Live the way she always dreamed.

— Grandfather… — she whispered, looking up at the sky. — Thank you. Thank you for believing in me. Thank you for this treasure.

Carefully putting the jewelry back, she closed the lid. She had to hide the treasure in the house until she decided what to do. Find an appraiser. Find out the exact value. Arrange everything properly legally.

But the main thing — she had to get used to the idea that her life had changed drastically.

Just yesterday, she was a forsaken woman who had nothing but an old house in an abandoned village.

And today, she became the owner of a real fortune.

Anna lifted the heavy box and carried it into the house. In the hallway, she thought about where to hide it best. Finally, she placed it in the bedroom — in the closet, behind the clothes.

After hiding the treasure, she sat on the bed and took out her phone.

On the screen were several missed calls from an unknown number and one message from Mikhail:

“When will you pick up the rest of your things?”

Anna smiled.

Just yesterday, such a message would have thrown her off balance, made her feel guilty. But today it seemed funny.

Mikhail didn’t know what had happened.

Didn’t know who his ex-wife had become.

She didn’t reply.

Instead, she called work and reported that she was taking an unpaid leave indefinitely. The librarian was surprised but didn’t ask questions — Anna was a responsible employee and had the right to rest.

Then she went online and started searching for information on how to appraise antique jewelry and how to legally sell such valuables.

Anna found several organizations in the regional center specializing in these issues, noted their contacts to call in the morning. The day flew by unnoticed. She kept checking the box in the closet was still there. She couldn’t believe — was it really true? Had she really found the family treasure? In the evening, she reread grandfather’s letter.

She was especially touched by the part that said wealth should help a person become better, not worse. Grandfather was wise and understood that money was only a tool, not a goal itself.

—I won’t become like Elena, — Anna promised herself. — I won’t forget where this wealth came from and who left it to me. I must justify grandfather’s trust.

The night passed peacefully. Anna slept soundly and saw kind dreams. In the dream, grandfather came to her, smiled, and said he was proud of her, that he knew she wouldn’t let him down.

The next morning, she woke up with clear thoughts and plans. The first thing was to determine the value of the find.

Then she had to decide whether to sell everything at once or in parts, how to arrange documents properly, what taxes she would have to pay.

She called one of the firms specializing in antique appraisal. The specialist agreed to come to Sosnovka tomorrow. Anna warned that the collection was large and valuable, so an experienced expert was needed.

“Tomorrow it will become clearer,” she told herself.

“Tomorrow I’ll find out how rich I am.” Meanwhile, she decided to take care of the house and garden. Now that she had funds, she could turn this place into a real family hearth — the way it had been, judging by old photos.

Grandfather gave her not just a treasure — he gave her a chance to start a new life.

The next morning, exactly at 10, a foreign car arrived at the house. A middle-aged man in a strict suit with a briefcase — Sergey Vladimirovich Kozlov, an antique expert from the regional center — got out.

“Anna Viktorovna?” — he asked, approaching the gate.

“Yes, that’s me. We agreed about the collection appraisal.”

He looked around the house attentively, noted the antique furniture, and nodded approvingly. The belongings were well kept.

“Where is the collection itself?” asked the expert.

Anna led him to the bedroom, took the box from the closet, placed it on the table, and carefully opened the lid.

Sergey Vladimirovich whistled in surprise.

“Oh my God! Where did this come from in the village?” he muttered.

“This is grandfather’s inheritance,” Anna replied. “He collected it all his life.”

The expert put on gloves and began carefully extracting the jewelry one by one.

He examined each piece through a magnifying glass, checked stamps, weighed on scales. Worked silently, only occasionally making notes in a notebook.

Finally, he said:

“This is a unique collection. It includes items from different eras. This necklace — 18th century, handmade. The coins are also very valuable, especially the Byzantine ones — they are extremely rare.”

Anna listened breathlessly. With every word, her heart beat faster.

“And how much could this all be worth?” she couldn’t help asking.

The expert put down the magnifier and looked seriously at her:

“I can only name the exact amount after lab analysis. But preliminarily — only the gold here weighs more than three kilograms. Plus stones: emeralds, rubies, sapphires. And significant antique value of some items. Approximately — no less than 15 million rubles. Possibly more. Some items may be worth a fortune at auction.”

Anna felt dizzy.

“15 million… That’s much more than she imagined. With this money, she could buy several city apartments, a good house, a car, ensure a comfortable life.”

“Do you want to sell the collection?” asked the expert.

“My company cooperates with serious buyers. We can organize an auction or find private collectors.”

Anna shook her head:

“No, I’m not ready yet. I need time to think.”

“I understand,” said the expert. “But I advise you not to keep such valuables at home. Better — a bank safe or special storage.”

He left his business card and preliminary report.

When he left, Anna sat in the kitchen for a long time, drinking tea and digesting what she heard.

15 million. She was not just rich — she was incredibly rich.

But for some reason, she felt no joy. Only anxiety. Big money — big responsibility. Grandfather was right: wealth should make a person better.

“What now?” she asked aloud.

How to manage this inheritance?

The first thought was to restore the house and garden. Make this place what it once was — a home full of life and warmth.

Second — help those in need. The village had lonely elderly people who had it hard. She could help with groceries, medicine, repairs.

And as for her personal life — Anna realized she didn’t want to return to the city. Here, in Sosnovka, she felt inner peace she never knew in the city bustle.

Maybe she should stay here forever?

Her thoughts were interrupted by a phone call. The screen showed Mikhail’s number. Anna hesitated but answered.

“Hi, how are you?” came his voice.

“Fine,” she answered briefly. “What do you want?”

“Listen, maybe we rushed the divorce? Maybe we should discuss everything again?” he said unexpectedly.

Anna was surprised. A few days ago, he had kicked her out of the apartment, calling her a failure. And now he was proposing reconciliation.

“Where did that change come from?” she asked.

“I realized I was wrong. I yelled, was rude. You’re not to blame for how grandfather divided the inheritance. And the house in the village isn’t so bad. You can make a summer house, relax in summer.”

Anna smiled. It was clear — Mikhail was up to something.

“And what do you propose?” she asked.

“Come back. Forget everything. Start over. The house can be rented to vacationers — will bring income.”

“And did you happen to discuss this idea with Elena?” Anna continued.

Pause.

“Well… she may have mentioned something,” he answered uncertainly.

Anna understood. Elena probably learned about the district development plans or rising land prices. And now she and Mikhail wanted to get her back to control the real estate.

“And if I don’t want to come back?” she asked.

“Don’t be silly. What will you do alone in the village? There’s no work, no shops, no civilization… You’re a city girl.”

“Maybe not a city girl,” Anna replied. “Maybe I like it here.”

Mikhail tried to persuade her further, offering children, moving, a better apartment. But Anna listened and marveled how she hadn’t noticed the falseness in his words before. Every offer sounded staged. He spoke not out of love, but out of greed.

“Alright, I’ll think about it,” she said calmly.

After the call, she laughed for a long time.

“Misses me, he says… The man who kicked me out now misses and offers family.”

The next day, Elena called. Anna expected the call.

“Anya, hi! How are you settling in the village?” her sister began sweetly.

“Fine. And you?”

“How’s the apartment?”

“Good. You’re not calling just like that, right?”

“Mikhail said you made up. I’m very glad!” Elena said.

Anna snorted mentally but kept calm externally:

“Not made up yet. Discussing possibilities.”

“I see, you’re hurt because of Mikhail. But nothing serious happened between us,” Elena tried to justify herself.

“Then why are you calling?” Anna asked directly.

“I want to help. I found out — they plan to build a cottage settlement in your area. Your plot can become much more valuable.”

“So that’s it,” Anna thought. Elena hoped to get part of the inheritance.

“I propose: I handle the sale. I have contacts in realtor companies. We find a good client, sell it at a high price. Split the proceeds — you get half, I get half for work.”

Anna almost laughed. Elena offered her half the price of her own plot, considering it generosity.

“And if I don’t want to sell?” Anna asked.

“Don’t be silly. What will you do with that wreck? Live in the city, buy a normal apartment with the money,” Elena replied.

“Elena, did you happen to discuss all this with Mikhail?” Anna asked directly.

“Well… maybe I mentioned,” her sister answered, trying to sound casual.

“I see. But it’s in your interest. We just want to help you,” she added.

“Yes, I understand everything,” Anna replied dryly. “I’ll think about it. Just don’t delay. While construction hasn’t started, you really can make money. After that, prices may fall.”

After talking with Elena, Anna finally understood what was happening: Mikhail and her sister thought she was a naive woman easy to trick. Their plan was simple: bring her back to the city, get control of the house and land, sell the land profitably, leaving her crumbs.

“How wrong you are,” she said aloud. “And how very wrong.”

Anna opened the closet, took out the box with grandfather’s treasures, and again carefully examined each item. Every piece was a true work of art, every coin a piece of history. Grandfather had collected this beauty all his life. Now it all belonged to her.

“I won’t give a single thing to Mikhail and Elena,” she decided firmly. “Neither jewelry, nor house, nor land. They will get nothing.”

A week later, Mikhail came to Sosnovka. Anna saw his car from the window and went out to meet him. He looked confident and even pleased.

“Hi, Anya!” he smiled broadly and tried to hug his ex-wife, but she stepped back.

“Why did you come?”

“For you, of course! I already miss you. Get ready — we’re going home.”

“Who said I agreed?”

“Enough whining. Look how you live. In what a wilderness! And the house is so shabby.” Mikhail looked at the yard with obvious dissatisfaction. “Although the plot is not bad. Elena’s right — something interesting can be built here.”

“What if I say I like it here? That I want to stay?”

He laughed.

“Don’t be silly. What will you do here? What will you live on? You have no money.”

“How do you know whether I have money or not?”

“Anya, you worked as a librarian for twenty thousand rubles a month. What money?”

“Maybe I saved a little for a rainy day.”

“But it won’t last long.” Anna smiled.

“What if I say I now have more money than you can imagine?”

“Where would they come from? You only got this house from grandpa.”

“Only the house,” she agreed. “But grandpa turned out to be wiser than we thought.”

Anna told him about the treasure. At first, Mikhail didn’t believe, then laughed, but when he realized she was serious, he turned pale.

“How much?” he demanded.

“15 million rubles. Maybe even more.”

Mikhail was silent for several minutes, then spoke in a soft tone:

“Anya, you understand that such money must be invested properly? I can help. I have business experience. We can start a business together, develop.”

“Remember what you said to me a week ago?” Anna interrupted.

“About me being a failure? That was an emotional outburst, I didn’t mean it.”

“And remember how you kicked me out? Told me to pack?”

“Anya, let’s forget the past. Start over. With this money, we can do anything.”

Anna looked at him with pity.

“You know, Mikhail, I really loved you. Thought you were a good person. But you turned out greedy and calculating.”

“You mean…”

“That a week ago you thought I was a failure, and today, learning about the money, you consider me worthy of your love again. That’s not love — it’s greed.”

Mikhail tried to argue, but Anna no longer listened.

“Tell me, do you really want to be with me? Or with my money?”

“Anya, you can’t do this. We lived together for seven years.”

“Those seven years showed who you really are.”

She turned and went into the house. Mikhail ran after her, shouting, begging, threatening. But she didn’t even look back. At the gate, she stopped and coldly said:

“Get off my property. Don’t come here anymore. We’ll finalize the divorce in court.”

“You’ll regret this!” he shouted. “Such money can’t be kept by one woman. There are people worse than me.”

“Maybe,” Anna answered calmly. “But that will be my problem. And you — leave.”

Mikhail shouted a little more, then got into the car and left, slamming the door loudly. Anna went inside and felt incredible relief. That chapter of her life was over. No more humiliation, no more excuses, no more feeling worthless. She was free.

Later that evening, Elena called. Her voice was irritated.

“Mikhail told me about your find,” she started without preamble. “You think you’re so smart?”

“Smart enough not to let myself be fooled,” Anna answered calmly.

“Do you even remember who always helped you? Who supported you? Me — the older sister. I have a right to the inheritance.”

“Elena, grandfather left you an apartment. Me — a house. Each got what he chose. He didn’t know about the treasure. If he had known, he would have divided it equally.”

“The treasure was on the plot. So it’s mine. You must share. We’re sisters.”

“Sisters,” Anna agreed. “But do you remember how you treated me all my life? How you called me a failure? How you rejoiced when I got the worst things?”

“That’s a different matter.”

“No, it’s the same. You always got the best and considered it fair. And now that I got lucky, you demand to share. That doesn’t happen, Elena.”

“I’ll sue. Prove the will was made with violations.”

“Sue,” Anna said calmly. “But keep in mind: now I have money for good lawyers.”

Elena grumbled some more and angrily hung up. Anna turned off the phone and went out to the garden. The sun was setting behind the trees, painting the sky golden and pink. Birds sang, flowers and freshness smelled.

“Grandfather,” she whispered, “thank you for everything. For the house, the treasure, the chance to start a new life. And for teaching me to distinguish real people from fake ones.”

She took out her phone and dialed the number of a construction company from the regional center:

“Hello, my name is Anna Morozova. I would like to order restoration of an old house and landscape design for the plot. I won’t spare money, quality and attention to detail are important.”

Six months later, the house was completely different: restored, painted, with a new roof and a neat garden. Flowerbeds, paths, gazebo — everything was lovingly restored. The house became what it was in the best times.

Anna did not return to the city. She stayed in Sosnovka, opened a small library in one of the premises, helped local residents, engaged in charity. She sold part of the gold, kept some as a family heirloom.

Mikhail tried to regain half the property through court — but lost. The divorce went quickly. Elena also filed claims, but the will was properly drafted, and the court sided with Anna.

Anna was happy. She found her purpose, gained confidence and independence. Grandfather was right: she really was special. She just needed time to understand it.

Every evening, sitting in the garden under the old apple tree, she thanked grandfather for his love, faith in her, and wisdom.

The treasure he left was not just gold. It was the key to a new, real life.

In a small office on the outskirts of the city, where only a few dozen people worked, each day was much like the one before. The usual atmosphere of business routine prevailed here: calls, reports, deadlines — all demanding attention, focus, and energy. But even in the most ordinary days, miracles sometimes happen.

The employees often felt the need for a break — a short pause to refresh, relax, and regain the joy of being. And one day, in a burst of fun and a desire to break the monotony of the day, an idea was born: to arrange an informal entertainment that would lift everyone’s spirits without exception.

It was conceived as a playful and good-natured event — a sort of game, a humorous moment to brighten the dullness of work. During a coffee break, a group of colleagues discussed possible options until someone unexpectedly suggested:

— What if we invite Lyudmila? Our cleaning lady! Let’s ask her to dance!

Laughter broke out. Everyone was used to seeing Lyudmila only as the woman who carefully wiped dust, mopped floors, and smiled with kind calmness. She had worked here for many years, was always around, but seemed outside the everyday circle of communication. Her personal life remained a mystery to most. It seemed she was just part of the furniture — quiet, unnoticed, with eternal patience in her eyes.

And then the day came. The employees gathered in the hall, turned on the music, hung colorful flags, and placed a box of cookies on the table. At that moment, Lyudmila entered. Dressed in her usual work uniform, with a rag in her pocket and slightly flushed cheeks, she looked around with a slight hint of embarrassment… yet with a spark of curiosity in her eyes.

— Well then, let’s see what I’m capable of! — she said with good-natured determination, and hidden confidence rang in this simple statement.

She took the first step.

And at that moment, everything changed.

The music started, and Lyudmila transformed. Her movements were so confident, graceful, and precise that everyone froze. First — a light flamenco with its expressive hands and sharp head turns. Then — energetic hip-hop, where her body moved like living flame. Then — elegant ballet elements that added airiness and poetry to the performance.

Every step, every turn, every pause spoke volumes: about life, about hidden dreams, about unspoken possibilities. Lyudmila danced as if she had long awaited this moment, as if her whole life had been preparation for this minute.

The room fell silent. The employees, who just seconds before had been laughing and joking, now watched as if seeing a true artist from the stage of the Bolshoi Theatre. No one expected this from the woman they considered merely a backdrop to their daily lives.

When the music suddenly stopped, silence followed. A stunned, reverent silence. Then the hall exploded with applause. Loud, sincere, grateful.

Lyudmila bowed modestly. A barely perceptible smile crossed her face — pride, but without a trace of complacency.

— That was the best substitute for cleaning! — exclaimed one of the employees, prompting general cheerful approval.

But what shook everyone most was not just the performance itself, but what it changed. People suddenly understood: behind the outward ordinary may hide a whole world. Talent, passion, a story… Something impossible to see until you try to look differently.

After that day, changes began in the office. Employees started to organize joint events, parties, workshops more often. Someone suggested creating a small dance club. And, to the surprise of many, Lyudmila agreed to be the leader.

She became not just a cleaning lady, but a part of the team, a source of inspiration, a symbol that no one should be “just” someone. That everyone has something unique if only given the chance to show it.

Thus, thanks to one unusual day, the office became warmer, friendlier. Lyudmila taught her colleagues not just to smile but to see beauty in simplicity, to find joy in the unexpected, and to appreciate one another.

And every time the music played and the classes began, one simple but important thought filled the air:
Art can be everywhere. The main thing is to let it in.

— No documents? No name, no address?

Elena frowned as she looked through the patient’s medical chart. Her voice was calm, but worry showed in her eyes.

— No, — the elderly orderly replied, shaking her head. — They found him in the park, on a bench. His body temperature was almost below zero. A small hematoma on the back of his head. It’s a miracle he didn’t freeze to death in that frost.

Elena shifted her gaze to the man: about forty years old, lying under an IV drip, pale but calm. An ordinary face, slightly touched by the gray in his stubble. Hands neat, well-groomed — clearly not a vagrant.

— He’s been coming to for five days now, but we still can’t establish his identity, — the doctor tiredly rubbed her nose bridge, adjusting her glasses. — The police are checking the databases, but no matches. We’re keeping him for another week, then we send him to a social center.

— May I talk to him? — Elena suddenly asked, surprised at herself. She didn’t understand why this man sparked such interest in her.

— Good morning! How are you today? — Elena entered the ward with a thermometer and medicines.

— Fine, thank you, — the man smiled. — I had a strange dream today… I was in a field among some unusual plants. Touching the leaves, examining them…

— That’s a good sign, — Elena said softly, checking his pulse. — It means your memory might return. What would you like me to call you?

He thought for a moment.

— Andrey. I think that’s my name.

Three days later, he was sitting on the bed, slightly hunched.

— They’re discharging me tomorrow, — he said quietly. — Strange, but what scares me most is not that I don’t remember the past… but that I can’t imagine my future.

Elena looked into his eyes — gray, calm, but deeply confused inside. Then she said firmly:

— I have a spare room. You can live with us. Until you figure things out.

— Who did you bring home? — Elena’s son, Maxim, did not even hide his displeasure. — Seriously, Mom? Some stranger is going to live with us?

— He’s a good person, Max. He just doesn’t have a home right now.

— How do you know he’s good? He doesn’t even know who he is!

— Sometimes you just have to believe, — Elena put her hand on her son’s shoulder. — It’s temporary. And I feel he really deserves trust.

Andrey tried to stay unnoticed, almost like a shadow. He got up earlier than everyone, ate breakfast alone, washed the dishes after himself, helped around the house. Didn’t disturb, didn’t demand anything extra.

Two weeks later Maxim came home downcast.

— I failed the test, — he muttered.

— Maybe I can help? — Andrey unexpectedly offered. — Algebra is like a system. If you understand its language, it gets easier.

Maxim hesitated but handed over his textbook. Andrey flipped through the pages — his gaze changed. More focused.

— Yeah, it’s not that hard. Let’s figure it out together?

Two hours later Maxim looked at Andrey with respect.

— You explain like a teacher.

— Thank you, Elena, — Marina, Elena’s best friend, once said while sipping tea. — Your Andrey literally saved my business. All the plants in a client’s office started to wither — and he restored them in two days. Even figured out that the watering system’s water was spoiled.

— I didn’t know he knew so much about plants, — Elena was surprised.

— He’s like a living encyclopedia! Talks about plants like they’re friends. That they feel water, respond to light… I asked, “Are you a biologist?” And he just shrugged.

That evening Elena told Andrey about it.

— Strange, — he said thoughtfully. — I don’t remember where I know all this from. I just look at a plant — and the words come out. Like opening a book I read once.

— Mom, did you see how Andrey plays the piano? — Maxim excitedly told one evening. — We stopped by a music shop for sheet music, and there was an old piano. He just touched the keys — and started playing! Like a pro!

— I didn’t play, — Andrey said embarrassed. — My fingers just moved on their own. Like remembering a long-forgotten melody.

— That was Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata! — Maxim added, eyes shining.

Day by day Elena noticed Andrey becoming more thoughtful. At night she heard him pacing the room, as if trying to catch something important slipping away.

— I feel I’m about to remember, — he admitted one morning. — Snippets of memories. Faces. Voices. But it’s like a silent film with half the frames lost.

And then everything really started to change.

They lived under one roof for three months. One day, coming back from the market, Elena heard:

— Sergey! Sergey Verkhovsky! — their companion called out, a tall man. — Wait! That’s definitely him!

Andrey turned sharply but kept walking.

— You’re mistaken, — Elena replied calmly. — His name is Andrey.

— No, — the stranger insisted. — This is Sergey Verkhovsky. Associate professor of botany. We met at a conference last year!

Andrey hesitated, looked at Elena.

— I have amnesia. I don’t remember who I am.

 

The man left his phone number, but Andrey never called him. That evening he sat in the room staring out the window.

— I’m afraid to remember, — he finally said. — What if there’s something terrible in my past? What if I’m not who I seem now?

— Are you afraid you’ll have to leave us? — Elena asked.

Andrey looked at her surprised.

— Yes… Maybe. I’ve grown attached to you. To you. To Maxim.

Late at night, there was a knock at the door. Maxim was already asleep. A middle-aged man with a businesslike expression stood at the door.

— Hello, my name is Nikolai Zimin. I’m a private detective. I’m looking for a scientist-botanist who disappeared a year ago. Someone recognized your guest and informed me. May I talk to him?

Elena went pale but called Andrey.

— Andrey, it’s for you.

He came out and frowned upon seeing the visitor.

— Are you Sergey Verkhovsky? — asked the detective.

— Not sure. I have amnesia after an injury.

— Look here, — Nikolai held out a photo. — This is you.

Andrey looked — it was him in the photo, but different: with a short haircut, glasses, next to a woman with a cold, piercing gaze.

— Who is this? — he asked.

— Your wife. Irina. She hired me to find you.

— Wife… — Andrey repeated as if the word was foreign. — I don’t remember her. At all. If I loved her — I should remember, right?

— Tell me how I disappeared, — Andrey asked the next morning.

— A year ago you left for an expedition to a nature reserve. You were supposed to return in three days but went missing. The search lasted long but was unsuccessful. Everyone assumed you died.

— What was I studying?

— Rare plant species. Before leaving, you were working on an important project. Scientific or secret, no one is sure. Your wife should know more.

— Will she come? — Andrey asked with uncertainty in his voice.

— Tomorrow, — Nikolai answered shortly. — She’s already on her way.

After the detective left, Andrey slowly sank into a chair and covered his face with his hands.

— I’m afraid of this meeting, — he said finally, looking at Elena. — Not glad to know my name. Just anxiety. And emptiness inside.

— Didn’t you remember anything? — she asked quietly.

— No. Only fragments: laboratory, microscope, plants… Someone’s scream nearby… It’s like looking at a broken mirror — there’s a reflection, but the whole picture doesn’t come together.

The next morning, there was a call from Marina.

— Lena, don’t be scared, — her friend began. — I found something. About your… Sergey Verkhovsky.

— What exactly?

— An article in a scientific journal. From a year ago. About a scandal in the botanical institute. His colleague Pavel Dmitriev accused Sergey of data falsification. Then published a similar work himself. It’s all confusing but definitely shady.

— Send it to me, please.

— Already sent. Lena… be careful. Something’s wrong here.

Irina Verkhovskaya entered the apartment like a woman confident in herself and her rights. Cold hairstyle, perfect makeup, a calculating look. She didn’t even hug her husband, just inspected him as if checking whether the found object matched her expectations.

— Sergey… I thought you were dead, — she said without much warmth.

They sat in the living room. Elena offered tea but went to the kitchen to hear every word.

— Is it true you remember nothing? — Irina asked.

— Yes. Even you. Sorry.

— It doesn’t matter. The main thing is you’re alive. Now we go home.

— Not so fast, — Andrey’s voice became firmer. — I need to figure things out. What’s the conflict at the institute? Who is Pavel Dmitriev?

Pause. The air between them was tense like a stretched string.

— How do you know? — Irina asked coldly.

— Doesn’t matter. Tell me the truth.

— Just some academic mess. Pavel took part of your research for himself. You were depressed. That’s why you went on the expedition — supposedly to clear your head.

— What kind of research?

— A new plant species. You said it could make an important medicine. Sergey, stop digging into this. You need a doctor, treatment. We leave tomorrow.

That night Elena heard a knock on her door.

— May I come in? — Andrey asked. He looked worried but determined.

— What’s wrong?

— I remembered. Not everything, but the main thing. It wasn’t an accident.

He sat on the edge of the bed holding a worn notebook — the one they found with him.

— This notebook was with me then. I looked at the notes, sketches, formulas every day. Today they made sense. I really discovered a new plant species with unique properties. And Pavel tried to steal my discovery.

— And Irina?

— She was involved, — his voice trembled. — They acted together. I accidentally overheard their conversation right before I left for the expedition. They planned to take credit away from me. I was shocked. I went to the reserve to think it over. And there… rain, slippery path, hit my head. Hypothermia. Amnesia. And a new life.

In the morning Maxim ran into the kitchen, out of breath with excitement.

— Mom! Andrey! I overheard that woman!

— Maxim, that’s not good, — Elena said reflexively.

— Wait! She called some Pavel! Said he “remembered almost everything” and that they have to take him away before he finds evidence!

Andrey took out the notebook.

— Here are my proofs. Formulas, dates, notes. All here. Enough to reclaim my name and expose them.

At that moment Irina entered the apartment, confident as a woman used to getting what she wants.

— Sergey, they’re already waiting for us downstairs. Shall we go?

— No, — he said firmly. — I’m staying.

— What do you mean no? — her smile tightened.

— I remembered everything. You. Pavel. Your game.

— I don’t know what you’re talking about, — she replied coldly.

— Really? — he held out the notebook. — What if I show this to the institute? Or the police? These are documents, dates, notes. Mine, not his.

Irina’s face froze.

— Do you think they’ll believe you? A man with lost memory?

— We’ll see, — he simply replied.

When she left, slamming the door, Elena asked:

— You really won’t go with her?

— No, — he smiled. — You know, I remembered not only the bad things. I remembered I used to live wrong. Work was everything. Home was emptiness. The apartment was a design project, not warmth. You and Maxim became my family. If you allow, I want to stay.

— What’s next?

— I can work at the botanical garden. They’ve been looking for a specialist for a long time. Not prestigious, but real.

— Is that what you want?

 

— Yes. Maybe for the first time, I’m choosing myself, not an obligation.

Six months later, they sat on the balcony among pots with flowers that Sergey now grew with love. Maxim had just received a diploma for winning a physics olympiad.

— I didn’t think things would turn out like this, — Elena said looking at the sunset. — When I offered you to stay at the hospital, I didn’t imagine a new chapter would begin.

— A paradox, — he smiled. — Lost my memory — found myself.

— Do you regret anything?

— Only that I didn’t come into your life earlier. But maybe it’s not too late.

Elena touched his hand.

— Not too late. We have a whole life ahead.

Like spring awakening the earth, the story bloomed too. Not immediately. Not easily. But — truly.

In one of the wards of an expensive private clinic, a young woman was quietly fading away. The doctors moved around her cautiously, as though afraid to disturb death itself. Periodically, they cast worried glances at the monitors, where the vital signs flickered weakly. It was clear to them: even the largest sums of money couldn’t always bring someone back from the other side.

Meanwhile, a tense meeting was underway in the chief doctor’s office. Doctors in immaculate white coats sat around the table in the dim light. Beside them sat her husband, a well-groomed businessman in an expensive suit, sporting a stylish haircut and golden watches. Young surgeon Konstantin was particularly agitated: he was passionately insisting on an operation.

“Not everything is lost yet! We can save her!” he almost shouted, sharply tapping his pen on the table.

Then her husband spoke up: “I’m no doctor, but I am Tamara’s closest person,” he began theatrically with grief. “And that’s why I am categorically against the surgery. Why subject her to more suffering? It will only prolong… her agony,” he said with such feeling that even the most cynical people in the room shed a tear.

The chief doctor mumbled uncertainly: “You may be wrong…”

But Konstantin jumped to his feet, his voice trembling with anger: “Do you even realize you’re denying her the last chance?!”

However, Dmitry—this was the husband’s name—remained unshakable, like a rock. He had his methods for influencing decisions, and he used them without hesitation. “The surgery will not be performed,” he said firmly. “I’ll sign any refusal.”

And he signed it. One swift stroke of the pen—and the woman’s fate was sealed.

Only a few knew the cruel reason behind such a choice. Although, if you looked closely, everything was obvious. Dmitry had become wealthy thanks to her—her connections, her money, her intelligence. And now, as she teetered on the edge of life and death, he was already anticipating the moment when he could freely control her empire. His wife’s death was advantageous to him—and he did not hide it from those who might expose him.

He passed the chief doctor a “reward” that was impossible to refuse—to ensure the operation was not supported. Dmitry had already chosen a plot at the cemetery for the living woman!

“Excellent plot,” he mused, walking among the graves with the air of a real estate expert. “Dry place, an elevation. From here, Tamara’s spirit will be able to gaze at the city.”

The cemetery keeper, an elderly man with deeply set eyes, listened to him with confusion. “When are you planning to bring… well, the body?”

“I don’t know yet,” Dmitry replied indifferently. “She’s still in the hospital. Still hanging on.”

The man involuntarily choked. “So, you’ve chosen a place… for a living person?”

“Well, I’m not planning to bury her alive,” Dmitry scoffed. “I just know she’ll soon be out of her misery.”

Arguing was pointless. Dmitry was in a hurry—he was expecting a vacation abroad and a long-legged mistress. He dreamed of returning just in time for the funeral.

“What a lucky calculation,” he thought, settling into his Mercedes. “I’ll fly in, everything will be ready, the funeral—and freedom.”

The cemetery keeper said nothing more. All the paperwork was in order, the money had been paid—no questions, no objections.

Meanwhile, in the ward, Tamara continued to fight for her life. She could feel her strength fading, but she didn’t want to give up. Young, beautiful, craving life—how could she just leave? Yet the doctors remained silent, their eyes lowered. To them, she was already like a dead leaf.

The only person who stayed on her side until the end was Konstantin Petrovich—the young surgeon. He stubbornly insisted on the operation, despite constant friction with the department head. And the chief doctor, in order to avoid ruining his relationship with the head of the department, always sided with him, who, as they said, was like a son to him.

Unexpectedly, Tamara got another defender—the cemetery keeper, Ivan Vladimirovich. Something about the request for a burial plot raised suspicion. After studying the documents, he froze: the maiden name of the dying woman seemed familiar.

She was his former student—top of her class, smart and promising. He remembered how her parents had died several years ago. Then he heard that the girl had become a successful businesswoman. And now, her name appeared in the documents for the grave…

“And now she’s sick, and this pampered parasite is already eager to bury her,” thought the old teacher, recalling Dmitry’s smug face. Something didn’t feel right. Especially considering that Tamara’s husband, apparently, didn’t have any special talents—everything he had acquired was thanks to his wife.

Without hesitation, Ivan Vladimirovich went to the clinic. He wanted to at least say goodbye or try to change something. But he wasn’t able to speak with Tamara.

“There’s no point in talking to her,” the tired nurse dismissed him. “She’s in a medically induced coma. It’s better this way—she’s not suffering.”

“But she’s getting proper care, right?” the teacher asked anxiously. “She’s so young…”

He tried to speak with the department head, then with the chief doctor—everywhere he heard the same thing: “The patient is hopeless, the doctors are doing everything they can.” Realizing he wouldn’t get the truth, Ivan Vladimirovich left the clinic, struggling to hold back tears. The pale face of his former student, once so full of life and energy, haunted him.

Just as he was leaving, the young surgeon Konstantin called out to him—he was the one who had passionately insisted on the operation during the meeting.

Ivan Vladimirovich explained why he was so deeply affected by the situation: “I can’t believe she’s doomed… It seems to me her husband deliberately wants her dead.”

“I completely agree with you!” Konstantin exclaimed. “She can be saved, but it will require decisive action!”

“I’ll do anything for Tamara!” the teacher replied.

The solution came suddenly. Ivan Vladimirovich began recalling his former students, hoping to find someone influential. And he found one—one of his former students had become a high-ranking official in the healthcare sector. He contacted him and told him all about Tamara.

“Do you understand, Roman Vadimovich, her life depends on you. She must live!”

“Ivan Vladimirovich, why are you using ‘you’ and ‘Vadimovich’? Thanks to your lessons, I ended up here!” he smiled. “And he immediately dialed the chief doctor’s number.”

The call paid off. Soon, the question of the surgery was decided positively, and Tamara was literally brought back from the brink of death.

Meanwhile, Dmitry was enjoying his vacation at a resort, relishing life. Sitting under the blazing sun, he rejoiced in his cunning: “It worked out perfectly! I hooked a rich heiress while her parents were dead, and she was grieving. I just had to show some concern, help with the funeral, appear as a faithful friend… And now—I’m on their money.”

 

But his dependence on his wife still weighed on him. She was starting to notice his affairs, suspect his true intentions. And then her illness—a gift from fate. Now, he would become a free widower.

“I won’t marry smart women anymore,” he thought, stroking his mistress’s thigh. “Better a dumb beauty, someone I can lead by the nose.”

Suddenly, the phone rang. It was the nurse from the clinic. Dmitry frowned: “Too early… too soon. I’ll have to cut my vacation short.”

“Dmitry Arkadievich!” the voice trembled. “Your wife had the operation… and she survived. They say she’s out of danger.”

“How did they do it?! What do you mean ‘out of danger’?!?” he roared, drawing puzzled stares from the vacationers.

Realizing that now it was his own life at risk, Dmitry frantically packed up to go home. His mistress didn’t understand: “Dimka, where are you going?”

“My vacation is over. I need to sort this out!”

At home, he demanded an explanation from the chief doctor. He had paid to ensure Tamara’s death, but instead, he got the opposite. They just shrugged: “We didn’t act on our own. There were people more influential than us, and they made the decision.”

“Who could it be? Who needs her?” Dmitry shouted in fury.

The chief doctor pointed to Konstantin, laying the blame on him. That was enough for Dmitry. The young surgeon was fired, his reputation ruined so thoroughly that he could forget about medicine.

Konstantin almost hit rock bottom, but he was saved by a chance encounter with Ivan Vladimirovich. The latter offered him a job: “At the cemetery. Don’t look at me like that—it’s better than falling all the way. You saved someone’s life. That’s worth a lot.”

Konstantin agreed. There was no other way.

Tamara gradually recovered. Each day, her strength returned. Death retreated. Now, she had to reclaim her former life.

She began to investigate. Her husband grew cold, almost never visiting, not rejoicing in her recovery. Her colleagues also acted strangely—there was a lot they weren’t saying. But the most important thing she already felt: it was time to change the rules of the game.

Tamara slowly began to understand: her problems at work were far more serious than even her illness. At first, her employees tried to shield her from the truth, but at some point, the chief accountant couldn’t hold back, burst into tears, and confessed everything:

“Tamarochka Alekseevna, things are bad! Dmitry Arkadievich started a game—he replaced everyone, seized all the power. Now his people are in charge, and they’re untouchable. The only hope is on you—once you recover, you’ll get everything back. And if not… I can’t even imagine what will happen then.”

Tamara was upset, but still too weak to take any action. She tried to calm the accountant down:

“Don’t worry, I’ll recover soon, and everything will be back to normal. Just hang in there, and don’t let him see anything is wrong.”

It was easier to calm others than herself. Right now, only two people were supporting her: Ivan Vladimirovich, her former teacher who had become the cemetery keeper, and Konstantin Petrovich—the doctor who insisted on the surgery. She was waiting for a meeting with them, needing their support and simply their human presence.

But suddenly, they stopped coming. Dmitry was faster this time—he gave another bribe to the doctors, demanding that they limit visitors and outright ban those two from seeing Tamara. He felt they were a threat to his plans.

When Ivan Vladimirovich and Konstantin realized they were no longer welcome at the clinic, Ivan remembered his former student—the influential official. But he discarded the thought:

“It’s awkward to ask again. And why? To be allowed to visit the sick woman? Let’s wait. I’m sure everything will change once Tamara gets stronger.”

“What if it’s too late?” Konstantin said gloomily. “She’s now among her enemies. It’s dangerous for her there.”

Tamara felt it too. Lying in the ward, she realized her helplessness. Her husband was clearly preparing to take full control. Perhaps he was already preparing documents to declare her incompetent. If that happened, it would all be over.

It was almost impossible to talk to Dmitry—he stopped visiting after their last conversation when she began asking uncomfortable questions.

“Looks like they’re still giving you too strong a medicine,” he said coldly.

“Now I get it,” Tamara realized. He had already started to act. Now he wanted to present her as someone incapable of controlling her own life.

The doctors remained silent, shrugging at all her questions. Tamara had not yet regained enough strength to resist. Neither employees nor friends were allowed near her.

Konstantin was tormented by anxiety, but now he worked as a gravedigger—he had lost everything he had hoped for after being fired. Occasionally, he helped Ivan Vladimirovich at the cemetery, though his heart ached with thoughts of Tamara.

One day, at a funeral, something happened that turned everything around. They were burying an elderly businessman. There were many people at the ceremony, farewell words were said, and family mourned.

Konstantin stood aside, waiting for his moment, when he absentmindedly glanced at the deceased—and suddenly realized: the man was alive!

Pushing through the crowd, he grabbed the “dead” man’s hand. There was a pulse! Weak, but it was there.

“Get the madman away! What’s he doing?!” screamed the young widow.

But Konstantin didn’t hear. Commanding in a firm voice, he ordered: “Make way! Fresh air! Call an ambulance quickly!”

He managed to revive the man. A few minutes later, he was taken to the hospital. It turned out that the woman—his new wife—had been trying to poison him to inherit his fortune. But she hadn’t finished the job. Thanks to Konstantin, he was alive.

This man turned out to be not just a wealthy entrepreneur—he was the major shareholder of Tamara’s company. Upon hearing who had saved his life, he immediately contacted Konstantin and heard the story about Tamara.

 

“Seriously?!” he exclaimed upon hearing her name. “She’s my best partner!”

The businessman immediately took control of the situation. After his intervention, the company was returned to Tamara. Dmitry, stripped of his influence, disappeared with his mistress as if he had never existed.

The chief doctor and department head were fired and lost their licenses. No medical institution would trust them anymore.

And Konstantin got a chance to return to his profession. First, he was taken back to the clinic, but not for long—Tamara decided to open a private medical center and appointed Konstantin as its director.

Over time, real feelings developed between them. Six months later, they got married, and the most honored guest at their wedding was Ivan Vladimirovich—the former teacher who had become everything to them.

Soon, the couple shared the happy news: Tamara and Konstantin were expecting a baby.

“I hope the little one won’t be bothered by Grandpa?” Ivan Vladimirovich joked with a smile, looking at the happy newlyweds.