All Amazing Babies

Are you sure?” the realtor reviewed the documents once more.
“A deed of gift is serious. It will be difficult to reverse later.”

“I’m sure,” Yana signed. Her hand did not tremble—she had decided everything.

The May morning bathed the notary office in sunlight. The air conditioner hummed peacefully on the windowsill, and the reception area smelled of coffee. An ordinary day when unusual issues are being decided.

“Mom knows what to do,” Yana said, tucking a copy of the documents into her purse. “In case something happens.”

That was a year ago—long before Dima began staying late at work. Before the appearance of an unfamiliar woman’s perfume on his shirts. Before the strange evening phone calls.

Yana was not naive. She had grown up in a family of lawyers, where from childhood she was taught to think two steps ahead. They had bought the apartment with her money—a legacy from her grandmother. Dima was just starting his career then and had signed a car loan.

“Sweetheart, transfer the title to me,” her mother had said at length. “Not for a divorce—just as insurance. You never know what life holds.”

And Yana agreed. No scandal, no explanations to her husband. She simply gifted the apartment to her mother. On paper—a clean transaction. In fact—a backup plan.

The phone rang—a message from Dima: “I’ll be late today. An important meeting.”

Yana smiled sadly. An important meeting. Just like yesterday. And the day before. She opened the photo that a private detective had sent: Dima and some blonde walking into a restaurant. His hand on her waist, happy smiles.

“Would you like some?” the secretary offered a cup of coffee.

“Thanks, I don’t feel like it,” Yana replied as she stood up. “Is everything ready?”

“Yes, in an hour the full set of documents will be here.”

Yana stepped outside. May was warm—the lilacs had already finished blooming, but the air still held their scent. She and Dima had met in May, six years ago. He had seemed so reliable, so faithful. She believed him…

The phone rang again: “Darling, sorry, tonight will be very late. Don’t wait.”

“Okay,” she answered. “I’ll be late too. I need to settle a few things.”

The café was quiet—a post-lunch lull. Yana chose a table by the window and pulled out a folder with documents. It was her and her mother’s favorite place—cozy, with pastries like in childhood.

“Got everything?” her mother asked as she sat opposite, removing her light jacket. “Let’s take a look.”

Elena Sergeyevna, who at fifty-five looked only forty, was a renowned family law attorney. She had seen hundreds of divorces and knew all the pitfalls.

“Here’s a bank statement,” Yana spread out the papers. “He withdrew almost all the money from our joint account. Yesterday.”

“He’s getting ready,” her mother nodded. “And this?”

“The detective sent this. The last three months—restaurants, hotels, a jewelry store…”

“Jewelry?” Elena Sergeyevna raised an eyebrow. “Hasn’t he given you anything recently?”

“No,” Yana smiled sadly. “But his new girlfriend wears a Cartier bracelet—the very one I saw on the card statement.”

A waitress brought their favorite lavender tea. Yana mechanically stirred in sugar—two teaspoons, as always.

“Alright, so,” her mother pulled out her planner. “The apartment has been registered in my name for a year. Clean, legal. No joint loans. His car—let him keep it. But as for the accounts, we’ll have to work on those.”

“Mom, I don’t need money.”

“You do,” Elena Sergeyevna looked sternly at her daughter. “It’s not just money—it’s your years. You’ve worked, saved. And he…”

“I know,” Yana said, clutching her cup. “He spoke with a lawyer yesterday. I overheard the conversation. About dividing assets, about the apartment…”

“Let him talk,” her mother smiled. “He doesn’t know about the deed of gift, does he?”

“No. He thinks he can claim half, or at least a share.”

“Are you sure? About the divorce?”

Yana gazed out the window. A young couple strolled down the street—so young, holding hands. Like they once were with Dima.

“Do you remember when you taught me to drive?” she suddenly changed the subject. “You said: look not only ahead, but also in the mirrors. Danger could be there.”

“I remember,” Elena Sergeyevna covered her daughter’s hand with her own. “And what do you see in the mirrors now?”

“Lies. Betrayal. A double life,” Yana said as she pulled out her phone and opened the gallery. “Look. This is from a week ago—at the restaurant ‘Nebo.’ And this is from three days ago—at the cinema. And this one…”

“That’s enough,” her mother gently took the phone away. “I understand. When?”

“Today. He’ll come home late, after meeting her. I have prepared everything.”

“Documents?”

“In the safe at your office. I’ve packed my essentials. I’ll collect the rest later.”

The phone rang—the message from Dima: “Want to buy something for dinner?”

“No need,” Yana typed. “We have a serious conversation.”

Yana returned home by seven. The apartment smelled of freshness—she had opened the windows in the morning, changed the curtains, rearranged the vases. The final cleaning in this house.

On the table—their wedding photo. Back then, she had worn a simple white dress, he— a gray suit. No lavish ceremony, just close ones. “The wedding isn’t the main thing, but the life afterwards,” Dima had said. How beautifully he spoke.

Yana picked up the photograph, running her finger along the glass. Six years. Six years she believed that everything between them was real.

The phone rang—the detective’s message: “They are leaving the restaurant. Sending the photo.”

In the snapshot, Dima was kissing a blonde. Right on the street, without hiding. In that same shirt Yana had given him for his birthday the day before.

“Thanks,” she wrote. “No more needed.”

Keys jingled in the hall—earlier than usual. Yana placed the photo back on the table and sat in an armchair.

“Darling, I’m home!” Dima sounded unusually cheerful. He smelled of wine and someone else’s perfume. “And I’ve got a surprise!”

“Oh, really?” she watched as her husband pulled a bottle of champagne out of a bag. He wavered slightly.

“Yes! Imagine, I got promoted! Now I’m the Development Director. My salary is doubled, and…”

“And more time for meetings?” Yana asked quietly.

“What?” he froze with the bottle in hand.

“Meetings. At the restaurant ‘Nebo.’ At the cinema. At the ‘Riviera’ hotel…”

Dima slowly lowered the bottle. The smile faded from his face.

“Have you been watching me?”

“Not me. The detective,” Yana said, pulling out her phone. “Want to see the photos? Very clear. Especially the one of you kissing her outside the restaurant. And in the car. And…”

“Wait,” he raised his hands. “Let’s talk. It’s not what you think.”

“And what do I think, Dima?” she stood up. “That my husband is sleeping with another woman? That he gives her bracelets worth three hundred thousand? That he withdraws money from our joint account?”

“How did you…?”

“Never mind,” Yana moved toward the window. “The important thing is this: I know everything. And I’ve known for a long time.”

“Sweetheart,” he stepped toward her. “It’s a mistake. I’ll explain everything. Lena is just a colleague…”

“Lena?” Yana smirked. “So it’s Lena. And I thought it was Sveta. In your phone, she’s saved as Sveta.”

“Yana…”

“Don’t touch me,” she pulled away. “And you don’t have to explain. I have already decided everything.”

“And what have you decided?”

Yana looked out the window. A couple strolled down the street—so young, holding hands. Like they once were with Dima. “I have decided on divorce.”

“Divorce?” Dima laughed nervously. “Over a few meetings? Are you serious?”

“A few meetings?” Yana opened her phone gallery. “Look—March 15, restaurant. March 20, theater. March 25—restaurant again. In April—four hotel meetings. In May—already eight…”

“Did you count?”

“The detective did. A very detailed report—dates, times, locations. And photos. Lots of photos.”

Dima flopped onto the couch. His tie was askew, dark circles under his eyes. Not as happy as he had been in the photo with his lover.

“And now?” he asked, burying his face in his hands. “Are you going to blackmail me?”

“Why?” Yana shrugged. “Just a divorce. You want this, don’t you? Otherwise, why else would you withdraw money from our account?”

He flinched: “How did you…”

“Bank statement. Yesterday, almost all—four million withdrawn. Are you preparing for dividing the assets?”

“And what’s so special about that?” Dima suddenly became aggressive. “I have the right! It’s our joint money. And the apartment is ours. By law, I’m entitled to half!”

“Apartment?” Yana smiled calmly. “Honey, the apartment isn’t mine—it’s Mom’s. So go ahead and file for divorce,” Yana said calmly to Dima. “Here is the extract from Rosreestr. You can check.”

Dima grabbed the papers. His hands trembled as he read.

“How… when?”

“A year ago. A legal deed of gift. Mom is a lawyer—everything was properly arranged.”

“Did you… did you do it on purpose?” he paled. “Were you planning for this?”

“As insurance,” Yana moved to the closet and retrieved a packed bag. “Mom taught me—always think one step ahead. Especially when your husband starts staying late at work.”

“Fuck…” Dima hissed.

“Don’t stoop to insults,” she wrapped her coat around herself. “I’ll collect my things later. I’ll leave the keys with Mom—it’s her apartment. And you… can live here until the divorce. Mom agreed.”

“Are you kidding me?”

“No. It’s the end of the game, Dima. You lost.”

“Wait!” Dima jumped up, blocking her path to the door. “Let’s talk. This can all be fixed!”

“What can be fixed?” Yana calmly fastened her coat. “Your hotel trips? Or the three-hundred-thousand bracelet? Or the lies about staying late at work?”

“I’ll explain everything! It’s over with Lena, I swear!”

“Really?” she pulled out her phone. “And this photo was taken an hour ago. A very passionate kiss for ‘it’s over’.”

Dima clutched his head: “Damn… Yana, listen. I’m confused. It was a mistake. Let’s start over!”

“Start over?” she smiled sadly. “And do you know what’s the funniest part? I truly loved you. I believed in you. When Mom suggested transferring the apartment, I resisted. I said—why, we’re a family…”

She moved to the table and picked up their wedding photo. “Remember that day? You said that we’d always be together. That you’d never betray me…”

“I love you!”

“No, Dima. You only love yourself. And now, when you realize you’re going to be left without an apartment, you’re trying to salvage something.”

“That’s not true!” he paled. “I really do love you!”

“Then why did you withdraw all the money from our account?” Yana placed the photo back down. “Why did you consult a lawyer about asset division? Why did you look for another apartment?”

“How did you…”

“The realtor you met on Monday—my old client. He called and told me. You were looking for a two-bedroom in the center. For you and Lena, right?”

Dima fell silent. The ticking of the clock on the wall—a wedding gift from his parents—could be heard.

“I had planned everything,” he finally managed to say. “I intended to talk. To split up honestly. To divide the assets…”

“And take half of the apartment,” Yana finished. “But you miscalculated. The apartment is Mom’s. And as for the joint money… well, take it. Consider it payment for six years of lost life.”

She moved toward the door. Dima grabbed her hand: “Don’t go! I’ll fix everything!”

“Too late,” she gently freed her hand. “Divorce papers will be ready tomorrow. You sign—and you’re free. You can live with Lena, give her bracelets… but now with your own money, not our joint funds.”

“I’ll go to court!” he shouted after her. “I’ll prove that the deed of gift is fake!”

“Try it,” Yana turned back. “Mom will be pleased. She hasn’t been in court for ages—she’s been missing the process.”

The door closed. Yana slowly descended the stairs. Her hands trembled, but she held herself together. Mom was waiting in the car.

“How did it go?”

“Just as you predicted,” Yana buckled her seatbelt. “At first he denied, then pleaded to come back. When he realized about the apartment—he threatened to sue.”

“Typical scenario,” Elena Sergeyevna started the car. “Home?”

“No. To your place. I don’t want to be alone tonight.”

The car set off. Yana watched the city glide by through the window. Somewhere out there, in a rented apartment, Lena was waiting for Dima. Waiting for a glamorous life, expensive gifts…

“You know,” her mother said as they stopped at a traffic light, “you did well. Many suffer for years, too afraid to leave.”

“I just realized in time: it’s better to be alone than with a traitor.”

“And there’s a whole life ahead,” Elena Sergeyevna smiled. “Without lies, without humiliation. You will make it.”

Yana nodded. Her phone jingled in her bag—Dima. She silenced it without looking at the screen. Tomorrow would be a new day. And a new life.

Alice was hurrying home late in the evening along a dark and deserted street, feeling waves of fear. She had spent the entire day in the library, finishing a term paper that was due in a week. Immersed in intense study, the girl hadn’t noticed how time had quietly flown by. There was only a short distance left to home when suddenly Alice heard footsteps behind her. This caused a sudden chill to run through her body, and she shrank with fear. She tried to take her phone out of her pocket, but at that moment a strange male voice spoke:

“Miss, where are you rushing off to? Maybe I can walk you home?”

From the tone of his voice, Alice understood the man was drunk. An unbearable fear gripped her. She quickened her pace, but the intoxicated man suddenly grabbed her by the hand and stopped her:

“Where are we running to? It’s still the perfect time for a romantic walk! Oh, you’re pretty! Come closer, let’s get acquainted.”

When he pulled her by the hood and pressed her to himself, Alice screamed at the top of her lungs. Desperately trying to break free, she realized she was physically too weak to overcome the attacker. At that moment, a homeless man passing by noticed what was happening and immediately rushed to help. Without hesitation, he grabbed a bottle lying nearby and struck the assailant on the head with all his might. The attacker lost consciousness and collapsed to the ground. Trembling from the ordeal, Alice stood over the fallen aggressor, crying.

“Let’s get out of here quickly before this scoundrel wakes up,” said the rescuer, and Alice hurried to follow him.

Soon they reached a busy street lit by many street lamps and neon signs, where the girl calmed down a little. Alice walked along the sidewalk with the man who had just saved her life. She still couldn’t come to terms with what had happened and did not dare to walk alone. Time and again, she glanced at her companion. He was a man of about fifty, dressed in dirty and torn clothes, with disheveled hair — clearly someone who had lived on the streets for many years. Seeing his appearance, Alice’s heart tightened with pity.

When he accompanied her all the way to her home, the girl offered:

“Let me make you a hot dinner?”

The tired face of the man lit up with a grateful smile. He gladly agreed and assured her he would eat with pleasure and had no intention of stealing anything.

“What are you saying? I wouldn’t even think of that,” Alice said emotionally, unlocking the front door.

“You never know,” the man shrugged. “Not every girl would risk bringing a homeless person home. But I’m not dangerous, you don’t need to worry. I just want some real, home-cooked food, which I haven’t tasted in a long time.”

“Go to the bathroom and wash your hands before eating. I’ll warm up some stuffed cabbage rolls.”

The man quickly washed and came out of the bathroom. At the entrance to the living room, he stopped and carefully looked around the room. His gaze accidentally fell on a photo standing on the dresser: little Alice between her mom and dad. Seeing the photo, the man trembled — his hands shook, his lips quivered. For several minutes he stood frozen, staring at the picture, then carefully took it in his hands and started to trace the surface with trembling fingers. Noticing this, Alice said:

“That’s my favorite photo. The only one where I’m with both parents.”

She noticed that her rescuer’s face had become pale and troubled, and asked:

“Are you okay? Did something happen?”

“I remembered…” the man muttered hoarsely.

“What exactly did you remember? What are you talking about?” Alice wondered.

“About this photo. That man here…” — he pointed to the image of the father — “I can tell you for sure that it’s me.”

Alice shook her head, deciding he was mistaken:

“Sorry, but you’re wrong. That’s my father.”

“And where is he now?” the man asked in a trembling voice.

“I don’t know,” Alice admitted honestly.

Later, when they were sitting at the kitchen table having dinner, Alice told him about her childhood:

“I remember almost nothing about my father. This photo is the only thing I have left from him. Mom always said Dad worked on long voyages and would come back soon. That’s how I grew up. When I got older, I realized it was painful for Mom to talk about it, so I stopped asking questions.”

Nikolai slowly pushed his plate aside and said:

“For so many years I lived as if in a dream, in a fog. Lonely, forgotten. I envied all those men who returned home tired in the evening but loved. They had families, children. But I had none of that anymore. I remembered that day that turned my whole life upside down. Back then, like those lucky men, I was coming home from work. I had a wonderful family: a loving wife and a little daughter named Alice, who was only three years old. But fate separated us. One evening, some men attacked me; they probably knew I had just received my salary and bonus. They beat me up and robbed me. By some miracle, I ended up in the hospital, where they saved me. But I lost the most important thing — my memory. When I woke up in the ward, I didn’t know who I was or what had happened. I had no documents with me. After discharge, I was alone, without money or a roof over my head. I tried to find a job, but no one wanted to hire a ragged man. Over time, my strength ran out… People avoided me as if I had leprosy… All these years I wandered, spent nights in basements and heating tunnels, scavenged for food in trash, and sometimes went months without washing. And today I found out that my family was nearby all this time, but I didn’t know it and remembered nothing. This photo seemed to turn on a light in my head, which had been in darkness for so many years. Alice, tell me, do you believe me? Do you believe what I told you?”

Alice was so shocked by what she heard that she couldn’t say a word. She looked at Nikolai with wide eyes, as if trying to understand whether this was really happening or if she was dreaming some incredible dream. His words swirled in her mind like shimmering autumn leaves. Suddenly Nikolai stood up decisively and, rolling up the sleeve of his worn jacket, showed Alice a large heart-shaped birthmark on his wrist.

“Your mom, Vera, said that angels kissed me on the hand,” he said softly. “She loved my birthmark very much, and when it was passed on to you, she was just happy. She said it was a sign of a special connection between me and you.”

Alice shakily rolled up her sleeve and revealed her wrist, where the same heart-shaped birthmark reminded her of an ancient family bond. The girl burst into tears, choking with joy and pain at the same time, and rushed into her father’s arms, laughing through sobs. It was a true moment of a miracle — after so many years of dreams and unanswered questions, she found the person she had been waiting for so long. Alice was determined never to let him go from her life again. She insisted that Nikolai stay at their home, laid out a place for him on the sofa in the living room. Her mother, Vera, was supposed to return tomorrow after spending two weeks visiting her aunt in her hometown.

All evening and night Alice couldn’t sleep. She lay awake, recalling every word Nikolai had said, repeatedly touching her birthmark, as if checking if it was all a dream. Now that she had found her father, the girl vowed never to allow his disappearance again. He had to be near to make up for years of loneliness, pain, and lack of love. At the first rays of dawn, Alice got up and went to the kitchen to prepare breakfast but was surprised to find that Nikolai had already set the table: there were hot pancakes with sour cream.

“Homeless people aren’t used to lying in bed,” Nikolai said a bit shyly, noticing the surprise on his daughter’s face. “I used to love cooking a lot. When you were little, you often asked me to make pancakes and spread them with sour cream. You refused your mother’s — you only wanted mine.”

With warmth and gratitude in her heart, Alice sat down at the table and began eating her favorite dish prepared by her biological father. Vera was to return soon, unaware of what had happened at home. After breakfast, the girl quickly tidied up, and soon the sound of the front door was heard:

“Alice, I’m home!” Vera exclaimed happily, entering the living room.

Alice asked her father to stay in the kitchen and ran to greet her mother.

“Hello, Mom! How are you? Did you have a good trip?” she asked, hugging and kissing Vera.

“Tired, hungry, but overall fine. What do we have in the fridge?” the woman asked and headed to the kitchen.

Alice followed her. Vera froze in the doorway when she saw Nikolai by the window. Surprised, she dropped her bag.

“Welcome home, Vera,” Nikolai said gently, almost whispering, stepping forward but stopping, waiting for her reaction.

From the look on her face, Alice immediately understood: Vera recognized her husband. The girl’s heart fluttered with happiness. Running up to her mother, she took her hand and whispered:

“Dad is home again. He’s with us.”

But suddenly Vera’s expression changed from astonishment to anger. She sharply approached Nikolai and struck him hard on the cheek.

“You were gone for so many years, and now you suddenly decide to show up? What do you want?”

“Vera…” Nikolai stammered confusedly, “I’ll explain everything now…”

Father and daughter told Vera in detail about the events of many years ago: the attack, the lost memory, the long years of wandering, and the chance meeting that terrible evening. Vera was silent for a while, digesting information she had long considered impossible. Finally, she sat down, drank a glass of cold water, and spoke:

“All these years I hated you. I thought you left us yourself, betrayed us. I called all hospitals, morgues, went to the police, year after year going back there again and again — but you seemed to have vanished into thin air. Every day I hoped the door would open, and you would walk in as if nothing had happened. I couldn’t forget you. Couldn’t start a new life. And now I need time to understand all this. Over these years I got used to living without you, and I’m even afraid to imagine what it will be like to live with you again.”

After these words, Vera left the kitchen and locked herself in the bedroom. Nikolai comforted his worried daughter, assuring her that Vera needed time to come to terms with what had happened. He said goodbye to Alice and left, promising never to disappear from their lives again and to definitely return.

But fate tested the man once more. Not far from the house, four young men attacked Nikolai, among whom he recognized the same young man who had attacked his daughter the day before. The January frost was bitter outside. Nikolai lay in a snowdrift next to a trash bin, bleeding and unable to move. He lay there for several hours, sometimes losing consciousness, sometimes coming to. Then a thought flashed through his mind: this is how a lonely, forgotten life ends — useless and hard. But Nikolai did not want to die. After all, he had found his family, his place in this world, and could not just give up. Closing his eyes, he entrusted himself to higher powers…

“Dad, daddy, can you hear me?” Alice’s anxious voice sounded above him.

Nikolai opened his eyes with effort and saw his daughter leaning over him. His whole body ached, every breath was painful, but just knowing he was alive eased his soul.

“Daddy, you scared us so much. We almost lost you again. But now it’s all behind us. Nothing threatens your life anymore. I won’t let you go again. You will live with us.”

At that moment, Vera entered the hospital room. She silently approached her husband’s bed and, bending down, kissed his forehead. Alice told her father she had felt anxious all evening, letting him go out in such cold. She had called her boyfriend, and together they went to look for Nikolai. The search was successful — they found him nearby, next to the trash bin, and immediately took him to the hospital, where he received the necessary care.

After discharge, Nikolai returned to his native apartment to start a new life with his family. In his heart, he realized one important truth: the truth always finds its way to the light, regardless of time, pain, and obstacles.

A warm May day wrapped the park in golden light. Lyova and Misha, both wearing identical school trousers and blue shirts, sat on the grass, and nearby, stretched out at full puppy length, lay Rex — a large, shaggy Alabai with a wet nose and kind, almost human eyes.

“Look what he can do!” Lyova exclaimed proudly, extending his palm. “Rex, give me your paw!”

The puppy immediately jumped up, joyfully nudged his nose into the hand, and clumsily placed his massive paw on it. Misha laughed, and sensing the fun, Rex dashed over, knocked him onto his back, and began tickling his face with affectionate licks. The boys squealed with delight, tangled together in a wild, playful heap where it was impossible to tell where the dog ended and the boy began.

“You spoil him too much,” Misha said, out of breath, smiling as he brushed grass from his hair.

“How else?” Lyova brushed sand off his knee. “He’s my friend. And besides — the smartest dog in the world.”

Rex, as if agreeing, nudged Misha’s hand with his nose and wagged his tail happily over the grass.

“It’s a pity I never had a dog,” Misha said softly, stroking the puppy’s fluffy head.

“But now you have me and Rex,” Lyova patted his friend on the shoulder. “Tomorrow I’ll bring him treats from home. Let him be happy too.”

The sun slowly tilted toward sunset. Lyova stood up and carefully brushed off his pants.

“I have to go. Dad gets worried if I’m late. But you come tomorrow, okay? I’ll definitely be waiting.”

Misha nodded, but inside, a strange premonition tightened his chest. He watched his friend leave, leading a bouncing Rex behind him. Staying alone on the empty clearing was always a little sad. Misha headed home, hoping tomorrow would bring something good, though anxiety lingered in his soul.

The apartment door creaked. Misha carefully entered, taking off his shoes at the threshold. The air was heavy with the smell of medicine, old wood, and a vague mixture of sorrow and hope. On the couch, wrapped in a blanket, lay his mother — Marina. She held a book, but her gaze wandered out the window.

“Hi, Mom,” Misha said quietly, trying not to disturb her thoughts.

“Back already? How was your walk?” Marina smiled, tired but with a warm spark in her eyes.

“Great. Lyova showed me how Rex gives his paw. He’s such a funny puppy.”

“It’s good you have a friend,” Marina gently stroked her son’s hand. “You know I’m always here.”

Other times came to mind. When Dad brought ice cream home, when the apartment smelled of fried potatoes, when they watched movies and laughed together. It was warm, it was peaceful.

Then everything changed. One day Mom slipped on the stairs and hurt herself badly. Hospital, white walls, doctors in masks, anxious talks. The home became different: medicine appeared, silence, the nighttime rustling of pills in their boxes. Dad was home less and less, then just packed his things and left, slamming the door. Marina cried, and Misha didn’t know how to hug her so the pain would go away.

Grandma Valentina Nikolaevna came over, scolded Dad, baked pies, but didn’t stay long. So the family shrank to two — mother and son. They learned to survive together, holding on to each other.

The next day Lyova came back different. His usually lively face was tense, worry in his eyes.

“Things are bad at home,” he said quietly as Misha approached. “Dad’s leaving on a business trip, and Inga is moving in. She’s terrible. Loves no one but Dad. She scolds me, even Tamara Semyonovna.”

“Maybe she just isn’t used to it yet?” Misha tried to comfort, though he didn’t believe it himself.

“No,” Lyova shook his head. “She does it on purpose. She can’t stand Rex either. Says he’s dirty trouble. But Dad gave him to me for my birthday. I wanted a dog for so long!”

He fell silent, staring into the distance, then perked up:

“You know, at night Rex quietly climbs into my bed. We’re like real brothers. But now Inga forbids everything. She won’t even let me walk him.”

The boys were silent, each lost in his own thoughts.

Lyova left earlier than usual and didn’t come for several days. Misha wondered what had happened but hoped his friend would return soon.

Misha couldn’t get the thought out of his head: sooner or later, Lyova would have to walk Rex. One day he set his alarm for five in the morning and went to the river. The park was empty, only birds chirped among the bushes.

He hid behind a bush and waited. Soon a silver car pulled up to the shore. A tall woman with a bright scarf, cold eyes, and sharp makeup got out. Without looking back, she pulled a heavy bag from the trunk, which oddly moved, and with effort threw it into the water.

Misha froze. His heart sank. But without thinking, he plunged into the icy water, found the bag, and pulled it ashore. Shivering with fear, he untied the knot. Inside, with tape over its muzzle, lay Rex — scared but alive.

“Quiet, little one,” Misha gently removed the sticky tape, pressing the puppy to himself. “It’s okay. I won’t leave you.”

Rex trembled but licked Misha’s cheek. At that moment, the boy made a decision: he would never give this dog away.

At home, Marina met her son with concern — there stood a wet, shivering Misha holding a huge puppy wrapped in a blanket.

“What happened?” Marina hurried to him worriedly.

“It’s Rex… someone tried to drown him!” Misha sobbed, stroking the puppy’s fluffy head. “I saw the woman throw him in the river. I couldn’t leave him there…”

Marina knelt down, hugged her son, and pressed the trembling dog to herself.

“You did the right thing,” she whispered. “But now we have to find out everything. Who was that woman? Did you remember her?”

“Yes. Tall, with a bright scarf. In a silver car. We need to tell Lyova. He has to know.”

Marina sighed, stroking Misha’s hair.

“We’ll keep Rex here. Until we figure things out, he’ll live with us.”

The next morning Misha went to Lyova’s house. He stood a long time behind the wrought-iron fence, watching the windows. Soon Lyova came out onto the porch with his father — Herman Arkadyevich. Stern, in an impeccable suit, he tried to calm his son.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “Maybe Rex just ran away. We’ll find him for sure.”

“No!” Lyova clenched his fists. “It’s Inga! I saw her angry at him yesterday. And today he’s gone!”

Herman frowned but shook his head:

“Don’t make things up. Inga wouldn’t do that.”

Then Misha couldn’t hold back and ran out of hiding:

“I saw everything!” he shouted. “The woman in the bright scarf, in the silver car. She threw a bag into the river, and Rex was inside! I saved him. Now he’s at my place.”

Herman sharply turned to his son:

“Are you sure it was Inga?”

Lyova nodded, wiping away tears. At that moment a silver car pulled up to the house. Inga stepped out in her signature scarf. Seeing them, she froze.

“Inga,” Herman’s voice was icy, “we need to talk. Now. Let’s go inside.”

She tried to say something, but Herman was firm.

“Wait here,” he told the boys and disappeared behind the door.

Fifteen minutes later he returned, pale but resolute.

“Where’s Rex?” he asked Misha. “Show me.”

At home, Marina met them reservedly. Herman suddenly recognized her and unexpectedly smiled:

“Marina? Is that really you? We went to school together. Remember the wooden doghouses in the yard and the apples from the neighbor’s garden?”

Marina was slightly embarrassed but smiled too:

“Of course, I remember. You were always the top student.”

While the adults recalled their school days, the boys and Rex had a real celebration of joy: running, laughing, hugging. Everyone was thankful that the puppy was alive, and the friendship only grew stronger.

In the kitchen, Marina and Herman continued their conversation.

“Sometimes it seems life will never get better,” Marina said quietly. “And then suddenly someone appears, and everything begins to change.”

Herman nodded, looking at her carefully:

“The main thing is not to give up. Everything can start anew.”

Their eyes met longer than usual — there was more in them than memories.

Herman gave the boys some money:

“Buy something tasty for tea. And come to us. Today we have a celebration!”

Misha and Lyova rushed to the store, returning with chips, ice cream, and candy. At Herman’s house, Marina helped Tamara Semyonovna cut salad, and the housekeeper baked her famous pies. At the table, everyone laughed, shared stories, and no one even remembered Inga — her things had disappeared as if she had never been.

The atmosphere was warm, homely, almost magical. It seemed all difficulties were behind.

Late at night, while the adults still sat drinking tea, Misha and Lyova settled in the room.

“Do you think if our parents were together, we’d be better off?” Lyova asked thoughtfully.

“Of course,” Misha smiled. “You’d be my brother, and Rex would be our dog.”

“Let’s test their feelings,” Lyova conspiratorially suggested. “We’ll write a note: we ran away and will only come back if they agree to get married.”

The boys giggled, wrote the message, and carefully placed it on the kitchen table.

In the morning, Marina couldn’t find her son. The house was in a bustle. Herman searched every room until he noticed the note.

Reading it, he laughed:

“Those rascals… Looks like we have no choice.”

They went outside, and Herman saw the boys behind the bushes.

“Well,” he smiled, “shall we make a deal?”

Marina nodded shyly, but hope and joy shone in her eyes.

Tamara Semyonovna, laughing, called the kids home:

“Hey, rascals! Come back! The adults have already decided everything!”

Misha and Lyova ran to their parents, Rex jumped around, barking happily. Everyone hugged and laughed, and outside, as if especially for this moment, the sun shone brightly.

And life became kind again.

Just rest, dear,” Stas’s sticky voice sounded overly caring. “A couple of weeks in a good sanatorium — and you’ll be fine again. You’ll regain your strength.”

I tried to focus my gaze on my husband. My head was buzzing like it was stuffed with wet cotton.

“I don’t want to go to a sanatorium,” I whispered.

Tamara Igorevna, my mother-in-law, who was sitting in front, snorted with a short, dry chuckle.

“If you don’t want to, then you have to. You’ve completely worn yourself out. You scream, you don’t sleep at night, you lash out at people.”

She didn’t even turn around. Her eyes were fixed on the road. And for me, the past few weeks had turned into a nightmare.

They both insisted to me: I was losing control of myself. Things I put in one place would disappear, only to be found later in the strangest corners. They said I spoke words I didn’t remember.

The car turned off the highway. Instead of the promised spa resort, a gray, massive building with barred windows appeared before us. A sign on the facade read: “Center for Psycho-Emotional Correction ‘Harmony.’”

My heart stopped.

“This is not a sanatorium.”

“It’s even better,” Tamara Igorevna sharply interrupted while Stas parked the car. “They’ll definitely help here.”

Stas pulled me out of the car. He avoided my gaze; his hand was sticky and trembling. Two orderlies in white coats were already waiting at the entrance.

“We’re leaving her under your care,” my mother-in-law beamed, handing over some documents. “Full course. Paid in advance.”

Her eyes glowed with cold triumph. Only then did it dawn on me: all this time they had been deceiving me. It had nothing to do with my health.

They led me down endless corridors smelling of medicine and antiseptic. They took my bag and phone. I didn’t resist — everything was predetermined.

“The chief doctor will see you now,” a nurse said curtly near a heavy door.

I entered. By the window stood a tall man in a perfectly ironed white coat.

“Hello,” I said, my voice surprising me with its confidence.

The man slowly turned around.

And the world swayed. Before me was Arseny. My ex, who had disappeared ten years ago. The very man whose career I once saved by taking the blame for his mistake.

He looked at me, and shock, pain, guilt flickered in his eyes. He recognized me. Of course, he recognized me.

My beloved husband and mother-in-law had sent me to this clinic to seize the inheritance, but they didn’t know one thing: the chief doctor was the person whose life I had saved.

A faint smile appeared on my lips. Looks like the game was just beginning.

“Arseny? What a surprise,” I said softly. “Are you the boss here now?”

He swallowed, unable to look away.

“Alina… What are you doing here?”

“Getting treatment,” I replied, stepping forward. “That’s what my husband says. What do you think? Do I look crazy?”

Arseny walked around the desk, took a folder with my records — the same one Stas and his mother had brought. His fingers nervously flipped through the pages, trying to regain his professional mask.

“The papers state that you’ve recently had outbursts of aggression, memory lapses, depression…”

“You can write anything in the papers if you really want to get access to your wife’s money,” I interrupted. “Since my father died six months ago, I inherited everything. They couldn’t stand it.”

I stepped closer and looked into his eyes.

“Remember how I covered for you back then? How I left my residency so you could continue your career? So you could become the chief doctor?”

He shuddered as if I had hit him.

“I haven’t forgotten anything, Alina.”

“Then prove it.”

He thought for a second, then pressed the selector button.

“Valentina, come in.”

A middle-aged woman in a white coat with a sharp, keen gaze entered the office.

“Patient Alina Vorontsova is placed in room seven, VIP wing. Prescribe mild herbal sedatives and vitamins. No strong drugs without my permission. I’m personally overseeing the patient.”

The nurse was surprised but didn’t dare object.

When she led me away, I noticed a hidden signal in Arseny’s eyes: “Trust me. I’m on your side.”

The room looked more like a hotel room: a comfortable bed, a private bathroom, even a window without bars overlooking the garden.

In the evening, Valentina came to me with a tray and a glass of pills.

“Take these,” she smiled sweetly. “The doctor prescribed them. For sleep.”

I looked at the pills. She was clearly on their side. Bought.

“I sleep fine,” I answered. “But thanks.”

“Arseny Igorevich insisted,” her smile tightened.

I took the glass and some water. As soon as she left, I spat the pills into my palm. White and one yellow. Not like “mild sedatives.”

I hid them in my pocket. It was the first proof.

I had to act. Arseny gave me a chance, but it might be limited. I couldn’t wait.

I had to prove myself that I was brought here by deceit and force. I needed an ally. Or at least a phone.

Hearing the corridor was quiet, I began to make a plan. Risky, bold, but the only possible one.

And the key was Valentina. She loved money. And I still had enough.

The next morning I waited for her, sitting on the bed, collected and calm.

“Valentina, let’s talk. I have a business proposal.”

She hesitated, but curiosity won.

“What kind?”

“I know my husband and mother-in-law paid you to give me different medicines than the doctor prescribed,” I said softly but firmly. “No need to deny it. I’m not going to report you. On the contrary — I want to pay you more.”

Her face went pale.

“I don’t understand…”

“You do. And very well. Did they give you two hundred thousand? Three hundred? I’ll give you a million. I can sign a receipt right now. For one favor.”

The word “million” worked.

“What favor?”

“I need a phone. For at least an hour. And for you to confirm that I have been sane since admission.”

She didn’t hesitate long. Within half an hour, Valentina’s phone was in my hands.

First thing I did was call my lawyer, Igor. Explained the situation. He immediately knew what to do. Then I called Stas.

“Darling,” I purred into the phone, turning on the recording. “I realized everything. You were right. Come get me out of here. I’ll sign whatever is needed.”

Stas instantly took the bait:

“Good girl! Tomorrow we’ll come with mom, bring the papers.”

The next day they arrived — pleased, ready to celebrate victory. Arseny showed them to the office where I was waiting — in my clothes, not a hospital gown.

“Alina? Where is…?” Stas began.

“Where’s the insane wife ready to sign everything?” I smirked. “She never existed.”

Tamara Igorevna flushed.

“Why aren’t you in the ward?”

“Because I’m not a patient,” Arseny replied calmly. “But you’re in serious trouble now. Fraud, illegal imprisonment…”

The door opened. My lawyer entered holding a recorder.

“Good afternoon. I suggest we discuss this,” he placed the device on the table. “And the testimony of witness nurse Valentina. And the examination of those drugs they tried to give my client.”

Stas’s face turned pale. Tamara Igorevna opened and closed her mouth convulsively. Their perfect plan collapsed like a house of cards.

I looked at them with no anger. Only contempt. My revenge wasn’t in prison for them, but in taking everything they wanted.

As they left, defeated, I approached Arseny.

“Thank you.”

“I just repaid a debt. What’s next?”

“To live,” I answered, looking out the window at the vast, free world. “Just to live.”

Elena slowly flipped through the photos in the worn leather album she had carefully kept all these years. Her fingers gently touched each picture, pausing on those where Olga—her adopted daughter—genuinely smiled during school celebrations, the graduation party, her first day at university, and birthdays. Twenty years of motherhood had flown by in the blink of an eye, leaving an indelible mark on her heart. She remembered every tear on the child’s cheeks, every joy, every achievement of this girl who had become dearer to her than her own after Olga’s biological mother simply disappeared from their lives, as if dissolved into thin air.

The crutches stood by the sofa—a constant reminder of that unfortunate fall on slippery stairs and the subsequent complicated knee surgery. Now her entire leg was literally studded with metal pins—it was horrible to look at. The doctors promised a full recovery of mobility, but the process was dragging on much longer than originally expected. It was precisely then, when Elena was completely helpless and could not even get up from the sofa without assistance, that her husband—her beloved Grigory, with whom she had shared twenty happy years of marriage—suddenly stopped spending nights at home.

At first, she excused his absence by blaming work. But then she realized—he had found someone else. Young, healthy, able to give him what she could not.

The phone rang sharply, breaking the heavy silence of the apartment. Olga’s name appeared on the screen.

“Mom. How’s your leg?” her daughter’s voice was filled with genuine care and worry.

“Everything’s fine, my dear. Don’t worry about me. Tell me about the wedding instead. Has Igor already booked the restaurant? How’s the preparation going?”

“Yes, everything is ready, even the menu has been approved. Mom, do you happen to know where Dad is? I haven’t been able to reach him for several days. His phone is either busy or doesn’t answer at all.”

Elena fell silent. To tell the truth about her father’s mistress would irrevocably shatter her daughter’s last illusions on the eve of the most important day of her life.

“He’s… very busy at work right now,” she lied with difficulty, hating herself for it. “You know how it is at the end of the quarter.”

“I see. Mom, don’t forget—the registry office at eleven a.m. on Wednesday. I’m definitely waiting for you there. You’ll come, right? Promise you’ll come! I’m so nervous; I really need my mom to be with me that day.”

“Of course, my sunshine. Of course, I’ll come. Nothing will stop me from being with you on such an important day.”

After the call, Elena slowly leaned back on the soft pillows. She still did not know how to explain to her daughter that her father was now living with Kristina—a young twenty-five-year-old employee from his office who could have been his daughter.

The sound of a key in the lock made her flinch. Grigory entered the apartment, not even greeting her, and silently went into the bedroom.

“Grigory, let’s just talk calmly about…”

“We have nothing to discuss,” he sharply cut her off, not even turning toward her. “It’s all been decided. There’s no point in dragging it out.”

Elena struggled to pick up her crutches and slowly, fighting through the pain, got up from the sofa.

“Our daughter keeps asking about you. The wedding is in three days. She’s waiting for her father.”

“She’s my daughter, not yours, and I know that very well,” he replied coldly. “And I know exactly what I’ll say to Olga.”

“What exactly are you going to tell her?”

Grigory slowly turned to face her. In his eyes, she saw not a trace of the love that had once been there.

“After the wedding, I’ll honestly tell her that it’s over between us, that I’m filing for divorce. And remember this once and for all—you mean nothing special to her. In fact, you’ve always been nobody—no real mother, just a temporary nanny who helped raise the child. In short, you’re just a stepmother who will soon become completely useless.”

Elena knew, knew very well all along, that Olga would never be her daughter by blood, but she was her daughter by soul. Elena had dreamed of having her own children all her life but had been unable to conceive—which had been the main cause of her first divorce. But after she married Grigory, who already had little Olga, she wholeheartedly accepted her as her own, while Olga’s biological mother had vanished without a trace and had not appeared in their lives for many years.

“Don’t say such monstrous nonsense!” Elena exclaimed. “I raised your daughter as my own. I am her mother, and no one else!”

“You’re not a mother!” Grigory shouted, genuine malice in his voice. “You’re just my wife—a woman who couldn’t even give me a child in twenty years of marriage! And now you’re disabled with crutches. Who needs you?”

This was exactly what Elena feared most—that she would remain disabled forever and would not be able to take a step without crutches.

“I loved you both more than my own life,” she said quietly.

“Love?” Grigory laughed bitterly and scornfully. “Your so-called love is endless pots and constant cleaning. Olga will perfectly understand that I’m making the right choice. I’ll have my own child now; I’m far from old yet, but you…”

With these cruel words, Grigory sharply turned and left the room. Elena no longer had the strength or desire to argue with him—and what was the point if he had already made up his mind?

For several heavy days before the wedding, they existed in oppressive silence. Elena’s loyal friend Galina regularly visited, bought groceries, cooked simple meals, helped with cleaning. Her husband only occasionally appeared at home—sleeping, silently eating, and then leaving again, supposedly for work but actually to see his mistress.

And the day before the long-awaited wedding, Grigory harshly and categorically declared:

“You definitely won’t go to the wedding. I won’t allow a crippled old woman to spoil my daughter’s most important celebration. Just imagine how pitiful you’ll look in all the photos! Like a shadow from the past.”

“We’ll see who’s the pitiful shadow here,” Elena answered quietly but firmly.

“Don’t even think about showing up at the wedding, or I’ll personally throw you out without ceremony.”

Grigory snorted disdainfully and continued silently chewing his dinner as if nothing had happened.

Late in the evening, Elena sat in her three-room apartment, which now seemed incredibly large and lifelessly empty. She dialed Olga’s familiar number, her heart painfully tightening at the impending conversation.

“Mom! So, are you ready? Tomorrow is…”

“Olechka, my dear, I have very bad news. I won’t be able to come to your wedding.”

“What?! Why?! What happened?”

“My leg… serious complications, very painful. The doctor strictly forbade any long trips,” she lied with a heavy heart.

Her daughter’s voice instantly became sad:

“Mom, is something wrong? I think you’re crying?”

“No, my dear. I’m just very upset that I’ll miss the most important and happiest day of your life.”

“Mom, don’t be too upset, I…”

From the next room came Grigory’s muffled but clearly audible voice:

“You did the right thing, sit quietly here, don’t spoil people’s celebration. That’s it—you’re long gone; my daughter will soon forget about you forever, and you… well, I’ll deal with you properly later. And don’t waste time—pack your things, find a rental place. I’ll help you move your stuff but don’t delay. Understand me?!”

Elena desperately wanted to burst into tears—twenty years of life with this man, and he treated her worse than garbage ready to be thrown out without ceremony. She quietly hung up the phone, unable to speak any longer.

The wedding day arrived—the bright spring sun shone through the windows, and joyful birdsong was heard outside. Grigory put on his best dark blue suit and left early in the morning, reminding Elena once again that the wedding was exclusively for his daughter, not her, that she needed to pack her things, and that she must not call Olga or upset her on such an important day.

Elena silently sat by the wide window, slowly leafing through the thick album filled with numerous photos of her daughter, when suddenly there was an insistent knock at the door.

At the threshold stood Igor—the groom—wearing his wedding suit, holding a bouquet of white roses.

“Elena Mikhailovna, please get ready quickly. Olga absolutely refuses to go to the registry office without you.”

“Igor, dear, I just can’t. You see—I have these horrible pins in my leg, I can barely move, I’ll only ruin your celebration…”

“Elena Mikhailovna,” he gently but firmly interrupted. “Olga knows about Kristina. She knows about the impending divorce from her father and that he forbade you to come to our wedding. She knows everything. And she wants her real mother to be beside her—that’s you.”

Elena carefully got up from the sofa, firmly leaning on her crutches, and looked at this wonderful young man who sincerely loved her daughter.

“All right. Give me half an hour to get ready.”

At the registry office entrance, a small group of guests had gathered. The warm June day was perfect for celebration, and everyone was dressed in their best clothes. Elena, holding onto the building’s wall to avoid falling from weakness, carefully surveyed the crowd. Her gaze landed on a familiar figure—Grigory stood at the entrance with a young woman about twenty-five, obviously Kristina herself. The girl wore a bright pink dress with a deep neckline, which seemed inappropriate for a wedding. Upon seeing Elena, her ex-husband’s face instantly twisted with anger; his eyes narrowed and lips pressed into a thin line.

“She wasn’t supposed to come,” he hissed into Kristina’s ear.

“And who is she anyway?” the young woman shrugged carelessly.

At that moment, Olga emerged from the registry office building in a stunning white dress with lace sleeves and a long train. Her face radiated happiness, and her eyes sparkled with joy. Seeing her mother, she immediately ran to her, ignoring the possibility of wrinkling her dress.

“Mom!” she exclaimed, hugging Elena. “I knew you’d come!”

“I’m afraid I’ll spoil your photos, sunshine,” Elena replied, holding her daughter tightly as tears welled in her eyes. “But you’re simply glowing with happiness. You’re so beautiful, my dear.”

“Mom, you can’t spoil anything. You know the most important thing for me is that you’re here,” Olga hugged her mother tighter. “How are you feeling? Maybe you should sit down?”

“I’m fine, dear. Today is your day, and I can manage.”

When Olga moved away to greet other guests with the groom, Grigory approached Elena with determined steps. His face was red with anger.

“You still disobeyed and showed up here,” he hissed angrily, coming very close. “Well, fine, it’ll only be worse for you. You’ll end up on the street today, understand? As soon as I get home, I’ll throw all your rags out the door. Think I was joking?”

“Grigory, don’t make a scene,” Elena replied quietly, trying not to attract the attention of the other guests.

“Don’t make a scene?” he sneered. “And you had to ruin my daughter’s mood with your pathetic appearance? Look at yourself—a walking skeleton! You scare people!”

But then Olga came up to them, having heard her father’s last words. Her face instantly changed—joy turned to anger.

“What did you say?” she asked quietly but firmly.

“Daughter, I’m just explaining to your mother…”

“Get out of here!” she pushed her father hard in the chest. “And don’t you dare raise your voice at Mom! Get out! You’re a miserable scoundrel! Mom is sick, and you came to my celebration with your mistress and still dare insult her! Get out! Immediately!”

“Olya, you don’t understand the situation,” Grigory tried to justify himself, looking around at the stunned guests. “She’s not a mistress… She… we’re going to get married…”

“I have only one mom, and no father!” Olga interrupted him. “And you… you’re a traitor and a coward! Get out of here!”

“But I’m your father!” Grigory exclaimed, trying to take his daughter’s hand.

“Ha-ha-ha!” Olga laughed bitterly, pulling her hand away. “Suddenly remembered! Where were you all these years, dear papa? Maybe you taught me to read? Or took me to kindergarten? Or went to parent meetings? Or stayed with me when I was sick? What did you do? Nothing! Absolutely nothing! Mom raised me alone, worked, and you only spent money and told us what to do! Now get lost from my wedding and don’t forget to take your woman with you! Out!”

Grigory stood with his mouth open, clearly not expecting such a reaction. His face flushed and paled alternately. Kristina, who had been standing aside nervously biting her lips, firmly tugged his sleeve.

“Grigory, let’s get out of here,” she hissed. “Don’t get involved with this crazy daughter. She’s clearly not herself.”

“Yes, yes,” Olga agreed. “Both of you get out! And never come back into my life! I don’t need such a father!”

Igor, Olga’s fiancé, approached the bride and hugged her shoulders:

“It’s okay, sunshine. Don’t be upset.”

Grigory, realizing the situation had completely gotten out of control, turned and quickly walked away from the registry office. Kristina clicked her heels and hurried after him.

“Well, good,” Olga said, calming down. “Now we can continue the celebration.”

After the wedding ceremony, when all the congratulations had been said and photos taken, Olga approached her mother and handed her a small key.

“What’s this, dear?” Elena asked, examining the key.

“It’s for your home, mommy,” Olga smiled. “While we were here at the ceremony, the locksmith already changed the lock on the apartment. Dad’s things were packed up by our neighbor, Aunt Valya. She said she’ll be happy to help you anytime.”

Elena hugged her daughter tightly.

“Thank you, sunshine. You have no idea how important this is to me.”

“Thank you, mom,” Olga replied. “For being by my side all these twenty years. For loving me like your own daughter. For being a real mother even when everything was falling apart around us. For teaching me to be strong.”

“You’re the best daughter in the world,” Elena whispered, stroking Olga’s hair.

Late at night, after Elena had taken her medicine and rested a little from the exciting day, there was a persistent knocking at her apartment door. At first, it was normal knocking, but it gradually became louder and more aggressive, turning into a real drumroll.

“Elena!” came Grigory’s familiar voice. “Open up immediately! What the hell are you locked up like a rat in a hole for? I’ll break this lock! Have you packed your things? Found a place to live? I’ll remember how you ruined my daughter’s wedding by being here!”

Elena calmly approached the door but did not open it. Instead, she answered loudly and clearly:

“No, Grigory, I haven’t packed and haven’t even thought about it.”

“What do you mean ‘haven’t thought about it’?” he roared outside. “I told you!”

Grigory was raging with anger. An hour ago, his mistress had thrown him out after a grand scandal. Kristina called him a loser who couldn’t even handle a sick wife and an uncontrollable daughter. They fought to pieces, and now he was completely alone. And here was this stubborn woman locked in the apartment, refusing to let him in!

“Open up right now!” he shouted, banging his fists on the door. “This is my home!”

“No, Grigory,” Elena replied calmly, leaning against the door. “It was never yours. You seem to have forgotten that the apartment belongs to me. I let you live here, took you in like a stray dog, but you’ve gotten so attached that you already consider it yours. No, it’s my apartment, bought with my money, registered in my name.”

“But… but…” he was clearly confused, then realized that the apartment really belonged to his wife. “And my things? Where are my things?”

“With the neighbor. Ask Aunt Valya; she’ll explain everything.”

The banging on the door stopped. Elena cautiously went to the window and looked outside. At that moment, neighbor Valentina Petrovna was already carrying out numerous bags and packages with her ex-husband’s things. Grigory paced between them, shouting and waving his arms, but Aunt Valya methodically continued to clear her hallway of someone else’s belongings.

“If you don’t pick them up within an hour,” came the stern voice of the neighbor’s husband, Petr Ivanovich, “everything will go straight to the trash bins. What a scoundrel you turned out to be, Grigory! I thought you were a real man. Ugh!”—and he demonstratively spat at Grigory’s furious feet, who now didn’t know what to do or where to go.

Elena involuntarily smiled, watching the scene. Justice had finally prevailed.

At that moment her phone vibrated. A message from Olga appeared on the screen: “Mommy, thank you for the best day of my life. I love you more than anything in the world. Catch the photos from our celebration. Tomorrow Igor and I will come to you with the wedding cake and tell you everything in detail. Take care!”

Elena returned to the sofa, carefully sat on the soft pillows, and opened the gallery on her phone. One by one appeared the beautiful photos from the wedding: Olga in a pure white dress smiling joyfully, standing next to Igor; the newlyweds exchanging rings; Olga tossing the bouquet to her friends; her and her mother hugging against the backdrop of the registry office. In every photo, her daughter was glowing with happiness, and that was the most important thing.

“How fast time flies,” Elena thought, looking at the pictures. “Just yesterday she was a little girl afraid of the dark, and today she’s a wife. But she grew up strong and fair. So, I didn’t live these years in vain.”

A warm, happy smile appeared on her face. Despite the illness, despite all the hardships, she was truly happy. She had a daughter who loved her, a roof over her head, and now no one could take this peace away from her.

Anna Fedorovna sighed heavily, placing another pot under the stubborn trickle of water seeping through the dilapidated roof.

— What a disaster! — she whispered, looking up at the ceiling as if trying to see the very sky through the cracks. — When will this ever end? The rain’s gone mad — it just keeps pouring nonstop! Could it be that the roof in heaven itself, right above the Lord, has sprung a leak?

Before, during past downpours, a couple of basins were enough, but now she had to arm herself with an entire arsenal: four buckets, a small pot, and even an old enamel basin — everything was in use.

— Just as long as the roof doesn’t collapse, — she sighed, surveying the crooked beams. — Or it’ll crush me, and no one will even find me under these ruins!

With a habitual gesture, as if warding off bad thoughts, the old woman made the sign of the cross over herself. Suddenly, outside, a deafening clap of thunder rolled, causing the windowpanes to tremble.

— Oh, Lord have mercy! — she exclaimed, clutching the cross hanging on her chest. — What a calamity is this? I haven’t seen such a storm in twenty years, at least!

Anna Fedorovna had long been used to having long conversations with herself—or rather, with the cat, who, however, never responded. The gray, mustached sentinel sat on the stove, his green eyes shining in the dim light like two glowing coals.

— What, scared, furry one? — she said soothingly. — Don’t be afraid, the thunder won’t do us in. I’ve been through worse…

But no sooner had the words left her lips than the door creaked open and a tall male figure drenched by the rain appeared in the doorway. The old woman gasped and stepped back, her heart pounding wildly.

— Don’t be afraid, mother, — came a hoarse voice. — I come in peace.

She looked closer: before her stood a gaunt man, his face pale, his eyes heavy with deep fatigue.

— Well, since you come in peace — come in, warm yourself, — she mumbled, stepping aside.

The stranger took a few steps and then, as if struck down, collapsed onto a stool, breathing heavily.

— I need… a drink… — he rasped.

Quickly, she scooped some apple kvass from an oak barrel with a wooden ladle and handed it to him. The man greedily drained it to the bottom, set the ladle down, and closed his eyes as if gathering strength.

— Don’t be afraid of me, — he finally said. — It happened that I had to run to prove my innocence. But I can’t go further — I was wounded. Could I stay here for a while? Even in the cellar or attic…

Anna Fedorovna slowly approached him, peering closely at his face.

— Well, if you’re telling the truth — stay. But if you lie — God will punish you, — she said sternly, waving her hand toward the far room. — There’s a free spot there. Make yourself comfortable.

The stranger, who introduced himself as Nikolai, struggled to the bed and sank onto it, feeling his consciousness begin to drift. He pulled off his half-wet robe — his entire side was soaked in dark blood.

— Damn it… — he whispered through clenched teeth.

Struggling to remove his coarse clothes, he collapsed onto the pillow, feeling as if he wasn’t falling asleep but plunging somewhere into an abyss, trying to hold on but failing.

As soon as his eyelids closed, the hostess entered with a basin of warm water. Looking him over, she shook her head, carefully cleaned the wound, ensuring it was a through-and-through injury, then smeared it with a thick, herb-scented salve.

— Sleep, dear, — she softly said. — You need it now more than anything.

Nikolai awoke to a bright sunbeam shining directly into his face. Nothing reminded him of yesterday’s storm — outside, birds chirped, and the air was clear and fresh. For a moment, he even forgot where he was and how he got there. But memory quickly returned, and he tried to sit up. A sharp pain pierced his side, and at that moment, as if by magic, the door opened and Anna Fedorovna appeared in the doorway.

— Awake! Thank God! — she rejoiced. — Don’t rush to get up, lie down some more. The wound is fresh; it needs to heal.

— Grandma, how long have I been asleep? Eight hours? — he asked hoarsely.

She laughed, a warm, almost motherly note in her laughter.

— More than a day, dear! Well, do you want to eat?

Suddenly, Nikolai realized he was so hungry he would eat anything.

— More than that!

— Then let’s go slowly.

He carefully got up and, to his surprise, found the pain was not as bad as he had expected.

The old woman set the table, placing a large bowl of steaming cabbage soup, a pot of sour cream, and cutting a slice of fresh bread. Nikolai looked regretfully at the modest portion, but the hostess only smiled.

— Don’t rush, dear. If you manage, I have some potatoes simmering in the oven.

He began eating with a greediness he hadn’t noticed in himself for a long time. Anna Fedorovna sat opposite him, watching.

— My name’s Anna Fedorovna, what’s yours?

— Nikolai.

— Interesting… — she said thoughtfully.

Halfway through the bowl, he felt full but continued eating out of habit. Meanwhile, the grandmother placed a mug of dark broth in front of him.

— Drink this. It’s bitter, but good for you now.

He sniffed, grimaced, but took a sip — he didn’t even think the old woman might wish him harm.

— Well, Nikolai, now tell me your story, — she said softly.

He pushed the bowl aside, sighed, and began:

— There’s not much to tell. I had everything: a house, family, money. But one day, my wife decided she didn’t need me, but my wealth — she did. At night, she and her lover… accidentally, I hope, hit a man and fled. Then she testified that I was driving. Her lover is a journalist, has connections everywhere. I was convicted within a day and served three months. I couldn’t stay any longer — I had to find one person to help me. I managed to escape but don’t know how to reach him yet.

— If all is as you say — truth will prevail, — the old woman said confidently.

— Oh, Anna Fedorovna, if only I had your faith! — he bitterly smiled. — I thought if you have money, everyone respects you. But when trouble came — everyone turned away. Not even for a reason, just like that…

The hostess stood, cleared the dishes, and suddenly pulled out a worn deck of cards. Nikolai watched in surprise as she laid them out, whispering something. Finally, she gathered the cards and looked at him.

— You need to leave in three days. If you leave at the hour I tell you — you will reach your man.

He never believed in fortune-telling, but something in her voice made him quiet.

She dealt the cards again, and again, then said:

— You were born far from here, the only child in your family. Your parents are alive, sitting there, watching the road and crying. They wait for their son. But he’s not hurrying… Not because he’s in prison, but he never was.

Nikolai felt a hot wave of shame wash over him. It was exactly so — he’d been sending money to his parents for years but hadn’t visited them in three years.

— Your wife is beautiful, but a liar, — the old woman continued. — She always had many men: before you and with you. And also… she didn’t want your child. You could have had a son, but not fate.

He bowed his head. It seemed this simple woman knew more about him than he did himself.

He sat stunned, thoughts tangled, his head ringing. And he had suspected! Svetka said she had “minor female ailments,” so she moved to the guest room for a couple of weeks. And she went to the clinic suspiciously often, even stayed there for a few days. Everything was before his eyes, but he distanced himself, preferring not to dig deeper.

— And your friend is worried, looking for you, — the grandmother continued, shuffling cards. — People have already come looking for you. But he will help you, rescue you, and won’t even remember the offense you caused him.

Nikolai almost fell off the chair.

Well, okay, suppose the old woman is a good psychologist. But how does she know about Larisa? About how he left his friend’s sister for Svetka? How she left then, broken? He and his friend fought fiercely, nearly breaking each other’s bones, but later… they reconciled.

He always thought Larisa persuaded her brother to forgive him.

The grandmother folded the cards. He exhaled:

— Incredible…

She laughed — loud, young, as if she were not an old woman but a girl.

— What did you expect? I used to be known all over the region — the best fortune-teller! But now… — she waved her hand — I don’t do it anymore. Don’t want to. It’s hard to see other people’s fates, Kolya. People rarely come when everything’s fine. Only when they’re desperate, when they hit rock bottom. So what do you think you see then? Most often — the end.

Thunder rumbled outside as if confirming her words.

— What the heck! — Anna Fedorovna exclaimed, throwing up her hands. — A week of storms, like cursed! When will this mess end?

The cat, as if on command, slipped onto the stove and curled up. Nikolai watched with amazement as the hostess skillfully placed basins exactly where the drips were. So it went: amid cheerful drops and thunderclaps, they continued their evening.

— Almost no one left in the village, — sighed the old woman. — Before, when city folks came to me for fortune-telling, I could ask — men would come, fix the roof. But now, no one to ask. I wonder: what will come first — will I die, or will the ceiling fall on me?

Three days passed. Nikolai grew stronger; the wound healed. No new faces appeared in the village — only once a local traveling store passed through. At dawn on the fourth day, Anna Fedorovna woke him early:

— It’s time, Kolya. They’re coming already.

He rose easily — his body obeyed as if he’d never been wounded. He hugged the old woman tightly:

— We will meet again. Thank you…

— Go already, — she muttered, turning away, — or I’ll start crying. We’ll see each other, I’m sure.

She explained the way through the garden to the station, how best to leave — by bus or train. She stood long at the door, peering into the pre-dawn gloom where he disappeared.

— What a misfortune… — she muttered. — What a summer it’s been…

She had to empty the buckets — the ones she used to carry water from the well. She watched new wet spots spreading across the ceiling. Yes, the roof wouldn’t hold much longer.

The rain stopped as suddenly as it had started. That summer, the weather seemed out of control: hot in the morning, flood by afternoon, and stifling again by evening.

Anna Fedorovna gathered the basins, emptied the water, went outside—and froze.

Approaching the house was… no, not just a car — a whole big machine! A truck with some kind of basket on top. And behind it, a large black sedan.

— Could it really be war? — she whispered, crossing herself frantically.

The vehicles stopped. Now visible: in the truck bed were boards, packages, something red like slate, but not slate. From the sedan stepped out…

— Nikolai!

The bucket crashed to the ground. She hobbled toward him, unable to believe her eyes.

— Hello, Anna Fedorovna! — he smiled widely. — I told you — we’ll see each other soon!

— Soon, you say… — she snorted. — Three months — that’s your “soon”?

— It wasn’t up to me. They took me again while my friend was sorting everything out. Only for a month though — until the trials and investigation. I didn’t come alone!

He opened the car door. A young woman stepped out, shyly smiling:

— Hello.

They dined outside. Larisa, Anna Fedorovna, and Nikolai cooked enough for the whole crew — three huge pots. While Larisa set the table, the old woman laid out cards. Kolya sat beside her:

— Well, what now?

— They say you did the right thing, returning to your past and fixing the mistake. — She squinted. — It was your cruelty that caused everything to go wrong back then. But… — Nikolai tensed — Are you going to get married?

— Even now! I’m just afraid she’ll say no.

— She won’t. — Anna Fedorovna smiled slyly. — The baby can’t be born without a father, you know.

Kolya stared at Larisa in shock. She blushed but smiled.

Late at night, when the old woman was already asleep and the workers had gone to bed, Larisa and Nikolai settled in the car.

— Lar… — he suddenly spoke, looking at the ceiling. — How do you feel about tying your life to an ex-con?

She turned surprised, but he kept studying the starry sky.

— Is that… a proposal? — she whispered.

— Yep.

— Hmm… — Larisa pretended to frown. — Not the best prospect: a husband in and out of jail, and me with a bunch of kids. — She sighed and turned to the window.

Nikolai jerked and hit his head on the roof. Larisa laughed:

— Yeah, dummy, of course yes! I’ve waited so many years for those words. Although… — she made sad eyes — I thought there’d be a ring, flowers…

— Oh my! — He jumped out of the car, looked around, grabbed the first lily he could find from the grandmother’s garden, and ran back in. — Flowers! We’ll buy the ring tomorrow. And also… — he said seriously — we’ll visit my parents.

— Of course, we will.

Anna Fedorovna, watching them from the summer kitchen, smiled and crossed herself:

— That’s good. Now everything’s in its place.

— 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.

“My God! I didn’t come here for nothing — I wanted to help you pick the perfect dress!” exclaimed the mother-in-law loudly, her voice trembling with indignation. “What do you look like now? This… this is just an absolute absurdity, not a bride’s outfit! Where is the luxury? Where is the sparkle? Where is the elegance?”

Lena stood before the stern woman wrapped in a dark silk dress as if petrified. The words got stuck deep inside her, unable to find an outlet. A whole crowd of guests had gathered around them—every gaze fixed on Lena like spotlights on an actress who had forgotten her lines. She felt like the victim of a visual trial, with her newly minted mother-in-law as the accuser.

Andrey, seeing the tension rise, tried to stop the brewing scandal:

“Mom, please, let’s keep it down? Not here and not now…”

“Keep it down?!” the woman snorted without lessening her intensity. “Do you think lowering your voice will make everything better? Or do you hope that no one will notice that your fiancée showed up at the wedding with no taste or common sense? Look at her!”

Andrey sighed, took his mother’s hand, and gently led her aside, leaving Lena alone in the middle of the attentive eyes of the guests. Each person seemed to be trying on the role of critic, whispering their opinions loud enough for Lena to hear.

It all began with a simple dress choice. Lena refused the model strongly recommended by her mother-in-law—it had too many feathers, beads, embroidery, and artificial glitter. She wanted something clean, classic, and graceful. Simplicity is luxury too, she told herself. And although the outfit was not cheap, it was free of unnecessary pomp. It was her image—calm, refined, restrained.

But in others’ eyes, it looked like a challenge.

Especially venomous was Svetlana’s gaze—Andrey’s ex-girlfriend, who still nursed hopes of becoming his wife. Her father held a high position in a large bank, and she was considered a “suitable match.” And Lena—an ordinary girl with an ordinary job, no influential connections or money, whom the mother-in-law repeatedly called a poor match with no dowry.

With every glance, every whispering pair, Lena felt her confidence drain away. Her heart tightened with bitterness. These people—almost the entire wedding—were invited by Andrey’s mother. Only a few of Lena’s friends, sitting in a distant corner of the hall, tried to remain invisible, not getting involved.

And then she realized: Andrey had not defended her. He chose to stay silent, perhaps afraid of losing his parents’ financial support. This thought struck her harder than her mother-in-law’s words. She had not just made a mistake—she had made a terrible mistake. Marrying him was madness. He would always be part of another world—a world where love is measured by price tags, not feelings.

Unable to bear the tension, Lena spun sharply and ran away, leaving behind not only the restaurant but everything connected to that day. She would not let them see her tears. Never.

Bursting outside, she stopped, breathing heavily. The wedding was held at one of the city’s most prestigious venues—near a picturesque park and a calm river. Without much purpose, Lena headed there—toward the water, hoping to find at least a drop of solitude. As she ran through the alleys in her pristine wedding dress, passersby looked back—some with curiosity, some with confusion—but she didn’t care at all.

Not long ago, she dreamed that her life would be filled with love, family warmth, children’s laughter. She wanted to create a home where it was warm, safe, and no one had to count every penny. She wanted them to go to the sea as a family once a year, walk along the shore, collect seashells—like in movies or books. She wanted everything that seemed like a normal life.

Andrey seemed to her that very person—strong, reliable, kind. They had met not long ago, but Lena felt: here he is—the one. She closed her eyes to how he sometimes forgot appointments, how he spent evenings with friends instead of being with her. She thought of it as a manifestation of male freedom, a bright nature that had to be accepted as it was.

Now, recalling her first meeting with his mother, Lena understood—there were plenty of warnings. Back then, at the dawn of their relationship, the woman stated outright that her son deserved another, more suitable woman. Andrey was silent then, and that silence echoed in her heart with pain even now.

The wedding collapsed like a house of cards. The future became foggy, anxious, full of doubts. Lena reached the riverbank, sat down on the grass, and burst into tears. Tears flowed endlessly, soaking the edge of her dress. She didn’t move or try to fix anything. Only after an hour, when her strength began to fade, did she calm down a little.

Wiping her tear-streaked eyes, Lena looked at the water’s surface. Suddenly, she noticed movement above—on the high bank, behind a barred fence, stood a woman. An old lady dressed in a modest coat, eyes closed, whispering something as if praying. But the place where she stood was too dangerous.

“What are you doing?” Lena shouted, feeling fear clutch her chest. “Are you really going to… jump?”

The grandmother slowly opened her eyes and looked down. Seeing Lena in a wedding dress, she hesitated.

“Sorry, girl… I didn’t think anyone was here. I probably disturbed you…”

“No, no, you didn’t disturb me,” Lena replied, feeling sudden relief. The woman spoke—that meant she still wanted to live.

“Why do you think so? Sometimes it seems everything is bad, but it’s not the end…”

The old woman shook her head:

“When they want to throw you out of the house where you lived your whole life, when children start seeing you only as a burden, there’s no hope left. I’m nobody’s need.”

“No,” Lena softly objected. “Everyone matters to someone. Even if not to those you wish.”

She herself had just lost faith in her family, but now her thoughts were focused on a different task—saving this woman, giving her life meaning again.

“What’s your name?”

“Ekaterina Sergeyevna.”

“I’m Lena. Today was supposed to be my wedding… but I ran away. But I won’t let my tears be anyone’s reason for laughter. And you shouldn’t be anyone’s reason for mockery either. Come with me. I’ll make you some tea. I have a special recipe. You haven’t tried anything like it yet!”

Ekaterina Sergeyevna barely smiled:

“What’s so special about it?”

“You’ll find out when you try it.”

After a long pause, the woman stepped back, then looked at Lena:

“Why do you need me, girl? You have enough worries of your own…”

“So what! I just realized I made a big mistake, but that’s no reason to lose others. Come on!”

Lena held out her hand. After a moment’s hesitation, Ekaterina Sergeyevna took it.

The woman’s story was sad, like thousands of others. She had a son who had now become a father himself. After the death of his fiancée and the grandson’s move to another city, Ekaterina was left alone. A year ago, the son remarried—a young, beautiful woman became his second wife.

At first, it seemed everything was going well. The decision to combine living arrangements—sell her apartment and buy a shared one—was made gladly. After all, Ekaterina dreamed of family, support, not growing old alone. But now that dream shattered like a crystal vase falling on stone.

Now they tried to evict her from the new home—the one she moved to hoping for warmth and care. Her son pretended not to notice what was happening, as if everything was fine. But his new wife… She was completely different—sharp, cold, and cruel. Relations with Ekaterina Sergeyevna were tense from the first days. Over time, it grew into real harassment. The daughter-in-law mocked and humiliated the old woman at every opportunity, once even raising a hand against her.

When Ekaterina Sergeyevna decided to talk to her son about his wife’s behavior, he not only didn’t take his mother’s side but threatened to send her to a psychiatric hospital, saying she was “not right in the head.” These words left a painful mark on the woman’s heart. How could she live to such a point—to be accused in her own home? Afraid things might get worse, the grandmother simply packed some things and left. Left the house where she wanted to spend her last years, left those she once loved boundlessly.

For three days she wandered city streets, hungry, frozen, lost. No roof over her head, no shoulder to lean on. And today, on this gloomy day, she thought of ending it all. After all, what was happening couldn’t be called living. It was an endless nightmare with no light left.

“And your grandson… does he treat you like that too?” Lena asked, feeling the heavy weight of another’s pain.

“Oh, no, my dear Lenochka…” Ekaterina Sergeyevna’s voice softened, as if a single memory of her grandson returned a piece of warmth. “Misha is my real sunshine. But he stopped visiting us after that snake came into our family. We used to call often; he always asked about my health, joked around. Then they took my phone away. Sometimes he calls my son, who tells him I’m either asleep or out walking. Just wants to hide the truth…”

An idea spun in Lena’s head. A fleeting thought like a ray of hope in this darkness.

“Ekaterina Sergeyevna, tell me your grandson’s name and his last name?” she asked quickly. “For now, go rest—I laid out a place for you on the couch. Don’t worry. I’m sure everything will be okay.”

The old woman nodded gratefully and soon fell into a troubled but still sleep. Lena, leaving her guest in peace, went to her laptop. Pouring herself a large cup of hot coffee, she sat at the kitchen table. Only now did she remember she hadn’t checked her phone for a long time. Pulling it out of the pocket of the wedding dress lying in the bathroom, she almost choked on the number of missed calls—more than a hundred! But only one was from Andrey.

After standing for a few seconds thinking, Lena pulled out the SIM card and carefully broke it. She didn’t want to hear from that man anymore. Twenty minutes later, she was already searching for information about Ekaterina Sergeyevna’s grandson. And here he was—a young man with the right name, age, and school. Everything matched.

Morning brought an unexpected knock at the door. Lena woke rubbing her eyes. Ekaterina Sergeyevna was already up, sitting on the couch, listening attentively to every sound.

“Who could that be?” Lena wondered.

She understood Andrey would find a way to look for her sooner or later. But she needed to solve her own problems first and help the grandmother. Gathering her strength, she approached the door and cautiously looked through the peephole. Andrey wasn’t there. Standing on the threshold was a tall, broad-shouldered man whose face seemed vaguely familiar.

Hesitating, Lena opened the door.

“Elena? My name is Mikhail, I’m Ekaterina Sergeyevna’s grandson.”

Ekaterina Sergeyevna jumped up from the couch and clasped her hands to her chest, rushing to the door:

“Lenochka, it’s my Misha! Oh, Lord, Misha… How did you know I was here?”

“Grandma, why didn’t you tell me? We memorized my number exactly together. You could have asked neighbors for help.”

“Oh, Misha, I didn’t want to bother you. You already have tense relations with your father…”

“Grandma, how else will they be with all this going on?”

Misha turned to Lena and gave her a warm, grateful smile.

“Thank you so much for not passing by my grandmother. She means incredibly much to me. I’ve wanted to take her away for a long time, but something always kept her here. We even argued about it…” he admitted. “I may seem pushy, but I wouldn’t refuse a cup of coffee after four hours behind the wheel.”

Lena, as if waking from a long sleep, straightened up:

“Sorry… I think I’m still half asleep… Coming now,” she replied shyly.

Soon a decision was made: Mikhail and his grandmother would stay with Lena for a few days. During this time, they planned to sort out the documents. It turned out Ekaterina Sergeyevna had invested significant funds in buying the apartment that was now being taken away. So, throwing her out onto the street was not only unfair but illegal.

“That’s unacceptable, and I will definitely file a lawsuit,” Misha said firmly. “I won’t let them treat you like that, grandma. Neither you nor I will let this go.”

In the following days, Lena lived as if in a half-dream. She knew grown-ups had to be more reasonable, especially after betrayal. But she could do nothing—around Misha, she got lost, forgetting everything. His kindness, care for his grandmother, confidence—it all fascinated her.

Before the guests left, Lena gathered courage and told Misha about her feelings. He was genuinely surprised.

“Really? I didn’t think that was possible. What are your plans?” he asked.

“I’ll file for divorce tomorrow,” Lena answered calmly.

“But you loved him?”

“Apparently not,” she smiled sadly. “Maybe I should even thank fate for that.”

After Mikhail and Ekaterina Sergeyevna left, they called regularly. Lena filed for divorce, and although her heart ached, she felt a new life being born inside her. Gradually, she began to come out of depression, learning to enjoy simple moments again.

At some point, she decided happiness wasn’t her fate and threw herself completely into work. One day a colleague asked with a smile:

“Lena, did you hear? We have a new boss?”

“They said Grigoryevich would leave only in two months.”

“No, he’s already gone. And the new one… he’s young and very handsome,” she added meaningfully.

“So what? Probably inexperienced. It’ll be tough,” Lena sighed.

“God, you’re not even thirty yet, and you’re already thinking about work. Are you going to marry work?” the other laughed. “By the way, they say he’s not married yet.”

Lena just shrugged and kept typing. But at that moment, a voice behind the door made her catch her breath:

“Elena Vladimirovna, the new manager is calling for you.”

Entering the office, Lena froze. There stood Mikhail, smiling as if he knew this day would come.

“Hi…” he said, extending his hand.

Two months later, the whole office celebrated their wedding. A colleague, dying of curiosity, approached Lena:

“Come on, spill it—how do you act around men to get such a husband? Just walk into the office, and he immediately proposes?”

Lena laughed, looking at her beloved:

“Sometimes fate itself knows how to find those who really matter.”

Vera looked at Alexei in disbelief, unable to believe her ears. “Lyosha, don’t you understand that you’re making a huge mistake?” Alexei dismissed her, showing his impatience. “Let’s skip the drama. I’m just tired of your constant dissatisfaction. It’s the same thing every day. Milana is completely different. She’s like a breath of fresh air to me. And you… I think I’ve been too lenient with you, allowing time to pack your things and find housing. You do realize that you have no right to demand anything? You’ve never worked, so my money doesn’t belong to you.” “Lyosha, but it was you who forbade me from working. You said that for a wife of someone of your status, work is considered an unacceptable luxury.” “Yes, I did say that when you were my wife. But now Milana will take your place, so you’ll have the opportunity to earn your own living.”

Vera recalled all these words while standing in the cemetery in front of a new grave. Alexei’s happiness with his new chosen one was short-lived—just three years. She knew the last year of their marriage for sure: it was full of suffering. Alexei’s illness also raised many questions.

He suspected Milana of adding something to his food or drinks. He even started his own investigation and shared it with Vera, but never finished it…

A month before his demise, Alexei visited her, asking for forgiveness. He talked about his life, looked ill, and her heart ached from his suffering. Now, standing in the cemetery, Vera turned her gaze to the elegant Milana with a dark veil on her face, supported by a young companion.

She heard the whispers of those present at the funeral, condemning Milana for her insensitivity. Vera decided: the investigation must be continued. Although Alexei betrayed her, she still loved him. Yes, he acted like the worst scoundrel, but he didn’t deserve such a death. Vera sighed and headed for the exit. At the gate, Milana called out to her.

“I hope you understand that you won’t get anything from my husband’s inheritance,” she said in an icy tone. Her face twisted with malice, though Vera gave no reason for such suspicions. They stood silent for a few seconds, like two combatants ready to fight. Then Vera turned and left, hearing behind her: “Don’t even try to get anything!”

Alexei was treated at a clinic chosen by Milana, but Vera knew: that was only part of the story. It turns out he was secretly observed elsewhere, about which almost no one knew. All the details were kept secret, and it seemed he feared it would be revealed.

“Hello? Vera Nikolaevna, you need to be present at the will reading.” “The will?” Vera smiled bitterly. “Did my ex really leave me something?” “I’m sorry, Vera Nikolaevna, but I can’t discuss the contents over the phone. Can you come?” “Of course, I will,” she replied.

Vera smiled: she didn’t need his money, but she was curious to see Milana’s reaction at the will reading.

Milana was in a great mood, accompanied by the same young man who smugly smiled as he met Vera’s gaze. As expected, all the property, including real estate, went to Milana. However, at the end, the notary announced an additional item—a house in a remote village located a hundred kilometers from the city.

Milana laughed loudly: “Old wife—old junk! But don’t worry, Verochka, I won’t take that shack from you. You have nowhere to live, you’re a renter. Now you have your ‘apartments’!”

Vera remained silent, took the documents, and left the office. “The start of a little adventure,” she thought, looking at the address.

She had a day off over the weekend and decided to go there right now, wondering why Alexei owned a house in such a forgotten corner.

The trip took nearly three hours. She got lost twice and began to get annoyed: “How can the roads be so poorly marked? No signs, no proper turns.”

Finally, she saw the needed sign: “Finally!”

The village was strange: just a few kilometers back, there were signs of civilization, but now—old wooden houses, many of which had long been abandoned. “I wonder which one is now mine?” Vera thought, checking against a photograph. The house was at the very end of the village. She sighed—at the road here was just trampled grass and tire tracks.

Vera slowly made her way along the overgrown grassy road, her car bouncing on roots and bumps. Stopping in front of the house, she sat in the car for a while, surveying the area. The building looked abandoned, except for the flattened grass at the porch—it seemed someone regularly walked here. And the tire tracks at the gate indicated that cars sometimes came here.

“Did Lyosha leave me a house with tenants?” she wondered. Turning off the engine, Vera resolutely got out of the car and headed to the gate, which emitted a piercing squeak. She even flinched at the sudden sound. Climbing the porch, she found the door unlocked. Smirking to herself—”of course, it’s just a village”—she entered. The assumption that locals could come here and take anything valuable seemed logical.

However, when she pulled the door and stepped over the threshold, surprise enveloped her completely: the air was filled with the aroma of freshly brewed coffee. This scent in an abandoned house seemed utterly impossible. She scanned the room: inside it was clean and cozy, a laptop sat on the table. The house was clearly inhabited.

“Don’t be afraid,” a familiar voice sounded.

Vera turned sharply, but only darkness met her eyes before everything around disappeared.

“Vera, wake up! Sorry to scare you like that, but I had no other choice.”

She struggled to open her eyes. In front of her sat Alexei, and Vera herself was lying on the sofa. She reached out, cautiously touching him—he was alive, warm. His appearance had noticeably improved compared to their last meeting.

“Lyosha… am I dead?” she whispered. He smiled gently: “Of course not. Nobody died.” “Then whose funeral did we just have?” she asked, shocked. Alexei shrugged: “A mannequin. A very expensive and high-quality one.”

Vera shook her head, trying to comprehend what was happening: “I don’t understand. What’s going on here?”

Alexei leaned back in the chair and began to explain. Vera already guessed much of it. Milana’s lover returned from India, where, according to Alexei, he acquired a slow-acting poison. It was the doctor chosen by Milana who began to gradually poison him.

At first, Alexei didn’t even suspect that something was wrong. Suspicions only appeared after much of his property had been transferred to Milana.

“You see, I needed to do something to stop this,” he continued. “I talked to Misha, remember his clinic on Vasilyevsky? We decided that I needed to ‘die’. The risk was—Milana might decide to use the last dose of poison earlier. But everything worked out as best as it could. Now only a few details are left. And I realize I hurt you deeply, but you’re the only one who can help me.

They talked until late at night. Alexei detailed his plan, and Vera immediately agreed. How could she refuse, looking at her living husband, whom she mourned every night?

They spent that night together. Vera approached him, and he silently buried his nose in her hair. The only thing he said: “Sorry.”

In the morning, Alexei was preparing to leave. Holding his hand, she quietly replied: “I forgive you.”

Vera watched with light irony as Milana’s face turned red with anger: “What new will? This is complete nonsense! What gifts? Everything already belongs to me!” “There are reasons to believe that Alexei was given some drugs. Otherwise, how to explain that he transferred property to you that had previously been gifted to other people?” Vera calmly explained. Milana jumped up, outraged: “What drugs?! This is all mine, and I intend to sell it tomorrow!” The notary coughed: “Sorry, but the sale will have to be suspended. The situation requires detailed investigation, so all documentation is temporarily frozen.”

Milana threw a malicious glance at Vera: “You will pay very dearly for this, and very soon!” she hissed, grabbing her lover by the hand. “Shall we talk?” “Of course, let’s talk,” Vera replied unperturbed. Milana continued with a smirk: “Do you think I’ll give you something? You’re mistaken. I’ve invested a lot of time in your Alexei. You’ll end up where he is now.” “Are you going to slowly poison me like him?” Vera smirked. Milana looked at her attentively: “You’re smarter than I thought. Yes, I poisoned Alexei slowly to capture as much as possible. But with you, it will be different. The quicker you disappear, the better for me. There are poisons in India that act instantly and leave no trace. Our doctors will never detect them.” She laughed loudly, but suddenly Alexei appeared in the room. When Milana’s lover approached Vera, Alexei quickly struck him, knocking him out. Milana screamed in horror, seeing the person she thought was dead, and tried to flee. However, she was immediately surrounded by people in uniform.

Vera began to tremble with excitement, and Alexei gently took her hand: “Thank you. But we have one unfinished business.”

They headed back to the notary. Judging by the reaction, he was aware of all events and was not at all surprised. Alexei transferred half of his property to Vera, then stood up and quietly said: “Forgive me. It’s the least I could do for you. Perhaps I’ll move to the village. I don’t want to be in your sight.”

Vera aimlessly wandered around the apartment. “Why?” she pondered. It seemed she should be happy: Alexei was alive, she was now rich and completely independent. But inside, there was only emptiness. Something was clearly wrong. And suddenly it dawned on her: she needed Alexei—her Lyosha. Despite the pain, she continued to love him.

Vera hastily left the house, got into the car, and abruptly drove off. Now her path was clear—she knew what she had to do. Driving into the village, she noticed the first lights appearing in the windows of the nearby houses. Stopping on a small hill, she took several deep breaths to calm down. Her gaze fell on Alexei’s house window, where a soft glow had just lit up.

“Perfect. Everything is going exactly as it should,” she whispered to herself.

A few minutes later, she parked at the gate, turned off the engine, and slowly got out of the car. Each of her movements seemed mechanical, as if the body acted on its own, while the mind still hesitated. A thought suddenly flashed through her mind: “What if he no longer wants me? If his feelings for me have changed?”

But she quickly dismissed these doubts, deciding that now everything would become clear. Opening the gate, she saw Alexei already descending the porch steps to meet her. His eyes attentively studied her face.

“Are you sure? I’ve caused you great pain. Such things are not forgiven,” he said seriously. “Yes, you’re right, it’s hard to forgive,” Vera replied. “But I’m ready to try. We can both give it a chance.” Alexei hugged her tightly and sighed quietly: “It seems I needed to go through all this to understand how deeply I love you. To realize that I can’t live without you. If you can find a place in your heart to forgive, I promise: I’ll never hurt you again.”

Vera also sighed, looking him straight in the eye: “Lyosha, let’s try to forget everything that happened. Let’s start over. We’re still young—only forty years old. We have the opportunity to start a new chapter in our lives.”

Three months later, the trial of Milana and her accomplice took place. Vera couldn’t attend—she suddenly felt ill. Alexei was in a state of extreme anxiety, and as soon as the sentence began to be read, he immediately rushed home. Vera greeted him with a special, glowing smile.

“Vera, how are you feeling?” “Not ‘I’, but ‘we’,” she replied with a mysterious smile. “We? What do you mean? Did someone come?” “Not yet, but someone will definitely appear in seven months.”

Alexei stared at her face for a long time, trying to understand what he heard, then, astonished, asked: “Is it true? Are you not joking?”

“No, dear. This is the absolute truth.”

Alexei, not believing his fortune, lifted her in the air, as if she were weightless. Finally putting her down, he said: “You know, every day with you becomes more beautiful. I thought I had reached the peak of happiness, but now I realize I was wrong. Life with you is an endless source of joy.”

The evening, rich with the scents of freshness, hung in the air after a brief but fierce summer rain. The city, washed to a shine, seemed to breathe more deeply, absorbing the spicy, almost electric smell of ozone. Drops still tapped on the windowsills, the asphalt steamed, giving off the warmth of the day, and somewhere in the distance, above the rooftops, heavy clouds gathered, as if hesitating to leave.

Mark entered the apartment, leaving traces of water and fatigue behind him. Tossing his wet coat onto the sofa—with a rough, almost contemptuous gesture, as if the fabric itself was repulsive to him—he went to the kitchen. There, in the warm, cozy light, stood Anya. Her movements were measured, like a musical piece she alone could hear. She carefully distributed mushroom risotto onto plates, and the air was filled with the rich aroma of broth, sautéed mushrooms, and butter.

“Smells good,” he said, opening the fridge. “I just hope you didn’t decide to spice up dinner with mushrooms from the forest edge? We already don’t have enough money for treatment if something grows where it shouldn’t.”

Anya slowly turned to him, holding a plate in her hands. Her gaze was calm, but something lurked inside it—something she had learned to hide over the years. His words were, as always, on a thin, almost invisible line—between care and reproach. Only now that line had long ceased to be a boundary. He crossed it with enviable regularity, as if testing how much she could endure.

“These mushrooms are from the supermarket, Mark. Ordinary champignons. No dangers. Only safety and comfort, just the way you like it.”

“Good,” he said, taking a bottle of mineral water, pouring himself a full glass and drinking it down in one gulp. “Today at the office I saw the new price list from the insurance company. You have no idea how much one day in the hospital costs now. It’s just a nightmare.”

She silently placed the plate in front of him. He was not hungry. He did not want to eat. He wanted to start a conversation that had long become a ritual. It was a prelude—to something bigger, to something painful. Anya knew all his preludes. She had learned them like an actress learns her monologues. Only in this play, she was not allowed to improvise.

They sat down at the table. Silence hung between them, dense like fog. Only the clatter of forks against the ceramic disturbed it, and the flame of the candle Anya had lit, hoping to add some coziness. But there was no coziness. The candle flickered as if sensing the tension filling the room.

“I was thinking,” Mark began, pushing aside his half-empty plate. “Your paintings… that’s just a hobby, right? You’re not planning to make money from it?”

Anya lifted her eyes. Her hands, resting on her lap, clenched slightly, but her face remained impassive. She knew what answer he expected. But not the one he was going to get.

“I sold two last week.”

He smirked—not cruelly, but condescendingly, like an adult listening to a child’s story about a sandcastle. But there was no warmth in his eyes.

“Sold? Anya, that’s not earning. That’s pocket money I give you myself, just in a different form. You buy paints with my money, canvases with my money. And then you get lucky, and some housewife buys your smudge to cover a hole in the wallpaper.”

Each of his words was precise. He struck exactly, without missing. He knew where it hurt more.

“That’s not smudge, Mark.”

“Oh? Then what is it? Art?” He laughed, no longer holding back. “You sit at home all day, warm and comfortable, which I provide. I work my ass off from morning till night to pay for this apartment, this food, your clothes! And you just… exist.”

His voice sharpened. He stood up from the table, looming over her. The air in the kitchen seemed to thicken, becoming dense and heavy. Breathing became difficult.

“I don’t understand what you want,” she said quietly. Her voice was even, and that seemed to infuriate him even more.

“What do I want?” he shouted, and in his voice rang those very notes she had been expecting. “I want you to stop being dead weight! To appreciate what you have! You’re a poor talentless nobody living off me!”

A phrase that had become the leitmotif of their last year. The final chord in his daily symphony of reproaches.

Anya did not flinch. She slowly picked up her phone lying next to the plate. Her fingers confidently swiped across the screen. Mark froze, watching her actions in confusion. He expected tears, screams, hysteria. But not this. Not this icy, almost contemptuous calm.

She quickly typed something and hit “send.” At that same moment, a short notification sound rang on his phone lying on the sofa in the living room.

“What’s that?” he asked, puzzled.

“Just a link,” Anya replied, rising from the table. She looked him straight in the eyes, and in her gaze there was no fear or offense. Only fatigue. “Look. I think you’ll find it interesting.”

Mark snorted and went to the living room to get his phone. He expected anything—an article about family values, stupid quizzes, silly memes. But when he clicked the link, a page opened before him. A strict, minimalist design in gray-blue tones. No ads. In the top corner—the logo: intertwined letters V and F. And beneath it, the headline: “Volkova Fund.”

“The Volkova Fund?” he laughed loudly. “Seriously, Anya? You made a website? Probably with my money?”

She did not answer. Her silence began to irritate him. He stared at the screen again, deciding to examine this “joke” more closely.

“Support for young talents,” “Grants for studying abroad,” “Funding for contemporary art exhibitions.” Everything looked too… real.

He clicked the “About Us” tab. A photo of Anya looked back—a professional portrait he had never seen. A strict hairstyle, a business suit, a confident and somewhat detached look of a woman used to making decisions.

Under the photo was text: “Anna Volkova, founder of the fund, youngest heir of a financial-industrial group…”

Mark stopped reading. The words blurred before his eyes. Stanford? Family business? He shook his head, trying to dispel the hallucination. It was some crazy, well-thought-out prank.

“What kind of nonsense is this?” he shouted.

Anya entered the room, wiping her hands with a towel. She stopped a few steps from him.

“Why don’t you believe me? You always know people so well.”

Her calm tone was maddening. He feverishly searched for a catch. Opened the news section of the site. Headlines from various magazines: “Volkova Fund invests 15 million in a new cultural center.” “Anna Volkova on the list of the most influential philanthropists under 30.”

He clicked one of the links—it led to a real magazine website. The article was there, with photos.

Blood drained from his face. He felt the floor disappear beneath his feet. The apartment he considered “his fortress” suddenly seemed like cardboard scenery. His expensive suit—a cheap rag. His whole life, his achievements, his confidence—all shriveled to the size of a speck of dust.

He remembered her strange habits: how she never asked for money, how indifferently she looked at the windows of expensive stores, how once, listening to his boasting about a profitable deal, she asked a single question that uncovered an error in his calculations costing him a bonus.

Back then he dismissed it as a coincidence.

Mark lifted his eyes from the phone. He looked at the woman with whom he had lived for a year. The woman he methodically humiliated every day, reveling in his power and importance.

“Why?” he whispered. It was the only question he could squeeze out.

“I wanted to see what would happen if I had nothing. Except myself,” she answered simply. “I wanted to know what I am worth. And what the one beside me is worth.”

He slowly sank onto the sofa. The phone fell from his weakened fingers. He looked at her and for the first time in a year truly saw her. Not his “poor talentless nobody,” but someone else. Someone frighteningly big and real.

And he saw himself through her eyes for the first time. And that sight was unbearable.

Mark sat on the sofa, unable to move. His world, so clear and orderly, where he was the king and she his submissive subject, collapsed in an instant.

He stared at her face as if trying to see behind the mask of calm a hint of a game, a farce, a cruel joke. But there was nothing. Only silence, only truth laid out before him like an icy plain. No hint of mockery, no shadow of sarcasm. Only pure, unvarnished truth.

“Anya…” he began, and his voice sounded pitiful, like the moan of the dying. “I… I didn’t know. I thought…”

“You didn’t think, Mark,” she interrupted softly but with unwavering certainty. “You just enjoyed the power. You loved the feeling that you are the one who gives. Who saves. Who decides. It flattered your ego. You felt like a hero, though in reality, you were just a spectator sitting in the front row, applauding yourself.”

She went to the window and, pulling the thin curtain off the hook, flung it open. Night air burst in—fresh, filled with moisture and city light. The city lights reflected in the glass, and in that shimmering light Anya looked like someone else’s dream.

“This year was an experiment,” she said without turning. “I wanted to understand if a person can love not status, not money, not opportunities, but just… a person. Their essence. Their talent, even if it doesn’t bring millions yet. Even if it doesn’t shine, ring, or sparkle.”

Mark slowly rose from the sofa. His legs trembled as if he was standing on the ground for the first time after a long swim on deceptive waves. He took a step toward her, then another—and suddenly, as if struck down, he collapsed to his knees. Not theatrically, not with pathos, but simply from helplessness. From the weight that had fallen upon him. He grasped her legs, burying his face in the fabric of her simple home dress, as if trying to find comfort in her warmth, which he himself had destroyed.

“Forgive me,” he whispered, and his shoulders shook with silent sobs. “Anya, forgive me. I was such an idiot. Such a blind bastard. I will fix everything, do you hear? I will prove to you… I will change everything. I will be different. I will become worthy of you.”

She did not push him away. She just placed her hand on his head—light, almost weightless, like a farewell. Like a touch through time.

“There’s nothing to fix anymore, Mark. The experiment is over.”

He raised his tear-streaked face to her. His eyes swam with horror and desperate hope, like a person standing on the edge of an abyss still believing they will be held back.

“What do you mean ‘over’? We… we can start over! Now everything will be different!”

“Different?” she smiled sadly, and there was not a trace of malice in that smile. Only fatigue. And understanding. “You think? I think you’ll just change tactics. Become the most caring, the most understanding. You’ll admire every one of my paintings. But I will know that you admire not me, but the state of my bank account. I’ve been through this before.”

She carefully freed herself from his embrace and stepped back. Her voice became firmer but not colder—more like a sentence she had long passed on herself.

“By the way, this apartment is mine. Not inherited from grandma, as I told you. Like the car you drive to your ‘important’ job. It was my gift. My driver will pick you up in an hour. He’ll take you to your old apartment. You can collect your things tomorrow. My assistants will pack everything.”

Each of her words was a nail driven into the lid of his coffin. He sat on the floor, looking up at her like a beaten dog, unable to utter a word.

“A year, Mark. I gave you a whole year to see me. Not my money, not my background, but me. But you preferred to see a poor talentless nobody. Well, that’s your choice. And my choice is to live on. Without you.”

Anya took a small bag from the armchair that he had never noticed before. It was packed in advance. As if she knew this evening would come. She approached the door, glanced back for a moment.

“Goodbye, Mark. And thank you for the lesson. Now I know exactly what I am worth. And what your words are worth.”

The door closed behind her quietly, almost silently. And he remained kneeling in the middle of the huge living room, which suddenly became alien. Cold. Unreal.

He was alone. In a deafening emptiness that neither his ambitions nor his trampled pride could fill. He lost. Not money. Not status. He lost himself.

Three years passed.

Three long, hard years during which Mark changed three jobs, two social circles, and gained one understanding of himself. He was no longer a successful manager at a large company. He lost not only access to Anya’s resources but also the inner core he thought kept him afloat.

Now he worked as a senior consultant in a small real estate agency. Wore cheaper suits, rode the subway, and lived in the very apartment he once proudly left to move in with Anya.

Every evening, coming home, he saw the ghost of his lost life. He could not get rid of thoughts of her. Of her eyes. Of her voice. Of her painting he once called “smudge.”

That evening, as usual, he was scrolling through news on his phone, standing in a crowded subway car. His finger paused on a familiar face. It was Anya. She was smiling from the screen, standing in front of a huge, bright canvas. The headline read: “Anna Volkova. Solo: first personal exhibition at the ‘New Look’ gallery.”

Something inside him trembled. He got off at his station and, instead of turning home, walked in the opposite direction.

The gallery was only a couple of blocks away. He didn’t know why he was going there. Maybe he wanted to make sure it was real. Or maybe he just wanted to hurt himself again.

He entered. The spacious hall was flooded with light and filled with people. They moved from painting to painting, whispered quietly, drank champagne. Mark felt like a stranger at this celebration of life.

He took off his inexpensive coat and moved along the wall.

The paintings were incredible. Bold, deep, full of color and emotion. This was not “smudge to cover a hole in the wallpaper.” This was real art. He saw in these canvases everything he hadn’t noticed in her: her strength, her vulnerability, her irony, her soul.

Then he saw her herself.

Anya stood in the center of the hall, in a simple but elegant black dress. She did not look like an heir to millions. She looked like an artist. She was animatedly discussing something with a gray-haired man, laughing, and that laughter was so light and free. Next to her stood another man, who looked at her with undisguised admiration. He was not sycophantic or trying to impress. He was simply there. And in his presence, she seemed even more whole.

Mark froze behind a column, watching her. Suddenly he realized his experiment had failed from the start.

He thought he was testing her. But in reality, she was testing him. She had given him a unique chance—to see a treasure without knowing its price. To love a woman, not her wealth.

He was so close. He held the key to everything one could dream of. But his petty, vain soul did not let him see anything but the opportunity to assert himself at another’s expense.

Anya happened to turn her head his way. Their eyes met for a split second. There was no hatred or contempt in her eyes. Only a fleeting recognition, like seeing a long-forgotten classmate. She slightly nodded—a polite gesture toward a stranger—and turned back to her guests.

For her, he was already the past. A closed chapter. And for him, she would forever remain the future he himself had stolen from himself.

Mark silently turned and left the gallery into the street. A cold wind hit his face. He raised his coat collar and trudged toward home, realizing with brutal clarity one simple thing:

He didn’t just lose a wealthy woman.

He lost the only woman who gave him a chance to become better.

And he blew that chance.