All Amazing Babies

Dear, think up there—up high—about how to offend your wife. When you’ve figured it all out, let me know! I’ll let you down, – shouted a pretty woman from the cab of the crane. And dangling from the hook was a little house, the kind you’d see in every village courtyard.

When this story is recalled in the village, the women burst into laughter while the men lower their eyes shyly and blush. Everyone in the vicinity knows the legend of how Taya taught her husband a lesson. Now it’s time for you to hear this tale.

Taya, a delicate and attractive girl, had dreamed of becoming a crane operator since childhood. It is unclear exactly what drew her to this profession. While other girls played with dolls, she happily tinkered with toy cars alongside the boys and constantly pleaded with her parents to buy her a toy crane.

But her mother and father were not accustomed to indulging childish whims. Village life is harsh; there is little time for amusement. Instead, her parents kept telling her that it was time to leave childish pastimes behind and take care of the household.

Obediently, Taya followed the cows to the herd, watered endless vegetable beds, scrubbed the floors, fed the livestock, collected eggs, and carried firewood and water for the bathhouse.

At school, the girl didn’t stand out in any special way. She was an average student. There were no failing marks in her diary, and for that she was grateful. In every subject, she consistently earned average grades.

Teachers shook their heads. They advised Taya’s parents to send her to learn a trade as a seamstress or a cook. At least she would have some profession. In their opinion, she shouldn’t dream of anything greater.

But Taya dreamed. In her fantasies, she saw herself not as just anyone, but as a crane operator skillfully handling a machine on a big construction site.

She considered this work romantic and easy. To her, sitting in a cab and moving levers was a trifle—just grab the loads and move them from place to place. Beautiful!

So Taya finished school. The time had come to choose an educational institution. She understood that with her mediocre certificate, dreams of getting into an institute were out of the question, so she called technical colleges and vocational schools in neighboring towns with one question: do you have a department that trains future crane operators?

And finally, such an institution was found. They even admitted students without exams. In the admissions office, they told her that there was a shortage of students that year, and she would be accepted. Yet they still advised her to choose another field.

The teachers looked at the slender girl, as delicate as a reed, with doubt and said:

“You, little one, must have come here to look for husbands? Only boys study here! Of course we’ll take you, since you so desperately want to become a crane operator. But remember: things are strict here. If need be, we’ll expel you right away. Don’t you dare bother our boys!”

But Taya had no intention of bothering anyone’s head, much less searching for a husband. She rejoiced that her dream was coming true. She would master the profession and become a real crane operator!

Astonishingly, her studies came easily to her. She quickly absorbed the theory, learned all the rules and regulations, and passed all the tests and exams.

Perhaps she was motivated by the words of one of the instructors. He told the students:

“Anyone who does not know the theory will not be allowed to practice! Remember that. And don’t even think about taking the controls until you’ve learned everything taught in the lectures.”

And so Taya studied. Then she became fully engrossed in her training, mastered the new terminology, and answered the teachers’ questions so confidently that they had no choice but to give her solid top marks.

Her fellow male students initially laughed at the girl, but soon they fell silent. Moreover, the strict teachers began to hold her up as an example, which greatly bruised the men’s pride.

During practical classes, Taya impressed not only the teachers and fellow students, but even experienced masters marveled at her skill in operating the crane. Yet one of them said to Taya:

“You, dear, are a natural crane operator! But you’ll never work with a crane. No self-respecting foreman will take a woman to a construction site! And at such heights, no less! Your hormones will control you! You never know what’s going on in your head!”

Taya merely smiled and eagerly awaited her graduation from the school. In the city, construction of a new residential complex was just beginning. She firmly decided that she would work there.

And Taya carried out her plans. With a red diploma in hand, she went to the construction manager. He listened to her but shook his head:

“No, dear, I won’t take you, so don’t beg! If you want, take a paintbrush and go join the painters! Or serve lunches to the workers—there’s no way I’m taking you as a crane operator. It’s not a woman’s job. It’s like with sailors: a woman on a ship brings trouble. Don’t even ask!”

But Taya went to him every day. She pleaded for a chance to show her abilities. In the end, he relented. He ordered her to sit at an unused crane and move a small load. It had to be placed exactly where the spot was marked with chalk.

The clunky machine obediently followed all commands of its unusual operator. In an instant, the little box was hooked onto the crane’s hook and, after a brief pause in the air, gently lowered onto the marked spot, drawn by the foreman with chalk.

The workers, who were watching, whistled in admiration! The manager, meanwhile, rubbed his head. He already regretted allowing the girl to take the controls. But a man’s word is law, and he had promised Taya a place on the team if she succeeded with the task.

Thus, Taya became a crane operator. She felt on top of the world, like a fish in water. She was trusted with transporting the most valuable loads. Everyone knew that the petite girl could handle the job. Even fragile structures were delivered intact.

Taya began to earn well, receiving bonuses. Yet she didn’t rush to spend her money on fancy outfits or cosmetics. She had another dream: to build her own house with her own hands.

After all, Taya was from the village. She dreamed of returning there. The city felt cramped to her. But she didn’t want to be a burden on her parents. So she dreamed of having her own home.

One day, the workers noticed that the cheerful Taya had changed. She no longer joked and seemed somehow depressed.

“She’s in love,” said one of the masters. And he wasn’t wrong.

Taya indeed fell in love. She met Misha by chance as she was walking home from work. The young man almost knocked her off her feet. He was riding a bicycle and in a hurry. He immediately apologized and suggested meeting up.

From then on, the young couple started spending time together. They strolled and laughed, yet Taya couldn’t bring herself to confess that she was a crane operator. She was ashamed of her “unfeminine” profession.

But when it turned out that Mikhail was not a professor, but merely a tractor driver who had come to the city for an advanced training course, she opened up to him.

Mikhail said:

“Taya, I dream of building my own house in the village. But without a wife it will be difficult. Be my wife. And that you’re a crane operator—it doesn’t matter. A woman’s place is to cook lunch for her husband and take care of the children. Everyone has a past.”

Taya could hardly believe that this handsome man was asking her to be his wife. His words about a woman’s fate did not wound her. She gladly agreed.

Thus, Taya found herself in Mikhail’s village. At the wedding, the relatives gifted them a respectable sum, which was enough to immediately start construction. The young couple didn’t delay.

Work sprang into action in the spring. Taya’s skills came in handy. One day, while observing another crane operator, she frowned and said:

“Get out of the cab. I’ll do it myself!” From then on, she personally supervised the construction of her house. The workers obeyed her, while her husband merely clicked his tongue and said:

“That’s a wife! Truly, one who can stop a galloping horse and even enter a burning hut!” – exactly the kind of partner he had dreamed of.

The construction neared completion. The house was ready. The couple held a housewarming party and went on to live in love and plenty.

Of course, there was no mobile crane in the village. But Taya was undaunted. Her character had changed. She became obedient and gentle, allowing Mikhail to command her, after all, he was the man.

And so their married life flowed. Everything went smoothly for them. The house shone with cleanliness, the aroma of fresh baked goods filled the air, and the garden yielded a rich harvest.

Mikhail worked on the local farm. He left early in the morning and returned only at sunset. From his wife he demanded love and respect, and she tried her utmost to give it. After all, Taya truly loved her Misha.

However, over time, Mikhail began to abuse his position. He started to allow himself rudeness and sharpness. In the house, his orders were heard time and again:

“Tayka! The floors are filthy today, and the garden beds—I checked, and they’re overrun with weeds! What on earth have you been doing all day? And yesterday’s borscht you served me—how can that be?”

“Misha, I’m struggling with the household work. After all, we’re expecting a baby soon!”

The thought of impending fatherhood somewhat calmed Mikhail. He smirked smugly and patted his wife on the back:

“Give me a son! Otherwise, I won’t let you into the house! You’ll be sleeping in the chicken coop!” He was convinced that Taya would “obey” him and give birth to a boy who would be his exact replica.

But a daughter was born. Blue-eyed and fragile. Yet she cried out at night so loudly that it seemed as if a real man had taken up residence in the house. Mikhail, of course, did not send his wife to the chicken coop. But his dissatisfaction began to show more and more.

Every day in the house, his commanding voice resounded:

“Tayka, the cutlets are burnt! The bathhouse is barely warm, not properly stoked! It’s time to dig up the potatoes! What on earth have you been doing all day?”

“Mishenka, I was with Katyenka. I can’t be away from the garden for too long. She’s a very capricious little girl. She won’t let her mother go!”

Mikhail frowned in discontent and hurriedly left the house, leaving his wife alone with the noisy daughter.

Soon, his behavior became entirely inappropriate. Sometimes he would come home at dawn, other times he would get so drunk he lost consciousness, and sometimes he would hurl dishes, which, in his opinion, were not clean enough.

Taya endured. She blamed herself for having a daughter instead of a son. She tried to please her husband to avoid inciting his displeasure.

If her former classmates or former colleagues from the construction site saw her now, they would not recognize the once slender and cheerful girl in this exhausted woman. The spark in her eyes had gone out; she stopped dreaming and seemed to have completely forgotten that she was a talented specialist—a far cry from the woman her husband desired.

One day, a relative invited both Taya and Misha to a visit. She insisted that the couple must attend the feast because an important guest was expected.

Taya arranged with her neighbor to watch her daughter. The neighbor agreed. And Taya happily began to choose an outfit. She hadn’t left the house for a long time and was delighted about the occasion.

She cheerfully styled her hair, ironed her dress, and was just applying mascara when Mikhail returned home. He was in a foul mood. Taya immediately shrank under his gaze. He furrowed his brows and asked:

“Where do you think you’re going all dressed up? Where are you off to? Trying to attract men? A woman’s place is to cook her husband’s lunch and look after the children! I’ve told you a hundred times! Go and clean the toilet. I made a mess in there. It’s not a woman’s job to go about visiting people. Stay home; I’ll go alone.”

Taya couldn’t believe her ears or eyes. Her husband had turned out to be a true despot and tyrant. She obediently removed her dress, started wiping the mascara from her eyes. Meanwhile, Mikhail changed his clothes and left, smiling smugly.

As soon as he was out of sight, Taya burst into tears. She let the long-suppressed tears flow. At that moment, the neighbor arrived, as arranged, to look after the child. Seeing the distressed, crying woman, she said:

“Taya, what happened? Why are you crying? Go on, get ready to go out! I ran into Mikhail. He looked all puffed up and handsome!”

“But he forbade me, Natasha!” Taya bitterly exclaimed. “He ordered me to clean the toilet!” She began to cry even harder.

“Good grief, that scoundrel! I wasn’t going to tell you, Taya, but it seems it’s time. Your Mikhail has taken a mistress from the neighboring village. She’s an accountant, a fashionista; men flock around her, and she chose your Misha!”

He had gone out without you because he had arranged it with the relative. And she, that city beauty, will be there! Just think what you’ll do! They’ll take the man away from your family!

Suddenly, Taya composed herself. She looked at her tiny daughter, remembered how affectionate her Mikhail had been before the wedding, and asked Natasha:

“Watch my daughter, Natasha. I’ll be back before dark.”

“Of course, I’ll watch her, don’t worry! Are you going out? Give her a good talking-to so that she doesn’t run after other men and confuse them!”

But Taya was in no hurry to go out. She took a regional bus and headed out. There she found her former foreman. It’s unclear what they talked about, but Taya returned to the village in a crane.

She parked the machine in the yard, deciding that her drunken husband simply wouldn’t notice. Then she went into the house and relieved the neighbor of her duties.

Night was drawing near. It was getting dark. Taya put her daughter to bed and lay down herself. Mikhail was still not home. Finally, in the darkness, his footsteps were heard. The husband returned, cheerful and tipsy. He was humming something and dropping his belongings. It was evident he was eating in the kitchen.

Taya did not come out. She waited until her husband entered the room. Finally, he did. The woman pretended as if she had just woken up and said to her husband:

“Misha, the toilet at home is broken. I’ve shut off the water. Please go out to the yard. Otherwise, you might get confused right after waking up and head to the outdoor lavatory.”

Mikhail grumbled:

“Leave you at home! You’d mess everything up. Now you have to go out. Well, at least they haven’t disassembled the outdoor toilet! Still, I’m resourceful and clever. I sensed you’d mess everything up.”

Misha went to the toilet. As soon as he sat down to take care of his business, something inexplicable began to happen. The little house started swaying, spinning, and it seemed to hang in the air. He hesitantly opened the door and nearly lost the gift of speech.

The outdoor toilet was hanging in mid-air. And his wife’s voice echoed:

“Dear, think up there, up high, how to offend your wife. When you’ve figured it all out, let me know! I’ll let you down!”

Mikhail just sat back down. This abnormality had hoisted the wooden little house with the crane. She had gone mad! He shouted:

“Tayka! Immediately stop fooling around! Lower me to the ground. I’ll have a word with you!”

“What are you saying, dear? I can’t hear a thing. You’d better be careful! You might fall—this height is several meters. And have some shame for the neighbors! What will they think when they see you screaming without pants in the sky? They’ll report you to your dear queen! How will you ever look her in the eyes?”

Mikhail thought he must have overdrunk and was simply dreaming a terrible dream. He leaned against the side of the little house and closed his eyes. Soon the intoxication would wear off, and he would find himself in a warm bed next to his wife.

But nothing like that happened. As soon as the roosters crowed and dawn broke, he again found himself suspended in the air. His wife was no longer in the crane’s cab. Evidently, she had gone home to be with her daughter.

And the wooden little house swayed in the gusts of wind, threatening to collapse. Mikhail screamed at the top of his lungs:

“Good people, help me! Taya has suspended me! Taya, get me down from here, you know I’m afraid of heights!”

On the porch, Taya appeared, and neighbors began to gather around the house, roused by Misha’s cries.

And Taya stood on the porch and said:

“Dear, have you forgotten how you used to love me? I decided to remind you! Think about your behavior. If you want to leave the family, go ahead. I won’t hold you back! And I won’t allow you to abuse yourself anymore. And clean the toilet after yourself. I bet you made such a mess!”

“And cleaning isn’t my thing—I’ve got another talent! The foreman has invited me to work; I’m going to the city. It’s only a 15-minute bus ride. I’ll make it! And Natasha will watch the daughter. You’ll have to learn to cook lunches, do the washing, and everything!”

Mikhail realized his wife was not joking. He wailed:

“Taya, please forgive me for Christ’s sake! I’ve lost my mind! I love you. I love our daughter. I swear I won’t hurt you again! Get me down from here!”

Taya slowly walked to the machine, settled into the cab, and started the engine. The toilet swayed a little longer in the air and then gently landed back in its rightful place.

The neighboring women laughed and elbowed their husbands, threatening that they’d call Tayka if they dared to disrespect her. They say that in that village there are no more quarrels or discord. And the men now live with respect for the female half and are gentle! Don’t believe it? Come and see!

— Yulia, I’ve prepared a surprise for you! — said the mother-in-law with a strange and slightly frightening tone. — I know you love surprises! You’re definitely going to like this one!

Yulia looked skeptically at her husband’s inexplicably cheerful mother, who was also oddly dressed—in a white medical coat and bright, multicolored polka-dot trousers.

Arina Mikhaylovna stood in the doorway of her apartment and was clearly tipsy.

— Arina Mikhaylovna? — the daughter-in-law wondered as she scrutinized her mother-in-law. — What’s gotten into you? And what’s the occasion for such merriment? And you’ve even come up with a surprise. Why? After all, you’ve never loved me! — Yulia was bold and spoke without reservation.

— I’m having fun because as soon as you see my surprise, everything will finally fall into place. And I’ve been waiting for that!

Arina Mikhaylovna laughed so heartily that the daughter-in-law got goosebumps. Then, with confident steps, she strode into Yulia’s bedroom along with her son Vyacheslav.

— Now, open it! — the inebriated woman pointed to a large built-in wardrobe, to which she had absolutely no connection.

— What do you mean? — Yulia was surprised by her mother-in-law’s insolent act.

— Come on, come on, don’t dawdle! Open it; a surprise awaits you.

Suspecting something was amiss, Yulia dashed to the wardrobe and, upon opening it, was stunned.

All her clothes were wrinkled and marred by some terrifying dark stains, and some were simply torn to shreds!

— What is this? — gasped Yulia and finally… woke up.

The bedroom was unusually dark and stuffy. Slava had somehow drawn the night curtains, even though his wife didn’t like that—she preferred to see the sky and stars as she fell asleep. And the window was closed, even though Yulia clearly remembered leaving it on the ventilation setting before going to bed.

— Slava, Slava? — she reached out for her sleeping husband nearby. — Where are you? Why did you close the window? It’s unbearably stuffy. You know how much I love the cool air.

She needed reassurance. The strange dream had pulled her from a blissful sleep and, for some reason, greatly disturbed her.

But where her husband should have been—peacefully snoring and caught up in his tenth dream—there was emptiness. The bed had even cooled down, indicating that Slava had gotten up long ago.

— I don’t understand. But where is he? — the woman said in astonishment, not yet fully recovered from sleep.

The bedroom door was ajar, but Yulia could clearly see that there was no light anywhere in their small apartment. Not in any room. Everywhere there was an ominous, frightening darkness.

Yulia got up and decided to search for her missing husband. What if he needed help and was lying in the living room or in the hall, unable to move?

“Ridiculous! What kind of thoughts are these? Surely he must have gone to the bathroom with his phone. I told him—don’t drink so much beer at night. No way! He drinks and drinks like he’s out of his mind!” she thought as she moved through the apartment in search of her husband.

Imagine her surprise—and even perplexity—when she didn’t find Slava in the toilet or the bathroom.

— I don’t get the humor… What’s going on? — the woman looked around at the empty rooms in bewilderment. — Has he been abducted by aliens? What a fine mess! The wife is sleeping peacefully, and the husband has disappeared to who-knows-where.

Yulia even went to the balcony to check if perhaps he was there. The door was tightly closed, and there was no one on the balcony.

— What wonders! What is happening?

Trying not to panic and hoping that the situation would soon become clear, she found her cell phone and dialed her husband’s number.

Her fingers wouldn’t obey; she began to tremble. No matter how hard Yulia tried to calm herself, it was in vain. Panic started to grip the woman, who was completely overwhelmed with fear.

When the call to her husband finally went through, another shock awaited her. She even jumped in surprise and gasped. The phone lay quietly on the small table in the hall, silently vibrating.

— He left without his cell! How is that possible? Slava never goes anywhere without it! — Yulia stared at the gadget in disbelief.

She picked it up and tried to check the call and message history to see who her husband had last contacted. But, unfortunately, she couldn’t discover anything new or interesting.

— And what now? — she asked the picture of the beautiful girl standing in the rays of the setting sun, with a foolish expression. The beauty remained silent.

Yulia began pacing back and forth in the apartment, unable to settle down from worry. Then she sat on the sofa and started thinking.

Maybe Slava had said something to her that evening, and she just hadn’t paid attention?

— Okay, I need to concentrate and try to remember what he told me. What did he say? Nothing! We sat in silence all evening. I was texting with Dashka, and he was once again browsing his favorite car website.

She desperately wanted to share what had happened with someone, to hear words of support and at least some theory about where to look for her missing husband. But when she glanced at the clock, Yulia realized it was too late to call anyone—it was three in the morning.

Thinking logically, she decided to check what clothes and shoes her husband had disappeared in. And then another shock: Slava had left in his home clothes and slippers—the ones he always wore at home.

— I just don’t understand any of this! Has he really been abducted? What normal person leaves home in the middle of the night in their pajamas and slippers without taking his cell? Who can answer that? Am I going crazy? Slava, where are you?

Yulia shouted these words quite loudly, as she was beginning to have a mild breakdown.

Suddenly, in the deafening silence, she heard a noise. Yulia didn’t immediately understand what it was. Then she dashed to the hall, hoping to see Vyacheslav coming home safe and sound. After all, the entrance door was creaking.

But when she ran to the door, Yulia sadly saw that the hall was empty. However… the entrance door was slightly ajar.

— My God! How did I not notice that sooner? I’ve walked past it several times.

Yulia looked out into the stairwell. It was quiet. No one! Not a soul! So her husband must have left somewhere, leaving the door unlocked. Otherwise, it would have been bolted, and he would have had to unlock it with a key—waking Yulia, who always slept very lightly.

— So, so… Where on earth did my dear husband go off to, practically in his underwear and slippers, and without closing the door behind him? Did he decide to take out the trash in the middle of the night? Maybe he had a silly dream too? What if he’s a sleepwalker? What a mess! — one absurd theory after another raced through the woman’s agitated mind.

Yulia even leaned toward the kitchen window, from where she could clearly see the entire courtyard. Vyacheslav was not there. And there was no one—the city was sleeping peacefully.

There was only one possibility—her husband was somewhere nearby, perhaps even in one of the neighboring apartments.

She went out into the entrance hall and quietly walked past all the apartments on her floor, listening for any sounds. Then she went down one floor and did the same. After that, she climbed to the top floor, checking all five floors of her building. Everywhere was silent. Only from one apartment, where a young couple had recently had a baby, could she hear some noise. The parents were too awake to sleep.

Returning home, Yulia sat down to wait for her missing husband. She was sure that sooner or later he would return, and then… then he would get it!

To calm her nerves a bit, the bewildered woman took a half-finished bottle from the refrigerator and poured herself some wine into a large goblet. Then, after a moment’s thought, she drank it almost in one gulp. A warmth spread through her chest, and Yulia even managed to look at the situation with humor.

— Really, like in a joke, oh my! — she giggled, adding a bit of a soothing agent to her goblet.

In the stillness of the night, all sounds were heard clearly and distinctly. Twenty minutes later, Yulia heard a door opening in one of the apartments on the lower floor. Like a cat trying to be silent, she dashed down the stairs and witnessed a rather telling scene.

Her dear husband was now tenderly embracing the neighbor, Lena, seemingly saying goodbye to her after a wonderful time together.

— Slava, I’ll miss you, — whispered the neighbor, flushed after their pleasant encounter.

— Me too, — he said, clinging to the other woman as if she were his.

The enamored couple was completely unaware that an incensed wife was watching them, barely containing her anger.

— Now you must try to return home unnoticed. Can you do that? — Lena quietly asked Slava.

— I’ll try; maybe it’s not the first time, — the man replied with a laugh.

Yulia could no longer tolerate this mockery.

— Ah, there you are, dear! And here I thought you’d been kidnapped! — the wife declared loudly, looking down at the lovebirds from above.

Both, caught off guard and not expecting such a twist, were momentarily confused, dumbfounded, and staring at Yulia.

That was all the time she needed to pounce like a tigress, rushing down to grab her rival by the long hair that lay in a coquettish wave on her shoulders.

— Aaaah! — Lena shrieked throughout the entrance. — Help! Slava, save me! Help!

— Yulia, stop what you’re doing! — Slava stammered, trying to remove his furious wife from the back of his companion.

Yulia managed to sit so deftly on the neighbor, grabbing her by the hair, that it wasn’t easy to shake her off. Meanwhile, she didn’t forget to administer heavy slaps to her victim, declaring:

— I’ll show you how to deceive me! I’ll arrange for you to have nighttime rendezvous!

She also managed to use her legs. Skillfully, she managed to kick Vyacheslav, who was spinning nearby, unsure how to separate the two women. The kick landed squarely in the eye.

— Ladies, please, calm down! Stop fighting! — the man pleaded, dancing around while rubbing his bruise, but it was all in vain.

Screams, noise, and shouts soon woke up the entire building. Neighbors began peering out in surprise and discontent. Some, deciding to watch the outcome of the fight, even stepped out onto the landing. The men laughed, making bets on one or the other rival. The women gasped and pleaded for someone to break up the brawl.

— They’re about to kill each other! Do something already! Why are you just standing there, men!

— What, Slava, did you finally get what you deserved? — joked an elderly neighbor. — Don’t you know the saying: “don’t behave like the one where you live.” Now, here’s your problem.

— All you men are the same, always looking for a place to settle, — his wife retorted indignantly, standing right there.

— Were you trying to catch me? Huh? To make such claims? Look, you got carried away. Go home, stop staring! — her husband replied, shoving his wife toward his apartment door.

Finally, Yulia exhaled and let her victim go. The neighbor looked miserable—her face scratched, her hair quite disheveled, and a bruise beginning to redden under her eye. Yulia had also been hit, but at that moment she felt no pain.

Stunned by the events, the betrayed wife silently walked through the crowd of onlookers and headed home. Slava obediently followed her. A confrontation even worse than the one that had just occurred awaited him.

But the wife decided she’d had enough. It wasn’t worth spending any more energy on her husband.

— Yul, you… — Slava began uncertainly as he entered the apartment.

— Don’t even start! Don’t open your mouth! Just gather your things in silence and get out! — Yulia declared, still overwhelmed by her emotions.

— You won’t forgive me? — Slava tried once more. — That Lena, she seems to have bewitched me, hypnotized me. I didn’t mean to, honestly! I never intended to go to her. I don’t know how it happened. I wasn’t myself when I went to her. Listen, maybe she’s a sorceress?

— Oh, don’t make me laugh! Even if she did cast a spell on you and muddled your mind.

— Forgive me? — Slava asked again hopefully.

— Forgive? Are you completely out of your mind? Do people forgive such things?! I never want to see or hear from you again. I simply can’t. And you talk about forgiveness! We’ll sell this apartment; I can’t live here after such disgrace. And you, get out right now. That’s only fair. You messed up, and you must leave.

And then, rather inopportunely, Yulia suddenly remembered that silly dream with her mother-in-law.

— Well, that dream came in handy! — she exclaimed in surprise. — See, don’t trust dreams! Oh, mother-in-law! At least in one thing, I got something good from you. You woke me up in time.

Yulia and Vyacheslav soon divorced and sold their shared apartment. And for a long time afterward, all the residents of that building recalled the farcical incident that had occurred with their neighbors.

And as a warning to husbands, wives often said—don’t behave like Slava, or you’ll end up badly.»

Chapter 1. The Shadow Player

Kira had learned to be inconspicuous.

Her wardrobe consisted of simple items – beige sweaters, modest trousers, and minimalist earrings. She didn’t mind when her husband disdainfully introduced her as his “unemployed but thrifty” wife. She didn’t argue when he declared before his friends that “women were not made for business.” And she never contradicted his belief that the head of the family was the one who brought in the income.

Kira remained silent. Because her game was much deeper.

Secret Strategy

At the beginning of their relationship, she truly believed in Nikolai – in his strength, intelligence, and business acumen. He was building a company, confidently negotiating, and sketching out grand plans for the future.

But the more Kira observed, the more it became clear: he was not a strategist, but an adventurer.

He couldn’t plan, analyze risks, or devise a backup plan. Nikolai pursued quick deals, easy money, and dubious partnerships. What mattered most to him was appearing successful rather than truly being so.

And then Kira decided: if you can’t trust your husband, you must build your own foundation.

She started small – investing her saved funds in young internet projects. Marina, her longtime friend, assumed official leadership as the public face of the business.

After several years, this modest investment turned into a significant success. Their company specialized in logistics solutions, marketplaces, and digital technologies, and now Kira was earning considerably more than her husband.

But he didn’t know. And Kira wasn’t in any hurry to tell him. She waited.

Chapter 2. Warning Signs

Nikolai always ignored the details.

For him, only grand gestures mattered – flashy deals, extravagant parties, and expensive gifts that he bought more for image than from any genuine desire to please.

And Kira? She noticed everything.

She saw how her husband’s business began to crumble. Clients were leaving. Suppliers were delaying deliveries. Debts were mounting, yet Nikolai continued to act as if everything were under control.

Kira knew that telling him directly was pointless – he would just brush her off. So she tried to gently steer him.

“You’re investing too much in risky projects,” she cautiously remarked over dinner.

Nikolai raised his eyebrows in surprise: “Oh, of course! A woman who doesn’t even know how to negotiate is going to advise me!”

Kira fell silent. “Should I even ask for your permission?”

She fell silent again.

At that moment, Kira realized: the situation was hopeless. He not only didn’t listen to her – he was incapable of doubting his own correctness. His downfall was inevitable. And when it came – Kira would be ready.

Chapter 3. The Fall

Nikolai did not believe in failure.

Every time he faced difficulties, he convinced himself: “It’s temporary,” “Things will get better soon,” “I’ll manage somehow.”

But this time, he couldn’t cope.

The problems Kira had suspected crashed down on him all at once.

A key partner refused to renew the contract. Loans taken to cover old debts turned into an insurmountable mountain of obligations. New suppliers demanded advance payments, yet the company had no funds.

Kira watched the events unfold from the sidelines without intervening.

She knew that if she tried to help now, he would reject her assistance.

And when Nikolai burst into the house with a lost expression and immediately shouted: “Can you believe what happened?!”

…she simply placed a cup of tea before him.

“I’m bankrupt!” he cried, unbuttoning his shirt collar in a frenzy as if he were suffocating. “It’s all over. I’ve been completely ruined!”

Kira looked at him intently. “Who ruined you, Kolya?”

He grew sullen. “What difference does it make now? The main thing is – we have no money!”

We.

Kira almost smiled. He still considered them a team. But her ship had long left the harbor. His, on the other hand – was sinking.

For the first time in a long while, Kira felt powerful.

Nikolai sat before her confused, broken, vulnerable. He expected a reaction – support, tears, panic.

But she offered him none of those emotions.

“What are you going to do?” Kira asked calmly.

He ran his palms over his face. “I don’t know yet… I’ll find some kind of job. Damn, I can’t believe…” Kira nodded. “You can work for me.”

Silence. Nikolai slowly raised his head. “What?!”

“I’m offering you a position in my company.” It was said simply, matter-of-factly.

“But you don’t even have your own business,” he murmured in astonishment.

Kira tilted her head slightly. “Are you sure about that?”

Chapter 4. The Veil Falls

A heavy silence hung between them. Nikolai looked at Kira as if he had met a completely different person.

“What did you just say?” he asked again, blinking as if to make sure he hadn’t misheard.

Kira calmly took a sip of her tea. “I’m ready to hire you.”

He snorted in disbelief. “Don’t joke with me, Kira. What business? You have…”

He faltered, noticing something in her expression.

“What business are you talking about?” he asked cautiously, already feeling alarmed.

“Mine.”

Nikolai frowned. “Did you find a job somewhere?” Kira smiled slightly. “No, I created this business.”

Moment of Revelation

Irritation flashed in his eyes. “Are you trying to crush me with this? That I’m a failure and you suddenly became successful? How much are you even earning? You have no business experience!”

Kira set her cup on the table. “Enough to offer you a position.”

Her tone held no challenge or mockery. She wasn’t trying to humiliate him.

Yet Nikolai still felt as if he’d been hit in the gut. “I want to see the documents!” he demanded sharply.

Without a word, Kira pulled out a folder, retrieved the papers, and calmly slid them over to him.

Nikolai quickly scanned the contents. Reality hit him with renewed force. Her company was worth far more than his own business ever was in its most successful years. She was wealthy. His Kira. The very one he had considered unemployed.

“How long has it been around?” he asked dully. “A few years.” “And you kept it hidden?” “I didn’t hide it. You just never cared.”

Her voice was calm, without a hint of offense. That struck him the hardest.

First Reaction – An Attempt to Defend

“Isn’t it true that it’s not only your money?” he said with a hopeful tone. “We’re married, so half belongs to me!”

Kira calmly folded her hands on the table. “No.”

“What do you mean ‘no’?!” he exclaimed.

She patiently took the documents and pointed to a line. “Legally, the business belongs to Marina.”

Nikolai froze, absorbing the information.

“To whom?!” “Marina.” “But you…” “I’m merely an analyst. I work behind the scenes, providing consultations. Formally, I’m not part of the company.”

His face drained of color. Nikolai realized he had no right to any claims. All these years, Kira had been not only smarter than he thought – she had planned everything in advance.

He clenched his fists. “Did you set this all up on purpose? Wanted me to collapse and then laugh at me?!”

Kira tilted her head slightly. “No, Kolya. I was striving for stability. You never cared about the future, so I took care of it for both of us.”

She stood up. “If you want to work – there’s a place for you. But if you’re planning to fight for what isn’t yours…”

Her gaze was direct and resolute. “Then deal with the law.”

With those words, she headed to the bedroom, leaving him alone.

Chapter 5. A New Reality

Nikolai’s first day at work began with a shock. Kira turned out to be wealthier than him. The very Kira – quiet, unobtrusive, whom he had long considered weak. And now he worked for her.

When Nikolai entered the office, he expected ridicule. He assumed that Kira’s employees would treat him with arrogance, whispering behind his back.

But their reaction was calm. Marina, the company’s co-founder, nodded briefly: “Welcome. HR has prepared all the documents. Come on, I’ll show you what you’ll be doing.”

She led him through the office, explaining the processes. Nikolai listened distractedly. His thoughts swirled around one idea: How do I regain control?

The first surprise awaited him in the office when Marina handed him a contract: “Sign it.”

Nikolai scanned the text. Salary – ordinary, average by market standards, with no bonuses or perks. Position – a regular employee in the logistics department, with no managerial duties. Probation period – three months.

He looked up. “I was hoping for a higher position.”

Marina smiled wryly. “Of course. But you’re on probation now. Just like everyone else who comes without experience.”

Nikolai clenched his jaw. Without experience. After twenty years in business, he found himself in the same row as novices just starting their careers!

But if he refused… He no longer had a financial cushion. Through gritted teeth, he took the pen and signed the contract.

The First Days – A Test of Pride

His workstation turned out to be in a regular open space, among ordinary employees. No private office, no assistant. His first assignment? Analyzing warehouse documents. “Didn’t you insist before that your employees start with the basics?” Marina reminded him with a smile.

Nikolai silently took his seat at the computer. He wasn’t used to taking orders. He was used to giving them. But now, there was no choice.

The First Attempt to Demonstrate Authority

Within a week, he began to feel more confident. A plan gradually formed in his mind: he would showcase his leadership skills, prove his competence – and regain his lost status.

However, one day he made a mistake. In the office kitchen, he encountered Kira. She was washing a cup. Without thinking, he blurted out: “And you still can’t afford a dishwasher?”

She didn’t even turn around. After carefully drying her hands with a towel, she calmly turned and said in an even tone: “Today you’re working the night shift.”

Nikolai blinked in surprise. “What?!”

“You heard correctly.” “But my schedule is for the day!” Kira smiled – softly, yet without any hint of warmth. “Now you have a new schedule. Nighttime loading. If you want to complain – contact HR. They know where you are.”

Nikolai froze. He realized that Kira would not let him feel his superiority. And then, for the first time in a long while, he said: “Understood.” And went off to prepare for the night shift.

Chapter 6. Changes

Nikolai was changing. At first, he thought he was only working temporarily until he found a better option. But weeks passed, and the new reality sank deeper into his consciousness.

Kira no longer depended on him. She didn’t ask for his consent. And, surprisingly, now he depended on her.

Decisive Moment

Two months had passed since he declared himself bankrupt. He woke up early, worked late, and was mastering a new field. Had he given up? No. But he had learned to follow Kira’s rules.

He stopped trying to command her. He didn’t ask for money, nor did he demand a share. Even Marina noted that he began working diligently, without hysteria or complaints.

Yet there was one thing that troubled Nikolai. He saw the new Kira. She had become calm, confident, untouchable. She no longer sought his approval. And most importantly – her gaze had changed.

Previously, he saw love, devotion, and hope in her eyes. Now, there was only confidence.

And that became his real test.

The Final Dialogue

They were in the kitchen. Just an ordinary evening, like many others. Kira placed a cup of tea before him. Nikolai silently took it, studying it thoughtfully, and suddenly said: “Before, I was sure I could lead you…” He paused, gripping the cup tighter in his fingers. “But now, you are the one who sets the rules of the game.”

Kira gave a barely perceptible smile. She slowly poured the tea, remaining calm. Then she raised her eyes and replied softly yet firmly: “I’ve always made the decisions. You just never noticed.”

Nikolai looked away. He realized – his power was gone. He understood that Kira had stayed with him. But one thing he knew for sure: now everything depended solely on her choice.

— Yulka, it’s no use running from me. You’re going to be mine anyway—whether you like it or not.

— Oh, come off it! Do you really think that just because your dad works in the police everything’s allowed for you? The law is the same for everyone. Just try it—and you’ll end up behind bars.

— I’ll try, but for now it’s difficult. After that incident, your granny started taking you to school and picking you up. She even keeps an eye on you at home.

— That’s all your fault. Why did you drag yourself into the schoolyard bushes during recess? A janitor saw you from the window and intervened.

— And that’s why he got his comeuppance. His father forced him to resign, sell his house, and leave town.

— Your father did that?

— I said all that to him… He’ll always remember how he tried to interfere with me.

— You’re just spoiled by your father’s attention. How could he have fallen for your provocations? Vadim Sergeyevich is a respectable man—our local officer.

— And what about mom? Seven years ago she left me and dad, ran off with some outsider. She didn’t even show up for the divorce proceedings; dad handled everything himself. You women are all the same. You fixate on someone, but not out of love. Understand?

Nikita stepped away from the girl, and at the classroom door his friends burst into laughter.

— So, are you going to keep humiliating yourself, Nikitos? Yulka is a tough nut to crack.

— I’ll crack her when the opportunity arises. How about a bet—at graduation I’ll charm her into it? Dimka, you’re on for the computer, and Yurka, you’re getting a new phone.

The boys high-fived and went into the classroom. Yulia sat at her desk, and Nikita stuck his tongue out at her. His friends only smirked.

The graduation day arrived. In the assembly hall, diplomas were handed out, and the celebration continued in the gymnasium where tables were set up.

The graduates didn’t linger long indoors. According to a long-standing tradition, at ten o’clock they headed to the river. There, they lit a bonfire, and plenty of conversation topics arose. Yulia sat between her friends Katya and Sonya, feeling protected from Nikita. They promised to see her safely home at dawn.

— Girls, let’s slip away into the bushes before Nikita, Yurka, and Dimka show up in the clearing. They took Larka to the river, — Katya suggested.

Of course, each chose her own spot among the bushes, but it was all in vain. It seemed Nikita had been waiting for this. He crept up from behind, covered Yulka’s mouth with his palm, grabbed her waist, and dragged her into the woods. Thanks to his training in a sports club, he was strong and enduring. Yulia, though she struggled, couldn’t do anything. From afar, her name was being shouted, but she couldn’t answer.

Nikita ran until the voices completely died down. He crossed the road, reached the edge of the settlement, veered towards the forest, and stopped at a small hut, where he finally dropped her.

— There, Yulka, now you’re going to get exactly what I’ve longed for. Don’t complain later. After all, your father will blame you…

Yulia appeared at her home at daybreak. Her grandmother, grandfather, and parents, having lost hope of finding her in the woods, were waiting in the yard.

— Yulenka, darling, — her mother wept, looking at the tattered, dirty graduation dress with its ruffles dragging on the ground. The bodice, missing its buttons, was wrinkled on her chest. Makeup mixed with tears.

Her grandmother hugged her, and her father asked:

— Who did this to you, darling? Nikita?

— Him, dad, — she immediately admitted.

Her father rushed outside. His path led him to the local officer, where he filed a report.

— Take this, Vadim Sergeyevich, and do what’s right by conscience and law. I’m taking my daughter to the clinic for tests. If you try to interfere or swap the results, you’ll have only yourself to blame. Under Yulka’s nails, there’s the skin of your son.

— Calm down, Valentin Ignatievich. My son will answer for everything under the law. I’m not going to cover for him. I’ll personally take him to the clinic. He’s sleeping at home now. I noticed scratches on his shoulders and arms, but he said he got into a fight.

Nikita received his sentence. His father resigned from service and started working as a private detective, opening his own agency.

Yulia learned about the pregnancy and signed up for an abortion. At the clinic, she encountered Nikita’s father and tried to pass by, but he stopped her.

— Wait, Yulia. We need to talk.

— I have nothing to discuss with you. Your son ruined my future. I had so much trouble scheduling the procedure. I have a rare blood type, and there’s a risk I might never be able to have children again. But I definitely don’t want this child.

— Let’s get into the car. I have an important conversation to have. Please, listen.

— Fine, I’ll listen.

In the car, Vadim confessed: — I went to the colony to see my son… and buried him there. I couldn’t bring myself to take him home, so I left him in the local cemetery. You’re carrying his child, and I have no one left. I grew up in an orphanage myself; my mother abandoned me in a cardboard box by a dumpster. I survived to always act honestly. But I lost my son.

— Lost him? Is that what it’s called now? And who forced the janitor to resign from the school, sell his house, and leave?

— Yulia, I swear, I had nothing to do with that.

— And Dina, the saleswoman? Her boss fired her for refusing to sell cigarettes to your son. And you deny that too?

— I swear, I didn’t know anything. For such “exploits” I was always very strict with Nikita—confiscating his phone, laptop, money. He was never a spoiled kid.

— That’s enough, I’ve heard you. I must go.

— Wait. If you decide to keep the child, he will be my grandson, a part of my family.

— I’m not going to be your incubator. Get married and let your wife have the baby. You’re not that old and you’re attractive. You’ll find someone.

— And will you agree to be my wife? Together we can raise the child.

— How can you suggest such a thing? I won’t tell anyone. — Yulia dashed out of the car.

At home, she told her grandmother about the impending abortion and its possible consequences.

— My dear, I understand your feelings. But when you find love, you’ll understand: without children, a family is incomplete.

— Grandma, what are you saying? This is Nikita’s child! I’ll never be able to love him.

— Think it over for a couple of days, and then we’ll decide.

At the store, Yulia met Vadim again. He approached her and led her outside.

— So, have you decided to marry me? The thing is, after my injury I became sterile. Now, I have neither a son nor any chance for offspring. The grandson you bear will be the meaning of my life. I’m willing to arrange a sham marriage; you move in with me. Everyone will believe that the child is mine. Do you agree? That way, you’ll preserve your health and the chance to be a mother again.

— With you? You’re sterile, and in marriage I won’t be able to stray or get divorced. You’ll take the child away immediately.

— That won’t happen, I swear. The main thing is—the child must be born. I’ll come by this evening; we’ll discuss it. Do you agree?

— Fine, you won’t let up anyway.

Yulia went home, while Vadim continued on his way.

In Yulia’s family, heated disputes broke out. In the end, they reached a compromise: Yulia would marry Vadim and move in with him.

There was no wedding celebration. They registered the marriage and returned to Vadim’s home.

— Make yourself at home, settle in. Nikita’s room is off-limits, but upstairs you can choose any room. My bedroom is large, and there are two spare rooms. One will become a nursery.

— Alright, Vadim Sergeyevich.

— No patronymic. So that everyone truly believes it’s a genuine marriage.

— Fine, Vadim. You’re my husband, and I’ll get used to it.

Yulia gave birth to a boy, and soon everyone noticed that he resembled Vadim.

The shock for her family came with the news of a second pregnancy. She explained: — I’ve come to love him. It turned out he thought he was sterile, but he was mistaken.

The second son was biologically Vadim’s, yet he also adored his grandson.

This is the story of an event that took place in one of the towns in the Moscow suburbs.

Triplets were born to us! It’s simply unbelievable, Ira!»

«Maxim could barely contain his emotions; his face shone with such delight as if he were witnessing a unique natural phenomenon.» – her voice came out barely audible.

The hospital room, illuminated by the March sun, seemed dazzlingly bright. Irina was half-seated on the pillows, turned away toward the window where the poplar branches scratched at the glass.

Maxim held a bouquet of tulips that had begun to wilt in his sweaty hands. Between them were three little bundles in transparent bassinets.
«Can you imagine, two boys and a girl?» he stepped closer, trying to catch her gaze. «I’ve come up with names for them, want to know?»

She was silent. Her fingers lay listlessly on the blanket, her nails with chipped polish.

Maxim sat on the edge of the bed, remembering how just nine months ago they were expecting one baby. They had planned a nursery, argued about the color scheme. Then the ultrasound revealed twins. And the fear in her eyes.

«Artem, Egor, and Masha,» he continued, trying to fill the silence. «Masha will be Daddy’s princess, right?»

At last, Irina turned around. Tears sparkled in her eyes, but not the ones he had expected.

«I can’t go on like this, Maxim,» her voice suddenly grew strong. «One child – that’s one thing. But three… It’s the end of everything. My career, our plans. Everything.»

He stood frozen in disbelief.

«What are you saying? They’re our children.»

«Your children. I’m not ready for this.»

Something clattered in the corridor; hurried footsteps of a nurse were heard. Outside, a poplar branch desperately scraped at the glass, as if warning of something.

Maxim remembered that conversation so vividly, as if it had happened just yesterday, even though many days had passed.

He stood in the middle of their apartment, holding Masha in his arms while Artem and Egor slept in carriers. The television was loudly broadcasting some talk show. The air was filled with the smell of baby formula and unwashed laundry.

«Give them up to the orphanage, I can’t live like this,» Irina said matter-of-factly as she packed her things into a suitcase. «I suggested not having the baby when we found out about the twins. You refused. Now there are three of them, Maxim. Three!»

Her hands feverishly stuffed the suitcase with blouses and jeans. On the wall, a wedding photograph from two years ago looked down with smiling faces.
«You can’t do this,» he whispered, fearing to wake Masha, whose tiny fingers clung to his T-shirt. «We’ll manage.»

«I don’t want to manage. I wanted to live. To travel. To build a career,» she closed the suitcase. «Children weren’t part of my plans. And now there are three.»

Maxim looked at her as if seeing her for the first time. The beautiful face he had kissed countless times now seemed foreign, cold, almost hostile.
«So this is who you really are,» he said.

«And you thought you knew me?» she replied bitterly with a smile. «I always said I wasn’t made for motherhood. You didn’t want to listen.»

She moved closer, pausing for a moment in front of Masha. She didn’t kiss her. Just turned her gaze away.
«Sorry,» she said, and Maxim couldn’t tell to whom it was addressed. «I’ll file for divorce and renounce parental rights. Don’t look for me.»

The door closed with a soft click. Thunder rumbled outside. A storm began. Masha started crying, followed by Artem and Egor, as if sensing they were left with a grief-stricken father.

Maxim clutched his daughter, not knowing what to do next, and suddenly felt something burst and harden inside him. The triplets were only 21 days old.

And he had absolutely no idea how to manage them on his own.

With trembling fingers, he dialed a number he hadn’t used in a long time.

«Dad,» his voice broke. «She’s gone. I’m alone with three children. Help me.»

The response came immediately, without a single question:

«We’re leaving with your mother.»

Maxim stepped onto the creaking wooden porch. It was five in the morning; the sky was just beginning to lighten over the horizon. Three months had passed since the day the family SUV took them from the city apartment. Three months of a new life.

«Finally awake, sleepyhead,» his father grumbled as he emerged from the barn with a bucket of warm milk. Steam rose into the cold air. «A cow won’t milk herself.»

Maxim only nodded, pulling on his work gloves. Hands that once only knew the keyboard were now covered in calluses.

His skin had become rough, his nails blackened from the soil. The city engineer disappeared on the day when the door of the apartment he shared with Irina slammed shut.

«Are the kids sleeping?» asked Pyotr, looking at his son with a concealed pride.

«Masha woke up once,» Maxim ran a hand over his unshaven cheek. «Mother rocked them back to sleep.»

The big log house, a family nest on the outskirts of the village, welcomed them without questions. They had a dairy farm, an apiary, and an apple orchard. Maxim’s parents, Pyotr and Lidia, seemed to have been waiting for his return. They simply said: «We have enough room for everyone.»

«Did you talk to the kindergarten director?» Pyotr said, gesturing with his pitchfork at the new cowshed. «Soon they’ll be growing up; we need to book a place in advance.»

«Not yet,» Maxim snapped, recalling how last night Masha had smiled at him consciously for the first time. Not just a reflex, but a real smile. His heart tightened. «They’ll be home a long time; they were just born.»

His father did not argue. He only winked and went off to feed the chickens.

Time passed, the children grew, and the family grew stronger.

One evening, with his hands trembling from fatigue, Maxim sat on the porch watching the sunset. His mother brought over a steaming plate of millet porridge and placed fresh flatbreads beside it.
«Eat, or you’ll collapse from exhaustion,» Lidia said as she sat down next to him. «The children are fed.»

Laughter echoed from deep within the house — the triplets adored splashing in the big wooden tub. Pyotr hummed, imitating a steamboat.

«Mom, I think we should sell the apartment,» Maxim suddenly said without taking his eyes off the blazing sky. «We need to expand the farm if we want to secure a future for the three of them.»

Lidia did not answer immediately. She ran her hand along his prickly nape, just as she used to in his childhood. «She won’t come back, son,» she finally said. «I’ve seen women like that. Once they renounce, they renounce forever.»

«I’m not waiting,» Maxim replied sharply. «Sometimes I’m even grateful. Better this way than to torment the children with your coldness for years.»

From the microwave in the kitchen came the crackle — a bottle with formula for Artem, who always woke before the others at night.

Maxim got up wearily. From the terrace, he had a view of the farm, the empty fields, the deep black forest on the horizon. His new world was harsh, demanding, but real.

And so were his responsibilities toward the three little beings who called him Dad.

«Masha, don’t even think about feeding Vasiliy semolina porridge!» Maxim caught the four-year-old daughter, who was about to overturn a bowl onto the ginger cat. «Artem, wipe your mouth. Egor, where are your boots?»

The kitchen had turned into a true testing ground. The three little ones, each with their own personality, were trying to run off in different directions. The worst part was that they had learned to cover for each other’s mischief.

«Sweetie, Dad needs to go to the market,» Lidia skillfully braided Masha’s hair. «Grandpa is already waiting in the yard.»

A three-ton truck, loaded to the brim with apples and honey, stood at the gate.

Over three years, Maxim’s farm had blossomed into a thriving enterprise: they had secured a milk supply contract with a dairy factory, expanded the apiary, and were developing new plots of land. All for the sake of the triplets, for their future. Maxim pulled on his old leather jacket, worn at the elbows, and stepped out into the yard. It was time to head to the regional market.

«Daddy, buy me a book!» Masha shouted from the doorway. «About princesses!»

«And a toy car!» yelled Artem, the most spirited of the three.

«And a candy!» added Egor, the quiet one who never asked for much.

Maxim smiled and waved. His world had shrunk to one point – this house, these children. Everything else had ceased to exist.

The market buzzed with people. The truck emptied quickly – the products from the Kravtsov farm were prized for their organic quality. While tallying the earnings, Maxim noticed her. A young woman, short, with chestnut hair cascading to her waist, was leafing through a book at a nearby stand. Her face – open, with prominent features – couldn’t be called classically beautiful.

But there was something attractive and warm about her. She looked up and smiled at him.

«Excuse me, is this your honey?» she asked, pointing to the last jar. «They say it’s the best.»

«Yes, it’s ours,» Maxim suddenly blushed, as if he were a teenager. «From the lime tree orchard.»

«I’m the new school librarian,» she said, extending her hand. «Olga.»

Her palm was rough, with ink stains between her fingers.

After a while, Maxim again shook her hand on the threshold of their home. Olga smiled, handing a book of fairy tales to Masha.

«You promised to teach me how to make paper cubes,» Masha seriously reminded her. «Origami, right?»

«Of course,» Olga knelt down to be level with the little girl. «I brought everything.»

Maxim watched as she spread out colored paper on the table, patiently showing each fold. The triplets, usually restless, sat quietly, paying close attention to her hands.

The air smelled of chebureks – Lidia had made them in anticipation of the guest’s arrival. Outside, the first snowflakes fluttered.

And for the first time in a long while, Maxim felt something new, fragile, and unexpected being born in his soul. A feeling he dared not name, so impossible it seemed after all that had happened. «Make a wish!» Maxim carried a huge cake with seven candles. The flame trembled, reflected in the eyes of the hushed children.

Eight years flew by like a single day. The triplets were finishing first grade at the rural school. Egor became fascinated with chess, Artem built complex models from construction sets, and Masha wrote stories that Olga carefully kept in a special folder.

The kitchen was filled with guests: grandfather and grandmother, several neighborhood children, and a teacher from the school. Olga stood to Maxim’s right, discreetly wiping her fogged glasses. Her eyes, too, shimmered suspiciously. «One, two, three!» Maxim commanded, and the children’s cheeks puffed out.

All the candles went out at once. The room erupted in applause.

«And now, presents!» announced Pyotr, producing three boxes from behind his back. «A compass for each. So you’ll always find your way home.»

Suddenly, Masha put her compass aside and looked into Maxim’s eyes. In the light of the festive garland, her face seemed older – not that of a little girl. «Daddy, will our real mom ever come back to us?»

The room fell silent. The sound of the ticking wall clock – brought over by Maxim’s great-grandfather – could be heard. Lidia stepped forward, but Maxim stopped her with his gaze.

«No, sweetheart, she won’t come back,» he said softly but firmly, looking into his daughter’s eyes. «Sometimes adults make choices they can’t change. But you have me. And you have…»

He faltered, glancing surreptitiously at Olga. They hadn’t spoken of it, even though over the years she had become part of their lives. Spending evenings with the children, helping with homework, and reading fairy tales. One time, she even stayed overnight when a blizzard broke out, and she stayed – first in the guest room, and then…

«And you have Mama Olya,» Egor finished for him, approaching Olga and taking her hand. «She reads us books.»

Olga trembled. Tears streamed down her cheeks.

«I only wanted to be helpful,» she whispered. «I never meant to replace…»

«Mom, don’t cry,» Artem suddenly said, hugging her knees. «You said crying isn’t shameful.»

«Mom.» A simple word that he had never been taught to say. It was born naturally, like breathing. Maxim looked at his now grown-up children, at their determined, open faces.

He remembered that day in the maternity ward – the fear, the despair, the confusion. That day when he heard the dreadful «give them up for adoption.» That day which could have broken him, but instead made him stronger.

He rose, overcoming the trembling in his knees, and went to embrace his children. The triplets who had become his salvation, his pride, his life. Behind him were years of hard work, doubts, small victories, and great joys. Ahead lay their adult lives – universities, professions, their own families.

But the invisible threads that had bound them all together on that fateful day were stronger than any blood ties. It was a true family – formed not by the chance of birth, but by the power of choice and the commitment to that choice.

«Well done,» Maxim whispered, holding all three close. «I’m prouder of you than words can express

Anna would never forget that spring day. Her friends had gathered at her modest apartment on the outskirts of Zarechnyy, preparing for the upcoming wedding. The air was filled with enticing aromas: juicy apple pies baked by her mother and fragrant lilacs brought by Tatyana. Outside, birds were singing, and the warm May breeze, slipping through the open window, playfully danced with the light curtains.

«His genes definitely aren’t the best!» her friends exclaimed, trying to dissuade the lovestruck bride-to-be. «We can see how he handles alcohol. Just think about his father! Remember how the elder Kravtsov used to cause a ruckus at the factory gate?» Yet, Anna merely stirred her tea with lemon absentmindedly, dismissing their words. For the twenty-year-old girl who had lost her head in love, such warnings sounded absurd. To her, Viktor was the ideal: handsome, confident, strong. At twenty-five, he already held the position of foreman at a machinery plant—where his father had once started as a simple mechanic. The occasional scent of alcohol on him she chalked up to youth and his circle of friends. “It’ll grow out of it,” Anna thought, recalling how romantically Viktor had courted her, showering her with roses and cruising around the city in his old Moskvich.

“Anya, dear,” her close friend Marina had said, “you saw his behavior on New Year’s Eve. He completely changes when he drinks. Remember how he nearly got into a fight with the guard, Petya?” But Anna remembered something entirely different—how Viktor had come the next day to apologize, kneeling in the courtyard with a huge bouquet of carnations, serenading her beneath her window, much to the delight of the neighborly grandmothers.

The wedding was magnificent—held at the city’s finest restaurant, with live music and fireworks illuminating the river. Viktor was sober and charming, dancing with his bride until they were both exhausted, and delivering beautiful toasts. Anna shone in a white dress, specially ordered from the regional center, while her friends whispered enviously about the happy couple. The first months of married life passed like a fairy tale. The new two-room apartment, purchased by Viktor’s parents, became their first shared nest. By then, the elder Kravtsov had become a shop floor manager and helped his son secure a home. Anna lovingly arranged the house—hanging curtains and decorating the window sills with flowers. Viktor would regularly return from work with gifts, whether it be candies or a new vase for her beloved chrysanthemums.

Their pregnancy came at the end of summer. They were returning from the country house, laden with baskets of apples and tomatoes, when that evening Anna felt an odd weakness and dizziness. Viktor attentively cared for her. He even bought a test himself, and upon seeing the two lines, he joyfully spun his wife around the room.

But the joy was short-lived. Just a week after that first burst of delight, everything began to change. For the first time, Viktor got so drunk that he lost consciousness. He shouted about being unready to become a father, that they were too young, that they should have waited. Anna cried for a long time, but then decided it was merely a fear of responsibility. The next morning, Viktor apologized, promised never to drink again, and swore to be a good father.

The pregnancy was difficult. Anna often found herself hospitalized for bed rest, while Viktor’s appearances at home became increasingly rare. When he did appear, he reeked of alcohol. Later he tried to mask his intoxication—speaking softly and moving cautiously—but his eyes betrayed his true state, clouded with red veins.

When Marina was born, Viktor didn’t even show up at the maternity ward. Later, Anna learned that he had spent three consecutive days drinking in a friend’s garage, celebrating the birth of their daughter. This marked the beginning of the end of their married life.

Five long years passed in a haze of endless quarrels. Little Marina grew into a smart and beautiful girl, yet her childhood was marred by constant conflict. Viktor’s drinking became more frequent, and money was squandered at the bar “Prichal” on the corner of Rechnaya Street. To make ends meet, Anna took a job as an accountant at a small firm. Her mother-in-law helped care for the granddaughter, and after her husband’s death from liver cirrhosis, Anna was too afraid to contradict her son.

“You must be drinking when I’m not around!” Viktor would bellow as he burst in late at night. “Where did you get the money for a new dress? Who are you having an affair with at work?” Anna remained silent—her dress had been bought by her mother. Talking to a drunken husband was futile; he wouldn’t believe a single word she said, suspecting her of infidelity, monitoring her every move, and causing scandals even at her workplace.

Marina was terrified of her father. At the sound of his footsteps on the stairs, she would either hide in a closet or run to the neighbor—Aunt Vale. The little girl became increasingly anxious, often crying at night, though she managed to excel at school as her escape from the turmoil at home.

That fateful autumn night, everything went awry from the very start. Late September was rainy, with a fine drizzle outside. Marina was turning six, and Anna had planned a small celebration for her daughter. A neighbor helped bake a “Ptichye Moloko” cake, balloons were hung throughout the room, and two of Marina’s kindergarten friends were invited. Viktor had promised to return sober—he had recently found a new job and was supposedly drinking less, giving hope for change.

However, he returned unusually early, around seven in the evening, already heavily intoxicated and reeking of cheap homemade liquor. Marina was just about to blow out the candles on her cake when her father burst into the room.

“What kind of party is it without me?” he exploded, overturning the table. The cake flew onto the floor, and the girls screamed as they scrambled into the hallway. Marina burst into tears.

“Why are you doing this?” Anna asked softly, trying to salvage the cake. “Today is her sixth birthday, after all…”

Viktor grabbed her by the hair.
“Shut up, you bastard! Who allowed you to boss around in my house?”

“Dad, stop!” Marina cried, trying to interpose herself between her parents as Viktor swung at her mother. He shoved Marina, and she hit a wardrobe, crying out in pain. That was the last straw. Anna grabbed a heavy crystal vase—a wedding gift from her colleagues—and struck her husband on the head.

Viktor collapsed like a felled tree. On the white carpet—a gift from his mother-in-law at the housewarming—a dark stain spread. Marina huddled in a corner, clutching her beloved stuffed bear tightly.

With trembling fingers, Anna dialed the police:
“Come… please come… I… I think I’ve killed my husband. Just take care of my little girl, please. She’s innocent.”

The trial was swift. Considering her state of emotional distress, her positive work record, and the fact that she had a minor, Anna received a sentence of ten years in a general regime prison.

Marina was taken in by her grandparents—Anna’s parents. They lived in a private house on the outskirts of the city, managing a small homestead. Grandfather Stepan worked as a carpenter, while Grandmother Klavdia tended the garden and raised her granddaughter.

Twenty years later, Marina sat in the cozy kitchen of her country home in the cottage settlement “Sosnovy Bor.” Her husband, Andrey—the director of the local machinery plant—was playing with their youngest son, teaching him how to assemble a radio-controlled car, while the two older children did their homework in the next room.

“Can you imagine,” Andrey said while tightening a motor with a screwdriver, “our Dimka assembled a radio all by himself today! He’s just like his grandfather. Remember how your grandfather Stepan always used to build things?”

Marina smiled as she looked at her happy family. She had met Andrey by chance at a class reunion. He had studied in a parallel class, graduated from a polytechnic institute, and begun his career as a junior engineer. A year after they met, they married—by then, Andrey had become the deputy head of the workshop.

She held no grudge against her mother, who had always defended them both. After serving ten years in prison, her mother was released but moved to another city to avoid reopening old wounds. They kept in touch by writing letters and congratulating each other on holidays, but they rarely met.

When Marina’s eldest son, fifteen-year-old Pavel, noticed that his father often clutched his side and winced in pain, she began to worry. Andrey brushed it off as ordinary fatigue, plenty of work at the plant, and a new contract with Chinese partners. But within a month, the truth emerged.

“Cancer, dear,” he admitted one evening when the children were already asleep. “But don’t tell the kids yet, okay? Especially not Dimka—he’s too sensitive.”

Andrey lived for another six months. He suffered greatly, yet continued to go to work as long as he could stand, played with the children, and made plans for the future. Marina was left alone with three children, but she didn’t break down. She found a job teaching piano at a music school—the education she had received in her youth proved invaluable. Grandmother Klavdia helped with the children, although she herself could barely move.

Then, Marina decided to learn to drive—having three children without a car was difficult, especially when the youngest, Dimka, started taking swimming lessons at a sports school on the opposite side of town.

At the “Svetofor” driving school, Marina was assigned to instructor Mikhail Yuryevich—a cheerful man in his fifties, with graying temples and lively brown eyes. He quickly built a rapport with his students, though he occasionally surprised them with unexpected gaps in his own knowledge.

“How is it that you haven’t read Lermontov?” Marina wondered after one lesson, as they discussed the recently adapted film «A Hero of Our Time.»
“Why?” Mikhail replied with a smile. “I’m more of a technical guy. I served in the tank corps in the army and worked as a long-haul truck driver for twenty years. And you are an excellent student—such a gentle start isn’t given to everyone!”

During one of the piano lessons, Marina noticed an unusual boy—Zhilya. His piano playing was so soulful, as if he were having a conversation with the instrument. It turned out he was Mikhail’s son.

“Let’s meet at a café to talk about Zhilya’s progress,” Mikhail suggested after the lesson. “He’s got quite a temperament—just like his mother.”

They went to “Poplavok,” a cozy little restaurant on the water built on an old barge. As the gentle rocking of the waves provided a backdrop, Mikhail shared his story. Many years ago, he had been hopelessly in love with a girl from an intellectual family. But her parents were categorically opposed to her marrying an ordinary driver. She married someone else. When Mikhail returned from the army two years later, he discovered he had a son—Zhilya, born to that very girl.

“Zhilya comes from the name Yulya,” Mikhail explained. “That unusual nickname stuck with him since childhood; now everyone calls him that. His mother died five years ago, and it’s just the two of us now.”

Fate’s quirks continued: once, during a driving lesson while practicing parking near the “Mechta” supermarket, Marina accidentally bumped into an elderly woman at a crosswalk. Fortunately, the woman escaped with nothing more than a fright—her groceries merely scattered across the asphalt. Mikhail insisted on taking the injured woman home… “Mom?” Marina could only whisper, recognizing her own mother in the elderly stranger.

They sat in a modest rented apartment, sipping tea with cookies, and her mother revealed everything. How she hadn’t been able to take her daughter after her release because her parents were against it, how she met the kind-hearted Ivan Petrovich—a bus depot mechanic who helped her start a new life—and how, after his death from a heart attack, she was left alone, taking on odd jobs wherever she could.

“Forgive me, my daughter,” her mother wept. “I thought of you every day. I watched your life from afar. Knowing you got married and had children… I was just too afraid to come near.”

Marina embraced her mother, forgiving the years of separation. In that moment, she realized there was no point in holding onto resentment—life was far too short.

A month later, Mikhail invited everyone to a family dinner. Zhilya played the piano—a gift his father had bought with earnings from long-haul trips—while the children listened with bated breath, and the grandmother discreetly wiped away tears.

Now they live together—a big, happy family. Mikhail and Marina married in the local church, quietly wed only among their own. The children call him “dad,” and Zhilya finally found siblings to call his own. Grandmother Klavdia moved in with them, helping with the household and taking care of the grandchildren. In the evenings, the whole family gathers in the spacious living room—some doing homework, others reading, and some playing the piano.

And no one ever talks about genes anymore—fate is determined not by them, but by love and forgiveness. Mikhail doesn’t drink even on holidays, though neighbors sometimes tease him about his mineral water. Prominently displayed in the living room hangs a large family photograph of them all—happy, smiling, and genuine.

Every Sunday, they visit Andrey’s grave. Marina has learned to live with this loss, though sometimes, seeing her eldest son so much like his father, she cannot hold back her tears. But Mikhail is always by her side—reliable, understanding, ready to support her at any moment.

Recently, Zhilya was admitted to a conservatory—he will study to become a pianist. At his first major concert at the philharmonic, the whole family gathered. And when the first chords of Chopin filled the air, Marina looked at her mother sitting beside her and realized: nothing in life happens by chance. Even the most terrible trials can lead to happiness if one keeps the ability to love.

Now, in the evenings, music often fills their large house. Zhilya is preparing for concerts, the younger children take lessons from him, and Mikhail, though not well-versed in classical music, listens to his children with pride. In these moments, Marina reflects on how strange fate can be—sometimes one must endure pain and loss to find true happiness.

And recently, Pavel, her eldest son, asked for permission to invite a girl over. Watching her love-struck son, Marina understood that the most important thing is to teach children to love and forgive. Only then can the cycle of pain and loneliness be broken, and only then can a true family be created—a family where no one ever raises a hand against a loved one.

Sunday, 11:47 AM

Sunlight, like golden threads, filtered through the dusty blinds, spilling across the kitchen table in bright flashes. Outside, the leaves of the maple tree rustled softly, and in the distance, the muffled hum of the city sounded — so familiar, so deceptively calm. Artyom, my five-year-old son, sat on the chair, swinging his legs in blue socks with dinosaurs, and was drawing in his album. The chalk squeaked across the paper, sketching a crooked little house with smoke rising from the chimney.

— Mom, is it true that I’m going to have a new heart soon? — he suddenly asked, without lifting his eyes from the drawing.

I froze, spoon in hand, feeling a lump rise in my throat. His childlike sincerity always struck at my heart. — It’s true, sweetheart. The surgery will be like magic. You’ll be healthy, and you’ll be able to run like all the other kids.

But my voice lacked confidence. The anxiety that had gnawed at me all week suddenly became palpable. It was as though an invisible hand tightened around my chest. Do you know that feeling when the air becomes thick and your thoughts weigh heavy, like lead?

12:03 PM

— Mom, I’m hungry! — Artyom tossed the chalk on the floor, and it rolled under the fridge.

— Just a second, bunny, — I forced myself to smile, though everything inside me trembled. — Mommy will make your favorite omelette.

But when I opened the old oak cabinet, my heart sank into the abyss. The tin cookie tin where we kept the money for the surgery was gone. The empty shelf gaped, like a wound.

— No… No! — I yanked open the drawers, spilling their contents. Bags of cereals, a stack of old letters, empty boxes — but no sign of the money.

It felt like ice water had been poured over me. With trembling fingers, I grabbed my phone. The screen showed 12 missed calls from Anton. Last night’s evening rushed back to me: his wandering gaze when he “accidentally” stayed too long in the kitchen, his deliberately loud laugh when I mentioned the upcoming meeting with the heart surgeon.

Childhood: 1998

Anton had always been my shadow. At seven years old, he ran to me crying after breaking a window at school. I covered for him, saying I had been playing ball. His promise, “I will always protect you!” sounded so sincere… But time, like the wind, blows promises away, leaving only dust.

12:15 PM. Anton’s Apartment

I barged into his lair without waiting for an answer to the doorbell. The stench of stale tobacco and spilled beer hit my nose. Anton stood by the window, his back to me, his fingers nervously tugging at the curtain. On the windowsill were cigarette butts in an ashtray, and a pack of “Belomor” with its cellophane ripped off.

— Anton! — my scream bounced off the shabby walls. — Where is the money?!

He slowly turned around. Dark circles under his eyes, as though he hadn’t slept in days. A half-smile on his lips, the same one that once disarmed teachers. — What are you talking about?

— You. Stole. The money. For Artyom, — I emphasized each word, clenching my fists. — These aren’t just bills. This is his life!

He turned away, as if he couldn’t bear my gaze. — I needed it… urgently. Debts. You know how it is.

— No, I don’t know! — Anger hit my head, making my voice shake. — You dragged me into your schemes! Last year — a loan against the house, and now — this! Do you even realize that Artyom might not make it until morning?!

Anton was silent. His hand reached for a bottle of vodka on the table but stopped halfway. — I’ll pay it back. I swear.

— When? When he stops breathing? — Tears burned my eyes. — You saw his test results! You saw how he’s struggling to breathe after three steps!

Suddenly, he sharply turned, and something like desperation flickered in his eyes. — Do you think this is easy for me? Do you think I don’t remember how he looked at us when we read him stories? But I have no choice!

— There’s always a choice! — I threw an empty medicine box on the floor. — You just didn’t want to make it!

12:41 PM. Home

On my way back, I passed the playground where Artyom had dreamed of swinging. The wind tossed empty bags in the trash can, and someone’s cry of “Catch!” echoed in my ears like a drumbeat. At home, my son slept, curled up, his brow furrowed even in his sleep.

I sat next to him, stroking his thin hair. — I’m sorry, baby. Mommy will fix everything…

But how? The clock showed a 150,000 ruble debt. Three days until the surgery.

Night. 03:23 AM

The phone vibrated on the nightstand. Anton: “I’ve got 50k. I’ll transfer it tomorrow. The rest — next week.” I squeezed the phone so tightly my nails dug into my palm. His “tomorrow” always turned into “never.”

Morning. 07:15 AM

At work, I was flipping through documents, but the lines blurred. My colleague Larisa brought coffee, her eyes like saucers, radiating sympathy. — You’re pale. Take time off if you need to.

— I need to, — I whispered. — But I can’t.

During lunch, I ran to the banks, begging for a payment plan. The cashier at Sberbank, an elderly woman with graying curls, sighed: — Girl, I can see you’re at your limit. Take a loan against the car.

The car… That very “Ford” we’d been saving for for two years. But what’s more important — the wheels or my son’s heart?

Evening. 7:48 PM

Anton appeared at the doorstep, smelling of booze and cheap deodorant. — Here, — he tossed a bundle of money on the table. — 50 thousand. The rest soon.

I counted the bills. 47,500. — Where are the three thousand?

— For the taxi… — he didn’t look at me.

— You spent money on a taxi?! — My shout woke Artyom.

— Mom, I’m scared… — came from the bedroom.

Anton flinched. His face contorted. — I didn’t know it would turn out this way. They demanded…

— Who are “they”? Your druggie friends? — I stepped toward him, feeling my nails digging into my palms. — Do you even understand that your “debt” is a one-way game? You’re betting my nephew’s life!

He was silent. Only his fingers, clutching the edge of his jacket, betrayed his inner tremor.

Two Days Later. 14:00. Hospital

Artyom lay in the ward, covered in sensors. His hands, thin as young birch branches, trembled under the blanket. The doctor, a young man with tired eyes, shook his head: — Without money for the tests, we can’t take risks.

— I’ll bring it! — I grabbed his sleeve. — By the evening. I swear.

He gently pulled my hand away. — You have 24 hours.

11:59 PM. Anton’s Apartment

I kicked the door until the neighbor upstairs opened it with a screwdriver. Inside, chaos reigned: broken dishes, blood stains on the floor, and in the center — Anton, tied with tape, with a split lip.

— You owe me… — he croaked. — They took everything.

— Who? Who took it?! — I ripped the tape off, feeling my pulse pounding in my temples.

— I won’t tell you. You can’t… — his eyes, clouded with fear, suddenly focused. — Run. Run away from here.

But it was too late. The door slammed open, and three people barged in. Their faces were masked, and metal gleamed in their hands.

The Next Few Months

Artyom and I moved to the suburbs. I worked as a cleaner during the night shift, and during the day, I sold baked goods by the subway. My hands cracked from the chemicals and cold, but I smiled when my son said: — Mom, your pies are better than Marina Ivanovna’s!

Six months later, a miracle happened: a charity helped pay for the operation. It was a success. Artyom, laughing, ran down the hallway, and I counted his steps — 10, 20, 30…

A Random Meeting. 2023

I was walking down Nevsky with Artyom, holding his hand. He was already in third grade, talking about a new school project — “My Family.” And then I saw Anton. His once-athletic figure was hunched. He was rummaging through a trash can, his fingers, once nimble in theft, trembling as they fished for scraps.

— Anton? — my voice cracked.

He turned around. His eyes were filled with emptiness. — Hey, sis.

— Why? — I couldn’t stop myself. — Why didn’t you understand then that I would’ve given everything for you? But you took what couldn’t be taken!

He silently stared at Artyom, who, frowning, hid behind my back. — He’s handsome. Just like you were when you were a kid, — Anton whispered. — Tell him… Tell him Uncle Anton was sick.

And then I understood. His “debts” weren’t to people. His “friends” weren’t flesh and blood. He had desperately tried to save himself but lost his soul.

Epilogue

Today, Artyom received a certificate for winning the biology olympiad. He dreams of becoming a doctor. On his door is a sign that says “Dog. Beware!” even though we’ve never had a dog.

— Mom, why didn’t Uncle Anton have kids? — he asked yesterday.

— Because some people aren’t ready to love, baby, — I answered, stroking his hair. — But you’re ready. You’re my hero.

And outside the window, the rain tapped again, as quiet as that Sunday. But now I knew: even in silence, you can hear the cry of a soul.

I was reaching for the plates on the shelf for the guests when I heard a snippet of conversation in the hallway. Nina, my cousin, was whispering to Artem, but clearly enough:

«She works at the bank, she gets bonuses, premiums… They say Marina has already paid for everything. Can you imagine what the party will be like?»

Artem yawned and snorted:

«Where else is she supposed to spend her money if she lives alone? Let her splurge. We want to have fun too.»

They didn’t even notice my presence—they were sure they were out of earshot. But I heard every word. Now it was clear: they came not just for tea. Their goal was obvious—to make me finance grandma’s anniversary at an expensive restaurant. They had decided beforehand that I had «already organized everything» and even made a down payment.

Holding back my emotions, I invited everyone to the living room and set the plates with treats in front of them. Aunt Natasha, always known for her directness, glanced around my interior and said with slight irony:

«Marinka, how cozy you have it! You can tell you don’t skimp on your home. By the way, we thought… Aren’t you the most suitable candidate to take on the organization of grandma’s anniversary?»

Her voice was soft, but each word carried a hidden taunt. Uncle Yura, usually more straightforward, added:

«Who if not you? You’ve almost paid off your mortgage, work is going well. Grandma deserves a proper celebration, and she herself doesn’t want to strain herself—after all, she’s over eighty.»

I inwardly smirked. In fact, my mortgage was far from paid off, and I had to literally beg for bonuses at work. But that didn’t matter to them—in their eyes, I always remain a source of endless funds.

Our family gathers once a year at Grandma Antonina’s, who lives in a spacious «Stalin-era building.» All the celebrations used to be at her place. But now, grandma declared she’s no longer ready to host large companies. Aunt Natasha and Uncle Yura, who were over fifty, immediately exchanged glances: they clearly did not plan to organize the party themselves. Their children, Nina and Artem, also had no desire to pay or spend time. In the end, the choice fell on me—the «well-off» granddaughter who, in their opinion, is unencumbered (childless, living alone) and therefore free from other expenses.

These relatives had long become real exploiters. Sometimes they’d ask for money «until payday,» which they never returned, or take a new blender under a plausible pretext, only to return it broken. I always gave in, and they, apparently, decided that I could afford everything.

This time, they came as a whole delegation: Nina, Artem, Aunt Natasha, Uncle Yura, and a couple of distant relatives. Sitting at my table, they began showing pictures of luxurious restaurants, discussing the menu and prices.

«Marina, look, a buffet table from the chef!» Nina, a woman in her thirties with impeccable makeup and the latest iPhone model, commented excitedly. «Imagine the content we could make for social networks? We’ll all look beautiful, we’ll put grandma in the center…»

I interrupted her:

«Wait a minute. Who will be paying? These are substantial amounts.»

Uncle Yura instantly put on a benevolent smile:

«We’re family! Everyone knows you’re not stingy. Plus, you’re so practical: you find good deals, know where to save. Just take care of it, and we’ll support you morally.»

Remembering how these same people ignored my requests for help when I scrimped and saved for the first deposit on my apartment, I sighed deeply. No one even offered to support me with words then. And now they demanded a «fancier» restaurant.

Aunt Natasha made a dramatic pause:

«Marinka, don’t you feel sorry for grandma? It might be one of the last family celebrations…»

I bit my tongue. Of course, grandma deserves a nice celebration. But why should I bear all the financial burden? Especially when I know that afterward, they’ll gossip behind my back: «Marina could have spent more…»

«Let’s do this,» I proposed calmly. «I’m ready to cover part of the expenses. But you should also contribute. Proportionally, as much as you can. So that I’m not financing everything alone.»

The room went silent. Nina was the first to break the silence:

«Well… All my funds are tied up in a vacation. I’ve been dreaming about the sea for a long time.»

Artem shrugged:

«My car needs repairs. I don’t have spare money.»

Uncle Yura muttered:

«We have a loan with your aunt… Times are tough now. It would have been much easier if you had paid for everything upfront.»

As usual. They were sure I was just «bargaining,» although the issue was fundamentally important. I stood up, pretended I wanted to pour more tea, and quietly said:

«Alright. I’ll figure something out. Of course, we will organize a top-level celebration for grandma.»

These words delighted Aunt Natasha, who immediately applauded:

«Smart girl! So we can rely on you.»

I turned my back to her, hiding a smile: «Rely? We’ll see how you understand that.» I was well aware: if I went along with them, they would only be further convinced that they could use me even more. Therefore, when the relatives left my house, I called my old friend Oleg, a manager at a famous restaurant.

«Oleg,» I began, «I need your help. Prepare for a family comedy with an unexpected finale.»

Oleg laughed:

«Understood. It will be a grand celebration with an interesting twist.»

We discussed all the details. I booked the hall and made a down payment I could afford without damaging my budget. Meanwhile, I asked Oleg to accommodate all the «sophisticated» requests of my relatives: expensive champagne, exclusive appetizers, spectacular dish presentation. They love luxury, let them get it in full.

The day of the anniversary arrived. The relatives, like peacocks, arrived at the restaurant in their best outfits. Grandma Antonina, elegant and a bit nervous, brought her old friend, whom no one knew about in advance. But who would deny her such a small pleasure?

Everyone was sure everything had been paid for. Someone even whispered to me:

«Marina, as always, at her best! Apparently, she really invested from the heart.»

Polite waiters greeted us, led us to a private hall. The tables were loaded with appetizers, floral compositions decorated every corner, and live music created a festive atmosphere. Nina, in a sparkling dress, immediately took out her phone and started filming stories.

«Girls, look at this splendor! It’s all for our granny!»

Aunt Natasha literally glowed with pride, imagining herself the heroine of this story, which she would tell her friends. Uncle Yura, meanwhile, approached a bottle of expensive champagne and asked:

«Can we take a couple of bottles to our table?»

«Of course,» I replied with a smile. «Just don’t forget to pay afterward.»

«What?» he froze, surprised. «But isn’t it included?»

«Don’t worry, Yura,» Aunt Natasha reassured him. «Marina, of course, took care of everything. Or she has a corporate discount. We know how she organizes everything.»

I just shrugged, keeping a mysterious expression on my face:

«Don’t worry, we’ll sort everything out after the evening.»

The relatives continued to enjoy themselves, savoring every moment. Photos flew into social networks, glasses clinked, loud toasts were made. Everyone was sure their beloved «sponsor» had taken care of everything again.

When the main course was served, and some had already moved on to strong alcohol, I noticed how Nina quietly talked with Artem. He, frowning, began to study the menu. It seemed they started to suspect that the evening might turn into an unpleasant surprise.

Thunder struck when, after the cake, Oleg entered the hall in a flawless suit. Approaching our table, he loudly announced:

«Dear guests, I hope you enjoyed our service! Now we will prepare the final bill. Payment is possible in cash or by credit card.»

Nina almost dropped her phone. Artem spilled a drop of wine on the tablecloth. Aunt Natasha lost her smile, and Uncle Yura lowered his eyes.

«Wait,» the latter protested. «Didn’t Marina sort everything out in advance?»

Oleg courteously nodded in my direction:

«Marina made a deposit for reserving the hall. The rest—based on the number of guests and ordered dishes.»

Aunt Natasha tried to save face:

«But Marinka, you said you’d take care of everything…»

«I did,» I calmly replied. «I provided us a great place and service. But remember, I suggested splitting the costs? You then stated that you had no money. If you still don’t have it now, you’ll have to find a way to pay.»

Uncle Yura couldn’t stand it:

«How could this be?! You tricked us! We were counting on you!»

«On me?» I asked back. «And I was counting on your honesty. But every time it came to joint expenses, you found thousands of reasons why exactly you couldn’t contribute anything. Just like before, when you borrowed money ‘until payday’ and never returned it.»

Nina blushed and tried to defend herself:

«Come on, Marin, you have a good salary. Don’t be so stingy. It’s grandma’s anniversary after all!»

I raised an eyebrow:

«Stingy? Funny. How do you call those who constantly take money but never return it? Or those who use someone else’s things and then return them broken?»

Artem began to frantically calculate how much they would have to pay for the chosen dishes. His face turned grim. Aunt Natasha covered her mouth with a napkin, pretending to be suddenly overwhelmed by the exquisite dish, although she was clearly looking for a way out.

«Maybe,» she said in a thin voice, «we can find some compromise? For example, split the amount among everyone?»

«Of course,» I agreed. «That’s exactly what I proposed from the start. Everyone pays for what they ordered. Just now, you can’t pretend that I’m supposed to take care of everything.»

Oleg, standing nearby, added:

«By the way, the final amount may increase if someone wants to extend the evening or order additional drinks. So I advise you to think ahead.»

Aunt Natasha made a pitiful face, and Artem muttered something indistinct. But it was too late—their game was over. Now they had to face a reality where not everything could be dumped on someone else.

«Marina, but we’re family, you can’t act like this…» Aunt Natasha tried to interject in a soft, almost plaintive tone.

«I can, if the family forgets about respecting my interests,» I replied calmly. «Or do you really think I’m your personal wallet?»

The waiters then brought the folder with the bill and carefully placed it on the table. All eyes immediately focused on it, as if it were a document ready to explode our already tense atmosphere. I slowly picked up the folder:

«So, the balance after my deposit is a substantial amount. But there are many guests here, so let’s divide the expenses. Grandma and her friend—that’s my gift, the rest we distribute among everyone.»

Nina gasped, her brightly painted lips contorted into a grimace, more like a snarl. Artem nervously crumpled a napkin, losing all his usual confidence. Uncle Yura, whose haughty tone had evaporated like smoke, began to bargain:

«Listen, Marinka, you know I have a limit on my card. Maybe you can take at least part of it, and I’ll pay you back later?»

I smirked:

«Pay back? Like last time, when you ‘borrowed for a week,’ and the debt hung for a year and a half? Thanks, but no.»

Aunt Natasha tried to take control:

«We can… somehow later…»

«‘Somehow’ no longer works,» I interrupted decisively. «You chose the restaurant, you ordered expensive dishes. Now pay for your decisions.»

The room fell silent, disturbed only by sounds from the next room: dishes clinked, and tables rustled. The relatives froze, as if caught off guard. Someone from the distant relatives stepped aside, hurriedly checking their phone or rummaging in their wallet. Mixed emotions could be read on their faces: from surprise to irritation.

At that moment, Grandma Antonina, who had been watching the events with silent sadness, decided to intervene. She gently coughed, drawing attention:

«Kids, don’t argue… Marinka, thank you for such an evening. And you, don’t be mad at her. She’s a good person, and if you wanted a celebration, be kind enough to pay for it.»

Her voice carried fatigue, as if she had long known where all this might lead, but preferred not to interfere. I leaned over to her and lightly touched her hand:

«Grandma, don’t worry. This celebration was made for you. It’s a pity it turned out this way, but sometimes you need to protect yourself, even from close ones.»

Grandma nodded, and understanding sparkled in her eyes. Perhaps she always suspected how they used me, but now the situation had become too obvious.

The relatives finally started to act: someone repeatedly tapped their card on the terminal, someone ran out to the ATM for cash. Nina’s usually photogenic face twisted in anger—she clearly didn’t plan to post stories about how much fun she had, but instead, likely imagined how she would tell everyone about this «shameful evening.»

When the last payment was made, and the waiters thanked us for the visit, I felt an incredible lightness. As if a huge stone that had been pressing on my shoulders for years had finally disappeared. Yes, family unity did not happen this evening, but I clearly defined the boundaries.

The relatives silently dispersed: Aunt Natasha was the first to dash out of the hall, barely holding back tears, and disappeared into a taxi. Uncle Yura walked, frowning, muttering something to himself about «betrayal.» Artem, usually so imperturbable, was now literally burning with anger but preferred to remain silent. Nina, catching up with them, continued to hiss:

«How could she do this to us? It’s shameful!»

I remained alone on the restaurant’s porch, watching as Grandma Antonina and her friend leisurely approached me. Her face expressed both sadness and gratitude.

«Thank you, granddaughter,» she said, taking my hand. «Of course, the scandal happened, but what a beautiful celebration it was. Maybe they will finally understand that family is not only about money but also about mutual respect.»

I hugged her tighter:

«Exactly, grandma. Maybe someday they will realize it. Or maybe not. But I will no longer allow them to use me.»

We stepped outside, where the evening city enveloped us with its noise and lights. Inside, I wrestled with conflicting feelings: bitterness from shattered expectations and relief from finally setting the record straight. Now I knew for sure: kindness should not be perceived as weakness. If the family needs a celebration, let them learn to appreciate those who create it, not just mindlessly demand it.

Yur, where are you off to?”
Svetlana peeked out from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a towel and looking at her husband in surprise.

Yuri, a 45-year-old man and manager of a large construction company, decided to act. He packed a suitcase while his wife busied herself in the kitchen preparing his breakfast. And now he was standing in the hallway of their large, cozy apartment.

Svetlana always made food in the morning and fed the family. She believed that a proper, hearty breakfast was not only the foundation of good health but also the guarantee of a successful day. When the children were young, she would rise before everyone else and cook for the whole bustling brood. They had three children, so she didn’t work; she dedicated herself to raising them. Fortunately, her husband’s earnings had always allowed them to live comfortably without requiring her labor.

Yuri said nothing. He examined Svetlana, with whom he had spent twenty-five years, and realized—he was right; he needed to act decisively and immediately.

Lately, his wife had been giving in, growing listless and flabby; there was no longer the fire or the playful spark in her eyes that so attracted men. For a long time now, she had ceased to allure him as a woman.

For that reason, Yuri had Nelya—a young, energetic brunette whom he met at one of his company’s offsite corporate events. She was beautiful and smart, which immediately impressed Yuri. Moreover, she was bold and decisive, qualities that resonated with him. He himself was bold and decisive. And that’s exactly why he now stood in the hallway with a suitcase.

It was time! Enough already—how much longer must he endure this? Why should he live with an unloving woman and waste his hard-earned money on her? The children had grown up and were living on their own. Vanka and Petka were already working, having earned their higher education. Varya, though, was still in her fourth year, but he was always ready to help her. So that part was fine.

But the wife… Why should she cling to him? That was exactly what Nelya had been telling him. And he understood—his beloved was right. Yuri worked hard, sparing no effort, while his wife sat at home spending his money.

“It’s high time you left her. Look at you—settled down, you lazy bum!” Nelya had told him as she hugged him. “And we need to split the apartment. Let her live in a one-room flat, and she can earn her own living.”

“Yes. Nelya, you’re right. Nothing binds us anymore. We need to decide.”

“Are you leaving somewhere, Yuri?” Svetlana asked in surprise. “And why didn’t you warn me? I would have made you some sandwiches. You can’t just take off on an empty stomach. Besides, you don’t know when you’ll get a chance to eat. On a business trip, perhaps?”

“Listen, why are you always clinging to me with your food, huh? Sandwiches! What nonsense! Don’t you know that nowadays you can get a decent bite anywhere—to have breakfast, lunch, even dinner? Let me open your eyes—it’s been possible for a long time! Chicken! You’re always lingering in your kitchen, as if nothing else exists in life.”

Yuri was angry with his wife because he couldn’t get to the point—to proudly and firmly say that he was leaving her, that he was going to another woman.

“Has something happened to you? Why are you so upset, Yuri?” Svetlana asked softly and kindly.

She had long known that her husband had a mistress, and she suspected that one day he would want to leave her. Today, it was likely that day. But Svetlana was a wise woman. First of all, and secondly, she knew her husband well.

“Because! Because I’m leaving you, is that clear? I’ve had enough of this life!”

“Understood. And where to?” the wife asked simply, as if he had mentioned that it was raining outside.

“To another woman. She’s perfect for you—a beauty and a genius! And she will never be like you, always hanging around in the kitchen! She has many other interesting and important things to do.”

“Oh, so you managed to meet such a woman? Congratulations, Yuri.”

“Yes, and what’s the big deal? Don’t I deserve someone like that?” Yuri couldn’t believe how astonishingly easy this difficult conversation was unfolding.

“You? Deserve. You deserve even more, Yuri.”

“Do you really think so?” Yuri asked in disbelief.

“Yes, I do. Who knows you better than I do? You work hard, earn decently, you’re intelligent and—if I may be honest—handsome!”

“Well, you understand, I’ll also have to split the apartment,” Yuri said more softly now, almost apologetically.

“I understand. And it will be fair. I completely support your wish. We’ll split the apartment. Everything as it should be by law,” Svetlana said with a smile.

“Well, you… Thank you, of course, for your understanding. Honestly, I thought you’d start a scandal. But you acted like a human being. After all, it wasn’t for nothing that I chose you as my wife,” the man said proudly.

“Tch… And what scandal? Well, we’ve fallen out of love. So what? Should we live together for the rest of our lives? Who came up with that? We’re not the first,” Svetlana continued.

“Well, that’s good. It’s nice that you think so. There’s one more matter… Would you find yourself a job, at least? Because I’ll stop giving you money. You must understand that by law we will become strangers. Or will you claim alimony? Let me warn you, you’ll lose in court. You’re a capable, healthy woman, Svetlana. You just spent many years at home.”

“At home? So that’s how you see it? And our three children grew up on their own? Fine, I won’t argue with you. And as for a job, I say this: I won’t. I have no reason to look for one.”

“What do you mean? Why? What will you live on? Or do you expect your sons to support you? They’ve only just started working, and probably aren’t earning enough themselves.”

“I’m not going to ask my children for money, for heaven’s sake—what were you thinking?” Svetlana somewhat indignant exclaimed. “I have another option.”

“And what might that be, may I ask?”

“Are you really interested in my personal life after you leave me?”

“Well, I’m interested out of pure compassion and care. After all, we have so much in common—like the children, for example.”

“I’m going to remarry. And my husband will support me,” Svetlana declared, waiting for Yuri’s reaction.

“Remarry? What do you mean?” the husband was taken aback.

“Literally. Soon I’ll be a divorced, single woman. And therefore I have every right to marry again.”

“And what—are there already candidates? Or are you just hoping?” Yuri looked skeptically at his wife’s face and figure. “One must realistically assess one’s chances, especially at your age, Svetlana.”

“Oh, there won’t be any problems! Don’t even doubt it!” the wife confidently declared.

“Where does such confidence come from?” Yuri loosened his tightly knotted tie. He hadn’t noticed when he’d moved from the hallway into the kitchen, where he now mechanically began chewing on the pancakes his wife had just made.

“Please excuse me, Yuri, I’ll speak frankly. As they say, frankness begets frankness.”

“Well, speak then,” Yuri said, already chewing his second pancake. “Would you pour me some tea? What am I choking on…”

“I had long suspected that you wanted to leave me,” Svetlana casually revealed as she poured tea for Yuri.

“Really? And where did those suspicions come from?” the husband asked, surprised.

“Let it be my little secret. So, I thought—what awaits me in such a case? And I decided to take action.”

“Take action?” Yuri was so surprised he stopped chewing.

“Exactly. I registered on a dating site. And you know, I was pleasantly disconcerted by the sheer number of men wanting to meet me.”

“Yes? What got into you, visiting such sites? I’m surprised; I didn’t expect such verve from you,” Yuri said somewhat sardonically.

“Well, now we’re on our own. So I decided to start selecting candidates. It’s not an easy matter, as you know, and it’s not a quick process. One mustn’t err and choose someone who might one day leave for a young and bold woman. You know exactly what I’m telling you.”

“And what—are there already candidates? Or are you just hoping for some?”

“Oh, of course, there are! And plenty of them!” Svetlana continued, smiling both softly and slyly.

“Really? I wonder, what could attract men to an aging woman like you?”

“What do you mean? Because candidates in my age group are the most popular on the site right now. We’re simply in high demand among wise, mature men. The young ones—they’re fickle, unreliable, and might even cuckold you. They’re always chasing after something, always wanting more. But we—we are settled, homey, cozy; we know everything, we know how to do things, and we understand what a man needs.”

“Well, that’s just nonsense! Men are always drawn to younger women,” Yuri objected.

“Drawn, I agree. But after those young ones, they’re completely attracted to other women. And when I mentioned that I cook wonderfully and have my own living space, independent of anyone—since we’re going to split the apartment, as you yourself said—then there was no shortage of eager candidates!”

Yuri fell silent. He contemplated what his wife had told him. For some reason, it was unpleasant to realize that her life would be so good after his departure. A feeling stirred inside him. Jealousy, perhaps? Damn, as if that weren’t enough.

“So you’re leaving?” he asked. “I think someone is already waiting for you, Yuri. It’s not good to keep a lady waiting. And besides, you know, it’s about time for me too. Today I have a meeting with the first candidate. I still need to tidy myself up. He has been asking to meet me for a long time. So, since you’ve decided to leave, why should I wait?”

“You know what? I just remembered—I have an important meeting with suppliers today. I’ll leave the suitcase for now. I’ll pick it up later. This evening. Or tomorrow. And don’t go anywhere. Look at you, always so spry! It’s almost disrespectful to me. The husband hasn’t yet left, and the wife is already out on the town. Take your time with that.”

Yuri left for work. Throughout the day, vague doubts tormented him. Was he doing the right thing? Would his children judge him? Would he later bitterly regret what he’d done? These questions plagued him, preventing him from understanding whether he was right or wrong.

For Yuri, the scenario looked a bit different. He was leaving for Nelya, but if something didn’t suit him there, he could always return to Svetlana. But now it turned out that there would be no going back. Svetlana would have another husband.

Later in the evening, Nelya finally called him.

“What’s the matter? Did you expect me this morning with your things? Why didn’t you show up? I’ve already found an apartment for us in a very good neighborhood. And we need to go to the furniture salon—I need you to approve my choice for the bedroom set. Yes, and we still have to drop by the travel agency at Zhorik’s—to pay for the trip to Bali. You remember Bali, darling?”

Nelya shrieked non-stop, not even listening to whether Yuri was answering her or not.

“Nelya! Be quiet for a second!” he shouted.

“Yes,” she interrupted her stream of words.

“And what’s for dinner today?” suddenly, out of the blue, Yuri asked.

“For dinner? Nothing…” Nelya faltered. “I’m on a diet. And you need to lose weight too—we discussed it. Well, if you want, we could order something from a restaurant…”

She continued talking, but Yuri had already hung up. He knew that at home a hearty dinner and a calm, measured evening awaited him. And he had no desire for Bali.

No other man would ever call his Svetlana his wife. That would never happen!

Anna Fedorovna sighed deeply as she placed yet another pot under the relentless drips of rain that stubbornly penetrated the ceiling. The old woman shook her head as if in conversation with the very sky.

— What a nuisance! And when will this ever stop? The rain is endless. Has God’s roof started leaking up there?

If during the previous bout of bad weather she had arranged only a couple of basins, now she had to set out four, plus a kettle—and another right on the floor so the corner by the stove wouldn’t flood.

— As long as the roof doesn’t collapse, or else it’ll crush me and they won’t be able to find me!

Out of habit, the old woman made the sign of the cross just as another booming clap of thunder rumbled outside, as if the Thunderer himself had decided to test her resolve.

— Oh, Lord! What on earth is happening? I haven’t seen a storm like this in about twenty years!

Anna Fedorovna had long grown accustomed to talking to herself—and to the cat, though the cat, as usual, did not join the conversation. It sat nervously on the stove, its eyes glinting as though it were watching a performance that no longer amazed it.

— What, are you scared? Don’t be a coward; we’re not going to perish in this thunderstorm.

Barely had she finished her sentence when the door burst open, and a male silhouette appeared in the doorway. The old woman shrieked and recoiled, pressing her hands to her chest.

— Don’t be frightened, dear. I come in peace.

— Well, if you’re in peace, come in.

The stranger took a few steps before literally collapsing onto a stool, as if all his strength had abandoned him.

— I need a drink.

She scooped out and handed him a wooden ladle filled with apple kvass from an oak barrel. The man guzzled it greedily, as though trying to silence not only his thirst but also his pain. Setting the ladle aside, he raised his gaze, heavy with exhaustion.

— Do not fear me. It just so happens that I had to flee to prove my righteousness. But now I’m too weak to run any further. I’ve been wounded. Might I rest a bit in your cellar or even in the attic?

Anna Fedorovna approached, carefully scrutinizing the fugitive. Her perceptive, wise eyes seemed to see right through him.

— Well, if you speak the truth, you may rest. But if you lie—God will punish you.

She led him deeper into the house to a room hidden behind an old door that hadn’t been used for many years.

— Here, behind this door is an empty room. Make yourself comfortable, — and the old woman left him alone.

Nikolai sank onto a makeshift bed, each movement sending pain through his side. His head buzzed, his vision blurred. He carefully withdrew his hand from his tunic—his entire side was discolored a brownish hue.

— Damn it!

Struggling to shed his coarse clothing, he finally collapsed onto the covering. It felt as if he wasn’t falling asleep but rather drifting away, trying to hold on but unable.

No sooner had Nikolai lost consciousness than the hostess entered the room with a basin. Casting a glance at him, she shook her head, washed his wound—confirming it was through-and-through—and then applied a salve kept in an old jar with an inscription, barely legible from time.

— Now, sleep. This is what you need right now.

Nikolai awoke to the sun beating on his face, with yesterday’s storm seeming like a distant memory. For a moment, he didn’t recall where he was or how he’d ended up here. Once his memory returned, he tried to rise. The pain in his side pierced him, and immediately, as if by magic, the door swung open and the old woman re-entered.

— Awake! Good, you’re awake. Don’t get up too quickly—take it slow. You mustn’t; your wound is still fresh.

— Grandma, how long have I slept? About eight hours?

She laughed—a warm, sincere laugh that made Nikolai smile involuntarily.

— A full day with a hook! Perhaps you’d like something to eat?

Nikolai wasn’t just hungry—he could have devoured anything in sight.

— Absolutely!

— Well then, let’s go slowly.

He followed her, surprised at how much less the pain hurt than he’d expected.

Grandma set the table, placing before Nikolai a large bowl of hearty cabbage soup and a little pot of sour cream, and she cut a loaf of bread. He glanced regretfully at the small cast-iron pot from which his soup was ladled. The hostess smiled:

— You see… You won’t overcome everything. But if you do, I’ve got some potatoes simmering in the oven.

He hurriedly spooned his soup. She asked:

— My name is Anna Fedorovna, and what is yours?

— Nikolai.

— How curious.

Somewhere halfway through the bowl, he realized he had eaten to his heart’s content, yet out of habit continued to bring the spoon to his mouth. Grandma settled herself opposite him.

— Now, Nikolai, tell me your story.

He pushed his bowl aside, and Anna Fedorovna immediately set a mug before him.

— Drink. It isn’t sweet, but right now it’s vital for you.

He sniffed the broth, grimaced, but took a sip without a thought that the old woman might harm him.

— There isn’t much to tell. I had it all: wealth, a family, prosperity. And then, in a single moment, my wife decided I was no longer needed, though my money would surely be useful to her. That night, she—along with her lover, I hope it was just an accident—ran someone over and fled. Afterwards, she testified as if she’d seen me returning in a car at night and covering my tracks. Her lover—a journalist—has friends everywhere. In a single day, I was convicted, and I spent three months in jail. I couldn’t stay there any longer. I needed to find someone who would help me—not for me, but for the truth. I managed to slip away, but I still haven’t figured out how to reach him.

— Well, if it’s all as you describe, everything will work out.

— Oh, Anna Fedorovna, I wish I had your confidence! I wasn’t an easy man either: I believed that since I had capital, nothing else was needed—everyone would value and respect me. But when trouble came, everyone turned away. And it wasn’t even for any good reason—it just happened.

The hostess got up, cleared away the dishes, and brought out a worn deck of cards. Nikolai watched in amazement as she laid them out and murmured to herself. Finally, she gathered the cards into a stack.

— In three days, you must leave. If you depart when I say so, you’ll reach your friend.

Nikolai had never believed in divination or psychics, yet here she was laying out the cards over and over, as if they were living beings that could tell her something. Her wrinkled fingers deftly moved over the worn deck, and her eyes seemed to see beyond the room’s confines. Only after several long minutes of silence did she finally speak:

— You were born far from here, an only child. Your parents are alive, living far away—they watch the road with tears in their eyes. They await their son. And the son is slow—not because he is imprisoned, but because he never hurried even before.

Nikolai stared at her, a deep sense of shame overwhelming him. Every word struck him like a hammer blow to his conscience. Yes, it was all true. He sent money to his parents, yet hadn’t visited them for three years. He knew they were aging, that they were lonely, but there was always an excuse—work, business, Sveta…

— Your wife is beautiful, but such a terrible deceiver. She’s always had many men—before you, even while with you. And she even got rid of the child. You could have had a son, but she refused to have him.

He sat, as if struck by lightning. And indeed, he had suspected! But Sveta had explained it away as “women’s problems.” She even moved into the guest room for a couple of weeks, then began frequent trips to a clinic. Nikolai chose to distance himself, attributing everything to her “issues.” How could he have been so blind?

— And your friend is worried—he’s looking for you, and he already has… He will help you, rescue you, without even remembering the hurt you caused him and his family.

Nikolai nearly fell off his chair. Grandma knew too much. How could she have known about Larisa? About that time when I left her for Sveta? They had quarreled bitterly—fighting even—but later made up. Nikolai had always believed that it was Larisa’s idea to forgive him and preserve the friendship. But now, doubt crept in.

Anna Fedorovna gathered the cards and looked at him with a slight smile.

— Incredible!

She laughed heartily—a laughter that was warm, yet tinged with sadness.

— And what did you expect? I used to be considered the best fortune-teller in the region. But now… Now I no longer practice, I simply can’t bear to see other people’s destinies. Rarely does anyone come for a reading when everything is going well. But when all is at an end, when everything is bad—then, of course. You know, when a person comes to you, what do you often see? Most often—the end.

Outside, the rumble of thunder resumed. The storm had made its presence known again, and Anna Fedorovna, sighing, began to arrange the basins once more. The cat, as usual, leapt onto the stove and curled up, while Nikolai watched the hostess in amazement. She seemed to know exactly where the water would leak. And so it happened: amidst the cheerful patter of raindrops and rolling thunder, they continued their evening.

— There’s almost no one left in the village. In the past, when townsfolk visited, I could call upon workers. But now, there’s no one to ask. I always wonder which will happen first—will I leave, or will the ceiling collapse?

Three days later, Nikolai had regained his strength in the village. No new faces appeared—only once did a local service truck pass by. Early in the morning, the hostess woke him in the dark:

— It’s time for you to go, Kolya. They’re coming for you here.

He got up easily, embraced Anna Fedorovna.

— We will surely see each other again. Thank you!

— Now go, or I’ll be crying over these farewells all day. We’ll meet again, I’m sure.

She explained how to get through the garden to the station, how to catch a bus—or better yet, a commuter train—and she gazed into the pre-dawn darkness long after he had left.

The downpour stopped as suddenly as it had begun. This summer, the weather was truly tropical: scorching in the morning, then a heavy rain, and once more, warmth.

Anna Fedorovna collected the basins, emptied them, and carried buckets into the yard. She stepped onto the porch and froze—a large vehicle was approaching the house. Anna Fedorovna had never seen anything like it—a truck, perhaps, but with some sort of structure on top resembling a basket. Another car—a large sedan—followed.

— Could it be war?

Anna Fedorovna made the sign of the cross. Both vehicles stopped. Now she could see that in the first truck’s cargo were planks, some large packages, and something scarlet, reminiscent of slate but clearly not slate. From the second car, Nikolai emerged.

Anna dropped the bucket and hurried to greet her lodger.

— Hello, Anna Fedorovna! I told you we’d see each other soon.

— Well, not so soon—it’s been three months already.

— It wasn’t entirely up to me; I was arrested again while my friend was sorting things out. It was only for a month—for the courts and all that. And I’m not alone this time.

He returned to the car, opened the door, and out stepped a young woman who smiled shyly.

— Hello.

They decided to dine outdoors. Larisa, Anna Fedorovna, and Nikolai prepared three enormous pots of food for everyone. While Larisa set the table, Anna Fedorovna laid out the cards. Kolya sat next to her.

— What do they show?

— They say, Kolya, that you did the right thing by returning to the past and correcting your mistake. It is your cruelty that set everything awry. But… — he looked at the old woman in fear. — Are you planning to marry?

— Yes, even now, though I fear she might reject me.

— She won’t reject you—for a child without a father should never see the light of day.

Kolya stared at the smiling Larisa. After dinner, when Anna Fedorovna was asleep and the workers had retired, Larisa and Nikolai settled in the car for the night.

— Lar, how do you feel about tying the knot with an ex-convict? She looked at him in surprise, but Nikolai gazed at the sky just as she had moments before.

— Is that your creative way of proposing?

— Well, yes.

— I don’t know… The prospect isn’t too appealing: I’d be raising a bunch of kids, and my husband—constantly moving from jail to jail. — She feigned a heavy sigh and turned her gaze toward the stars.

Nikolai suddenly leaped up, nearly striking his forehead, and Larisa laughed.

— Yes, of course, yes! I’ve been waiting for those words for so long. Though I thought everything would be proper—rings and flowers and all.

— God willing, Fedorovna won’t kill me. — Nikolai dashed outside, looked around, plucked a lily from the garden in the old woman’s palisade, and hurried back to the car.

— Here are the flowers! And I’ll get a ring in the city. And, Lar, we’ll visit my parents.

— Of course, we will.

Watching all this from the summer house, Anna Fedorovna sighed and smiled.

— Very good, now everything is as it should be.