All Amazing Babies

— “Oh, Grigory, how lucky I am to have you! I can’t imagine how we managed without your help before,” said the elderly woman, watching as the young man skillfully handled his tools.

Grigory gathered the tools into his bag and smirked:

— “Oh, come now, Elena Sergeyevna. It’s nothing—a mere matter of moving the loop to another spot. Five minutes of work.”

He checked the gate: it now opened and closed as if it were new.

— “Easy for you to say, Grishenka. For us it would take an entire day, and we’d end up ruining more than fixing. We women are clumsy, and even more so as we grow older,” Elena Sergeyevna shook her head.

— “What do you mean by age?” Grigory laughed. “We’ll have you married off yet!”

The elderly woman burst into laughter:

— “Oh, you joker!”

Grigory had arrived in the village a year ago. He had purchased an abandoned house and immediately set about restoring it. The neighbors, mostly retirees, watched with interest as the old structures were given new life by the young man.

And there were many such houses in the village—the youth had moved away, the elderly were leaving, and the abandoned buildings were gradually collapsing. It was painful for those who had spent their whole lives here to watch.

No one questioned why a healthy young man had moved to such a backwater. If he decided to live here—then that was that.

— “Alright, Elena Sergeyevna, I must be off. I’ll drop by this evening to check your blood pressure,” Grigory said as he headed for the exit.

— “Oh, don’t worry about me! Mind your own business. I’ll be just fine,” the neighbor waved him off.

— “Of course. And who nearly fell into the potato furrow from dizziness yesterday?” Grigory teased.

— “Was that me?” Elena Sergeyevna laughed. “How do you manage to notice everything? I merely got a bit overheated in the sun. Now what, measure my pressure every hour?”

Grigory was already in the yard when he heard the neighbor’s shout:

— “Oh, who is speeding through the village like that?”

The young man turned around. Indeed, a car was barreling down the road, raising clouds of dust. Geese and chickens scattered in every direction. Something was clearly wrong.

The car screeched to a halt at Elena Sergeyevna’s gate. A man leaped from behind the wheel and opened the trunk.

— “Sergey, my God, what happened?” Elena Sergeyevna cried, flailing her arms.

Grigory realized this was the neighbor’s son-in-law—she had mentioned that name before.

Sergey set down some suitcases in front of his mother-in-law and said coldly:

— “Here, I’m returning it. The second miscarriage. Who would want such a defective thing? No one.”

He opened the passenger door, and from inside, a young woman literally fell into her mother’s arms. Clapping the door shut, Sergey got back behind the wheel and drove off, tires squealing.

The woman leaned against her mother, pressing her stomach with one hand.

— “Liza, little Liza, does it hurt?” asked Elena Sergeyevna, worry in her voice.

— “No, Mom. It’s just that the ride was rough… I was only discharged from the hospital yesterday… I need to lie down.”

— “My God, daughter, how can this be?” Elena Sergeyevna cried. “How can you travel in such a condition? Idiot!” she shouted at the departing car before leading her daughter into the house.

Grigory wanted to help with the suitcases, but paused. “What if they don’t want anyone to know?” he thought.

Elena Sergeyevna only reappeared in the evening. Grigory was in his yard, pondering whether to drop by the neighbor’s house. He had promised to, but now he felt awkward.

— “Grisha, Grishenka!” the neighbor called out.

— “Yes, Elena Sergeyevna?”

— “Grishenka, could you go fetch a paramedic? My daughter has arrived, and she’s in very bad shape.”

— “Of course, don’t worry.”

He started his car and headed to the neighboring village. No one here knew that ten years ago Grigory had worked as a doctor. His life had taken a drastic turn when his wife began an affair with the hospital’s chief physician.

That affair led to a conspiracy against him. They quickly concocted a case accusing him of negligence that had led to a patient’s death. Grigory had never faced anything like that and was completely bewildered.

Fortunately, the investigator noticed inconsistencies in the case. Doctors usually support one another, but here a colleague suddenly began actively accusing Grigory. Justice prevailed—the chief physician was dismissed. And his wife’s love for the boss faded. She even suggested returning to the way things had been before.

Grigory had grown up in the village and decided to buy a house away from the city. He vowed never to tell anyone about his past. He would find another occupation, perhaps farming.

From the sale of his apartment he had received a good sum, so finances were not an issue. Now he was contemplating his future plans, though calculations were especially difficult for him—numbers had always been his weakness.

The village paramedic listened to his explanation and shook his head:

— “First: it’s none of my business. Second: today there’s a celebration at my house. Guests are already at the table, and you expect me to go somewhere?”

Grigory raised his voice:

— “Listen, are you a medical professional or not? A woman who’s had a miscarriage, a long journey, and severe stress—do you understand what might happen?”

— “I understand.”

— “Do you realize that bleeding might start? Then no one would have time to react. She could die! And who would be held responsible?”

— “Right, Petrovich. He was right there, didn’t help, and was even under the influence,” muttered the paramedic.

Grigory wanted to shake the older man, but realized it was futile. He turned to leave when he noticed that the paramedic, still cursing, was making his way to the car with the small suitcase.

— “My mother always said: ‘Where do you stick your nose? Why can’t you choose a profession where you can sleep peacefully?’ But I’m so stubborn—I want to save everyone…”

Grigory managed to suppress a smile, but apparently not well enough, because Petrovich barked:

— “Why are you smiling? You’re even happy! Are we going or what?”

Grigory pressed the accelerator. He didn’t enter the house, deciding instead to wait outside. Petrovich ushered Elena Sergeyevna out onto the street, and she sat down beside him.

— “When Liza married Sergey, I was so happy. A city man, well-off… And when my daughter once mentioned she wanted a divorce, I dissuaded her. I simply didn’t want her to return to the village. She said that Sergey didn’t appreciate her, that he was unfaithful. And I insisted: be patient, all women must endure. How wrong I was…”

Half an hour later, Petrovich reappeared with a troubled look.

— “Here’s the list of necessary medications. Everything must be purchased and administered on schedule. Ideally, she should be hospitalized, but she is absolutely against it. Without these medicines, the chances are slim—she’ll end up in the hospital regardless. There’s a complete regimen here, plus the severe stress. So buy them, Elena, and find someone who will give the injections on schedule.”

— “Oh dear, where on earth am I to find such a specialist?”

— “That’s your decision: injections every four hours or hospitalization.”

Grigory took the list and scanned it quickly.

— “Everything’s in order. Elena Sergeyevna, don’t worry. I’ll stop by the pharmacy and take care of the injections.”

— “Grishenka, do you even know how to give injections?”

— “I do, Elena Sergeyevna, don’t worry.”

The first time he entered, Liza didn’t even look at him—she simply turned her face to the wall. The second and third times, the same. On the fourth time, with Elena Sergeyevna absent, Liza had to speak with him.

— “How do you feel?” Grigory asked.

— “Fine.”

She wanted to turn away again, but suddenly asked:

— “Are you a doctor?”

He smiled.

— “I used to be.”

After that, they exchanged no further words.

Three days later, Grigory sat down beside the couch.

— “Liza, this isn’t right. You’re destroying yourself.”

— “And what ‘you’ are you?” Liza snorted.

— “You need to gather your strength, go for walks, breathe fresh air, eat properly.”

— “Why?”

Grigory was at a loss.

— “Why? So that you can live.”

Liza turned her head. Grigory literally drowned in her sad eyes.

— “Why live? I’m thirty-seven. I was brought here like a discarded object, thrown away when no longer needed. Fifteen years together, and now it’s as if they never existed. As a woman, I’ve failed. What’s the point of it all? Someone else needs the oxygen more.”

Grigory was somewhat stunned. Liza turned out to be far from foolish. Here, banal phrases wouldn’t help. He decided then: he would get her back on her feet and teach her to enjoy life.

From that point on, after every injection he sat beside her and talked to her. Her responses were few, seemingly offered only out of politeness. And then Grigory shared his story with her.

— “Are you not lying? Did that really happen to you?” Liza’s voice broke his reverie.

— “And what do you think? I made up a tale for your amusement?”

Liza blushed.

— “Sorry.”

— “Do you want me to show you my plans?”

— “Plans?”

— “Yes, I plan to start a farming enterprise. Although I struggle with calculations, I’ll manage.”

— “Of course, I want to help with the calculations. I worked as an economist for many years.”

Grigory raised his eyebrows in surprise.

 

— “An economist? I thought you were a musician or a teacher.”

From then on, every evening at Elena Sergeyevna’s round table, heated discussions unfolded. The hostess sometimes grew frightened when they began arguing, but she was delighted to see her daughter’s engagement. Grigory devised a business plan, and Liza helped him. Although the word “business” filled Elena Sergeyevna with anxiety, she silently served tea and snacks. Often, they barely even noticed her presence.

One evening, Grigory exclaimed:

— “Liza, we did it! Look, everything’s ready!”

The woman skimmed through the documents.

— “How did you manage so quickly? And why do I feel like hitting you for your stubbornness?”

Grigory laughed and playfully kissed her on the nose.

— “We’ll have to live with it. Tomorrow I’m heading to the city to order materials!”

Grigory dashed out, while Liza remained seated, as if petrified. Elena Sergeyevna watched her daughter anxiously and then suddenly asked:

— “Did you fall in love?”

Liza looked at her mother strangely:

— “Mom, what are you talking about? Love? Enough with these games.”

She said that and hurried into the room. Her mother then voiced what she had feared most. Yes, she had fallen in love with Grigory. With that reckless, intelligent, and incredibly kind man. How could one not fall in love when he was gradually bringing her back to life?

Three days later, Grigory returned. Elena Sergeyevna had gone to the store, and Liza was alone. She heard the creak of a door and froze. It was Grigory, as gloomy as a cloud.

— “What happened?” Liza asked, frightened.

He sat down across from her.

— “Is Elena Sergeyevna not here?”

Liza clenched her hands so Grigory wouldn’t notice her trembling.

— “Liza, I don’t know what to do, how to go on living?” he said in despair.

— “Grish, speak normally—what happened?”

— “You see, I came here to forget everything, to start fresh and never love again. That went on for a whole year. And then you appeared. These three days without you nearly drove me mad. Now, what should I do? How do I go on?”

Liza sighed:

— “I don’t know, Grish, because I, too, have to figure out how to live with it.”

He looked at her carefully, at her trembling hands, and once again met her gaze:

— “Liza…”

When Elena Sergeyevna returned from the store, she saw her daughter and Grigory standing in the middle of the room, tightly embracing. Quietly, she stepped back and closed the door:

— “God willing, perhaps…”

The launch of the enterprise became a major event. Even regional television came. Everyone marveled at why Grigory had brought livestock from across the country. And he only smiled and joked—he worried most not about the animals, but about Liza. She had given birth just three days ago, yet she ran around like a young girl, glowing with happiness.

 

Sergey peered into the bar. Lately, he had become a regular there. Life had taken a downturn—things with women weren’t working out, and even his job was faltering.

“Women only care about money,” he thought gloomily. “If I earned as much as they needed, there’d have to be seventy hours in a day.”

Just as he broke up with his last girlfriend, money started flowing like a river. He stopped working overtime and fell out of favor with his superiors. One misfortune followed another.

— “As usual?” the bartender asked.

Sergey nodded. Even the bartenders knew him—he had truly hit rock bottom.

Early in the evening, instead of music, the bar broadcast the news.

— “You can’t imagine the scale of the event,” said a reporter. “On the day the farming enterprise opened, Grigory’s wife, Svetlova, gave birth to a son.”

Sergey straightened up. Familiar scenes flashed on the screen. Yes, it was Liza’s village! They showed the new building, Grigory and Liza together. In the hospital, she was happy, holding her baby.

“This can’t be,” raced through Sergey’s mind.

He gripped his glass so tightly that it shattered.

— “You cut yourself! Blood!” the bartender exclaimed.

Sergey tossed aside the shards and ran out of the bar. He felt an overwhelming urge to howl in pain. The doctor had said that the next pregnancy would be the last. Sergey didn’t love her. But if they had had a child, everything might have turned out differently. He would have become the ideal husband, working diligently. And Liza… Liza had deceived him. She had led him around by the finger.

Anya sighed as she exited the office building. Today was just one hassle after another. Did he really need those reports right now? She could have managed everything tomorrow. Her day at work had been stressful, so she decided to drop by her usual café. She was already imagining herself enjoying a Greek salad, sipping a cup of coffee, and for a moment, life would shine in different colors.

 

When she entered, the café was almost empty. Just as she was about to sit at her usual table and finally order her salad, she suddenly saw a familiar face. Her husband, Sergey. And not alone, he was sitting with some flashy woman.

Anya froze, as if doused with cold water. The stranger looked like she stepped off the cover of a fashion magazine. A platinum blonde in a tight dress, almost sparkling with expensive jewelry. Her makeup—flawless. She and Sergey were having an animated conversation. He was telling a story, and the woman laughed, flirtatiously touching his hand.

Inside, Anya felt everything turn upside down. “So that’s how it is, huh?” she almost burst from her place. Her first reaction was to approach their table and sort everything out right there, loudly and dramatically, like in a movie. But she checked herself. No, that would be too simple.

She decisively stepped back, pondering her plan. She would play a real game.

Anya chose a table in another corner of the café, positioned so she could see them both clearly. She ordered a Greek salad and coffee but didn’t rush to eat. She took out her phone and dialed Sergey. The phone rang on the table. Her husband glanced at the screen and quickly muted it. Anya smirked. So, he doesn’t want to answer? What kind of important conversation was he having?

She kept her eyes on them, noticing every movement. Sergey leaned toward the blonde, whispering in her ear. She burst into laughter, covering her mouth with her hand. A heavy diamond ring sparkled on her finger.

Anya’s heart clenched. She looked away, trying to compose herself. “Okay, Anya, stay calm. It’s not time to panic,” she told herself, nervously fidgeting with a napkin.

Flashes of memories flickered in her mind. Their first meeting, awkward dates, declarations of love. Was it all a lie? Was he now playing both sides? Anya gritted her teeth but decided to continue watching. She wanted to believe he was just a colleague. Yes, too well-groomed and sitting too close.

 

 

Anya, gripping her phone tighter, continued to observe the pair. But then her gaze landed on a man passing by her table. Tall, attractive, with a light stubble. He looked as if he had just stepped out of a commercial. And then it hit her. She boldly waved her hand.

“Excuse me,” Anya called the man over. He paused, turned his head, and approached.

“Yes?” he asked, sizing her up.

“Listen, I have a somewhat silly request…” Anya paused, pondering how to best explain the situation, “to stage a scene. Nothing complicated. You see, over there,” she nodded toward Sergey, “my husband. And apparently,” she bitterly smirked, “he’s cheating on me. Could you play along? I want him to feel the same as I do.”

The man thought for a moment, then smiled broadly.

“Sure, why not?” he stepped forward and sat opposite Anya.

“I’m Anya,” she smiled.

“Igor,” the man smiled back.

Anya smiled, trying to keep calm, but her heart was pounding. She glanced at Sergey. He noticed. Confusion flashed in his eyes.

He clearly didn’t expect to see his wife here, especially with another man. Sergey froze for a second, then turned back to his companion. He tried to act as if nothing was unusual. But Anya noticed how his hand tensed.

Anya sat up straighter in her chair. She pretended to be completely engrossed in conversation with Igor. She leaned in closer, as if sharing something very intriguing. Igor caught her mood, playing along. He nodded and laughed at the right moments.

Anya glanced at Sergey and his blonde. Now Sergey was clearly nervous. He began tapping his fingers on the table. He kept glancing over at Anya and Igor.

The blonde was saying something to him, but his reactions were no longer as lively as before. Anya decided to take the next step. She boldly took Igor’s hand. The man, understanding her plan, lightly squeezed her fingers and smiled. Sergey looked at them again, this time longer. He said something to his companion, and she stopped laughing. Anya was curious to see how far she could push this “game.”

“Igor, you’re an excellent actor,” she said.

“See how tense he is?” Igor whispered. “Just look at his face. Do you think we’ve marinated him enough?”

“Let’s walk past them,” Anya suggested. “See what he does.”

Igor nodded, and they both stood up. Anya took his arm, and they slowly headed for the exit, passing by Sergey and the blonde. As they passed, Anya decided to throw her last trump card. She turned to Sergey with the most innocent expression and said:

 

“Oh, hello, dear! What a pleasant surprise to see you here. And who is this friend of yours?”

Sergey was clearly flustered. The blonde looked at him, waiting for an explanation.

“This is…,” Sergey stumbled, trying to find the right words. His gaze darted between his wife and the blonde, “a work colleague.”

The blonde frowned, casting a suspicious glance at Sergey.

“Oh, a colleague?” Anya raised an eyebrow. “How interesting! And I thought you had client meetings today.”

Sergey clenched his teeth.

“Anya, what is this circus?” He stepped toward her, clearly losing patience. “Who is this guy? What are you allowing yourself?”

“And you? What would your ‘colleague’ say? Maybe she doesn’t know about your marital status?”

The blonde tensed.

“You’re married?” she asked coldly, not taking her eyes off Sergey.

The blonde quickly turned and left the café.

“Great,” he threw back at his wife. “Are you satisfied? Why did you set this up? She was an important client. The deal depended on her. She had her eye on me. This meeting was a business maneuver, not what you imagined!”

“Maybe you’d better explain who this guy is with you?” Sergey glanced at Igor.

“And what? You can have fun on the side, but I can’t?”

“So you’ve been cheating on me?” Sergey clenched his teeth.

“Yes,” Anya lifted her chin, wanting to hurt Sergey.

“Listen, I think you can sort this out without me,” Igor awkwardly smiled and tried to quickly disappear from the café.

“Well, aren’t you just great, Anya,” Sergey threw a few bills on the table and exited the café.

Anya felt like bursting. She couldn’t believe all this had happened. She didn’t even know how to return to work now. She called a colleague, asking her to cover for her with the boss, and then she went home. When she opened the door, there sat Sergey on the couch. He looked surprisingly calm.

“Anya,” he looked at his wife with pain in his eyes. “Did you really cheat on me?”

His look was so sincere that Anya decided to sit next to him and sighed:

“No. I met that man for the first time today. I saw you, and I just wanted to hurt you. I couldn’t believe you were cheating on me.”

Sergey ran his hand through his hair.

“Listen, this situation is utterly silly. I now realize that I acted like an idiot. Please forgive me. I should have told you about all this. I know I’m at fault. I was a fool to even agree to that meeting. But you must believe me, there was nothing between us.”

Anya was silent, then buried her face in his shoulder. She was still angry at him, but at the same time, she was glad to hear his words.

“Promise me you won’t deceive me again.”

“I promise,” Sergey tenderly kissed her on the top of her head. “Forgive me, my foolish one.”

He hugged her tighter, and Anya felt the tension of the last few hours gradually release. She still didn’t like thinking about the blonde. But she saw that her husband was repentant. The main thing was that, in the end, everything was okay.

Sveta watched with mild envy as parents picked up their children to go home.

“Misha, don’t cry, we will come back here tomorrow,” one of the moms reassured.

“Kolenka, dad is waiting for us at home. Let’s go quickly,” another hurried.

“Katyusha, the sand won’t disappear. We’ll play again tomorrow and then we’ll bake some pies,” added a third.

Sveta avoided getting too close to the playground. First, she was almost eight years old, maybe even eight already, and she felt older than the other children. Secondly, she once managed to join in the children’s games. Despite the kids being younger, their games turned out to be captivating. But as soon as the mothers noticed her, chaos erupted! Sveta received many hurtful words and was simply driven away.

“Vagabond! She probably has lice. Or even mange.”

She then sat in the bushes, not hiding the tears that lasted all day.

Before—but for Sveta it felt like eternity ago—she had a mother. They lived in a large village, and her mother was the kindest and most caring. But her mother fell ill and never returned from the hospital. Aunt Olya, her father’s sister whom Sveta had never seen, took her in.

Her mother didn’t really like Aunt Olya, and in the girl’s mind, she was a person from rare visits that ended in arguments. Under the influence of alcohol, the aunt became overly intrusive, which constantly irritated Sveta’s mother. The girl didn’t want to move to the city to her aunt’s, but once her aunt said that if she resisted, she would “get it good.” Sveta didn’t know what that meant, but soon understood.

Sveta didn’t live with Aunt Olya for long. As soon as all the paperwork was done and the allowance received, the aunt lost interest in Sveta. More than once, the girl couldn’t get into the apartment because her aunt locked herself in and slept.

Once a neighbor, noticing Sveta in the hallway, caused a scandal, woke up the aunt, and threatened to call the police. After that, the aunt harshly punished the girl and no longer allowed her outside. But Sveta, taking a chance when her aunt was drunk again, ran away.

 

How long she spent on the streets, she didn’t know—maybe a month, maybe two. She learned to beg for food only from passers-by who seemed kind-hearted, as she feared that Aunt Olya would find her. The girl missed her mother. She cried so much at night that in the mornings, it was hard to smile. When it became unbearable, she would quietly sing a lullaby her mother had sung to her before sleep. The words were not entirely clear, but the feeling from the song brought a bit of peace.

Sveta’s mother often recalled how her own mother sang the same lullaby, and over the years Sveta knew it by heart. The girl had no grandmother, but she heard from her mother that she was from other lands. Why it turned out that way, her mother never explained, but it was the melody of her childhood.

When all the children had gone home, the playground was empty. She swung a little more on the swings, slid down the slide, and headed to a nearby abandoned building. Its basement often housed other homeless children like her. They were of various ages and were there for different reasons.

Many were runaways from orphanages, some were constantly caught and tried to be returned. Some ran away due to family disagreements, but soon returned. There were also those who called themselves “travelers” and sought any opportunity to wander.

Sveta, descending into the basement, immediately realized that something had changed. Their secret place was discovered, and now adults were there. Without thinking, she rushed upstairs, not knowing exactly where to run. She often thought that maybe she would have been better off in an orphanage, but the thought of returning to Aunt Olya never gave her peace.

She rushed to the old cemetery, where many children found refuge. Among the tombstones and monuments, it was easier to hide. Sveta hid behind an elegant fence, under the dense branches of thuja trees.

The atmosphere here was surprisingly calm. She was amazed at why she hadn’t noticed the statues of angels decorating the graves before. Sveta began to examine the photographs on the monuments. The people in the pictures seemed beautiful and mysterious to her, and their names piqued her curiosity.

Leaning down to read an inscription, she felt something hard under her foot. It was a phone. Sveta looked around, but everything was engulfed in such a dead silence that only the faint clack of a distant train could be heard. Although she knew it was wrong to take someone else’s belongings, the phone looked too tempting.

Sitting under the tree, Sveta held the found phone in her hands and settled on a bench. She didn’t have such things, though she sometimes saw other kids bring something similar and let her look and showed her where to press.

Wiping off the dust, she pressed an inconspicuous button. The screen lit up, and to her surprise, the phone was working. Bright pictures fascinated her. She didn’t start dialing numbers, just spellboundly looked at the screen.

“Isn’t this a dream? Anyone would want to have such a thing,” Sveta thought, sighing slightly.

She understood that the owner of the phone was probably looking for it and didn’t want to be a thief. She swiped the screen to see what would happen.

Sveta wondered if she should call someone to report finding the phone. Maybe they would even reward her? But calling was scary and unsettling. She accidentally noticed a familiar name in the contact list: “Mom.” Sveta involuntarily smiled. She always believed that a mother could not be mean or scary. She tried to think as little as possible about those unpleasant ladies from the playground.

After a pause, silence came through the phone. Sveta almost hung up when suddenly, instead of the usual beeps, she heard a song. It was a lullaby without accompaniment, but familiar to the point of trembling. The very one her mother had sung to her since early childhood.

 

A flood of tears overwhelmed her, leaving her unable to respond when someone said “Hello” on the phone. She just quietly sobbed.

“Sweetie, why are you crying?” a kind female voice sounded.

“I… I found your phone,” Sveta managed to stutter.

“My phone? It’s Vanya’s phone, my son’s. Where are you now, dear?”

“At the cemetery,” the girl whispered.

“At the cemetery? It’s getting dark. We’ll come soon, stay there, I’ll talk to you so you’re not afraid,” the woman assured.

Sveta cried even harder, unable to contain her emotions.

“Why are you crying? Can you hear me? Are you scared there? Then talk to me, I’m already on my way,” came the caring voice on the phone.

“No… just the song… that lullaby… mommy sang it to me…” Sveta replied, struggling to hold back her emotions.

“What was that song?” a man’s voice unexpectedly intervened on the other end.

Sveta shyly said:

“The one that just played…”

The pause stretched, and then the woman spoke again with tenderness:

“What was your mother’s name, dear?” she asked with interest and warmth.

Sveta sobbed and answered:

“She’s no longer with us, she’s gone to heaven…”

There was a whisper and a barely audible hiss on the phone, the connection was lost, but after a while, the man’s voice spoke again.

“We’re almost there, don’t worry. Are you still there?”

“Yes…” Sveta confirmed.

“What do you see around you?” he asked next.

“There are monuments with angels and portraits of people,” she replied.

“Got it. Are there thuja trees nearby?” the man clarified.

“Yes, they are,” Sveta confirmed.

Answering the questions, Sveta was distracted and forgot her sorrow. However, soon she heard voices getting closer. When she looked up, a man and a woman stood before her. The woman, who resembled a grandmother, though she looked different. Such women she had seen with grandchildren at the playground. She was very pale, but that did not scare Sveta. A bit bewildered, she covered her face with her hands and screamed. Someone embraced her.

“Don’t be afraid, everything’s fine, sweetheart. Did you get lost here?” someone said with kindness in their voice.

Sveta took her hands off her face and looked at the woman, mumbling:

“No, I just don’t have a home. Where I slept is now occupied. And you look very much like my mom…”

The man, supporting his companion, gently seated her on a bench and gave her medicine. Then he sat down in front of Sveta and looked into her eyes attentively.

Soon he addressed her:

“Do you want to come with us? Could anyone be against it, like your dad?”

“No, I’ve never met my dad. And mom…” Sveta hesitated, not knowing what to say.

“It’s okay, don’t worry,” the man reassured her, addressing the woman. “Let’s take her, mom?”

“Of course, Vanya, of course,” the woman confirmed. “Sweetie, my name is Karina Sergeyevna. Will you come with us?”

Sveta just nodded. Maybe they would feed her. Anything was better than sitting in an empty cemetery. Then Vanya picked up the girl in his arms, and they headed to the car.

Sveta didn’t understand why they were carrying her, as she could walk by herself. But being in the arms was comfortable, and soon she even dozed off. She woke up still in the car to quiet voices:

 

“Vanya, what should we do next?” a female voice reached her.

“Mom, don’t blame yourself, after all, it was like that…”

“I’m at a loss. My heart is unsettled because of everything that happened. If only we could find that person… Let’s leave this, Vanechka. Nothing can be changed now. The main thing is to ensure the girl’s happiness. She reminds me so much of Veronica.”

“I think so too, mom. That means we must do everything to make her happy,” the man confirmed.

As soon as the car stopped, Sveta asked:

“Did you know my dad? I’ve never seen him. Mom said he disappeared. Maybe we should look for him?”

The man nodded confidently:

“I promise, I’ll definitely find him.”

The woman gently placed her hand on his shoulder:

“We have a lot of work now, Vanechka. Let’s leave these conversations for now.”

When Sveta got out of the car, she looked in amazement at the large house in front of her.

“Is this your house? A lot of people must live here, right?”

“No, we live here with mom and a few helpers. Come in quickly,” the man invited her.

At the threshold, an elderly woman of robust build greeted them:

“Oh, child, you’re just like her!” she exclaimed with tears in her eyes.

Sveta guessed that everyone here knew her mom.

In the evening, when she was already lying in a clean bed, Karina approached her.

“Svetochka, we were in such a hurry that we didn’t get to know each other more closely. It seems that I’m your grandmother.” Sveta sat up in bed:

“A real grandmother?”

“Yes, I’m your mom’s mom. And Vanechka is your uncle.” Karina watched as tears rolled down the girl’s cheeks. “I’ll tell you everything. It might be hard to understand, but try to listen. Many years ago, when my daughter Veronica, your mom, was very young, she met a young man from another country. They fell in love and ran away together.

Svetochka quietly asked:

“Because you wouldn’t let them be together?”

“We were against her chosen one because he dreamed of a beautiful life but did not want to work. We warned Veronica that he was a bad person, but she loved him and wouldn’t listen. She got offended and broke off relations with us. We only learned that many years later, she returned to this city, she was seen here. But then she disappeared. That means she’s no longer alive… I sensed, a mother’s heart knew, that my daughter was no more. But about you, Svetochka, I didn’t know, otherwise I would have looked for you…”

Karina remembered how soon after her daughter’s escape, her husband, Veronica’s father, fell ill and quickly passed away. They were left alone with Vanya.

She softly looked at the sleeping Sveta, who was sweetly slumbering with a smile on her face, adjusted the blanket:

“I’m sorry, my little one. I should have looked for you sooner. I promise I’ll do everything possible to make you happy.”

Karina gently kissed her granddaughter and, closing the door behind her, recalled that long-forgotten feeling of peace, which she hadn’t had since her daughter left.

This apartment must be legally ours! Do you understand, weakling? Only ours! And only in this case can you dictate your terms to your stubborn wife. And keep her on a leash!” the mother-in-law shouted.

A few minutes earlier…

“Oh, it’s so cold! Winter is coming soon,” Polina shivered.

She should have worn a jacket, but out of habit, she stepped onto the balcony in her home clothes. She quickly hung the laundry from the washer and headed back in.

But as she opened the door from the balcony to the room, Polina heard her husband’s voice, who was supposed to be at work in the office.

 

 

By the way, she herself ended up at home by chance today. Lenka called her when Polina was already leaving the house, saying that their office had scheduled pest control for cockroaches today.

“Finally, we waited. They ate up the boss’s brain until he made up his mind. Otherwise, these creatures could have carried us out of the building. So, an unexpected day off for everyone. Stay home, girlfriend.”

And Polina was happy to stay at home. There was a lot of work accumulated, as she hadn’t managed to get much done over Saturday and Sunday. She wanted to spend the deserved weekend beneficially for her soul and body, not just cleaning, washing, and cooking, tongue out.

Polina was surprised to find that her husband, who always left before her, had also come home.

“Is everyone exterminating cockroaches today?” she smirked to herself.

“How do you imagine that, mom? Polina is not a complete fool to agree to such a thing!” Arkadiy spoke loudly.

“That’s right! What is my husband discussing with his mommy? Very curious to pry!” Polina thought and did not come out from the balcony, just closed the door, holding it with her hand.

“No, the idea itself is not bad!” her husband continued. “And I even agree to implement it. And if everything works out, it will be just wonderful!”

He took off his jacket, hung it in the closet, and walked into the kitchen. Polina watched him from behind the partially closed door and curtains, which now conveniently shielded her from her husband.

Arkadiy headed to the kitchen, and Polina realized that now she could hardly hear what he was saying.

“I’ll go out and slowly approach the kitchen. He’ll be there for a while. He got hungry,” the woman thought.

She did just that. Like a mouse, she quietly slipped from the balcony, trying not to make noise, closed the balcony door, and crept closer to the kitchen.

To her luck, her husband had put the phone on speaker because his hands were now occupied with a very important task.

Arkadiy boiled the kettle, took sausage and cheese from the fridge. He cut all this into big pieces and placed them on slices of bread, generously spreading mayonnaise first.

“Arkasha, can you hear me? What are you busy with? We need to resolve the issue as soon as possible, and you’re still fussing around,” the phone spoke in the voice of the mother-in-law, displeased.

“Yes, mom, I’m listening to you. I just decided to have a snack.”

“Lord, I’m talking to him about important things while his wife isn’t home, and he’s eating again! How much can you? Have you already found buyers for Polina’s apartment?”

“Yes, we found them. The deal is in a week. The buyers asked to wait, they have some problem with money,” Arkadiy willingly shared their family matters with his mother.

“Well, there. You’ll sell Polina’s apartment, that’s the first step. Then you’ll find buyers for this one, and from there it’s not far to buying a new one. And you still haven’t figured out how to convince your wife to do it your way,” Lydia Iosifovna scolded her son.

“Oh, I still have time, what are you! We need to sell both apartments, then buy a new, larger one, as Polina and I planned. It doesn’t happen in a week. There’s still plenty of time. So you’ve worried too soon, mom,” Arkadiy replied, devouring the sandwich with appetite.

 

“But it’s a very delicate process, even a kind of political game that needs to be started today. Gradually lead your wife to what you want. Convince her, bring irrefutable arguments and proof that only your decision is the right one. She won’t agree to what we’ve planned if you tell her straight away!” the mother-in-law continued indignantly.

“You think she won’t agree? Why? We’re a family, and the apartment will stay in the family anyway,” Arkadiy was puzzled.

“Because only you are such a simpleton. Everyone else is very cunning and mercenary. By the way, your Polina is not as stupid and simple as she tries to show us. I understand people!”

“Well, you’re absolutely right about that, mother-in-law. I’m neither simple nor stupid. And now I’ll try to understand what kind of adventure you’ve concocted,” Polina thought.

They had been living together with Arkadiy for ten years. Their daughter was nine. Polina inherited a one-bedroom apartment from her parents, where the couple lived for the first two years of marriage, until they bought this two-bedroom on credit. Polina rented out her own apartment. The rent money went towards paying off the loans.

Then, as their daughter grew older, the one-bedroom started bringing more problems than profits—urgent repairs after careless tenants, broken furniture or appliances. The couple decided it was time to expand. And Arkadiy had long been telling Polina that they needed a second child.

“What, just Rita growing up? No sister or brother for her. I actually feel sorry for her. I grew up in a family of three. And you weren’t alone either. So why are we depriving our daughter of this joy? It will be for her whole life—a help and support from a native person.”

Polina wanted this too. But she kept thinking and doubting. After the couple finally decided to sell both apartments and buy one spacious one, she now dreamed of a son.

“So what has my cunning mother-in-law plotted?” Polina whispered.

“I will try to convince her,” Arkadiy confidently replied to his mother. “But even if she kicks up a fuss, I don’t think it will be scary.”

“How can it not be scary! Don’t you understand what this might lead to? Polina will leave you one fine day and chop off two-thirds of the new apartment for herself. Because it will have funds from the sale of the inherited apartment invested in it.”

“Why do you think she’ll leave me?” Arkadiy wondered, even stopping chewing.

He set aside his third sandwich in a row and stared at the phone offended.

“Because! Facts! Facts, my dear son! First, you’re a lout and a dope who can be easily led by the nose. Yes, yes, don’t argue!” hearing her son’s displeased snort, she continued. “Secondly, she once told me that your marriage has cracked. Do you think why Polina doesn’t bear you a second child? Huh? Haven’t you thought about it? Rita is already nine, and she isn’t even thinking about a second child,” the mother-in-law argued.

“When did I ever tell her that?” Polina was surprised, standing in her ambush and even shaking her head in surprise.

 

 

“Do you think Polina is planning to leave me?” Arkadiy asked. “I think you’re wrong, mom. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have agreed to all these sales and purchases. And we talked about the child. She’s not against it. We’re still young, we’ll manage, what are you!”

“She might tell you anything she wants! But facts speak for themselves. Don’t argue! Your mother knows better how to do it. You need to do as I teach you. Your new apartment should be registered in equal shares for you and me. Do you understand? For you and me. I will never betray you. I’m your mother. But she might. She might, sonny, as much as you deny it. I’ve lived longer than you and know life better. Women are cunning. Today she tells you she loves you, and tomorrow you’re a divorced man without a home and prospects.”

“Ah, that’s what? Our apartments don’t let you rest. How come Arkadiy and Polina have two, and Lёvushka has none!” Polina whispered. “Is the mother-in-law dreaming of transferring her share to her younger son later? Oh, she could! Such a sly old woman! She’s already thought everything through, taken care of everything. It’s just interesting, what could Arkadiy say to convince me of such nonsense. To persuade me to agree to what the husband and mother-in-law have planned, it’s only possible if I lose my mind!” Polina thought.

She decided to act on her own, so to speak, proactively.

Calling her mother-in-law in the evening, Polina stripped her of all her ambitious plans. Completely! Set everything straight.

“Hello, Lydia Iosifovna! How are you, health? All good? Well, I’m glad. I want to inform you that we are already selling my apartment. Found buyers, yes. Happy? I am too, you know. And we’ve already found buyers for our two-bedroom. Can you imagine? My colleague is buying our apartment; she really liked it. Yes, so quickly, we ourselves are shocked!

“Have you not looked at a new one yet?” the mother-in-law asked, bewildered, not expecting such rapid events in her son’s family.

“Why not! Already! Found one that suited us. This week we’ll finalize the purchase. As soon as the buyers transfer the money, we’ll immediately sign the purchase agreement for the new housing.”

“What? So quickly?” the mother-in-law couldn’t contain her emotions and disappointment anymore.

“Yes, imagine how everything turned out so well!” Polina continued joyfully. “You’re probably very curious about who we’ll register our new apartment to, right?”

“Yes, curious. Have you discussed this with Arkasha? What did he say?”

“Nothing. I didn’t ask for his opinion. The only thing I said was that if he didn’t agree with me, I would kick him out. After all, our marriage is cracking at the seams! Well, you know what I’m telling you.

“Polina, what are you…”

“Wait, I’m not finished,” the daughter-in-law interrupted. “I want to surprise you. I will register the apartment in my name alone. Because there are far more of my shares than Arkasha’s. You understand that. Parental apartment, half in this two-bedroom. And you know, he agreed. Yes!”

“How is that—agreed!” the mother-in-law was stunned. “Arkadiy?”

“Yes, him! I convinced him that it’s the right thing to do. We have a daughter; we have to think about her first. And a second child might be born. And the husband might turn tail, and we’ll be left with nothing. But this way—everything’s fine. Arkadiy will be by our side, knowing that the apartment is mine, and he lives in it as long as I want.”

Polina finished her speech and happily hung up because she could well imagine the mother-in-law’s reaction.

Let her now live through this wonderful news. Alone.

That’s better that way!

Anna wearily sank onto the old sofa, massaging her aching legs after a long shift. Working as a nurse at the district clinic was exhausting, but there was no other choice—someone had to pay the bills. Anna’s gaze drifted across the peeling walls of their small two-room apartment. It desperately needed repairs, but there always seemed to be more pressing expenses.

“Sergey, are you home?” Anna called out, listening for any sounds in the apartment.

“Yes, in the kitchen,” came her husband’s voice.

Anna walked into the kitchen, where Sergey sat engrossed in his phone. His focused expression suggested he wasn’t playing games.

“How was your day?” Anna asked, opening the refrigerator and grimacing at its near-empty interior.

“Fine,” Sergey replied absently, not looking up from the screen.

Anna sighed. Lately, conversations with her husband had been reduced to monosyllabic phrases. Sergey worked as a minibus driver and constantly complained about his low wages, yet made no attempts to change anything.

“Listen, Anya,” Sergey suddenly perked up, “do you have a thousand rubles until payday? I’m short on gas money.”

Anna frowned. It was becoming a pattern—Sergey frequently asked her for money. At first, she didn’t think much of it, but now it was starting to worry her.

“Sergey, we just got paid yesterday. Where did you spend it all?”

Sergey twitched oddly and looked away.

“Just things here and there. You know how expensive everything is.”

Anna silently took out her wallet and handed him a thousand-ruble note. Sergey grabbed it with unnatural haste and immediately pocketed it.

“Thanks, dear. I’ll pay you back as soon as I can.”

Anya nodded, but a growing unease spread within her. Something was not right. But for now, Anna couldn’t get to the truth.

The next morning, Anna rushed to work. She hurried past the minibus parking lot when she overheard her husband’s voice. Anna almost called out to him, but something in Sergey’s tone made her wary.

“I understand,” Sergey’s voice was nervous. “But where am I going to get that kind of money? I just need a bit more time.”

A harsh voice responded:

“There’s no time. The boss doesn’t like to wait. Look, either you return the money in a week, or expect trouble. Got it?”

A chill ran down Anna’s spine. “What money? And who is this boss?”

“I’ll pay it back, I swear,” Sergey almost pleaded. “I just need a bit more time. I have a plan…”

“Your plans don’t interest us,” the other man interrupted. “The money. In a week. Or blame yourself.”

Anna heard footsteps receding. Her heart pounded wildly. She quickly stepped away from the corner, pretending she had just arrived.

“Sergey!” she called out to her husband, trying to sound normal.

Sergey flinched and turned around. A strange expression—a mix of fear and guilt—flashed across his face.

“Anya? What are you doing here?”

“I’m on my way to work,” Anna forced a smile. “Just thought I’d check on you. Here, you forgot your lunch. Everything alright?”

“Yes, yes, everything’s fine,” Sergey replied too hastily. “You should go, or you’ll be late for work.”

 

Anna nodded and walked on, feeling a tightening inside from a bad premonition. “What is Sergey hiding? And what has he gotten himself into?”

All day, Anna struggled to work, her thoughts constantly returning to her husband’s words. In the evening, she returned home and found Sergey in the kitchen with a stack of papers in front of him.

“You’re back already? How was your day?” Sergey asked.

“Fine,” Anna replied, eyeing her husband closely. “What are those papers?”

“Oh, this?” Sergey hastily gathered the sheets into a stack. “Just some nonsense. Listen, Anya, there’s something…”

He faltered, clearly searching for words. Anna felt everything inside freeze in anticipation.

“Basically, there’s something to sign,” Sergey finally managed. “Just a formality, nothing serious.”

“What to sign?” Anna asked suspiciously.

Sergey handed her the stack of papers, smiling unnaturally:

“Dear, just sign these papers, it’s for your own good.”

Anya grabbed the documents and began to read. With each second, her eyes widened in horror. It was a contract for the sale of their apartment.

“Sergey, what does this mean?” Anna’s voice trembled with barely contained anger.

“Anya, it’s just…,” Sergey clearly became nervous. “You see, we need money. A lot of money. And this apartment… well, it’s old, needs repairs. We’ll sell it, buy something smaller, and with the difference…”

“With the difference, what? Pay off debts?” Anna interrupted.

Sergey turned pale:

“You… you know?”

“I heard your conversation this morning,” Anna felt tears welling up. “Sergey, what have you gotten into?”

Her husband slumped into a chair, burying his face in his hands:

“I wanted to make things better, Anya. Honestly. Just… all these debts, the constant lack of money. I thought I could make a quick buck and fix everything.”

“Earn money, how?” Anna felt horror mounting inside.

“There was a scheme…,” Sergey spoke without looking up. “With transports. Illegal. They promised big money, and I fell for it. I borrowed from someone to start. Then everything went wrong.”

Anna struggled to listen to her husband. The world around her was collapsing. Anya was betrayed by the person she loved, trusted. Sergey had changed, dramatically.

“And now we need to sell the apartment to pay off the debts?” Anna asked quietly. “Why didn’t you consult with me before getting into this mess?”

Sergey nodded, his head still down:

“I was trying for us. But it didn’t work out… I have no other choice, Anya. These people… they’re not joking. If I don’t return the money…”

“Did you think about me?” Anna’s voice trembled with hurt and anger. “About the fact that this apartment is all we have? That I inherited it from my grandmother?”

“Anya, I’ll pay it back, I swear,” Sergey finally looked up, his eyes full of pleading. “Just sign. Otherwise, it’ll be bad for both of us.”

Anna felt everything inside contract with fear and disgust. She stepped back from her husband, as if from a stranger.

“No, Sergey. I won’t sign anything,” Anna said firmly, surprised at her own calmness. “And you’re going to tell me the whole truth now. Every detail.”

For the next hour, Anna listened to her husband’s disjointed story about his failed attempts to get rich quick, about debts and threats. With each word Sergey said, the woman felt their future together crumbling.

Finally, Sergey’s story came to an end. A heavy silence hung in the apartment. Anya looked at Sergey in amazement. Anya no longer recognized the husband with whom she had lived five years in marriage.

“I need to think,” Anna quietly admitted. “Pack your things. You better leave.”

“Where to?” Sergey asked bewildered.

“To your parents, to friends—I don’t care. Just not here.”

Sergey wanted to object. But Anna’s face allowed no room for compromise. The husband cast a pleading look at Anya. But the woman did not yield. Within an hour, Sergey left the apartment.

Alone, Anna finally allowed herself to burst into tears. All the tension of the past hours poured out in a stream of bitter tears. But even through the sobs, a plan of action was already forming in Anna’s mind.

In the morning, Anna got up tired and sleepless. She dialed her cousin’s number. Maxim was a lawyer.

 

 

“Max, I need your help,” Anna began without preamble, “Urgently.”

Soon, Anna and Maxim met in a cafe. The woman told the whole story. Maxim nodded, then said:

“Alright, first thing we do is file for divorce. Then we start the property division process. The apartment was yours before the marriage, so Sergey has no rights to it. But we need to act fast, before he makes even bigger mistakes.”

The following days passed like in a fog. Anna, taking leave from work, rushed between various institutions, signing papers and gathering documents. Maxim was by her side, guiding and supporting his sister.

Sergey constantly tried to contact his wife. But Anna didn’t answer. After careful consideration, the woman decided to talk to her husband on neutral ground:

“I filed for divorce, Sergey.”

“Anya, please! Don’t do this,” Sergey pleaded. “I’ll fix everything, I swear!”

“It’s too late, Sergey,” Anna cut him off. “You’ve destroyed everything yourself. Now deal with your problems on your own.”

They talked for a long time, but the woman’s decision was unchanged.

A week later, Anna received a message from an unknown number: “Did you sign the papers? Time is up.”

Anna’s insides clenched with fear. The woman forwarded the message to Maxim.

“Don’t worry,” her brother reassured. “A report has already been sent to the police. Now these guys will think twice before trying to scare my sister again.”

Anna was glad that Maxim was so confident in success. But the woman decided to take some steps herself. Anna changed the locks and asked her neighbor to watch the apartment while she was away.

A month passed. The divorce process was in full swing. Sergey finally realized that he was losing everything. And then the almost ex-husband decided to challenge Anna’s decision. Even Sergey’s parents got involved:

“He just got confused,” Sergey’s mother said with tears in her eyes. “He’ll improve, you’ll see.”

But Anna was unyielding. Sergey had destroyed the marriage, trust, and respect with his own hands.

Anna tried her best to distract herself from heavy thoughts. And extra money was needed. So the woman began helping neighbors: administering injections, doing dressings. Soon, Anna had regular clients. And the earned money pleasantly warmed her soul.

Anna returned home from work. The woman froze, seeing her ex-husband at the entrance. Sergey looked straight at Anna.

“Wait, don’t run away,” Sergey stopped when he saw his ex-wife flinch. “Let’s just talk?”

“There’s nothing to talk about, Sergey,” Anna tried to walk around the man. “It’s all over.”

“But everything has changed!” Sergey exclaimed. “I found a steady job, I’m paying off debts! Give me another chance, please!”

Anna looked at her ex-husband. Sincerity was evident in his eyes, but Anna could no longer trust him.

“Sorry, Sergey,” she said quietly. “But I can no longer trust you. You almost left me without a roof over my head. I can’t risk it again.”

Anna sharply opened the entrance door, leaving Sergey alone. In the apartment, Anya looked out the window for a long time. The woman watched as Sergey’s figure gradually disappeared into the darkness.

 

Six months passed. The divorce was finalized, the apartment officially remained Anna’s. Life was gradually getting back on track. Anna even began to renovate the apartment—a small but long-awaited one.

One day, while painting the walls in the living room, Anna found an envelope behind the old wallpaper. Inside were old photos and letters from her grandmother.

“My dear granddaughter,” wrote the grandmother. “Know that this apartment is not just walls. It’s your fortress, your support in life. Take care of it and don’t let anyone take away what rightfully belongs to you.”

Anna pressed the letter to her chest. Tears rolled down her cheeks. Anya realized that she had almost made a monumental mistake. She was proud of herself for being able to defend the apartment and not fall for her ex’s persuasions.

That evening, Anna finished painting the walls. Later, the woman settled down in the kitchen. She opened a clean text document on her laptop. Anna’s fingers fluttered over the keyboard. Anya was writing her story—her story—about trust, betrayal, and finding herself.

“I learned to love and value myself,” Anna wrote. “And now I won’t let anyone interfere. No one has the right to control my life, my property.”

Anna leaned back in her chair and took a deep breath. Dawn was breaking outside—the beginning of a new day and a new chapter in her life. A life in which she was the mistress of her own destiny.

The phone vibrated—a message from Maxim: “How are you, sister? Maybe we’ll meet on the weekend?”

Anna smiled. “Yes, life goes on.” And now she knew for sure that she could handle whatever fate had in store.

Closing the laptop, Anna approached the window. The city was waking up, filled with morning bustle. Somewhere out there, in that stream of people, was Sergey—with his problems and debts. But that was no longer her concern. Now she was confident and independent. Anya knew she deserved more. Anna ran her hand over the freshly painted wall.

“Thank you, grandma,” Anna whispered, looking at the old photo. “I’ve kept the gift and found myself.”

With these thoughts, Anna began to get ready for work. Ahead was a new day, full of opportunities and hopes. And she was ready to meet it with an open heart and a clear mind.

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Margarita had long sensed that this day would come, but when it did, she was still taken aback. She stood there, not knowing what to do next. Roman, her husband, just shrugged:

“You’re not fifteen to be asking such questions. It’s time for you to figure things out on your own.”

“So, I have to move out?” she asked quietly.

“You’ve got it right,” he responded dryly. “But don’t worry, I bought you half of a house. It’s cheap, but it’s yours.”

Rita smirked:

“Why only half? Couldn’t afford the whole house?”

Roman flushed with irritation:

“Enough, Rita, don’t start. We haven’t been husband and wife for a long time. I’m tired of all this!”

She turned silently and left the room. Of course, he was tired. While Roman managed their finances and made all decisions in the house, he lived comfortably: money for entertainment, gatherings with friends in the sauna, and possibly someone else. But as soon as Rita stopped giving him her salary, he flared up:

“Do you think your pennies make any difference in this house?”

“Roman, I’ve been wearing the same boots for four years,” she replied calmly. “And you’ve updated your entire wardrobe in that time. Is that fair? And why ‘pennies’? With my side jobs, I earn no less than you.”

The conversation then hit a dead end. Rita knew Roman had a mistress on whom he was spending their money. But when his financial situation worsened, and apparently, there were problems with the mistress, arguments became more frequent at home.

Rita had long thought about divorce, but only one thing stopped her – she had nowhere to go. After the last argument, when Roman came home and found no dinner, he made a scene. Rita calmly explained that she had dinner at a cafe since he hadn’t given her any money for three months. This infuriated him. He yelled that she was worthless, that she couldn’t even have children, and that he was only living with her out of pity.

Then, Rita barely held back her tears but realized their relationship had come to an end. She began preparing for the inevitable. Today’s question about what she should do, she asked more out of habit. She wasn’t going to fight for half of a one-room apartment. But Roman, apparently, was afraid of just that. He smirked:

“You’re so smart and proper. Why don’t you buy the other half of the house if you want it?”

He knew it was impossible. Half of the house had been sold to him for pennies because no one would buy the other half. And soon Rita understood why.

The house’s story was simple. Previously, a married couple lived there, but the husband was in an accident and became disabled. Unable to cope with such a life, the wife filed for divorce and sold her half of the house. The other half remained with her ex-husband, who was now bedridden. The house was not divided into two, and the sale was only about square meters.

Rita packed her things, called a taxi, and decided to head to her new residence immediately. Why rent an apartment if she couldn’t afford it anyway? Judging by the year it was built, the house seemed sturdy and well-maintained. When she arrived, she was surprised: “Could Roman really have splurged? At least to try to buy the second half… To live alone in such a house, to drink tea under the acacia…”

 

 

She opened the door. The lock worked smoothly, without a squeak, as if it were often used. The house looked well-kept, but something about it was odd. Why was there only one door? Rita entered. The air smelled of medicine. She looked around: a large room, a combined kitchen and dining area, another room with an open door. Rita peeked inside: a spacious, bright room, almost empty. Two more doors led from this room. One was open – probably the former bedroom. The other – closed.

Rita decisively pushed the door and nearly lost her senses from surprise. In the room, she was met by the gaze of a man who, apparently, lived there. A television quietly operated on the wall, and a small table with a bottle of water and medicine stood next to the bed.

“Hello,” she said awkwardly.

The man smiled:

“Well, hello. Did they sell you half of my house?”

Rita nodded, looking around in confusion:

“I don’t understand… Half a house – is this all of it? No partitions, no separate entrance?”

“No,” he calmly replied. “The house was never divided. So now you own half of the house together with me.”

Rita sighed:

“Now everything’s clear. And here I thought my husband suddenly became generous. Turns out, he just stayed true to himself. Sorry, I’ll temporarily occupy another room until I find housing.”

The man shrugged:

“Live, use the whole house. I don’t mind – I never leave this room. No need to even go to the clinic – they come to me. By the way, my name is Oleg.”

Rita was about to close the door but paused:

“And you… do you cook, manage the household?”

“No, of course not,” he replied. “A caregiver comes every two days.”

Rita closed the door and went for her belongings. “Something’s wrong. A caregiver every two days… And the rest of the time? He’s quite young, probably almost my age.”

After moving her belongings, she decided to have a snack. She took out a bag of groceries and looked around. “The owner probably wouldn’t mind if I took a shelf in the fridge,” she thought.

However, the refrigerator was not just empty – it was unplugged. Rita opened the drawers: some grains, salt, but no sugar found. “I wonder what they feed him?” she was surprised.

The woman rolled up her sleeves and started cooking. After a while, she caught herself humming a tune. She smiled: “Just got divorced, nowhere to live, everything’s unclear, yet here I am, singing. And oddly, I’m in a good mood.”

An hour later, she knocked on the door and entered:

“Oleg, I’ve made dinner. Shall we dine together?”

He looked at her gloomily:

“Let’s make one thing clear: I don’t need your pity. I’m not starving, so…”

Rita firmly placed the tray on the table:

“Let’s agree differently. I’m not going to pity you. I just ended up in a strange place, abandoned by my husband, and I’m lonely. I just wanted to have dinner with someone. With a living person.”

Oleg was embarrassed:

 

 

“Sorry, I’m used to everyone acting that way. Everyone around just gives advice, pretending to understand.”

Rita sat down on the chair:

“I understand you. How many people around you think they know how to live your life better than you do.”

Oleg, bringing a spoon to his mouth, rolled his eyes:

“Rita, I can’t forgive you. After such a dinner, I definitely can’t eat what the caregiver cooks.”

They drank tea for a long time, and Rita surreptitiously surveyed the room. “Strange, the wheelchair stands, but he doesn’t use it,” she thought.

“You understand that sooner or later, I’ll ask what happened. If you don’t want to tell, just say so, and I’ll leave you alone.”

“No, sooner or later you’ll find out anyway. Better I tell you. Two years ago, I was in an accident. Seemed like nothing serious, but something went wrong during a spine surgery. They barely saved me.”

“At first, they said everything would be okay. Then they held consultations, examined me, but I felt my legs weren’t responding. They discharged me, saying it would all recover over time. But, as you can see, nothing changed.”

“A year ago, some professor came. My wife, still my wife then, had made an appointment for me. He said the surgery went well, but the timing was lost. I should have started rehabilitation right after the accident. But they didn’t do that then.”

“When Elena heard that verdict, she packed her things and left. Later I found out she had divided everything we had. Though she herself contributed nothing. Took the car, not even thinking about it being after the accident. Divided the house. And, as I learned today, quickly sold her half to someone as unprincipled as herself. That’s the whole story.”

Rita raised her eyebrows in surprise:

“Didn’t understand. So, you’re just going to lie there and wait for the end?”

“And what do you suggest?”

“What do I suggest? Fight! Well, do something, live, after all!”

“How, excuse me, live? Do you think you’re the only one like this in the world? No, not one, and not two, and not three. Thousands like you, and none of them ruin themselves. Well, it’s your business, of course, but I probably won’t understand that.”

Rita got up, began to gather the dishes.

“I’ll settle in that room then.”

 

 

Oleg nodded:

“The whole house is at your disposal. I only need to be in this room. Thanks for the dinner, by the way.”

Rita closed the door behind her, paused for a moment, wanted to ask if he needed anything, but then decided that Oleg might be offended. “Somehow he lived before me.”

She fell asleep instantly, and in the morning she was awakened by an irritated voice:

“God, when will they gather you disabled people and take you to an island so you can crawl after each other! I can’t take it anymore!”

Rita sprung up like a spring. She saw Oleg’s whitened cheeks – it was clear how tightly he was clenching his teeth to not respond. In the kitchen, some woman was busily packing Rita’s groceries into a bag.

“God help you,” Rita grated.

The woman flinched and dropped the sausage, which just wouldn’t fit into the already overflowing bag.

“Aren’t you afraid of straining yourself?” – Rita’s voice was gentle, but her eyes… – “Let me help you carry that to the door.”

The woman backed away, but Rita grabbed the bag and hit the thieving caregiver with it so hard that she turned and fled to the door. But Rita wasn’t giving up.

To the gate… The young woman managed to “pin” the caregiver a few more times. At the last moment, a package of eggs fell from the bag and smeared over the runaway’s coat.

Rita returned home, regretfully looked at what was left in the bag, and threw it out along with the contents. She turned around – and her eyes involuntarily widened: Oleg was laughing!

“Rita, you really give it your all! You should have seen yourself, terror of the seas. I was even scared you’d hit her with a loaf of bread.”

Rita laughed too, then said:

“Let’s have some coffee now, and then I’ll go to the store. Otherwise, we’ll starve to death here while I’m at work for four days.”

“I haven’t had coffee in a long time… Rita, come here, please. There, in the leg of the table, there’s also money. Your groceries suffered because of me. Don’t look at me like that. It’s impossible to find a caregiver for someone like me now. And if you leave the money just like that, it’ll be gone right away. Take it, buy something on my behalf. But what am I going to do now without a caregiver?”

Rita smiled:

“Don’t worry, we’ll figure something out. By the way, I’m a nurse. Almost a doctor.”

“Almost? Ah, with three courses of medical school. Then you got married, and that ended your career.”

Rita and Oleg lived, existed, neighbored for almost half a year. She went to work, cooked, helped Oleg, even though he resisted. Sometimes in the evenings, they talked for a long time. It was Rita who found out that he could and should sit, and she made him move around the house in a wheelchair at least. Then she herself made a ramp from the porch.

Two years passed.

“Well, my good sir, to be honest, you’ve really surprised me. Somehow you managed. Your muscles were practically empty, all withered, and now – it’s a pleasure to look at. There must be love involved.”

Oleg shyly looked at Rita and nodded:

“Well, can’t do without it.”

“What do you say, doctor?”

“What can I say… I see no contraindications to start standing up. Your legs will hold you, it won’t get worse, but be ready: you’ll have to learn to walk again.”

“I know, doctor, I’m ready. I can do it!”

Oleg was sure he could. Even if he couldn’t, he still could. There was no other way out for him. Yesterday, Rita told him that she was pregnant. He was ready to stand up right then, but she wouldn’t let him, said he first needed to consult.

He knew Rita was watching him, worried more than he was himself. It was not just scary, it was very scary and very painful.

A few more centimeters. Oleg let go of the wheelchair and looked at it:

“I can do it. For you, I can.

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You know, I’ve always dreamed of having my own place,” I said with a faint smile, looking at the keys he held in his hands. “And I’ve always had my own place,” he replied with that same smile, which now only caused me disgust.

It was already 9:30 PM. I checked my phone again—no messages from Sergey. Dinner had long gone cold, the candles had burned out, and the wine I had opened two hours ago had lost all its aroma, just like our relationship.

Suddenly, the front door slammed so hard that the glass in the china cabinet rattled. Sergey burst into the apartment, carelessly removing his tie. He smelled of expensive perfume—not the one I gave him for our anniversary.

“Why are you late?” I asked, trying to stay calm. “What, do I have to report to you now?” he threw back, tossing his briefcase on the sofa. “I work, you know. Someone has to support this house.”

I bit my lip. Six years of career growth at a major company, three promotions, and still, to him, I remained just a “woman with career ambitions.”

“I made dinner. I wanted to discuss something important…” I started.

“You know what, Anya?” he interrupted. “I’m tired. Tired of these endless complaints, your constant dissatisfaction, these staged candlelit dinners. You live in some kind of romance novel, but it doesn’t work.”

I froze. A lump formed in my throat, but I wasn’t going to show him my tears.

“You’re right,” my voice sounded firmer than I expected. “I do live in a novel. Only it’s not a love story. It’s a detective story. And you’re the main antagonist.”

His laugh sliced through the air like a whip. That sound painfully echoed inside me.

The divorce process went quickly, as if Sergey had prepared for it in advance. The apartment we created together, where I invested not only money but also a piece of my soul, remained his. “Legally, it belongs to me,” he said calmly, as if it were an old t-shirt.

Marina, my best friend, helped me find a temporary rental apartment in a nearby district. Small but cozy. “It’s only temporary,” she repeated, and I nodded, trying to believe her words.

“You know what the worst part is?” I asked, pouring wine into glasses in the new tiny kitchen. “I really loved him. Not the apartment, not the status, not the lifestyle, but him himself.”

“And he only loved himself,” Marina handed me a napkin. “And you know what? It’s time you learned this art too.”

I looked at my reflection in the window. Before me was a tired woman with a dimmed gaze. Was this really me? The same Anna who once dreamed of conquering the world at university?

“You’re right,” I said resolutely, finishing the wine in one gulp. “It’s time to learn to love myself. And something else.”

“What’s that?” Marina inquired.

“Revenge,” I answered, and for the first time in a long time, my smile was genuine.

A month after the divorce, I existed as if on autopilot. Work, home, back to work. I tried not to think about the past and avoided the temptation to check Sergey’s social networks. Marina joked that I had become like a zombie from “The Walking Dead,” only dressed. Perhaps she was right.

“You can’t isolate yourself in this apartment forever,” Marina declared one evening, bursting in with a bottle of wine and a box of pizza. “And no, working until midnight doesn’t count as normal social activity.”

 

“I’m not isolating,” I countered, closing the laptop. “Just… adapting.”

“Adapting?” She snorted, pulling two glasses from her bag. “Honey, you’re not a coral reef, needing centuries to adapt. By the way, remember the presentation of the new project next week?”

I groaned. Of course, I remembered. The project I had been working on for the last six months was supposed to be either my triumph or my downfall. Honestly, the latter seemed more likely, given the current state of my life.

The morning before the presentation began with me spilling coffee on a white blouse. At another time, this would have thrown me off, but today I just laughed. What could be worse than losing a husband and an apartment?

“Anna Viktorovna,” called Alexey Petrovich, our director, as I was heading to the conference room. “A moment of your time?”

My heart seemed to drop. Was he about to cancel the presentation? Or worse, did he already know about the project’s failure?

“I reviewed your materials last night,” he began, as we entered his office. “I have a suggestion.”

I braced myself for the worst.

“How do you like the idea of heading a new department?”

“Excuse me… what?” I blinked, sure I had misheard.

“The new strategic development department,” he continued, smiling. “Your project is exactly what we need. And judging by how you prepared it, you are the perfect person to implement it.”

“But… what about Mikhail Stepanovich? Wasn’t he supposed to get this position?” I asked, still in shock.

“He was supposed to,” nodded Alexey Petrovich. “However, he accepted an offer from competitors. And you know what? I’m glad. Your approach is much more interesting.”

By the end of the day, I still couldn’t believe the reality of what was happening. The presentation went off with a triumph, the promotion contract was in my bag, and my phone was literally exploding with congratulations from colleagues.

“I told you so!” Marina triumphed over a glass of champagne in our favorite bar. “You were always smarter than all of them, just letting that guy overshadow your light.”

“Don’t call him that,” I replied mechanically, then laughed. “Though you know, you’re right. He really is a fool, took everything we had together and left.”

“And now what?” she winked at the waiter, and a new bottle appeared before us.

“Now?” I pondered. “Now I’ll buy myself an apartment. One that I want, not Sergey. And you know what? I’ll hang pink curtains. Sure, I’ll take out a mortgage, but with the new position, I’ll manage.”

“He hated pink!”

“Exactly why!” I raised my glass. “To pink curtains and a new life!”

The next six months flew by. The new position demanded full dedication, but I enjoyed every moment. For the first time in my life, I felt like I was doing what I really loved.

My new apartment (with pink curtains) accumulated details that made it truly mine. No compromises, no “what will Sergey say.” Only what I liked.

“You’ve changed,” Marina noticed once over lunch, examining me. “And it’s not just the new haircut and wardrobe.”

She was right. I really had changed. The uncertain woman who constantly looked to her husband was gone. Now I made decisions independently—and was responsible for their consequences too.

“You know what’s funny?” I asked, stirring sugar in my coffee. “I’m grateful to him. Grateful for opening my eyes. Now I live my life.”

“To whom? Sergey?” Marina choked on her salad, nearly spilling the sauce.

“Exactly. If not for his betrayal, I would have continued living in his shadow, content with the role of ‘successful husband’s wife.’”

That day started as usual: a meeting with the CEO, then the way back through the reception. As I passed by, I inadvertently overheard a conversation:

“…Confirmed from the head office. The entire department is moving under her leadership.”

 

I froze in place.

“Anna Viktorovna will now also be responsible for the Moscow branch?” someone wondered.

“Yes, starting from the first of the month. Can you imagine the scope? Thirty people in the team.”

The corners of my lips twitched into a smile. Thirty people—a serious responsibility. But now I knew I was ready for any challenge.

“Do you know who works there?” continued the voice. “Sergey Vitalievich, her ex-husband.”

My smile slowly turned into a predatory grin. Oh yes, I knew exactly who worked there. And fate clearly decided to give me a special gift.

In the evening, I stood in front of the mirror for a long time, examining my reflection. The expensive suit fit perfectly, the new haircut added confidence, and my eyes shone with determination.

“Well, Sergey Vitalievich,” I whispered to my reflection, “ready to meet your new manager?”

Marina’s message vibrated on my phone:

 

 

“Heard the news! How does it feel?”

I quickly responded:

“Remember, you said life is the best screenwriter? It seems it just wrote the perfect ending to my story.”

“Ending?” Marina immediately returned. “I think it’s just the beginning!”

The first meeting with Sergey in the new role was to take place at the department’s general meeting. I was as nervous as before a first date. Two hours spent trying on different outfits, three times redoing my makeup. Finally, I settled on my favorite gray suit, which I once bought on sale. It wasn’t the most expensive, but it fit impeccably. And the shoes… I remember how he threw a fit then: “Just a pair of shoes! Why such money?” For me, they were a symbol of personal victory.

Looking at my reflection in the glass office doors, I almost laughed. Where was that bewildered woman, stumbling over boxes as she left his apartment? She was gone. In her place stood another—with a straight back and a cold gaze.

“Good morning, colleagues,” my voice sounded confident as I entered the conference room.

Thirty pairs of eyes turned towards me. The only pair frozen in shock belonged to Sergey. His face paled so quickly that I even worried he might faint.

“For those who are not yet acquainted,” I began, smiling professionally and politely, “I am Anna Viktorovna, your new manager. I’m sure we’ll work excellently together.”

As soon as the meeting ended, Sergey tried to catch me in the hallway.

“Anya, wait! This must be some mistake!”

I turned around, raising an eyebrow:

“Sergey Vitalievich, do you have work-related questions? If not, I’m sorry, but I have an important meeting in fifteen minutes.”

“What the hell, work-related questions?!” he exclaimed, grabbing my elbow. “You were always just…”

“Remove your hand. This instant,” each word sounded clear and cold. “And for the future, I advise being careful with expressions. I wouldn’t want to consider this a breach of discipline.”

He immediately withdrew his hand, as if burned.

“You’ve changed,” he muttered, clearly shaken.

“Really?” I feigned surprise. “I think I’ve always been like this. Just some preferred not to notice.”

Several weeks turned into a complicated game. Sergey alternated between trying to find common ground and flaring up with irritation. I remained impenetrable, focused solely on work. Without personal emotions, without compromises. Every day became a new step forward, every success—another proof that I could do more than he ever expected.

“Sergey Vitalievich,” I addressed him at one of the meetings, “your report on quarterly indicators… how to put it mildly…”

“What’s wrong with it?” he snapped. “I always compile reports just like this.”

“That’s exactly the problem,” I responded, lightly tapping the pen on the table. “You continue to use a methodology from five years ago. The world evolves, and you are stuck in the past. Reevaluate the data considering new metrics. Deadline—by the end of tomorrow.”

“By tomorrow?!” he blushed. “That’s impossible! I already have plans, theater tickets…”

“Those are your personal difficulties,” I retorted coldly. “Work always comes first, or didn’t you teach me that?”

After the meeting, Olga, his new girlfriend who worked in the neighboring department, approached me:

“Anna Viktorovna, may I have a moment?”

I nodded, expecting a scandal or reproaches. However, she surprised me:

“I wanted to thank you.”

“For what?” I asked cautiously.

 

 

“For opening my eyes to his true nature,” she bitterly smiled. “Yesterday, I packed my things and moved out from his place.”

Three months into my leadership, Sergey hardly recognized himself. His former confidence was replaced by disarray, work performance went downhill, and attempts to maintain past authority seemed increasingly pitiful.

“Anya, we need to talk,” he intercepted me one evening at the exit from work.

“Anna Viktorovna,” I automatically corrected, taking out my car keys.

“Damn it!” he exclaimed, clearly on the edge of desperation. “I get it, okay? I was a blind idiot. Didn’t appreciate you, your ambitions, your potential. Let’s start over?”

I froze. How many times had I imagined this moment? How many nights had I dreamed of hearing these words?

“You know what’s ironic?” I slowly turned to him. “A year ago, I would have done anything for this. But now…” I shook my head. “Now it’s different.”

“Different?” he frowned. “You’re not even happy?”

“No, I’m grateful,” I calmly responded. “If not for you, I would never have realized how capable I am. Never found the strength to become the person I am now. You did far more for me than you could imagine.”

“And now what?” his voice trembled.

“Now?” I opened the car door. “Now you should write a resignation letter. Voluntarily, of course. And I will provide you with excellent references.”

“Are you taking revenge on me?” his face contorted.

“No,” I countered, starting the engine. “I’m just conducting business. Unfortunately, you no longer meet the company’s standards.”

In the evening, Marina and I settled on the balcony of my new apartment. The sunset painted the sky in the same pink hues as my curtains.

“You know,” Marina began thoughtfully, “when you talked about revenge a year ago, I thought it was just emotions.”

“And I was really angry,” I honestly admitted, taking a sip of wine. “But then I realized one important thing.”

“What’s that?”

“The best revenge isn’t causing pain to others,” I responded. “The best revenge is becoming so strong that the person realizes how much they were mistaken.”

Marina raised her glass:

“To strong women!”

“And to those who help them reveal that strength,” I added with a smile.

My phone notified me of a new message: the company approved Sergey’s resignation. I looked at the sunset and thought that sometimes life writes scripts far more interesting than any movies. Sometimes the end of one story becomes the beginning of another—much more exciting.

Elena carefully stirred the sauce when the lady of the house peeked into the kitchen. Svetlana paused at the threshold, scanning the room with a critical eye, then grimaced in displeasure.

“Why is it so stuffy here? You need to air out more often,” said Svetlana, adjusting her perfectly styled hair. “And this smell… What is that scent?” “Caramel sauce for a new dessert,” Elena replied calmly, continuing to stir the thickening mixture. After two years of working in this house, the cook had grown accustomed to the constant comments from the new mistress.

“Sure, of course,” Svetlana said doubtfully, stepping closer and peering into the pot. “Last time, your ‘masterpiece’ was inedible.” Elena remained silent, though she vividly remembered how Dmitry Viktorovich had praised that dessert and even asked for seconds. But Svetlana’s presence always made her want to avoid conflict. The new wife treated the staff with disdain, constantly reminding them of their “place.”

Suddenly, a child’s shout came from the hallway: “Igor! Come back immediately!” Svetlana frowned: “These children are completely out of control. Running back and forth as if it’s a playground. Absolutely no manners.” Elena cast a quick glance at the mistress. She knew that Svetlana clearly had no fondness for her husband’s children, though she tried to mask it in front of Dmitry Viktorovich. However, as soon as he was away, her attitude changed.

A breathless twelve-year-old Igor burst into the kitchen, followed by nine-year-old Lisa. “Give it back! It’s my notebook!” Lisa tried to reach the school notebook her brother held high above his head.

“Children!” Svetlana’s sharp cry made them both freeze in place. “What behavior! Go to your rooms and do your homework!” “We’ve almost finished it,” Lisa muttered, looking down. “I said go!” Svetlana’s voice rang with metal.

The children sullenly left the kitchen. Elena noticed how much they had changed since Svetlana appeared. They used to often pop into the kitchen, help bake cookies, laugh, and talk about school. Now, they tried to minimize their presence around their stepmother.

“By the way, Elena,” Svetlana turned to the cook again. “We will have guests this evening. I ordered a special dinner.” “But the menu is already set…” “It will be changed,” Svetlana interrupted. “Everything is planned. Here’s the list of dishes,” she threw a sheet of paper on the table. “Moreover, a cake will be delivered from the bakery. Make sure it is stored correctly until the evening.”

Elena looked at the list—complicated appetizers, exquisite main dishes. There was too little time left for preparation.

 

 

“And please, be more careful this time,” Svetlana added, heading towards the exit. “The guests are important. You can throw out your dessert. It’s not worth the risk.”

When the mistress left, Elena sighed heavily. Lately, Svetlana had been arranging such sudden receptions more often, especially during Dmitry Viktorovich’s business trips. He had left three days ago, and his return was not expected for another week.

Closer to the evening, the cake was delivered. Elena carefully inspected the box—a luxury bakery, lavish decoration. Opening the lid, she immediately recognized the familiar scent. Among the decorations were crushed nuts.

Her heart skipped a beat. She vividly remembered Dmitry Viktorovich’s strict prohibition: no nuts in the house. He and both children had a severe allergy. Even a minor amount could trigger a dangerous reaction.

Elena hurriedly went to find Svetlana. The mistress was just trying on a new dress in front of the living room mirror.

“Svetlana, excuse me, but the cake contains nuts. This could be dangerous for the children,” the cook cautiously informed her.

“I thought you were a cooking expert, not a doctor,” Svetlana snapped, adjusting the folds on her dress. “Stick to your duties.”

“But they really have a serious allergy. There was even a hospitalization last year…”

“Enough!” the mistress abruptly cut her off. “I know what to feed my family. Your job is to follow instructions.”

Elena returned to the kitchen, her heart squeezed by anxiety. Something about Svetlana’s behavior seemed suspicious. Could she have deliberately chosen a cake with nuts? To spite the children? Or was there another reason?

Checking the clock, Elena realized there was no time to ponder. Guests were due to arrive within an hour, and there was still the main course and appetizers to prepare. The cook tried to focus on her work, but her thoughts kept returning to the potentially dangerous dessert.

After a while, Lisa peeked into the kitchen.

“Elena, can I stay here?” the girl asked quietly. “I’ve already done my homework.”

“Of course, dear,” the cook responded softly. “Just be careful—there’s a lot of hot stuff.”

 

Lisa nodded and settled in her favorite spot—a high stool by the window. Elena watched her discreetly. The girl used to always happily help in the kitchen, but now she just sat there, afraid to move too much.

It was time to move the cake to the serving table. Elena carefully lifted the box and headed towards the exit. Passing by the sink, she ‘accidentally’ stumbled. The box slipped from her hands and fell to the floor with a dull thud. The lid flew off, turning the cake into a chaotic mess of cream and sponge.

“What have you done?!” Svetlana’s icy voice came from behind.

Elena turned around. The mistress stood in the doorway, her face twisted with fury.

“Sorry, it was an accident,” the cook replied calmly, though her heart was pounding. “I’ll clean it up.”

Svetlana glared at Elena in a way that seemed to make the air crackle with tension. Lisa shrank fearfully on her stool.

“Clean up this mess,” Svetlana hissed. “And prepare a replacement. Quickly!”

When the mistress left, Elena began cleaning up the cake remains. Her hands trembled slightly—she knew her action would not go without consequences, but she saw no other way out.

Three days passed. Dmitry Viktorovich returned unexpectedly earlier than planned, causing a storm of joy among the children. Igor and Lisa literally hung on their father, eager to be the first to share news from school.

“Alright, my little ones,” Dmitry Viktorovich smiled, “let me at least change clothes. Then you can tell me everything in detail.”

 

 

Elena, watching this scene from the kitchen, involuntarily smiled. With the return of the master, the house seemed to come to life, filled with children’s laughter and warmth. Even Svetlana temporarily removed her mask of perpetual dissatisfaction, portraying the exemplary wife and stepmother.

But by nightfall, the situation drastically changed. Elena was just finishing dinner preparations when the kitchen door burst open with a loud bang. Svetlana appeared in the threshold—her face flushed with bright rouge, her eyes sparkling ominously.

“Thief!” the mistress shrieked, rapidly moving towards the cook. “I know for a fact you did it!”

“What are you talking about?” Elena asked, perplexed, involuntarily taking a step back.

Instead of answering, Svetlana abruptly grabbed the cook by her blouse and began to shake her, not giving her a moment to recover. “Where is it? Where did you hide it?” she screamed, continuing to rummage through Elena’s pockets and folds of clothing.

The noise attracted other staff members: maid Vera, gardener Stepan, and driver Andrey. All of them watched the unfolding scene with bewilderment.

“I didn’t take anything,” Elena firmly declared, trying to free herself from Svetlana’s grip.

“You’re lying!” the mistress shouted, completely losing control of herself. “I saw you digging through my things! Get out of my house! You’re fired!”

Seizing Elena by the arm, Svetlana dragged her towards the exit. At that moment, Dmitry Viktorovich suddenly appeared in the kitchen. The master froze at the door, not believing his eyes.

“What’s happening here?” he asked sternly, shifting his gaze from his wife to the cook.

Svetlana immediately let go of Elena’s arm and turned to her husband, adopting an expression of indignation. “Dima, I caught her!” she blurted out, pointing a trembling finger at the cook. “She tried to steal my jewelry! Can you imagine? We trusted her!”

Dmitry Viktorovich frowned: “Which jewelry specifically?”

“My diamond bracelet!” Svetlana exclaimed theatrically, flailing her arms. “I noticed her lurking around our bedroom. And then the bracelet disappeared!”

Elena silently observed the scene, feeling a lump rise in her throat. How much deceit and falsehood were in the mistress’s words.

“Dmitry Viktorovich,” she spoke quietly but firmly, “I didn’t take any jewelry. But there’s something you need to know.”

Svetlana quickly turned to the cook: “Shut up! Don’t you dare justify yourself!”

“It’s related to the cake ordered for the festive dinner three days ago,” Elena continued, looking directly into the master’s eyes. “It contained nuts. I knew it was extremely dangerous for you and the children, so I deliberately dropped it. But your wife simply ignored my warnings.”

A heavy silence hung in the kitchen. Dmitry Viktorovich slowly shifted his gaze to his wife. Svetlana paled, sweat beads appearing on her forehead.

“It’s… it’s a misunderstanding,” she stammered, stumbling over her words. “I just didn’t know…”

“You didn’t know?” Dmitry Viktorovich’s voice became cold and harsh. “Didn’t know about the allergy that I’ve explained to you dozens of times? About how even the slightest amount of nuts can have serious consequences?”

“I thought it was an exaggeration,” Svetlana attempted to smile. “Besides, the children might not have even tried that cake that evening…”

“Might not have tried?” Dmitry Viktorovich’s voice grew louder and sharper. “You endangered the safety of my children! For what? For some empty show?”

The assembled kitchen staff silently watched the unfolding drama. Maid Vera covered her mouth with her hand, while driver Andrey shook his head disapprovingly.

“Dima, let me explain…” Svetlana began, but her husband interrupted her: “No, now you listen to me. Pack your things and leave the house. Right now.”

“What?” Svetlana nervously chuckled. “You can’t do that…”

“I can,” Dmitry Viktorovich said calmly but firmly. “And that’s exactly what I’m doing now. Your presence here is no longer bearable.”

Svetlana helplessly looked around, hoping to find some support, but encountered only cold or turned-away faces. With a noisy sigh, she turned on her high heels and swiftly exited the kitchen.

As her steps faded in the corridor, Dmitry Viktorovich slowly sat down on a chair. “Elena,” he broke the long silence. “Thank you. For the truth, for caring about the children… for everything. Did Svetlana accuse you of theft because of this situation?”

“It’s simply my duty,” the cook replied reservedly.

 

“No,” the master shook his head. “It’s much more than just a duty. I’d like to offer you a new position—head of the kitchen. Of course, with a corresponding salary increase.”

Elena barely held back tears: “Thank you, Dmitry Viktorovich. I accept your offer.”

That same evening, Svetlana left the house, taking her belongings. The children, learning what had happened, didn’t even bother to come out to say goodbye to their stepmother.

Gradually, the atmosphere in the house began to change. Igor and Lisa started to enjoy life again, their laughter once again filled every corner of the dwelling. They often stopped by the kitchen, helping Elena cook and trying new dishes.

And Elena, watching the happy faces of the children, was reassured each time: her decision was right. Sometimes, a small, seemingly simple act committed for the sake of good can prevent serious consequences and protect those who truly need protection.

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

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

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

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

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

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What did you say?” Anna froze, feeling a chill inside. Sergey stood by the door, tightly clutching a bunch of keys. His normally lively face had frozen into a mask of irritation.

“I can’t live like this anymore,” he repeated in a tone devoid of emotion. “Neither can I, nor mom. Pack up the kids and move to Lipovka. Grandma’s house is still standing, the roof intact. You’ll survive somehow.”

Anna looked at him as if he were a stranger. Ten years of life together, three children—and such a verdict. A dying village, where only a few houses remained, with no shops and even decent roads.

“Why…” she began, but she was interrupted.

“Because I’m tired,” Sergey looked away. “Of the constant reproaches, of the endless whining, of you just sitting at home with the kids. Mom is right: you’ve become a hen. I don’t recognize the woman I once married.”

Tears welled up in her throat, but Anna held them back. The children were sleeping behind the wall—Masha and Alyosha, and the eldest, Kirill, probably heard everything.

“Where will I work? What will we live on?” her voice was barely audible. Sergey threw an envelope on the table.

“There’s some money for the first time. And the house documents—it’s been in your name for a long time. If you’re so independent, prove it now.”

He turned around and, without uttering another word, left the room. A minute later, the front door slammed.

Anna slowly sank into a chair. One nonsensical memory spun in her head: “I baked his favorite apple pie. For breakfast.”

The house greeted them with a musty cold. Anna entered, holding sleepy Masha in her arms, and felt her heart squeeze. Her childhood had passed here—summer visits to her grandmother, the smell of fresh bread, herbs in the attic, apples in the cellar. Now it was just dust, cobwebs, and a taste of abandonment.

Kirill, serious beyond his years, went inside and flung open the shutters. Through the dirty windows, rays of April sun broke through, illuminating the dust motes in the air.

“It’s cold here,” complained Alyosha, wrapping his arms around himself. “We’ll light the stove soon, it will get warmer,” Anna tried to sound confident. “Kirill, will you help mom?” The boy nodded, not looking at her. He had been silent all the way since he heard the last conversation of his parents.

Fortunately, the old stove was in working order. As the flames began to lick the birch logs and the room filled with warmth, Anna felt a little more relaxed.

“Mom, are we staying here long?” Alyosha asked, examining old photographs on the wall. “I don’t know, baby,” she honestly replied. “Let’s settle in, then we’ll decide.”

They spent the first night all together in grandma’s wide bed. The children quickly fell asleep, exhausted by the move. And Anna lay awake, staring at the ceiling, pondering what had brought her to such a fate.

In the morning, freeing herself from the embrace of the sleeping children, she went out into the yard. The plot was overgrown with weeds. The apple trees, once bearing rich harvests, now stood gnarled, with broken branches. The old barn was leaning, and the well was covered with moss.

Anna surveyed her new domain and, unexpectedly for herself, laughed bitterly, desperately. Here it was, her inheritance. Her new beginning.

The first days in the village seemed like an endless nightmare. Each morning she woke up hoping to find herself in the apartment, to hear the noise of the coffee machine and Sergey’s voice.

“Mom, when will dad come for us?” Masha asked, accustomed to Sunday walks with her father. “Soon, little one,” Anna replied, not knowing how to explain what she herself did not understand.

The phone was silent. Sergey ignored her calls. Once, a brief message came: “You have everything you need. Give me time.”

Time. What was he hoping for? That he would realize how bad it was without his family? Or, conversely, that he would completely erase them from his life?

By the end of the first week, it became clear that the money Sergey left would not last long. The stove needed repairs, the roof needed fixing, and food had to be bought. But the worst discovery was that there simply was no work in the village.

“Maybe we should return to the city?” suggested Polina Ivanovna, one of the few neighbors in Lipovka. Anna shook her head: “There’s nowhere to return to. But here, at least, there’s a roof over our heads.”

That day she decided to clear the garden. The land, neglected for years, was overgrown with weeds, but Anna remembered how generous her grandmother’s plots had been.

“Kirill, can you help?” she addressed her eldest. The boy just nodded, still silent and aloof.

They worked together, pulling out weed roots and breaking up heavy clumps of earth. Hands, accustomed to light housework and the computer keyboard, quickly became covered with calluses. By evening, her back ached, and her shoulders hurt as if seized by a cramp. But they had managed to clear only a small patch of land.

“Ma,” Kirill unexpectedly broke the days of silence. “Why are we doing this?”

“To plant vegetables: potatoes, carrots, tomatoes,” Anna began to explain.

“No, I mean something else,” the son interrupted. “Why are we even here? Why don’t we return home? What happened between you and dad?”

Anna straightened up, wiping sweat with the back of her hand. How to explain the truth to a child? Admit that his father had abandoned them? Tell him about the long-standing grievances of Sergey’s mother, who always considered her unworthy of her son? Or admit that he might have another woman?

“We need time to think it all over,” she cautiously answered. “Sometimes adults need to be apart to understand…”

“To understand if they love each other,” Kirill finished for her. His voice carried such mature bitterness that Anna’s heart clenched. “Is it because of that lady? The one who was at our party?”

Anna froze. Valeriya—tall, elegant, Sergey’s companion. “Just a colleague,” he had said when she suspected him of coming home too late.

“Perhaps,” she honestly admitted. “But remember: dad loves the three of you. And I… I will do everything possible to make it good for you, even here.”

Kirill looked at her intently, then suddenly stepped forward and hugged her. His embrace was strong, almost manly.

“We’ll manage, mom,” he confidently said. “You and me. And we’ll definitely raise the little ones.”

That night, after the children fell asleep, Anna sat by the window for a long time, gazing at the stars—large, bright, nothing like the city ones. For the first time since moving to Lipovka, she felt not despair, but a strange inner peace. As if the earth under the old house was giving her strength.

From that day on, she worked in the garden every day, now together with Alyosha and Masha. The children, who had been fussy before, suddenly became excited about the idea of creating a “special harvest.” Masha even made a plan for the future garden, where flowers had to grow between the beds—”to make it beautiful, like in a park.”

One day, the shovel suddenly hit something hard, making a metallic sound.

“A root?” guessed Alyosha, approaching closer.

Anna carefully cleared the dirt with her hands and froze. In her palm shone a round object the size of a coin, but more massive and clearly ancient. She wiped it on her jeans, clearing it of dirt, and saw a man’s profile—possibly a king.

“Mom, is it a treasure?” Masha whispered in awe, peering over her shoulder.

“I don’t think so,” smiled Anna. “Just an old coin. Maybe grandma accidentally lost it once.”

But an inner voice whispered that Grandma Vera was too meticulous to lose coins in the garden.

The coin went into her pocket, and work continued. Half an hour later, the shovel clanged against something hard again. This time they found three coins, similar to the first.

By evening, their collection had grown by twelve findings, scattered across the cleared plot.

After the children fell asleep, Anna took out the coins and spread them on the table. Under the lamp light, she carefully examined the dates—1897, 1899. The imperial era, she guessed. A golden imperial? She vaguely remembered grandpa’s stories about these rare coins.

She spent the night sleepless, pondering the find. If these were really gold, how much could they be worth? Where did they come from? And most importantly—was there more?

The next morning, she called the only person who could help—Uncle Viktor, her father’s brother, living in the neighboring district center.

“Uncle Vitya,” she began uncertainly. “I found old coins on Grandma Vera’s plot. They’re yellow, heavy, with a profile…”

“Golden emperors?” he interrupted, and his voice filled with excitement. “Anya, are they really them?”

“I don’t know, Uncle Vitya,” she answered. “But they seem gold…”

“Stay home,” he said sternly. “Don’t tell anyone. I’ll be there in three hours.”

He arrived right on time, driving up to the house in an old “Niva.” Bearded, in a worn jacket, but with lively eyes. Anna hadn’t seen him for three years, since Aunt Lena’s funeral.

Uncle Viktor took one coin, turned it in his hands, and even checked it with his tooth.

“Gold,” he declared. “And not just gold, but a real collectible value. Anya, do you even realize what you’ve found?”

She shook her head.

“It’s a treasure, a real treasure,” he announced, sitting down. “Each coin is worth a lot of money. And if there are more…”

“Where did they come from?” Anna wondered. “Grandma never had gold.”

Viktor smirked.

“Don’t you know? But how could you… Your grandma Vera married a local guy, Ivan Krasnov. But before that, she belonged to another family—the Levitskys. Before the revolution, they were wealthy, owned a mill and a large estate. When the Bolsheviks came, old Levitsky, they say, buried all his savings somewhere on his land. And then they shot him as a kulak. Only his daughter, your great-grandmother, was spared because she was a child.”

“And no one looked for this gold?” Anna was surprised.

“Of course, they did,” Uncle replied. “There were legends about the Levitsky treasure. Just no one knew the exact place. There was a lot of land after all.”

Anna frowned:

“But why did this land end up with Grandma Vera?”

“After the war, when they were creating collective farms, the land was redistributed. Vera, as a direct descendant of the Levitskys, was allocated this plot—the very one where we’re sitting now. Maybe someone in the village council knew the family history.”

At that moment, the children, playing in the yard, made a noise. Kirill was digging under an old apple tree, and from Masha’s excited screams, it was clear—they had made a new discovery.

By evening, the table held twenty-eight gold coins, a massive church cross, and three elegant gold pendants with precious stones.

“What now?” Anna asked thoughtfully, looking at the treasures.

Uncle Viktor stroked the stubble on his chin:

“By law, you’re obliged to report the find to the state. You’re entitled to a reward—up to half the value. But…”

“But?” she repeated.

“If we go by the scattered coins, the treasure is extensive. Archaeologists might come, dig everything up, and compensation will be paid out slowly. And there’s no guarantee they’ll value it correctly.”

Anna looked at the glittering gold in the lamp light. Each coin carried a history that had survived the revolution, war, and the Soviet era. This treasure could completely change her life and her children’s lives.

“I need to think,” she said quietly.

Uncle left, promising to keep the secret until she made a decision. Before leaving, he connected her with an antiquarian from the regional center who could evaluate the find confidentially.

“Alexander Petrovich is reliable,” he assured. “He doesn’t ask too many questions.”

Two days later, Anna was in the small office of an antique shop, watching an elderly man carefully examine one of the coins through a magnifying glass.

“Gold imperial from 1897, excellent preservation,” he muttered. “In the market now… well, at least three hundred thousand per piece. Considering the collectible value…”

Anna’s head spun. Three hundred thousand per one coin? And she had over thirty already, and that was just the beginning.

“For the whole set you showed me, I’m ready to offer ten million,” the antiquarian said, putting away the magnifying glass. “Cash. Right now.”

Ten million. An amount that could solve all problems. Buy a house in a cozy town, ensure a good education for the kids, forget about financial worries for years to come.

“I need to think,” she replied, though an inner voice screamed: “Agree!”

On the way back to Lipovka, she couldn’t stop thinking about the antiquarian’s offer. Was it legal? Was it ethical? And if there were more treasures hidden on the plot?

In the evening, Sergey called—the first call in almost two weeks.

“How are you there?” he asked coldly, without his usual warmth.

“Fine,” she replied, trying to maintain calm. “The kids miss you.”

Pause.

“I miss them too. Maybe I’ll take them for the weekend?”

“Without me?”

“Anna,” his voice tinged with irritation, “don’t start. I want to see my kids. It’s not up for discussion.”

She took a deep breath to calm down.

“Fine. When will you come?”

“Friday after work.”

After a short conversation with the children—Masha cried, hearing her father, Alyosha talked about the garden, and Kirill remained laconic—Sergey spoke to her again:

“Listen, mom wants to sell the cottage. She’s offering you to move there. Closer to the city, to civilization…”

Anna felt anger boiling inside her.

“So first you kicked us out of the apartment, and now you’re offering charity from your mother?” she asked quietly. “Thanks, but we’re comfortable here.”

“What does ‘comfortable’ mean?” Sergey was surprised. “You’re in an abandoned village with three kids, no job, no future…”

“I have a future,” she answered. “And I’ll find work. Don’t worry.”

She didn’t understand why she lied. Maybe pride didn’t allow her to admit he was right. Or maybe the gold coins, hidden in a tin can, gave her confidence.

“Alright, decide for yourself,” Sergey said after a pause. “Just think of the kids. They need a normal life, school, friends…”

“And they don’t need a father?” she couldn’t hold back. “Or is your new woman so good she’s ready to replace their mother?”

Sergey sighed:

“So, Kirill told you… Anna, it’s a complicated situation. Valeriya has nothing to do with it. We’re just different people. I’m striving forward, and you…”

“And what about me?” she interrupted. “Became a housewife because you insisted on a third child? Left my career because your mother thought a successful businessman’s wife shouldn’t work? Or because my literature teacher’s salary seemed ridiculous next to your income?”

“Let’s not,” Sergey said tiredly. “I’ll be there for the kids on Friday at six.”

After the conversation, Anna sat on the porch for a long time, staring at the stars. She didn’t feel the pain that had tormented her in the first days of separation. Instead, a firm determination was growing inside her.

In the morning, she took up the shovel again. By evening, they had found five more coins. And then, while digging a spot for a compost heap, Kirill stumbled upon a metal object.

It was an old safe—rusty but still sturdy. Together—Anna, Kirill, and two neighbors called for help—they managed to extract it from the ground.

“Such safes were used in stores,” noted Uncle Kolya, a former blacksmith. “A reliable thing, German-made.”

The lock didn’t give in right away. They had to call Uncle Kolya again, this time with a grinder. When the massive door finally opened, Anna asked the neighbors to leave, lying about possible dangerous finds inside—weapons or wartime ammunition.

Inside were canvas bags. Dozens of small knots the size of a fist. The first one she untied with trembling hands was filled with gold coins. The second contained the same. The third—jewelry with precious stones.

“Mom, are we rich now?” Alyosha asked in astonishment, examining the shiny items with wide-open eyes.

“I don’t know,” Anna honestly answered. “But we definitely have opportunities.”

That night she didn’t sleep a wink, weighing her options. Sell everything secretly through the antiquarian? Report to the state and get a lawful share? Or was there a third way?

In the morning, she called Uncle Viktor.

“I found a safe,” she started without preamble. “There’s an incredible amount of valuables inside. But I don’t want to sell everything at once. And I don’t want to break the law.”

“What are you suggesting?” Uncle asked cautiously.

“I want to open a small museum here in Lipovka. A museum of the Levitsky family history. With part of the exhibits from the treasure.”

There was a long silence on the other end of the line.

“Are you serious?” he finally said. “Anya, there are millions there! Maybe even tens of millions!”

“I know,” she agreed, though he couldn’t see her. “And I will officially declare the find. I’ll get my share—that will be enough for a life and education for the kids. And the rest… The rest should stay here. In this land. Maybe it will attract tourists and help revive Lipovka.”

“You’re crazy,” Uncle Viktor sighed. “But damn brave crazy.”

On Friday evening, exactly at six o’clock, Sergey’s black SUV pulled up to the house. The kids, already gathered and excitedly thrilled, ran out to meet him.

Sergey looked tired and lost. He hugged the kids, kissed Masha, ruffled Alyosha’s hair. Kirill, however, greeted him coldly, challenging his father with his gaze.

“Hello,” Sergey nodded to Anna when she came out onto the porch. His gaze lingered on the house. “Did you start renovations?”

Anna followed his gaze. Indeed, in the last few days, the old house had transformed: new shutters made by Uncle Kolya, a painted porch, cleaned paths, neat beds in the yard with the first sprouts.

“A little,” she shrugged. “We need to live somehow.”

Sergey shuffled from foot to foot, clearly embarrassed by the changes.

“Mom, can we show dad our treasure?” Alyosha suddenly suggested, and Anna tensed, throwing a warning glance at her son.

“What treasure?” Sergey was surprised.

“Just a children’s one,” she quickly made up. “Found an old box in the barn. There are Soviet badges, old coins. A real treasure for them.”

Kirill looked at his mother intently, then shifted his gaze to his father:

“Dad, is it time to go? You probably have plans.”

Something in his son’s voice made Sergey freeze. He surveyed the yard, the old house, his ex-wife’s face—and suddenly said:

“You… you’ve settled in nicely here. Can I come in for a minute? Have some tea?”

Anna hesitated for just a second:

“Come in. I just baked a pie. With apples.”

On Sunday evening, when Sergey returned the kids, he seemed even more lost. The kids, on the other hand, glowed with happiness—two days in the city with their father, full of entertainment and gifts, had returned their previous carefree nature.

“Can I talk to you for a minute?” he asked when the kids ran into the house to show Grandma Polina their new toys.

They walked to the old apple tree—the very one under which they had recently found the safe, now safely hidden in the basement.

“Anna, I…” Sergey began, hesitating. “I’ve been thinking a lot these days. About us, about the kids. About what happened.”

She was silent, looking somewhere past him.

“Valeriya… We broke up,” he suddenly blurted out. “It was a mistake from the start. I thought I was suffocating in our marriage, that I needed novelty, brightness. But when I saw you here, I realized I lost the most important thing.”

 

“And what is that?” she asked quietly.

“Family. Home. You,” he looked her straight in the eyes. “I want to get it all back. To have you return to the city. To our apartment.”

Anna looked at the man she had loved for ten years. Handsome, successful, confident. Now he looked so lost. Before, she would have given anything to hear these words. But now…

“Sergey,” she calmly said. “We won’t return to the city. At least, not yet.”

“What? Why?” He seemed genuinely shocked. “It’s emptiness here! The village is slowly dying, the school is ten kilometers away, there’s no work…”

“Everything will change soon,” Anna replied with a slight smile. “I’m creating a museum. A small, private one. And I’ve been offered to restore the local library. Maybe I’ll start teaching again—run a literature club for children from neighboring villages.”

“But… where are the funds? How are you organizing all this?” His voice sounded bewildered.

Anna looked at the ground under their feet—dark, fertile, keeping its secrets.

“You once said that I should show independence,” she gently reminded him. “So, I’m showing it. I have… opportunities. More than you think.”

Sergey was silent, clearly not understanding what was happening.

“I’m not saying ‘never,’” she added, softening her tone. “I’m saying ‘not yet.’ The kids are doing well here. They’re in fresh air, learning to work, seeing the results of their efforts. Kirill smiled for the first time in a long time. Alyosha stopped being afraid of nature. And Masha… didn’t you notice how her curls play in the sun?”

“And what are you suggesting?” There was hurt in his voice. “That I move here? To the wilderness?”

“Why?” she was surprised. “Your business is in the city. But you can come on weekends. Continue to be part of their lives. Part of our lives. And we’ll decide together from there.”

He looked at her as if seeing her for the first time. In front of him was no longer the former Anna—soft, submissive, constantly doubting. She had become someone else: confident, calm, with an inner light he couldn’t explain.

“You’ve changed,” he finally admitted.

“Yes,” she nodded. “Perhaps it had to be this way.”

A year later

Anna stood at the entrance to the new museum, welcoming another group of tourists. “The History of the Levitsky Family,” read the sign above the ancient log house, restored from archival drawings.

“Welcome to Lipovka,” she warmly greeted guests from the capital. “Our museum tells a story of how treasures can wait not only in the ground but also in the roots of a family…”

Over the past year, Lipovka had transformed. New homes appeared where there had been abandoned plots. The old mill, thanks to a grant obtained through a history professor from the regional university, now operated as a museum complex. A cozy cafe-library opened in Anna’s house, where locals gathered in the evenings for readings and discussions.

She officially reported the treasure find a month after the first coin. An archaeological expedition that came to Lipovka found not only the safe but other valuables hidden by the Levitsky family from the Bolsheviks. Half of the treasures by law went to the state, the other half—to Anna as the landowner.

The money from the sale of part of the gold was invested in the development of the village. Together with like-minded people, she created a fund for the restoration of historical heritage. Interest in the history of the Levitskys attracted tourists and then investors.

“And here is the main exhibit of our museum,” she pointed to a glass showcase, where lay a worn diary. “This is Alexander Levitsky’s notebook, found along with the treasures. He wrote: ‘My wealth will bring no joy to those who seek only material gain. But it will change the life of those who see in it a chance to build a future.’”

The tourists carefully examined the exhibits. From the next room came the voice of Kirill—a thirteen-year-old boy who had become a true connoisseur of Lipovka’s history and conducted tours for children’s groups.

Sergey’s black SUV appeared on the road precisely at three o’clock in the afternoon, as always. Now he came every Friday after lunch and left late on Sunday evening. Although Anna offered him to stay at the house, he preferred a room at Polina Ivanovna’s: “We need to move step by step.”

Their relationship was gradually restored—through conversations, joint walks, work on the land, family evenings. Sergey, who had once been uncomfortable with rural simplicity, discovered a new passion: crafting, working with his hands, spending time with the kids without urban hustle.

“Hello,” he smiled, approaching the museum. “How’s my favorite director?”

“Great,” she replied, extending a hand, which he carefully grasped. “Today we received a letter from the Ministry of Culture. We’ve been included in the ‘Golden Ring of Small Towns’ tour.”

“Congratulations!” he rejoiced. “That’s great news! By the way, remember the eco-tourism project? Investors agreed. We’ll be building glamping by the lake.”

They walked along the village street, now paved with cobblestones and decorated with young linden trees. They talked about business, kids, plans. Like old friends. Like partners. And possibly, as people ready to start anew.

“Seryozha, do you ever regret?” she suddenly asked, stopping by the old apple tree, under which their new journey had once begun. “That everything turned out this way?”

He pondered, looking at the blossoming branches.

“I regret the pain caused,” he honestly admitted. “I regret my blindness and selfishness. But I don’t regret that we ended up here. Sometimes you need to lose something to realize how valuable it is.”

Anna smiled, looking at the ground under the apple tree. This land had given her not only material wealth but something much more important—strength, confidence, a new beginning.

“Mom! Dad!” came the children’s voices. “Hurry up! Uncle Viktor brought new seedlings for our garden!”

Anna and Sergey looked at each other and, as if by an invisible signal, took hands.

Beneath their feet, the earth held many more secrets. But the most precious gold was not what remained in the basement. The true treasure was their new life—for them, for the children, for the entire revived village.

The old apple tree, remembering several generations of the family, quietly rustled its leaves, as if nodding in approval. Their choice was right.