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The mother-in-law sent her daughter-in-law to pick mushrooms in a deserted fir forest, but she did not return alone.

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You do understand that this isn’t even up for discussion, right?” The woman in a terry robe, with a towel carelessly wrapped around her head, walked past her husband, dropping the remark as if it were about choosing a restaurant for dinner.

The man, engrossed in his laptop screen, barely looked up. He might have seemed completely focused, but anyone who knew him well would have understood immediately: he was just putting off the conversation.

“What exactly is ‘not up for discussion’?” Vlad removed his glasses and looked attentively at his wife. Without them, his face looked more stern, as if he was trying to decipher the hidden meaning behind her casual phrasing.

“You will pay for Marina’s wedding,” Irina’s voice sounded as cheerful as if she was announcing a lottery win.

“Sorry, what?” Vlad chuckled and leaned back in his chair.

“Yes, the whole wedding, completely,” she removed her towel and began fussing with her hair, teasing it aimlessly.

“Sorry, I must be missing something. At which family meeting was it decided that I am specifically obligated to sponsor this celebration?”

The walls of the living room, painted in a warm gray-green hue, seemed to freeze in anticipation. The room was functional but cozy, like those apartments described on internet forums as “nothing superfluous.” On a shelf stood books and several photographs, among which their wedding photo particularly stood out. Vlad always compared that day to the beginning of building a house: the foundation was solemnly laid, but no one knew how many more stones would have to be moved to finish it.

“It’s a family tradition,” Irina continued confidently, as if talking about age-old customs.

“Which family? Ours?” Vlad lifted his glasses and looked at her from top to bottom. “We live on Earth, in this city, within these four walls, and this is the first I’ve heard of such a ‘family regulation’.”

His wife, as usual, radiated confidence. Every one of her movements was precise, her voice impeccable. She spoke as if she knew the answers to all questions in advance.

“You’re the man, you’re the head of the family. Therefore, you’re obliged to help,” she stated, as if explaining a simple truth to a child.

“Yes, of course, I’m ready to help. Twenty thousand rubles—a perfectly reasonable amount for such an occasion.”

Irina raised her eyebrows in surprise, as if she had just heard a suggestion to replace the banquet with sandwiches.

“Vlad, do you hear yourself? What twenty thousand? You might as well have suggested sending a postcard!”

“Irina, let’s be specific. Is this a question of budget—your personal view of fairness or another fantasy? The fifty thousand I planned to allocate already seemed heroic to me, and you’re talking about four hundred thousand. Four hundred?! Are you serious?”

Vlad raised his voice, but immediately checked himself. Despite his external charisma, his nerves sometimes failed him. “Calm down, don’t lose it,” he reminded himself mentally.

“In our family,” Irina softly continued, as if the whole affair was just a misunderstanding, “it’s customary to help relatives. Mom helped Aunt Lena, dad paid for half of the car for his brother… It’s normal.”

“I’ve heard that, yes. But where in this scheme does the word ‘ability’ fit? The budget isn’t a whim—it’s reality. Sure, we’re not in besieged Leningrad, but four hundred thousand just so someone can get married? Seriously?”

Irina sat on the sofa, abruptly falling silent. Her hands automatically smoothed the folds of her robe, and her gaze remained direct and piercing.

“It’s a matter of principle, right?” She squinted. “You just don’t care about my family?”

“No, not at all!” Vlad exhaled angrily. “I’m happy for Marina. Let her get married, I’ll even write a toast. Maybe even with rhymes. But don’t turn me into an endless source of money!”

A short silence followed, which only sharpened the tension. Vlad stood up and began pacing the room, like an animal trapped in a cage.

“Alright. Suppose. Here’s twenty thousand. That’s the maximum I can afford. Understand this, finally.”

“Dear,” Irina said coldly. “Marina won’t forget this. And neither will I, probably…”

Several days later.

Vera Stepanovna settled into her favorite armchair by the window, enjoying the last rays of the evening sun. Her home always seemed like a real refuge to Vladislav—here, permeated with the scents of home baking and herbal collections, even the most severe troubles remained outside. After the recent conversation with his wife, this place became especially significant to him.

“Mom, you won’t believe,” he started, trying to maintain a light tone, as if talking about the weather. “She demanded that I pay for her sister’s wedding. In full! As if I just received a five-million bonus for special achievements.”

His mother lazily stirred her tea spoon before responding:

“Really? Did she seriously say that? Maybe it was about a gift or some symbolic help? After all, it’s normal—to make something nice for the young ones.”

Vera Stepanovna might have been outraged in the past, but years had made her more serene and philosophical. Now, her gentle voice barely touched Vlad, evoking mixed feelings.

“No, mom, not about a gift,” he objected. “She literally said: ‘Pay for the wedding.’ As if that’s the sole purpose of my life.”

Sounds of running water and a creaking cabinet door came from the kitchen—it was his sister Galina, deciding to enhance the meeting with fresh pastries, peeking out from behind the doorway.

“Vlad, stop winding yourself up,” she said, shaking her head. “Maybe she was just joking? You know, women sometimes exaggerate. And you took it seriously.”

“A joke?” he asked, turning to his sister. “Irina’s tone left no room for doubt.”

But then he fell silent, pondering. Over these days, he had replayed their conversation in his mind multiple times, and it all seemed logical. However, now, hearing Galina’s words, he began to see the situation from a different angle.

“Wait,” he murmured, more to himself. “What if it really was a joke?”

Galina smiled, noticing his thoughtful look:

“Listen, Vlad, four hundred thousand for someone else’s wedding? Come on. Your wedding at least had something to do with you, but this is about her sister. It’s clearly a provocation. Besides, Ira loves such jokes.”

Vlad bit his lip, imagining the scene: Irina standing in front of the mirror in her favorite robe, suppressing laughter, uttering that phrase with the most serious expression. He, a man practical to the bone, immediately took her words at face value.

“Well, there you have it,” he finally admitted, exhaling as if he had lifted a heavy weight off his shoulders. “She definitely caught me off guard. If you’re right, Galina, this will be embarrassing—because I seriously discussed it.”

“Don’t worry, Vladik,” his sister winked, handing him a pastry. “When you find out the truth, you’ll laugh about it together. Just don’t get worked up in advance.”

Vera Stepanovna smiled faintly, continuing to stir her tea. She shook her head as if pondering how fate had matched such a strict and methodical son with a woman who obviously took life more lightly.

“Alright,” Vlad muttered, settling back into his armchair. “I’ll have to revisit this conversation at home. If she really was joking, I’m ready to apologize. The main thing is not to take every word she says so close to heart.”

For the first time in a long time, he laughed heartily. Suddenly, everything seemed much lighter. If he was wrong, at least it could become an excellent topic for a shared joke.

Several days later.

Vlad had just changed after work and settled comfortably on the sofa, intending to relax a bit. But his plans were not meant to come to fruition—the living room was suddenly occupied by Svetlana Grigoryevna. His mother-in-law always made an impression of a confident woman: impeccable appearance, clear speech, and the ability to tactfully impose her opinion. Her sudden visit caught Vlad off guard, though he tried not to show it. However, within a couple of minutes of conversation, all thoughts of relaxation evaporated.

“Vladislav, dear son-in-law,” she began in a soft but strictly organized tone, “you know that Marina, my younger daughter, is soon getting married, right?”

“Yes, I know,” he replied, tensing up, and immediately remembered the recent conversation with Irina. Then, he had written off her words as a joke, but now he realized that the topic was clearly serious.

“Excellent,” continued Svetlana Grigoryevna, turning to him with the expression of a person who already knows the outcome of the conversation. “In our family, there has always been a rule: we meet all important events together. Now that you’re part of our clan, this applies to you too. Marina’s wedding is a special moment for us, and you are obliged to help. It’s your family duty, Vladislav.”

Her motherly tone caused him inner tension, but he still tried to maintain composure.

“Of course, I’ll help,” he said evenly. “Irina mentioned this. I can contribute, say, thirty thousand. That’s a perfectly reasonable amount to support.”

But his words only caused a light head shake from the mother-in-law with a hint of reproach.

“Vlad, what are you talking about thirty thousand?” she countered. “You should take on the full expenses. A wedding is a major event. Marina is young, and their family can’t afford such expenses right now. I’m sure you can help.”

His light smile disappeared when he realized that the conversation would be much more difficult than he had anticipated.

“Excuse me, but pay for the entire wedding? Are you serious?” he asked, trying to control the growing irritation. “Let’s be honest: why me? What are my obligations towards the groom’s family?”

Svetlana Grigoryevna seemed to expect this question and answered without hesitation:

“Because you’re now part of our family, and it’s important to Irina. Family values are not just a declaration. If you want respect, you need to be ready for mutual support.”

“Alright,” Vlad nodded, thoughtfully looking at her. “And what about the groom’s family? Who are they? What are they contributing? Why does the burden fall entirely on me?”

This question made the mother-in-law pause for a moment, but she quickly found an answer:

“The groom is young, temporarily without means, his job is unstable. His parents… well, you understand. Therefore, we are counting on the help of the older sister and her husband, that is, you, Vlad.”

He sighed deeply, feeling irritation boiling inside.

“So, I paid for my own wedding completely, and now I’m supposed to pay for your Marina’s too? That’s too much,” he said, trying to speak calmly. “Let’s distribute the responsibility. If we’re helping, let’s do it together. Let the groom find funds. Let his relatives also contribute. But I definitely won’t be paying for everything. Thirty thousand maximum.”

Irina, who had been in the kitchen up until this moment, came into the living room, wiping her hands with a towel.

“Vlad, think about it, this is our family. Isn’t it logical to support?” she said softly.

“I support my relatives, but let’s be realistic,” he turned to his wife. “Your mother is asking me to finance a wedding for someone who is practically a stranger to me. Thirty thousand is my limit. If you want more, look for other sources.”

Svetlana Grigoryevna sharply rose, her face expressing more disappointment than anger.

“Well then, wonderful. Just remember, Vlad: that’s not how you act in a family,” she stated coldly. “I always thought you were understanding. It seems I was mistaken.”

She briefly went into the kitchen, whispered something to her daughter, then returned to the living room, threw one last look at her son-in-law, and left, slamming the door. Irina snorted discontentedly and retreated to the bedroom, leaving Vlad alone.

He sat on the sofa, examining his hands, and couldn’t understand how an ordinary evening had so quickly turned into such an unpleasant situation.

The evening turned out to be unusually tough. Vlad, wearily sitting at the kitchen table, held a mug with almost cooled tea. His gaze was fixed on one point on the wall—he was trying to calm down after the tense conversation with his mother-in-law. Irina, having finished cleaning, sat opposite her husband. Her eyes expressed determination: apparently, she decided to continue discussing her sister’s wedding.

“Vlad,” she began softly but confidently, “let’s discuss it again. I understand that today’s conversation with mom was unexpected for you, but we can afford to help. We have the means.”

He looked up at her. In his gaze, there was fatigue from endless explanations, but he decided to try again.

“Ira, I’ve already said,” he spoke calmly, “this money is meant for our family. It’s not a fund to assist Marina or her celebrations. We planned how to spend it long ago, and it concerns only the two of us.”

“But you understand,” she interrupted, “Marina is my sister. For me, she’s like a second daughter. We’ve always been close. She deserves a beautiful wedding. She and Oleg have been together for three years!”

Vlad thought for a few seconds, then responded, trying to be gentle but firm:

“Ira, I really understand your feelings for your sister, but let’s be realistic. Why should I take on all the responsibility for her wedding? Why should it rest solely on me when our finances are already tight?”

Irina frowned. It was hard for her to accept his position, though she understood that Vlad’s words made sense.

“We have savings,” she stubbornly countered. “The money is just sitting there.”

“Yes, there are savings,” Vlad agreed, “but let’s remember where they came from. Most of it—gifts from my family. My relatives. And what did your family offer? A microwave and a washing machine. Alright, those are useful things, but the money was gifted to us by my close ones. And now you want to spend it on your sister’s wedding? That’s absurd.”

His voice became a bit harsher than he intended, but his inner outrage took over. He didn’t like that his position was being challenged.

“You’re starting to keep track of gifts? That’s not nice, Vlad,” Irina sharply retorted. “This money belongs to both of us.”

“Yes, it’s ours,” he nodded, maintaining calm, “and I propose using it for us. Things aren’t smooth as is. My salary—forty-five thousand, yours—thirty. How will we live if we spread all our savings? We have loans, everyday expenses. What if a child comes along? Or an economic crisis? Have you thought about those scenarios?”

Irina’s eyes dimmed. Anger gave way to contemplation, but resentment still smoldered inside.

“It’s not that much money, Vlad,” she muttered. “We could have allocated a little to help…”

“We’ve already helped,” he interrupted. “I’m willing to give thirty thousand. That’s my maximum. But to fully pay for the wedding? No, Ira, that’s impossible. I’m not going to squander our family capital for someone else’s celebration.”

“Someone else’s?!” she exclaimed, jumping up from her chair. “Marina isn’t a stranger! She’s my sister, our family! How can you say that?!”

“Ira, let’s look at the situation soberly,” Vlad tried to calm her, raising his hand. “I have nothing against your sister. But why doesn’t anyone demand participation from her fiancé, Oleg? Where’s his contribution? Where’s his family’s help? Why does everything have to be resolved at my expense?”

Irina stood, clenching her fists.

“Because you always think only of yourself!” she shouted. “You could at least once show some generosity!”

Vlad slowly stood up, trying to control his emotions.

“I’m thinking of us, Ira,” he replied coldly. “Of us together. This wedding is not my obligation. If you think I’m stingy, maybe it’s worth considering why our priorities are so different. You know our income, our plans. And if your sister’s wedding is more important to you than our joint budget, then, perhaps, we need to have a serious talk.”

Irina turned away, wanting to end the dialogue. She felt mixed feelings: guilt mixed with irritation. Vlad added nothing further. He silently left the kitchen, leaving his wife alone among the silence, which now seemed especially oppressive.

The situation was becoming increasingly tense with each passing minute. Vlad was immersed in work, trying to finish an urgent report, when suddenly Marina appeared before him. Her sudden appearance and clearly set face made him wary. After a quick greeting, she went straight to the point, without any preamble.

“Vlad,” she began, trying to maintain an appearance of calm, “I came to talk about the wedding. You have to understand that the family always helps its own. It’s our tradition.”

Vlad looked up at his sister-in-law, feeling irritation starting to rise inside. He understood that this conversation was not going to be easy.

“Marina,” he said, pushing aside the documents to focus entirely on the interlocutor, “I’ve already told Irina, told your mom. I’m willing to help, but within reasonable limits. Thirty thousand—that’s the maximum I can allocate. But to fully pay for your wedding? No, sorry. It’s not my duty.”

Marina immediately darkened, her face flushed with indignation.

“How can you say ‘not your duty’?” she exclaimed. “You’re now part of our family! Why are you so stingy? Don’t you understand that we always help each other?”

Vlad sighed deeply, crossed his arms over his chest, and leaned back in his chair.

“Marina, I’m not stingy, I’m rational,” he replied calmly. “I’m ready to offer help, but no more than what I’ve already proposed. The money you so casually dispose of has its cost. It’s gifts given to us, Irina and me, for our wedding. They’re intended for us, not for you and Oleg. I think it’s extremely unfair to demand that I finance someone else’s wedding.”

Her reaction was immediate: Marina snorted, casting a scathing look at him.

“There’s nothing unfair here,” she retorted sharply. “If you had even a little generosity, you would do everything possible to support the family. But you… You don’t even respect our traditions. Honestly, I don’t understand how Irina could have married such… a petty man like you. She deserves better.”

These words struck Vlad painfully, provoking a surge of anger. However, instead of snapping, he decided to shift the conversation.

“Really?” he asked, dryly chuckling and leaning forward slightly. “Well, since we’ve started talking about the wedding, let’s talk about your fiancé, Oleg. Where is he now? Why should I take on the obligations for your wedding? If he’s such a worthy man as you portray him, why aren’t his family or he himself participating in this? Maybe it’s just more convenient for all expenses to fall on someone else’s shoulders? To me, that’s called a lack of responsibility.”

Marina clearly did not expect such a rebuttal. Her face turned even redder, and her eyes shifted from hurt to fury.

“Don’t you dare judge what and how!” she blurted out. “Oleg works as he can, but we’re currently facing financial difficulties. You just can’t understand that. And your stinginess—it’s really beyond the pale. You could help, but instead, you find reasons to insult my fiancé!”

Vlad allowed himself a short sarcastic laugh.

“Listen, Marina, I’m not here to solve your ‘temporary difficulties.’ But you know what? If you can’t afford a lavish wedding, no one is stopping you from just registering your relationship. Without extra costs, everything is simple. And if you want a ceremonial ceremony, perhaps you should have started saving in advance. And by the way, if Oleg can’t organize your celebration, you should think not about me but about his readiness to take on responsibility.”

His words finally drove her to the brink. Tears of offense sparkled in her eyes.

“You… You’re just a cold, heartless man!” she cried out. “I thought you at least respected our family a bit. Now I see you’re not ready to be part of it.”

“Marina,” Vlad’s voice turned icy, “I respect your family, but I’m not going to jeopardize my financial stability to satisfy someone’s excessive demands. Good luck to you and Oleg. And don’t come to me with this again.”

Not giving her a chance to respond, he demonstratively turned away. Marina abruptly rose, cast one last icy glance at him, and headed for the exit. Just by the door, she turned and, clenching her teeth, threw out:

“I don’t understand how Irina can live with you. You’re just pathetic.”

The door slammed shut, echoing in the room, leaving Vlad alone. A bitter smile appeared on his face, but it was evident that the conversation had left an unpleasant aftertaste. Another conflict that would undoubtedly add tension to family relations.

The morning at home greeted Vlad with noticeable tension. He woke up earlier than usual, feeling an internal heaviness after yesterday’s conflict. Sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee, he tried to focus on the upcoming workday, but his thoughts stubbornly returned to the quarrel with Irina. He couldn’t understand why she insisted so strongly that her sister’s wedding should become his personal responsibility.

Irina appeared from the bedroom after a while. Her gaze was cold and detached, and instead of a greeting, she just walked to the kitchen cabinet, carefully avoiding eye contact with her husband. The almost tangible tension in the air, and each of her steps, intensified his feelings of guilt mixed with a sense of injustice.

“Good morning,” he broke the silence, trying to defuse the atmosphere a bit. “How did you sleep?”

“Fine,” she responded curtly, not even turning around.

Vlad sighed heavily. He understood that the events of the previous evening had left a deep mark, and they were both on the verge.

“Listen, Ira,” he began cautiously, “I don’t want our relationship to be ruined over money. But I really think it’s wrong to take on the full payment of your sister’s wedding. It’s too much of a burden for us right now. We’re building our life, our home, and we might have our future expenses: children, health, unforeseen situations… I’m not refusing to help, but there are limits that need to be considered.”

Irina sat down opposite him with a cup of tea, glancing at him for a second before turning away again.

“You never understood how important it is to support each other in a family,” she said quietly. “Marina and I have always been very close. If one of us was in a tough spot, the other always came to help. I can’t just ignore her needs. And you… you choose money over our relationship, over the family.”

Inside, Vlad’s irritation boiled, but he suppressed the urge to respond sharply. He wanted to defend himself against what he felt were unfounded accusations, but he understood that would only exacerbate the situation.

“Ira, I’m not saying ‘no’ to helping,” he replied gently. “I’m just saying that this help should be reasonable. I’ve already offered thirty thousand. Isn’t that enough? Why can’t you see this as caring about our joint financial stability?”

“Because you’re doing it reluctantly,” she interrupted sharply. “You don’t really want to help. You’re just trying to get by with the minimum effort. It’s not what I asked you for.”

Vlad pressed his lips together and looked out the window to calm himself. He felt the tension between them growing, but he had no strength or desire to continue the argument.

“It seems we just see family obligations differently,” he said after a pause. “But I still love you, Ira. I really don’t want this conflict to affect our relationship. I hope you feel the same.”

Irina was silent for a long time, staring into her cup. After a few minutes, she quietly replied:

“I love you too. But I need time to figure out what to do next.”

Vlad nodded, understanding that nothing more could be changed right now. Rising from the table, he took his keys and headed to work. On the way, he pondered: Is there a compromise that could satisfy them both, or has this situation already left a crack in their relationship that could become deeper over time?

During the weekend, Vlad and Irina’s apartment was unusually noisy. Vera Stepanovna, Vlad’s mother-in-law, along with her younger daughter Marina, as usual, arrived without warning, but this time their intentions were more than obvious. Vlad, anticipating that the visit would again lead to a discussion about money, decided to take control of the situation. He silently got up, threw on his jacket, and headed for the exit.

“Vlad, where are you going? We haven’t finished yet!” Vera Stepanovna intercepted his movement, standing by the door and crossing her arms.

“If you’re going to talk about money again, let me warn you: there isn’t any. And even if there were, I wouldn’t give it,” Vlad declared calmly but firmly, meeting her disapproval with a direct look.

Marina, who had been watching from the couch, couldn’t stand it:

“So that’s it! When it comes to helping our family, you start twisting away? You’re just a miser, Vlad! You can’t even spare a small amount, although Irina says everything’s fine!” Her voice was full of indignation.

“Marina, calm down!” Vera Stepanovna tried to smooth the conflict, giving her daughter a stern look, but it was already too late.

“No, mom, let him explain how this can even be understood! He has the money, everything’s fine, but he just crushes my simple dream of a wedding! By the way, remind you that he didn’t pay for his own wedding either—it was our relatives who did!” Marina spitefully squinted.

These words elicited only a bitter smile from Vlad.

“Are you sure that’s how it was, Marina?” he asked, approaching her. “At least, my mom told a very different story. She took out a loan to cover the expenses for our wedding and then paid it off alone. Neither you nor your mother even offered her help then. And now you have the audacity to claim that your family paid for everything? That’s a lie, even to yourself.”

The room seemed to freeze. Vera Stepanovna frowned but said nothing. Vlad continued, now addressing the mother-in-law:

“And explain to me, Vera Stepanovna: if you consider me part of your family, why did no one from your side extend a helping hand when my sister Galina needed support? When my mom, paying off the loan for our wedding, was barely making ends meet?”

Irina, who had been silently watching the conversation until then, suddenly stirred:

“Vlad, enough! You’ve proved your point to everyone! Yes, they didn’t help back then, but that changes nothing! Can’t you just show some generosity? This money could help Marina create her happiness, and you don’t even want to listen!”

“Generosity?” Vlad turned to his wife. “And you think I didn’t show it when I spent part of the money gifted to us for our wedding on renovating the apartment, paying utilities, and buying furniture? Or forgot that it was with that money we paid for your long-awaited courses?”

“It doesn’t matter!” Irina sharply countered. “You always think only of yourself, but a real family doesn’t act like this!”

The atmosphere was getting tenser. Both raised their voices, and emotions were running high. Finally, Vera Stepanovna, whose tone was cold and merciless, took the floor:

“Vladislav, if you don’t agree to help Marina right now, we’ll have to acknowledge that you’re unworthy of being part of our family. We’ll never accept you again!”

These words made Vlad freeze. He looked incredulously at his mother-in-law, realizing that her ultimatum might have far more serious consequences.

“Are you saying that Irina will also leave me if I refuse? Is that your ‘not worthy’?” his voice grew louder, rising in pitch.

Vera Stepanovna was silent, clearly hoping that the pressure would work. But Vlad just narrowed his eyes, sensing a catch.

“If that’s your ultimatum, listen carefully: my decision remains the same. I won’t let you load your problems onto my shoulders. If you want to consider me stingy—fine. But to make my place in the family dependent on your demands—that’s too much.”

“Then I don’t want such a son-in-law in our family!” Marina flared up, supporting her mother. Her voice trembled with anger. “You’re destroying my happiness, Vlad! If it weren’t for you, we would have already started preparing for the wedding…”

“Marina, with that approach to happiness, only an empty shell will remain. Better to be called ‘stingy’ but keep respect for myself. And you should learn to rely on your own strengths, not use others,” Vlad cut her off, his face showing determination.

Vera Stepanovna nodded disapprovingly at her daughter, signaling that it was time to leave. Marina, boiling with rage, was the first to exit the apartment, throwing back:

“You’ll regret this, Vlad.”

Following her, Vera Stepanovna left without even giving Vlad a farewell glance. The door slammed with a loud click, leaving behind an oppressive silence.

Vlad slowly took off his jacket and tossed it over the back of a chair. Irina still sat on the couch, her eyes cast down. A deep chasm seemed to have formed between them, seemingly impossible to bridge.

The apartment was enveloped in oppressive silence. Vlad continued to stare at the closed door behind which Vera Stepanovna and Marina had disappeared. Then he slowly turned to Irina, who remained on the couch, staring at the floor. Her confusion was evident—she seemed not to know how to react to what had just happened.

“Irina,” he began, trying to keep his voice calm, although tension seeped through every word, “please explain to me what just happened? What exactly did your mother mean when she said: ‘either the money or you’re no longer a family member’? Does she mean that seriously? So now I’m just a wallet to you, which can be crossed out if I don’t meet the requirements?”

Irina raised her eyes, filled with embarrassment and confusion. For a few seconds, she was silent, clearly struggling to find the words.

“I… don’t know, Vlad. I myself don’t understand what she meant by that,” she replied, her voice slightly trembling. “I think mom just got angry at the moment. And… I don’t want to talk about this right now.”

“How can you ‘not want to’?” his eyebrows came together, and dissatisfaction in his voice became more noticeable. “This concerns both of us! She essentially put you in a position to choose between family and me. Do you realize that? Or do you prefer to pretend that nothing happened?”

Her face twisted in a grimace of pain. She quickly got up from the couch, turning away to avoid his penetrating gaze.

“Vlad, I really can’t discuss this right now. Do you hear me? Just… give me some time to come to terms with it, okay?” her voice was a bit louder than usual, as if she was trying to shout over her own thoughts.

“So, you’ll go to another room again to avoid dealing with the problem?” he asked, closely watching her reaction.

She remained silent, but her silence was eloquent.

A whole month had passed.

Vlad sat at the kitchen table, sipping coffee and lazily scrolling through the news on his phone. At that moment, Irina entered the room. She nervously adjusted her hair, shifted from foot to foot, and finally spoke:

“Vlad, I need to talk to you.”

He looked up, immediately noting her agitated state.

“I’m listening.”

Irina took a deep breath, gathering her thoughts.

“Remember when mom insisted that you finance Marina’s wedding? We had such a big fight then… So, mom said that now Marina won’t have a wedding at all. They broke up because they don’t have money, and mom thinks it’s your fault…”

Hearing this, Vlad slowly put down his phone on the table, fully aware that his wife was waiting for his reaction. He looked at her attentively, trying to determine whether she was joking, then unexpectedly burst out laughing.

“Wait a minute,” he said through laughter. “Now I’m officially the culprit of your sister’s family drama? And does that mean I’m no longer part of your mother’s family? Great! Does that mean Svetlana Grigoryevna won’t be visiting us anymore?”

Irina watched him with a slight sense of guilt, but when his laughter became contagious, she couldn’t help but smile.

“Vlad, I admit, I was wrong then, insisting on it so much. Sorry. You were right.”

She sat down opposite him and pulled a small brown document from her bag. Vlad raised an eyebrow in surprise.

“What’s this?” he asked.

Irina handed him the certificate with a wide smile.

“It’s my diploma from completing the courses that you insisted I take, and even paid for. I finished the program, and now I’ve been promoted at work!”

Vlad carefully examined the document, then joyfully looked up at his wife.

“Well done! That’s what it means to make the right choice. It was an investment not in someone’s wedding, but in you. This is what a real family is—you and me. Everyone else… they’re secondary.”

Irina pondered for a moment, then smiled and nodded.

“Yes, you’re absolutely right. We are our family.

My Husband and His Parents Demanded a DNA Test for Our Son — I Agreed, But What I Asked in Return Changed Everything

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My Husband and His Parents Demanded a DNA Test for Our Son — I Agreed, But What I Asked in Return Changed Everything

I never thought the man I loved—the father of my child—would ever look me straight in the eye and doubt that our son was his. Yet, there I was, sitting on our beige couch, cradling our tiny boy while my husband and his parents threw accusations like daggers.

It all began with a look. When my mother-in-law, Patricia, first saw Ethan in the hospital, she frowned. Whispering to my husband, Mark, while I was supposedly asleep, she said, “He doesn’t look like a Collins.” I pretended not to hear, but her words cut deeper than the stitches from my C-section.

At first, Mark dismissed it. We laughed about how babies change so much, how Ethan had my nose and Mark’s chin. But that seed of doubt had been planted, and Patricia watered it with suspicion every chance she got.

“You know, Mark had blue eyes as a baby,” she’d say pointedly, holding Ethan up to the light. “Isn’t it odd that Ethan’s are so dark?”

One evening, when Ethan was three months old, Mark came home late from work. I was on the couch feeding the baby, my hair unwashed, exhaustion weighing on me like a heavy coat. He didn’t even kiss me hello. He just stood there, arms crossed.

“We need to talk,” he said.

I already knew what was coming.

“Mom and Dad think… it’s best if we do a DNA test. To clear the air.”

“To clear the air?” I echoed, my voice hoarse with disbelief. “You think I cheated on you?”

Mark shifted uneasily. “No, Emma. Not at all. But they’re worried. I just want to settle this—for everyone.”

My heart dropped. For everyone. Not for me. Not for Ethan. For them.

“Fine,” I said after a long pause, holding back tears. “You want a test? You’ll get one. But I want something in return.”

Mark frowned. “What do you mean?”

“If I agree to this insult, then you agree to let me handle things my way if the results come back the way I know they will. And you promise, right now, in front of your parents, that anyone who still doubts me after this will be cut off.”

Mark hesitated. Behind him, Patricia stiffened, arms crossed, eyes icy.

“And if I refuse?”

I met his eyes, feeling Ethan’s gentle breaths against my chest. “Then you can all leave. Don’t come back.”

The silence was thick. Patricia opened her mouth to argue, but Mark silenced her with a glance. He knew I wasn’t bluffing. He knew I never cheated. Ethan was his son—his mirror image if only he looked past his mother’s poison.

“Fine,” Mark said finally, running his hand through his hair. “We’ll do the test. And if it proves what you say, that’s it. No more accusations.”

Patricia looked like she’d swallowed a lemon. “This is ridiculous,” she hissed. “If you have nothing to hide—”

“Oh, I have nothing to hide,” I snapped. “But you do—your hatred, your constant meddling. It ends once the test is done. Or you’ll never see your son or grandson again.”

Mark winced but didn’t argue.

Two days later, the test was done. A nurse swabbed Ethan’s tiny mouth while he whimpered in my arms. Mark did his, his face grim. That night I held Ethan close, rocking him softly, whispering apologies he couldn’t understand.

I barely slept. Mark dozed on the couch. I couldn’t bear having him in our bed while he doubted me—and our baby.

When the results came, Mark read them first. He sank to his knees before me, paper trembling in hand. “Emma… I’m so sorry. I never should have—”

“Don’t apologize to me,” I said coldly, picking Ethan up from his crib and sitting him on my lap. “Apologize to your son. And to yourself. Because you lost something you can never get back.”

But my battle wasn’t over. The test was only the beginning.

Mark knelt there, still clutching the proof of what he should have always known. His eyes were red, but I felt nothing—no warmth, no pity. Just cold emptiness where trust once lived.

Behind him, Patricia and my father-in-law, Gerald, stood frozen. Patricia’s lips were so tight they were white. She didn’t dare meet my gaze. Good.

“You promised,” I said calmly, rocking Ethan, who gurgled happily, unaware of the family storm. “You said that if the test cleared the air, you’d cut out anyone still doubting me.”

Mark swallowed hard. “Emma, please. She’s my mother. She was just worried—”

“Worried?” I laughed sharply, making Ethan flinch. I kissed his soft hair. “She poisoned you against your own wife and son. Called me a liar and a cheat—all because she can’t stand not controlling your life.”

Patricia stepped forward, her voice trembling with righteous venom. “Emma, don’t be dramatic. We did what any family would. We had to be sure—”

“No,” I interrupted. “Normal families trust each other. Normal husbands don’t make their wives prove their children are theirs. You wanted proof? You got it. Now you’ll get something else.”

Mark looked at me, confused. “Emma, what do you mean?”

I took a deep breath, feeling Ethan’s heartbeat against my chest. “I want all of you gone. Now.”

Patricia gasped. Gerald sputtered. Mark’s eyes widened. “What? Emma, you can’t—this is our house—”

“No,” I said firmly. “This is Ethan’s house. Mine and his. And you three broke it. You doubted us, humiliated me. You will not raise my son in a home where his mother is called a liar.”

Mark stood, anger rising as guilt vanished. “Emma, be reasonable—”

“I was reasonable,” I snapped. “When I agreed to that disgusting test. When I bit my tongue as your mother made digs about my hair, my cooking, my family. I was reasonable letting her into our lives at all.”

I stood, holding Ethan tighter. “But I’m done being reasonable. You want to stay here? Fine. But your parents leave. Today. Or you all leave.”

Patricia’s voice shrilled. “Mark! Are you really letting her do this? Your own mother—”

Mark looked at me, then at Ethan, then at the floor. For the first time in years, he looked like a lost boy in his own home. He turned to Patricia and Gerald. “Mom. Dad. Maybe you should go.”

The silence cracked Patricia’s perfect mask. Her face twisted with fury and disbelief. Gerald placed a hand on her shoulder, but she shrugged it off.

“This is your wife’s doing,” she hissed at Mark. “Don’t expect forgiveness.”

She turned to me, eyes sharp as knives. “You’ll regret this. You think you won, but you’ll regret it when he comes crawling back.”

I smiled. “Goodbye, Patricia.”

In minutes, Gerald grabbed their coats, mumbling apologies Mark couldn’t answer. Patricia left without looking back. When the door shut, the house felt bigger, emptier—but lighter.

Mark sat on the couch’s edge, staring at his hands. He looked up at me, voice barely a whisper. “Emma… I’m sorry. I should’ve stood up for you—for us.”

I nodded. “Yes. You should’ve.”

He reached for my hand. I let him take it for a moment—just a moment—then pulled away. “Mark, I don’t know if I can forgive you. This broke my trust in them and in you.”

Tears filled his eyes. “Tell me what to do. I’ll do anything.”

I looked down at Ethan, who yawned and curled his tiny fingers around my sweater. “Start by earning it back. Be the father he deserves. Be the husband I deserve—if you want that chance. And if you ever let them near me or Ethan again without my permission, you won’t see us again. Understand?”

Mark nodded, shoulders slumping. “I understand.”

In the following weeks, things changed. Patricia called, begged, threatened—I didn’t answer. Mark didn’t either. He came home early every night, took Ethan for walks so I could rest, cooked dinner. He looked at our son like seeing him for the first time—because maybe, in a way, he was.

Rebuilding trust isn’t easy. Some nights I lie awake wondering if I’ll ever see Mark the same way. But every morning, when I see him feeding Ethan breakfast, making him laugh, I think maybe—just maybe—we’ll be okay.

We’re not perfect. But we’re ours. And that’s enough.

Clear out a room in the house, my parents will be living there now,” my husband presented me with a fait accompli.

0

Irina was sitting at her desk when someone knocked on the office door. Oleg peeked inside, looking at the familiar space with a somehow new gaze.

“May I come in?” he asked, though he had already stepped over the threshold.

She nodded without taking her eyes off the screen. The house had been inherited from her aunt Lida five years ago. Spacious, bright, with three rooms. Irina had turned one of them into the perfect workspace — here, order and silence reigned.

“Listen,” her husband began, sitting on the edge of the sofa, “my parents are complaining again about the city hustle.”

Irina finally turned to him. Over ten years of marriage, she had learned to recognize his intonations. There was some uncertainty in his voice now.

“Mom says she sleeps badly because of the noise,” Oleg continued. “And Dad keeps saying he’s tired of all this running around. Plus, the rent keeps going up.”

“I see,” she replied shortly, returning to her work.

But the talks about his parents didn’t stop. Every evening Oleg found a new reason to mention their problems. Sometimes it was the pressure that spikes due to city air, sometimes noisy neighbors upstairs, sometimes the staircase in the building was too steep.

“They dream of quiet, you know?” he said once at dinner. “Of peace, of a real home.”

Irina chewed slowly, pondering. Oleg had never been talkative. Such attention to his parents’ troubles seemed strange.

“So what do you suggest?” she asked cautiously.

“Nothing special,” he shrugged. “Just thinking about them.”

A week later, Irina noticed her husband coming into her office more often than usual. At first, under the pretext of looking for documents, then just because. He would stop by the wall, as if measuring something with his eyes.

“Nice room,” he remarked one evening. “Bright, spacious.”

Irina looked up from her papers. There was something new in his tone. Something like an evaluation.

“Yes, I like working here,” she answered.

“You know,” said Oleg, approaching the window, “maybe you should think about moving your workspace to the bedroom? You can set up a workspace there too.”

Something tightened inside her. Irina put down her pen and looked carefully at her husband.

“Why should I move? It’s comfortable here.”

“Well, I don’t know,” he mumbled. “Just thought about it.”

But thoughts of moving would not leave her alone. Irina began to notice how Oleg scanned the office, mentally rearranging the furniture. How he lingered at the doorframe, as if already seeing something different here.

“Listen,” he said a few days later, “isn’t it time to free up your office? Just in case.”

The question sounded as if it were a given decision. Irina flinched.

“Why should I free up the room?” she asked more sharply than she intended.

“Just thinking,” Oleg hesitated. “I thought we could have a room to put guests.”

But she already understood. All these talks about his parents, all these casual remarks about the office — parts of one plan. A plan in which her opinion was somehow not taken into account.

“Oleg,” she said slowly, “tell me straight. What’s going on?”

He turned away to the window, avoiding her gaze. Silence stretched on. Irina realized — something had already been decided. Without her.

“Oleg,” she repeated firmly, “what’s going on?”

Her husband slowly turned, his face frozen in embarrassment. But a flicker of resolve flashed in his eyes.

“Well, my parents are really tired of the city bustle,” he began cautiously. “They need peace, you know?”

Irina got up from the desk. Anxiety grew inside her, one she had tried to ignore for weeks.

“And what do you suggest?” she asked, though she already guessed.

“We’re one family,” Oleg said, as if that explained everything. “We have an extra room.”

Extra. Her office, her refuge, her space — an extra room. Irina clenched her fists.

“This is not an extra room,” she said slowly. “This is my office.”

“Yes, but you can work in the bedroom,” shrugged her husband. “And my parents have nowhere else to go.”

The phrase sounded rehearsed. Irina understood — this conversation was not the first. Just not with her.

“Oleg, this is my house,” she said sharply. “And I never agreed to your parents moving in.”

“But you don’t mind, do you?” he countered, a note of irritation in his voice. “We’re family, right?”

Again that excuse. Family. As if belonging to a family automatically deprived her of a voice. Irina stepped toward the window, trying to calm down.

“And what if I mind?” she asked without turning around.

“Don’t be selfish,” Oleg threw. “It’s about elderly people.”

Selfish. For not wanting to give up her workspace. For thinking such decisions should be discussed. Irina turned to her husband.

“Selfish?” she repeated. “For wanting my opinion to be considered?”

“Come on,” Oleg waved his hand. “It’s a family duty. We can’t abandon them.”

Family duty. Another pretty phrase meant to shut her up. But Irina was no longer going to stay silent.

“And what about my duty to myself?” she asked.

“Stop dramatizing,” her husband waved off. “It’s not a big deal, just move the computer to another room.”

Not a big deal. Her many years of hard work creating the perfect workspace — not a big deal. Irina suddenly saw her husband as if for the first time.

“When did you manage to decide everything?” she asked quietly.

“I didn’t decide anything,” Oleg began to justify himself. “Just thinking about options.”

“You’re lying,” she said. “You’ve already discussed it with your parents, haven’t you?”

The silence was more eloquent than any words. Irina sat down in her chair, trying to process what was happening.

“So, you consulted with everyone except me,” she stated.

“Stop it,” Oleg exploded. “What difference does it make who talked to whom?”

What difference. Her opinion, her consent, her home — what difference. Irina realized her husband was acting like the owner, ignoring her ownership rights.

The next morning Oleg came into the kitchen looking like a man who had made a final decision. Irina sat at the table with a cup of coffee, waiting for the continuation of yesterday’s conversation.

“Listen,” he began without preamble, “my parents have finally decided to move.”

Irina looked up. There was no room for discussion in his tone.

“Clear out a room in the house, now my parents will live there,” he added, as if giving an order.

For Irina, this was a moment of revelation. They hadn’t even consulted her. Her husband didn’t just not ask — he excluded her from the decision.

The cup trembled in her hands. Inside, everything turned over as she realized the scale of betrayal. Oleg stood waiting for her reaction as if giving orders to servants.

“Are you serious?” she said slowly. “You just took it upon yourself to decide for me? I clearly said yesterday I’m against it!”

“Calm down,” her husband waved off. “It’s logical. Where else can they live?”

Irina put the cup on the table and stood up. Her hands trembled slightly from accumulated anger.

“Oleg, you betrayed me,” she said directly. “You put your parents’ interests above our marriage.”

“Don’t dramatize,” he muttered. “It’s family.”

“And what am I, a stranger?” Irina’s voice sharpened. “You violated my boundaries and ignored my voice in my own home!”

Oleg turned away, clearly not expecting such a reaction. All these years she had obediently agreed to his decisions. But now something had broken.

“You treat me like the help,” Irina continued. “You decided I should endure and be silent.”

“Stop hysterics,” her husband snapped irritated. “Nothing serious is happening.”

Nothing serious. Her opinion ignored, her space taken away — and that’s nothing serious. Irina stepped closer to her husband.

“I refuse to give up my room,” she stated firmly. “And even more so to let your parents into the house when nobody invited them.”

“How dare you?” Oleg exploded. “They are my parents!”

“And this is my house!” Irina shouted back. “And I’m not going to live with a man who sees me as a nobody!”

Her husband stepped back, seeing her truly enraged for the first time in many years. In her eyes burned a resolve he had never noticed.

“You don’t understand,” he began confusedly. “My parents are counting on us.”

“And you don’t understand me,” Irina cut in. “Ten years and you still don’t get that I’m not a toy in your hands.”

She walked across the kitchen, gathering her thoughts. Words that had been building up for years finally burst out.

“You know what, Oleg?” she said, turning to him. “Get out of my house.”

“What?” her husband was taken aback. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m no longer willing to live with a man who doesn’t consider me,” Irina said slowly and clearly.

Oleg opened his mouth but found no words. He clearly didn’t expect such a turn.

“This is our house,” he mumbled.

“Legally, the house belongs to me,” Irina reminded him coldly. “And I have every right to kick you out.”

Her husband stood as if not believing what he heard. In shock, he realized he had crossed some invisible line.

“Ira, let’s talk calmly,” he tried. “We can come to an agreement.”

“Too late,” she cut in. “The agreement should have been made before you decided.”

Oleg tried to object but saw such stubbornness in her eyes that the words stuck in his throat. Irina was no longer the compliant wife who had made concessions for years.

“Pack your things,” she said calmly.

A week later, Irina sat in her office enjoying the silence. The house seemed bigger without the presence of strangers. The order she so valued was finally restored.

She felt no regret. Inside settled a sense that what happened was right. For the first time in many years, she defended her boundaries and self-respect.

The phone rang. It was Oleg’s number. Irina declined the call and returned to work. Love and family are impossible without respect. And no debts to relatives give anyone the right to trample on the person next to them.

She understood that. Finally.

A woman lived alone in the forest for ten years until two newborns appeared on her doorstep.

0

Claudia, as usual with the first rays of the sun, went out to the garden. There was no shortage of tasks: she needed to water the beds, weed the grass, check the chicken coop, and inspect the fruit trees — all of which required attention and time. And she had no helpers. No one nearby. She had long grown used to loneliness, although sometimes it made itself felt as a heavy lump in her chest.

By evening, Claudia planned to go hunting — a necessity, since the meat supplies wouldn’t last long, and the nearest store was quite far. But before that, she wanted to rest a little, take a walk, or just sit under the old oak tree that grew right by the porch. At that moment, her faithful dog ran up to her — a large, stately dog named Bars. He was not only a friend but also a protector and companion in all his mistress’s affairs.

“Well, my good boy, want to go for a walk? Let’s go, let’s go, we’ll have time by evening,” she said kindly, ruffling the dog’s ear. Bars wagged his tail as if understanding that rest was important before the difficult day ahead. He lay down nearby, resting his head on his paws as if to say, “I’ll wait, I’m always here.”

Claudia took the buckets and headed to the well. This year, summer was especially hot and dry — even for these parts, where rains usually started by July. The flowers were wilting, the leaves on the trees dried early, and the earth cracked like old glass. She had to water the garden frequently to save at least something. She had been living alone for many years, completely alone. At first, there was her mother, then she passed away, leaving Klava alone in the house where her grandfather once lived.

Her grandfather was a stern, withdrawn man, almost a hermit. He lived far from people, in a remote forest, in a house he built with his own hands. One thing was known — he was offended at the whole world. He was bitter because no one helped his wife when she was giving birth. If someone had helped back then, if doctors had arrived on time, if only there had been a car or a horse, Tamara would have lived. Maybe she would have had grandchildren, maybe they would be playing in the yard, and the grandfather would be sitting on a bench telling them stories. But none of that happened.

Claudia remembered how many times she asked her grandfather to tell her what happened. But he was silent for a long time. Only when she became an adult, when she started dating Sergey and talked about marriage, did her grandfather finally decide to reveal the truth. His face grew stern, his eyes darkened as before a storm.

“You don’t need to marry him,” he said quietly but firmly.

“Why, grandpa? He’s a good guy, and his family doesn’t drink, which is rare in our village.”

“No need, that’s all. They’re rotten in that family, bad.”

“No, grandpa! It’s not the fifteenth century anymore, things are different now. It’s you who lives here, shut away from people. But why? Maybe you’ve already forgotten yourself.”

Then grandfather sighed as if the whole world lay on his shoulders and said:

“Sit down, I’ll tell you how long your grandmother was dying.”

Claudia sat down nearby, holding her breath. She knew she would hear something important, something that would change a lot.

He began his story from a distant winter when the village had no cars yet, only tractors and horses. Blizzards raged every day, roads were snowed in, and connection with the city was almost lost. Grandma Tamara didn’t want to leave early, afraid to leave her husband alone in a cold house without help. When labor began, the blizzard was so strong that no horse could leave the barn. Grandfather ran to neighbors, but all mares were covered, and no one agreed to risk it.

The paramedic said the hospital was waiting on the main road, but it was impossible to get there. Then grandfather turned to Petya — a man who once loved Tamara but lost her. He fell to his knees, begged, cried. Petya responded with mockery: “Can’t you even take your wife to the hospital?”

In rage, grandfather grabbed him by the chest, but they were separated. Together with his late brother, he loaded Tamara onto a sled and took her himself. Four long hours they went through snowdrifts, through the wind. But at the hospital, it was already too late. Only the child was saved — the future mother of Claudia.

When grandfather finished the story, Klava sat pale, clenching her fists.

“Grandpa, that’s very sad and terrible, of course. But what does it have to do with Sergey and our wedding?”

“That Petka — he’s Sergey’s grandfather.”

This news hit Klava like a thunderbolt out of a clear sky. She felt uneasy. Sergey… did he know? After all, his grandfather welcomed her warmly, even admired her. Did he know whose granddaughter stood before him?

Claudia’s parents were also against the union but did not express their opinion openly. Now the girl wondered: did Sergey himself know the history of their grandfathers? She decided to find out.

But first she asked her grandfather:

“Is that why you live here?”

“Yes, granddaughter. After all that, I couldn’t forgive people. So I built a house here, away from everyone, so I wouldn’t have to see anyone. I like it better this way — I rely on myself. Your mother, when she grew up, moved to her aunt’s. But I’m not offended — everyone has their own life.”

Claudia had remembered since childhood how her grandfather lived in the forest. At first, she and her mother rarely visited him — too far and dangerous. But when the girl got a bicycle, she often visited him, delighting the old man with her presence.

One day, returning home, Claudia saw smoke. A lot of smoke. It was coming from their house. Her heart froze. She rushed forward, pedaling harder than ever before. What happened? Where was Mom? Where was Dad?

She was stopped. People stood around, looking down. Someone quietly said:

“Stay strong, girl. Mom ran in after the cat, something collapsed there, father rushed in… and that’s it. No one.”

“Well, why are you standing there? Why aren’t you doing anything?”

“What can be done now?”

“Let me through! Let me through!”

But they held her tight. Claudia screamed, bit, scratched. Tears blinded her eyes, her heart tore with pain.

Grandfather didn’t survive the news. After the funeral, he went to bed and never got up again. Klava stayed by his bedside, read him books, cooked soup, sang old songs he loved. And Sergey came. Once, twice, three times.

“Let’s go for a walk. I miss you.”

Klava looked at him with pain and distrust:

“You miss me? And what I feel — you don’t care?”

“Why wouldn’t I care? I just wanted you to distract yourself, to cheer up.”

“Cheer up? Yeah, in your family, losing other people doesn’t concern anyone.”

Sergey grew dark:

“I suppose you mean that story from a hundred years ago. But what does it have to do with us?”

“What does it have to do with anything? None of you matter. And those people who could have saved my parents don’t either. You know what — go away and don’t come to me anymore.”

Sergey squinted at her:

“Klava, you’re upset now, that’s why you’re saying nonsense.”

“I’m saying — go away! I can’t stand you and don’t want to see you!”

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely.”

“Okay. I won’t see you again.”

When he left, Claudia stood by the gate, watched him walk toward the village, and wanted to shout: “Sorry! Stop!” But she didn’t. She just locked the gate tight and returned to her grandfather.

Claudia was left alone. A week after her parents’ funeral, when the earth hadn’t yet settled on the graves, her grandfather quietly passed away. As if he waited until his granddaughter became strong enough to be without support, and only then allowed himself to rest — forever.

After the last memorial service, Claudia’s aunt, her mother’s sister, who came from the village, approached her:

“Klava, come stay with me? The house is big, there’s room for everyone.”

“No, I’ll stay here.”

“Well, living like a hermit? Grandpa was right — people are worse than animals.”

“You can’t say that, Klava! You’re a young girl; you need to be more tolerant. You probably said something to Sergey. The old feud between the grandfathers still haunts your life.”

Claudia remained silent, turning slightly so her aunt wouldn’t see her eyes. She knew there was some truth in every word but wasn’t ready to admit it even to herself. Her thoughts returned to Sergey again. Did he really know all this time?

That evening she realized for the first time: she had no place in the village. Not because strangers or cold people lived there, but because every glance, every word reminded her of a past she tried to forget. And forgetting was impossible — too much pain, too many offenses.

So she remained alone. Completely alone. With the house, the garden, the dog Bars, and memories. Ten years passed before the village reentered her life — suddenly and painfully.

A year ago, when Claudia went to the village for groceries, she suddenly saw Sergey. He stood by the porch of his house, next to him — a woman clearly pregnant. But the most terrible thing for Klava was that instead of his left leg, he had a prosthesis, neat, with a rubber tip like a crutch.

Sergey felt her gaze, turned around. Their eyes met. A moment. Time slowed down. Then Claudia ran away. Only after closing the gate behind her could she catch her breath. After that, she stopped showing up in the village. If she needed to shop — she went to the district center. No one there knew her story, no one whispered behind her back, no one pitied her.

But recently fate again brought her face to face with the past. At the bus station, Claudia met her childhood friend — Tonya. She was always talkative and curious, and now, seeing Klava, immediately sat beside her.

On the way, Tonya chattered nonstop, telling village news. It turned out Sergey brought his wife with him — a nurse from the hospital where he was treated after the injury. This woman was unhappy with life, thinking she married a hero but got a disabled man living in a half-ruined house. Sergey’s father died while he was serving, and his mother did not live long without her husband. Now he returned to an empty house, alone, without family.

The wife didn’t want to give birth under such conditions, but the child couldn’t be canceled anymore. Sergey tried, but there was less romance in his life, and his wife began to be disappointed. They said he started drinking. “And how not to drink,” added Tonya, “when such a wife works her head off?”

“Well, my stop. Bye, Klava!”

All the way, Claudia didn’t say a word. She knew if she spoke, the whole village would know about the meeting in a day. And she didn’t want that. Not for herself — she just saw no point. Her life had long become another place, another reality. And let the past stay where it belongs — behind.

That very evening, Claudia watered the garden and rested a bit. For several years she had been officially registered as a gamekeeper. She hunted not for the prey but for the cause: helping regulate the number of animals, collecting data for ecologists. She knew every bush, path, and turn. In this forest, she felt like the mistress.

She dozed off under the old oak tree when suddenly she heard Bars’s frantic barking. It was not an ordinary bark — not at an animal or a mushroom picker. It was a bark of alarm. Something happened. Klava instantly woke, grabbed her rifle, and ran out of the house.

The dog stood in the farthest corner of the garden, near the apple tree, barking as if the end of the world had come. Approaching closer, Claudia froze. On the grass, neatly laid in the shade, lay two newborn babies. Nearby — a bag.

“What on earth…”

She picked up the bag; inside was a note:

“Forgive me, Klav. Forgive me for everything. My wife left the children and left, and I can’t raise them. I know you will be a good mother to them, and I am a worthless man who can’t do anything.”

Klava shuddered. The note was from Sergey. She looked around the ground. The footprints led from one side — fresh, female. And from the other… no, it couldn’t be… — crutch marks.

Without hesitation, she rushed to the river. As if something invisible but very strong was leading her there. And indeed, at the very edge, the same place where she and Sergey once jumped into the water, Sergey stood. Behind him — an abyss, below — stones. He was about to jump.

“Sergei! Don’t do this!”

He flinched, turned around. Seeing her, he took a step forward.

“What will I tell your children?”

“The same thing I told you then: ‘Daddy’s a coward, daddy couldn’t do it.’”

“Now you want to take off all your obligations, ease your conscience?”

“And have you thought about the children? They will grow up knowing their mother left them, and now their father disappears too?”

Sergey burst into tears:

“Why do you tear my heart out? I can’t cope!”

“Have you tried? Or did you give up right away, like then when I drove you away?”

“Do you hate me that easily?”

“Did you believe me?”

Sergey fell to his knees, sobbing. Klava came closer, sat next to him, placed her hand on his shoulder.

“Come on. The children are alone there.”

At home, Bars sat over the babies, guarding them. Seeing Sergey, he snarled, ready to protect those who trusted him. But Klava quietly said:

“Fufu, he’s one of us.”

Bars relaxed, stood up, wagging his tail, as if agreeing with his mistress’s decision.

Claudia took one baby and handed it to Sergey. He pressed the child to his chest, hiding his face in the swaddling clothes:

“Forgive me, forgive me, bad daddy.”

She took the second baby herself:

“Well, let’s go inside. Your girls must be hungry. You’ll show me how to feed and diaper them.”

In the evening, watching the peacefully sleeping children, Claudia remembered she was supposed to go hunting. She went out, looked at Bars apologetically:

“Sorry, I lied to you.”

The dog licked her hand as if saying, “I understand everything. This is more important now.”

A month later, Sergey sat in front of Claudia:

“We need to talk.”

The children were asleep.

“Sooner or later this conversation will happen. I’m listening.”

He took her hand. Claudia trembled but didn’t pull away.

“Klava, it all turned out this way… I don’t even know how to say it. Don’t think it’s because of the kids… Well, can I do what I never did many years ago? I’m disabled now, but I can do almost everything. I’ll try… Well, if you’re not scared of life with someone like me…”

“I agree,” Claudia said quietly, not letting him finish.

Sergey even stood up in surprise:

“Are you sure you understood what I wanted to ask?”

But Klava didn’t explain. She just leaned to him, remembering how many years she dreamed of this moment.

Their return to the village caused a wave of gossip. People approached the house, tried to peek through the gate, to see how those once considered strangers lived. But most of all, Bars scared them — a huge dog, more like a wolf. He lay by the gate, lazily raising his lip, showing his teeth. And that was enough for curiosity to quickly turn to caution.

After all, happiness loves silence. And Claudia and Sergey found theirs — in the quiet of the forest, among children’s laughter and a loyal dog who guards their home like a fortress.

Anya was sitting in the armchair, looking at a lipstick. It wasn’t hers… She never wears lipstick. And certainly not such a bright red color.

0

Anya was sitting in the armchair, examining a lipstick. It wasn’t hers… She never wore lipstick. Especially not such a bright red color.

Once, having found a long black hair on the car headrest, Anya asked her husband whose it was, since she was a brunette with a bob haircut.

“Ah… don’t stress about it. Remember yesterday there was a heavy downpour? Well, I was driving past a bus stop and saw a girl with a child, a boy about three years old, so I decided to give them a ride. It turned out they live just a block from us.”

“I see,” she exhaled.

“Anya, are you jealous? What do you suspect me of?”

“No, it’s just this hair…”

“Come here.” Egor hugged his wife and stroked her shoulder. “You know I love only you and I don’t need anyone else.”

And now the lipstick. She found it last night under the car mat when she went through the self-service car wash. What was this? Maybe Egor gave a ride to a colleague? But they had only one woman at work, the cleaner Maria Mikhailovna, 60 years old. Anya had seen her — a modest woman, a pensioner, who obviously didn’t use such things.

Unpleasant thoughts crept into her mind. She and Egor had been married for seven years, and recently her husband had been staying late at work often, saying that with his new position he had more responsibilities.

Approaching the mirror, Anya critically examined herself from all sides. She was 30 years old, but had not a single wrinkle on her face yet, except for some expression lines near the eyes due to her thin skin. A fashionable bob haircut suited her very well, and she had a slim figure. Men still often complimented her, although since getting married she had stopped styling her hair and applying eyeliner every day. Or maybe her husband just stopped loving her? No, she had to check everything.

The phone rang on the table.

“Hi, Egor, have you left work yet? Should I warm up dinner?”

“No, honey, I’ll be late today. Just for a couple of hours. As soon as I’m free, I’ll come home. Love you.”

Short beeps came from the line…

Anya immediately dialed her friend.

“Marina, can I borrow your car for the evening? Egor is staying late at work, and I promised my mom I’d come today and bring her a ficus. I’ll fill it up for you.”

“No problem, come by.”

Going downstairs, she entered the neighboring entrance and took the car keys. In her bag was a container with food. She intended to go to her husband’s workplace. She just wanted to make sure he was there. If he wasn’t lying, she would say she brought him something to eat, and then ask him to stop by a shopping center to pick out new bedding.

Arriving at his office, she saw a faint light in the corridor near the checkpoint. After knocking, she saw the security guard Viktor Stepanovich stand up and approach the door.

“Hello, could you please let me see my husband?”

“Hello, Anna Sergeevna. Your husband is not here; he left the checkpoint exactly at five o’clock. Maybe you just missed him.”

“Probably. I was returning from my mom’s and decided to stop by, in case he was late again. Thank you, goodbye.”

Getting into the car, Anya called her husband again.

“Are you free yet?”

“Another hour and I’m home. Don’t bother me — the sooner I finish, the sooner I’m home.”

“Interesting, what exactly will you finish?” — she thought. There could be no doubt — her husband was lying to her.

When he arrived in the evening, Anya pretended to have a headache and locked herself in the room. She didn’t want to talk to him. Inside, everything was boiling; she wanted to tell him all her suspicions and accuse him of infidelity, but she had no direct proof.

The next day she took documents to the tax office, reported to her employer on the completed work, and took three days off at once from two companies where she worked remotely as an accountant.

Visiting her friend again, she asked to borrow her car for the evening.

“Going to your mom again?” Marina asked with a smile.

“No, some errands. Egor comes home late from work, and my car is still in repair.”

“Girlfriend, are you hiding something from me? Do you have someone?”

“I don’t have anyone…”

“Well, sit down. What’s going on?”

“I suspect Egor. I didn’t want to tell you at first, but it’s hard to keep it all inside. Marina, I want to follow him. Even though it’s very wrong and I’m ashamed.”

“Let me come with you. I’m bored at home.”

“Let’s go. I just want to know the whole truth.”

By five o’clock, the friends arrived at the office where Egor worked and parked nearby the store’s parking lot so the car wouldn’t attract attention but they could see him. After 15 minutes of waiting, he came out. Anya immediately called her husband.

“Hi, are you going home?”

“Yes, I’m just stopping by one place at work, then I’ll come. I think I’ll be there by eight.”

Marina started the engine and followed him, letting an old man in a Volga go first.

Marina and Anya saw Egor’s car stop near a flower shop. Then, after turning around in the parking lot, he drove along the avenue. The girls kept him in sight and suddenly he turned into a courtyard familiar to Anya and stopped near the third entrance. Her hands trembled, and Marina, looking at her, asked:

“Anya, what’s wrong? Do you recognize this address?”

“Yes. But it can’t be. It just can’t be,” she whispered the last phrase.

“Do you know her? Tell me.”

“This is Olesya, the wife of our friend Sasha. Or rather, ex-wife — they divorced two years ago. They didn’t say the reason; the answer was just ‘we didn’t get along.’ But maybe it’s a coincidence and he didn’t come to her? You know, he always told me he didn’t like women like her.”

“What kind?”

“Artificial ones. Those who are always altering their appearance. No, he’s okay with manicures, as long as they’re not terrifyingly long or bright colors or rhinestones. It’s different — he once said he didn’t like girls like Olesya: eyelash extensions, tattooed eyebrows, pumped-up lips, and a full-arm tattoo. Egor always said he preferred naturalness. You see, I don’t even wear lipstick.”

“Maybe it’s not her, and the address is a coincidence?”

“A lot of coincidences, don’t you think? How to check…”

“Oh, I’ll go up to her — she doesn’t know me.”

“And if he opens the door?”

“Hardly a married man would open the door to his mistress’s apartment. I promise — he’ll hide. What floor does she live on?”

“First. The apartment faces the avenue.”

That’s exactly how Marina said it would be. Fifteen minutes later she ran out of the entrance and hurried to the car. Getting in, she caught her breath.

“So, is he there?”

“He is, girlfriend, he is. I rang the doorbell, she opened it wrapped in a robe. I asked her where the Nikiforovs live; she said she didn’t know them. Then I asked for some water. From the door, you can see the kitchen perfectly, and I saw a vase on the table with that bouquet Egor bought. Men’s shoes were by the briefcase.”

“But how? I don’t understand…”

“People’s tastes change,” Marina sighed. “What will you do?”

“I need to think. One thing I want to say — today he moves out of our rented apartment, and the money we saved for buying a new one we’ll split in half if we divorce. Damn, we were just planning to buy a three-room flat downtown in three months.”

Anya and Marina drove home. She packed all her husband’s things and put them by the doorstep, writing with red lipstick on a large sheet:

“I wish you happiness with Olesya. Give her the missing item — she probably searched for it.”

She stuck the note into the open pocket of the bag and sat by the window. Seeing her husband parking near the house, Anya put his things out the door.

He knocked, shouted, called her for a talk until neighbors threatened to call the police. Only then, gathering his suitcases, he left, writing only a short message:

“Tomorrow at ‘Sicily’ at 3 p.m., we need to discuss everything.”

Only then did Anya let her tears flow. She cried from hurt and disappointment. By morning she understood — Egor wouldn’t let go easily. Anya would take revenge on him and Olesya for her pain and suffering.

She entered the café at 3:20 p.m., Egor was already sitting at the table sipping coffee.

“Oh, you even freed yourself earlier for me today?”

“Anya, what jokes are these? Explain immediately what’s going on!”

“I just don’t like being lied to,” she shrugged and sat down. “I know you have someone else.”

“Why do you think I lied to you?”

“Because of the long dark hair and lipstick — thank Olesya for that. She loves to wear bright makeup. And your tastes have changed, or you wanted some variety.”

“I already explained everything,” Egor said nervously.

“Oh? How do you explain being absent from work when you lied on the phone that you’re still working? Or, for example,” Anya pulled out her phone and showed photos clearly showing her husband leaving the flower shop and then entering Olesya’s entrance.

The man turned purple. Loosening his tie, he leaned over the table and whispered:

“Were you following me?”

“I was. I’m ashamed of it, but on the other hand… At least you won’t be able to feed me lies anymore. So, darling, here’s what we’ll do — we’ll split the money in half, notarize the agreement, and part ways peacefully. And I wonder — does Sasha know about your relationship with his ex-wife?”

“That’s none of his business. After all, as you said, she’s an ex,” he realized there was no point denying anymore.

“Tell me — why were you sneaking to her? You could have divorced me — we have no children together. What held you back? Pity for me? Don’t pity me, I can live perfectly without you.”

“Cowardice. I’m a coward like all men in this regard. I’m comfortable and warm with you; you’re a good housekeeper. And Olesya — she’s a hurricane.”

“Yeah… I don’t even know what to say.”

“Besides,” he continued, “our boss is all about family values; the leaders in his company must be exemplary family men. And I have a big favor to ask — let’s not divorce yet. I’ll fly to Prague, sign a lucrative contract, and then we’ll quietly divorce. If he finds out I’m divorced, I won’t see Prague or the good deal. You know I’ve been preparing for this for a year.”

“Uh-huh,” Anya smirked.

She got up and left the café. No way, she wouldn’t let herself be used. She would take full revenge.

The next day, they signed the agreement on division of funds at the notary, went to the bank, processed the documents, and transferred money to their cards.

Then Anya called Sasha.

“I need your help, come to me.”

She knew he would come. Sasha was a great friend, no explanations needed and he didn’t ask silly questions.

“Hi, where’s Egor?”

“At Olesya’s.” She told him everything in order. “Sasha, I need help. I want to get back at them, but I can’t do it without your help and your sharp mind.”

“You want me to get involved in women’s intrigues?”

“I know the reasons for your divorce — your sister told me she caught you with a colleague. Don’t you want to get back at her? Or for the abortion she had and told you she lost the baby?”

“How do you know?”

“From the same source. Did you forget I talk with your sister? Notice, I didn’t even tell my husband the real reasons, I know how to keep secrets. Besides, you can go to Prague instead of Egor.”

“But he’s my friend.”

“And I’m your friend. That’s why I didn’t want to upset you. But I know who wiped your hard drive. It was Egor. He did it to get that position. I stayed silent because I didn’t want a fight between you. And because I’m a bad friend, apparently. I just wanted to be close to the man I love. And telling the truth would mean betraying him, since no one else knew. It was his mistake to tell me. So, deal?”

“Deal. You’re a dangerous woman.”

“Listen, the company party is in two weeks, I’ll have to accompany him. I’ll strike first. Otherwise, look — he’ll sign a lucrative contract! Not on my watch!”

Two weeks later, Anya visited the beauty salon, spending several hours with the cosmetologist, manicurist, and makeup artist. Then, wearing her favorite dress reserved for special occasions, spraying perfume on her wrists and behind her ears, she left the building and took a taxi.

Egor was waiting for her on the porch.

“You look wonderful.”

“Thank you. Olesya could have ironed your shirt better.”

“Anya, let’s behave at this party as if nothing happened. In three days, I’m off to Prague.”

“Uh-huh.”

Two hours later, the couple hurried to say goodbye to colleagues. They approached the director, who shook Egor’s hand and, kissing Anya’s hand, said:

“You are the most gorgeous woman at this party. Not counting, of course, my charming wife,” he laughed cheerfully, hugging Elena Vasilievna. “I invite you and your husband to the restaurant after he returns from Prague.”

“Igor Borisovich, I’m sorry, but I won’t be able to join you. After Egor returns from the business trip, we’re going to the registry office to file for divorce.”

“What? Divorce? Egor, why didn’t you tell me?”

“Anya, what are you talking about?” Her husband pretended to hear it for the first time.

“Egor, forgive me, but you have a good boss. And I’m ashamed I agreed to your persuasion. It’s awkward that we deceived you. Egor said you value family people, but alas… I’m one of those women who don’t forgive infidelity. All the best.”

Anya ran out of the restaurant and jumped into a taxi. In the rearview mirror, she saw the car with her husband following them. It’s okay, it’s okay. Now he would understand what it’s like to be lied to and betrayed. When they promise one thing and do another.

“What have you done?” he grabbed her by the elbow, catching up with her near the entrance.

“What had to be done. And you thought I’d swallow your nasty deed and lies just like that? No way. And your director is a good person, so let him choose a worthy one. And Sasha, I think, will manage no worse than you.”

“You… you…”

“What? By the way, Sasha knows everything.” Anya turned, waved goodbye, and disappeared into the entrance.

A month later they divorced. By then Sasha had returned from Prague but was no longer the lively guy, the life of the party, but the deputy director Alexander Pavlovich. The contract was signed on favorable terms.

Egor was demoted and soon fired — who else but Sasha would know about his schemes?

Olesya and Egor lived together in her apartment, but not for long. Sasha decided to divide it. Half was his. After the divorce, he nobly left, letting his ex-wife live there without claiming a share. But then he suddenly demanded his half and said he would sell it.

Egor and Olesya panicked because the money they and Anya had saved during their marriage had been invested in a small business. The man had no housing of his own, and the sum Olesya would have after the divorce was barely enough to buy a studio apartment downtown, or maybe on the outskirts. Neither wanted to move there. Olesya tried to convince her ex-husband to wait, but he said:

“Dear, you have a new man; let him support you. You’re in business together, doesn’t it bring income?”

“You know it takes time; you have to invest more. Give us at least a year.”

“No, either buy out my half or I’ll sell it. You’ll live like in a communal apartment with neighbors. One guy agreed to buy a room. He just got out of jail, doesn’t have money for a whole apartment. Or there’s another option — the family buys the whole apartment. Which do you choose?”

“The family,” Olesya said, swallowing tears. She didn’t want to turn the apartment into a commune, especially with an ex-con.

“Get a mortgage.”

“We can’t, we already have loans.”

“It’s okay, you’ll live in a studio, and as the business grows, you’ll expand.”

But the business failed. Only debts remained. They accumulated them together. Because of that, they often quarreled and eventually split. Burdened with debts, Egor sold his company to a larger one that implemented anti-crisis measures, and he went to work as a manager in the same company. Olesya, who had taken loans for a fur coat and a car, expecting the company to bring profit soon, was forced to sell the studio and pay off creditors after Egor left her and sold his failing business.

Both returned to their parents looking like beaten dogs. But Anya and Sasha were doing well. After the divorce, Anya took out a mortgage and bought a two-room apartment which she soon rented out because she moved in with Sasha. A year later, they had a daughter.

Everyone got what they deserved.

The son kicked his father out of the house at the insistence of his wife… But a random encounter in the park turned everything upside down…

0

He sat on the cold metal bench, wrapped in a worn-out cloak—once worn while working as a master at the housing office. His name was Nikolai Andreevich. A pensioner, widower, father of a single son, and, as he had once thought, a happy grandfather. But all of that collapsed one day.

When his son brought Olga home, Nikolai felt a chill inside. Her energy was too sharp, her gaze too icy, hidden behind a charming smile. She didn’t shout or cause scandals—she simply and subtly pushed everything out of the man’s life that stood in her way. Nikolai felt it immediately, but by then, nothing could be changed.

First, his belongings disappeared: books were moved to the attic, his favorite chair became “unnecessary,” and then the kettle vanished. Then came the hints: “Dad, maybe you should go for walks more often? The air is good for you.” Soon, the suggestion came: “It might be better for you in a retirement home or with Aunt in the village.”

Nikolai didn’t respond. He simply gathered what little remained of his things and left. No accusations, no tears, no pleas—just pride and pain, buried deep in his heart.

He wandered the snow-covered streets, like an invisible man. Only one bench in the park became his support—a place where he once walked with his wife, and later with his young son. There, he spent hours, staring into the emptiness.

One particularly cold day, when the frost bit his face and his eyes blurred from the cold and sorrow, a voice called out:

— Nikolai? Nikolai Andreevich?

He turned. Before him stood a woman in a warm coat and headscarf. He didn’t recognize her immediately, but memory kicked in—Maria Sergeevna. His first love. The one he lost because of his job, and then forgot, marrying Lydia.

She was holding a thermos and a bag of homemade pastries.

— What are you doing here? You’re freezing…

That simple question, filled with care, warmed him more than any coat. Nikolai silently took the thermos of tea and the buns. His voice had long gone, and his heart ached so much that even tears wouldn’t come.

Maria sat down next to him as if no time had passed between them, as if it had frozen in place.

— I sometimes walk here, — she started gently. — And you… why are you here?

— It’s just a familiar place, — he smiled faintly. — This is where my son took his first steps. Remember?

Maria nodded. Of course, she remembered.

— And now… — Nikolai sighed, — he’s grown, got married, settled into an apartment. His wife said, “Choose—me or your father.” He chose. I don’t blame him. The young have their own worries.

Maria remained silent, only looking at his reddened hands, cracked from the cold—so familiar and yet so lonely.

— Come to my place, Nikolai, — she suddenly suggested. — It’s warm, we’ll eat, tomorrow we’ll figure out what’s next. I’ll make you soup, we’ll talk about everything. You’re not a stone, you’re a person. And you shouldn’t be alone.

He didn’t move for a long time. Then, he quietly asked:

— And you… why are you alone?

Maria sighed. Her eyes grew glassy.

— My husband died long ago. My son… passed away before he was born. After that—life, work, the pension, the cat, and knitting. All in a circle. You’re the first in ten years I’ve had tea with, not in solitude.

They sat there for a long time. The passersby thinned out, and the snow fell softly, as if trying to muffle their pain.

The next morning, Nikolai woke up not on the bench, but in a cozy room with daisy curtains. The air smelled of pies. Outside, the winter frost covered the trees. And inside, there was a strange sense of peace, as if someone had returned his right to life.

— Good morning! — Maria came in with a plate of cheese pancakes. — When was the last time you had homemade food?

— About ten years ago, — Nikolai smiled. — My son and his wife mostly ordered food.

Maria didn’t ask questions. She just fed him, covered him with a blanket, and turned on the radio in the background—so it wouldn’t be so quiet.

Days passed. Then weeks. Nikolai seemed to come alive again. He fixed chairs, helped around the house, and told stories about his work, how he saved a colleague from a gas explosion. And Maria listened. As she cooked him soup from his childhood, washed his socks, and knitted scarves, she gave him what he hadn’t felt in a long time—care.

But one day, everything changed.

Maria was returning from the market when she noticed a car at the gate. A man stepped out, and Nikolai would have called him his son. Valery.

— Hello… Excuse me… Do you know if Nikolai Andreevich lives here?

Maria felt her heart tighten.

— And who are you to him?

— I… I’m his son. I’ve been looking for him. He left, and I didn’t know… Olga left. It turns out, all this time… — he lowered his head. — I won’t lie. I was a fool.

Maria looked at him closely.

— Come in. But remember: your father is not an object, not furniture. He’s not obliged to come back just because you’ve become lonely.

Valery nodded.

— I understand.

At home, Nikolai sat in an armchair with a newspaper. When he saw his son, he immediately understood—he hadn’t come for no reason. His chest ached with memories—of years, of cold, of homelessness.

— Dad… — Valery rasped. — Forgive me.

Silence hung in the room. Then Nikolai spoke:

— You could’ve said this earlier. Before the bench, before the nights under the bridge, before all of this. But… I forgive you.

And a tear slowly rolled down his cheek—heavy, like a memory, but warm, like forgiveness.

A month later, Valery offered his father to come back home. But Nikolai refused.

— I’ve already found my little corner, — he said. — It’s warm here, here I have real tea and care waiting for me. I’m not angry, I’m just tired of starting over. Forgiving doesn’t mean forgetting.

Two years later, Nikolai and Maria came to the park bench together. They held hands, brought bread for the birds, and drank tea from the same thermos. Sometimes they were silent. Sometimes they talked about everything.

One day, standing in the middle of the street, Nikolai looked up at the sky and quietly said:

— Life is a strange thing. They kick you out of your home, and it feels like everything inside has fallen apart. But then someone comes—not from the doorstep, but from the warmth of the heart—and gives you a new home—not of walls, but of love.

Maria hugged him.

— So it was worth it that we met. Even if it happened on a bench in the park.

Nikolai and Maria lived peacefully. They didn’t rush to register their relationship, they didn’t call each other husband and wife. But in their home, there was family—unseen but felt in everything. The morning began with the sound of a samovar, the smell of fresh tea, and Maria’s voice humming at the stove. Their connection wasn’t in words but in deeds—in every look, in every movement.

But one day, in the spring, Valery came to the house. Not alone—he had a boy, around eight years old.

— Dad… — he began cautiously. — This is Sasha. Your grandson. He wanted to see you.

Nikolai froze. The boy looked up at him trustingly and a little shyly. He held a drawing in his hands: an old house, a tree, two figures on a bench.

— This is you and Grandma Maria, — he said. — Dad told me. Now I want to have a grandfather.

Nikolai knelt down, hugged the child, and felt warmth return to his chest.

From that day, Sasha became part of their life. He didn’t just play in the garden—he brought the house to life. Nikolai started making things again: swings, a toy boat, even fixing an old radio. And in the evenings, he read fairy tales to his grandson, just as he had once done for his son.

One day, watching them, Maria quietly said:

— Kolya, you’re living again. Not just existing—living.

He took her hand tightly and pressed it to his cheek.

— Because of you.

In the fall, Nikolai took an important step. He brought a marriage application to the registry office. He and Maria got married in front of four people—Valery and Sasha were present. No pomp, no dress or banquet. Just two people who found each other after a long journey.

When the registry office worker smiled and remarked that it was a bit late, Maria answered:

— Love has no age. Either it’s there, or it isn’t. And for us, it is. And we made the right choice.

Years passed. Nikolai started writing. From old, worn notebooks, his life story was born—from childhood in a postwar yard to his work as a housing office master, from losing Lydia to exile, and then—meeting Maria. He wrote it all down for his grandson, so he would remember: life isn’t always fair, but there will always be light in it.

Sasha read these notes with bated breath.

And when he turned sixteen, he said:

— Grandpa, I want to make a book out of your notes. So people will know: you can’t abandon your loved ones, you can’t be blind to other people’s pain. You need to know how to forgive. And know how to leave when there’s pain.

Nikolai silently nodded. There was no greater pride for him.

One day, Olga unexpectedly came to the house. She had lost weight, with gray hair and empty eyes.

— I’m sorry, — she said. — I lost everything. The man I left for turned out to be nothing. Health left, well-being left… I thought back then that you were standing in Valery’s way. But now I realize: you were his foundation.

Nikolai stared at her for a long time.

— I’m not angry, — he finally said. — But I won’t invite you in. Because in this house, there is kindness. And you brought cold. And now you want to warm yourself where you never felt warmth. It doesn’t work that way. I wish you peace—but not here.

And he closed the door.

Ten years later, Maria left quietly. She didn’t wake up in the morning. The room smelled of lilies of the valley—her favorite flowers. Nikolai sat next to her, holding her hand, whispering words of thanks. He didn’t cry. He just whispered:

— Thank you. I’ll come soon. Wait for me.

Neighbors, acquaintances, and children from the playground came to the funeral. Everyone knew Marusya—kind, quiet, always ready to offer tea and a shoulder to lean on.

Sasha wrote the book. He called it:

“The Bench Where Life Began”

He dedicated it to his grandparents. The book found thousands of readers. People wrote letters, thanking for the honesty, for the truth, for believing that even in old age, you can find love and a home.

And Nikolai… lived a little longer. One day, he just lay down on that same bench, where it all began. He closed his eyes. And saw: Maria was walking through the snow. Smiling. She said:

— It’s time to go home, Kolya.

He smiled and took a step toward her.

Epilogue.

Now, on that bench, there is a small plaque:

“Here everything changed. Here, hope was born.
Don’t pass by the elderly—they also need love.”

Every evening, grandchildren sit here, holding the hands of their grandmothers and grandfathers. Because love isn’t in grand ceremonies. It’s in saying:

“I found you. Now you’re not alone.”

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Darling, the apartment doesn’t belong to me—it’s Mom’s, so you can file for divorce,” Yana said calmly to Dima.

0

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mom, I don’t need money.”

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

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

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

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

“Are you sure? About the divorce?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Documents?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Have you been watching me?”

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

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

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

“How did you…?”

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

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

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

“Yana…”

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

“And what have you decided?”

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

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

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

“Did you count?”

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

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

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

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

He flinched: “How did you…”

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

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

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

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

“How… when?”

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

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

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

“Fuck…” Dima hissed.

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

“Are you kidding me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I love you!”

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

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

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

“How did you…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How did it go?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A Stranger Saved a Woman from a Troublemaker, and When He Came Over for Dinner, He Saw a Photo—and It Was Him…

0

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Let me make you a hot dinner?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you okay? Did something happen?”

“I remembered…” the man muttered hoarsely.

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

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

Alice shook her head, deciding he was mistaken:

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

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

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

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

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

Nikolai slowly pushed his plate aside and said:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Dad is home again. He’s with us.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The son of poor parents saw a wealthy woman throw a strange wriggling bag into the river… What he found inside changed their lives forever!

0

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What happened?” Marina hurried to him worriedly.

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

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

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

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

Marina sighed, stroking Misha’s hair.

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

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

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

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

Herman frowned but shook his head:

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

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

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

Herman sharply turned to his son:

“Are you sure it was Inga?”

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

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

She tried to say something, but Herman was firm.

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

Fifteen minutes later he returned, pale but resolute.

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

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

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

Marina was slightly embarrassed but smiled too:

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

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

In the kitchen, Marina and Herman continued their conversation.

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

Herman nodded, looking at her carefully:

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

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

Herman gave the boys some money:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Reading it, he laughed:

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

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

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

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

Tamara Semyonovna, laughing, called the kids home:

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

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

And life became kind again.

My husband and mother-in-law committed me to a psychiatric hospital to take my money, but they didn’t know that the chief doctor was my ex, who owes me a great debt.

0

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

My heart stopped.

“This is not a sanatorium.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The man slowly turned around.

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

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

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

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

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

He swallowed, unable to look away.

“Alina… What are you doing here?”

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

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

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

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

I stepped closer and looked into his eyes.

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

He shuddered as if I had hit him.

“I haven’t forgotten anything, Alina.”

“Then prove it.”

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

“Valentina, come in.”

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

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

The nurse was surprised but didn’t dare object.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Arseny Igorevich insisted,” her smile tightened.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She hesitated, but curiosity won.

“What kind?”

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

Her face went pale.

“I don’t understand…”

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

The word “million” worked.

“What favor?”

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

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

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

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

Stas instantly took the bait:

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

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

“Alina? Where is…?” Stas began.

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

Tamara Igorevna flushed.

“Why aren’t you in the ward?”

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

The door opened. My lawyer entered holding a recorder.

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

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

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

As they left, defeated, I approached Arseny.

“Thank you.”

“I just repaid a debt. What’s next?”

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