All Amazing Babies

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

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

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

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

He stood frozen in disbelief.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The response came immediately, without a single question:

«We’re leaving with your mother.»

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Olga trembled. Tears streamed down her cheeks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sunday, 11:47 AM

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

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

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

 

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

12:03 PM

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

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

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

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

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

Childhood: 1998

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

12:15 PM. Anton’s Apartment

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

12:41 PM. Home

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

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

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

Night. 03:23 AM

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

Morning. 07:15 AM

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

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

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

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

Evening. 7:48 PM

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Two Days Later. 14:00. Hospital

 

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

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

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

11:59 PM. Anton’s Apartment

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

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

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

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

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

The Next Few Months

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

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

A Random Meeting. 2023

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

— Anton? — my voice cracked.

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

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

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

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

Epilogue

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

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

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

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

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

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

Artem yawned and snorted:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

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

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

I interrupted her:

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

Uncle Yura instantly put on a benevolent smile:

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

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

Aunt Natasha made a dramatic pause:

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

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

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

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

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

Artem shrugged:

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

Uncle Yura muttered:

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

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

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

These words delighted Aunt Natasha, who immediately applauded:

«Smart girl! So we can rely on you.»

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

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

Oleg laughed:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oleg courteously nodded in my direction:

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

 

Aunt Natasha tried to save face:

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

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

Uncle Yura couldn’t stand it:

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

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

Nina blushed and tried to defend herself:

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

I raised an eyebrow:

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

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

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

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

Oleg, standing nearby, added:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I smirked:

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

Aunt Natasha tried to take control:

«We can… somehow later…»

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

I hugged her tighter:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And what might that be, may I ask?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Later in the evening, Nelya finally called him.

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

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

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

“Yes,” she interrupted her stream of words.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

— Well, if you’re in peace, come in.

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

— I need a drink.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

— Damn it!

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

— Absolutely!

— Well then, let’s go slowly.

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

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

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

He hurriedly spooned his soup. She asked:

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

— Nikolai.

— How curious.

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

— Now, Nikolai, tell me your story.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

— Incredible!

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

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

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

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

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

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

He got up easily, embraced Anna Fedorovna.

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

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

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

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

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

— Could it be war?

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

Anna dropped the bucket and hurried to greet her lodger.

 

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

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

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

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

— Hello.

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

— What do they show?

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

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

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

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

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

— Is that your creative way of proposing?

— Well, yes.

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

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

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

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

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

— Of course, we will.

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

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

This is just slop!» Nina Ivanovna threw her spoon on the table.

Her daughter-in-law, Nastya, blushed and ran from the table.

«And under what fence did you find this fool?!» Nina Ivanovna looked at her son, Sergey.

«She’s not a fool, she’s my wife,» Sergey replied calmly.

Every encounter with her daughter-in-law was a fiery trial for Nina Ivanovna! Everything was wrong! The food was slop! The house was a mess! Anastasia herself was always unkempt and dressed like she shopped at second-hand stores!

 

Sergey tried to explain that by insulting his wife, his mother was also insulting him. But Nina Ivanovna wouldn’t listen!

«I will ensure that my son has a worthy wife! Not this crude, uneducated simpleton!» Nina Ivanovna yelled.

Sergey was by nature a non-confrontational person and always tried to settle disputes peacefully. And now, once again, he tried to calm his mother.

«Mom, this is my life, and I chose my wife myself! I love Nastya.»

«What do you know about love?!» Nina Ivanovna interrupted. «What do you know about family?! You were supposed to introduce her to me before the wedding! That’s the tradition! My parents chose me for your father because the elders in the family know better what kind of wife a son needs, as they raised him!» Nina Ivanovna gasped with anger, «And you! You found her… on some patch and even married her! From nowhere, without a dowry! I raised you with no expense spared! If your father were alive, he’d give you a piece of his mind!»

Sergey winced. He remembered well how he stood in the corner for the slightest misdeed and got «what he deserved» for any transgressions. And sometimes, his mother got it from him too.

Such upbringing neither embittered him nor crushed him. Sergey endured, but even as a child, he decided that things would be different in his own family.

He wasn’t angry with his parents and respected them, but believed that the modern family should have a different way of life.

Since childhood, his mother had tried to instill in him the idea that he should marry a very prestigious and preferably wealthy girl with influential parents. She constantly meddled in his personal life, recommending ambitious girls who knew the value of everything and were ready to climb the ladder from husband to the highest point.

But Sergey was looking for that warm and tender feeling. He sought mutual love. He wanted a cozy family, not a doll with only thoughts about money.

He met Anastasia at university, and they kept their relationship secret for a long time. Nastya had come to the city from the countryside, where she only had an older brother.

A simple and calm girl, not spoiled by a wealthy life, won Sergey’s heart with her openness and lack of mercenary views toward men.

«You’re not listening to me again!» his mother continued to complain. «I’ll lay down my bones, but you will not live with this hopeless orphan!»

«Mom… stop. Enough!» Sergey couldn’t take it anymore and pointed her to the exit.

Nina Ivanovna started gathering her things.

«In any case, I give you a week to get a divorce. I’ve said my piece!» she concluded and, slamming the door, left.

Sergey was very upset and hurt by Nina Ivanovna. He entered the room and saw Nastya packing her things.

«What are you doing?!» he froze.

«I’m leaving, Sergey,» his wife replied in a toneless voice. «Nina Ivanovna won’t let us live. I can’t listen to this anymore. I’ll go back to the village, live up to my status. Please, sleep in another room tonight. Thank you.»

Nastya slammed the door in his face and locked it. No matter how Sergey tried, she wouldn’t let him in. Desperate, Sergey went to sleep on the guest sofa, hoping his wife would cool down and reconsider.

The alarm clock woke him up. Sergey rarely woke up to it, as every morning began differently. His wife used to wake Sergey with a gentle kiss and an invitation to a tasty breakfast.

«Beloved?!» Sergey called out. But there was no answer. He got up and looked around. Dirty dishes were still on the table. Nastya had indeed left.

«It’s okay,» Sergey reassured himself, «After work, I’ll pick her up from work with flowers. We’ll have a romantic dinner, make up. And I’ll deal with my mother somehow.»

Leaving the mess in the kitchen, Sergey put on a wrinkled shirt and went to work. He tried to call his wife all day, but to no avail. Sergey left work early and went to Nastya.

«She worked until lunch and left, on vacation, they say,» the guard at the gate replied. Sergey scratched his head with his free hand; in the other, he held a bouquet of roses. Although the store clerk had asked him what flowers his wife liked, he couldn’t remember. So he just bought universal ones, roses.

Anastasia didn’t respond to calls or messages.

Arriving home, Sergey surveyed the place. Without Nastya, the apartment was dark, stuffy, and unbearably gloomy. And still not cleaned…

Picking up the phone, he called his boss.

«Sorry, family circumstances! I need to leave urgently.»

Hanging up, Sergey took off his tie, rolled up his sleeves, and started washing the dishes. After cleaning the apartment and changing clothes, he went out to look for his wife.

«I’m telling you for the last time!» Sergey slammed the table where Nina Ivanovna sat. «Give me her address!»

«If she left, it means she doesn’t love you!» the mother, poorly hiding her joy, tried to reason with her son. She worked in «the authorities» and had the opportunity to find out the address of Anastasia’s brother but firmly did not want to.

«And why did I come to her again?» Sergey thought. «She’s tied me up.»

 

He wanted to say many loud and harsh phrases, but suddenly he let go.

Sergey handed his mother the bouquet of roses he had bought for his wife and quietly said:

«Thank you, mom, for everything. Goodbye. Forget and forgive us.»

«What do you mean, goodbye?! Seryozhenka?!» Nina shouted, but it was too late. She irritably threw out the bouquet and decided she would never forgive her son for such an action.

Sergey didn’t sleep all night, and the next morning, he went out looking.

Besides the name of the village, Sergey had no information. He spent three hours driving around the village, looking for the house of Nastya’s brother by her maiden name, asking everyone.

«Excuse me, are you Aleksey, by any chance?» he asked a man chopping wood on the street.

«Aleksey,» the man replied sternly.

«I’m Sergey. Your sister’s husband.»

«You better leave here on good terms, Seryozhenka!»

«I won’t leave without my wife,» Sergey confidently said.

«We’ll see about that…» Aleksey began swinging the ax.

At that moment, Anastasia came out of the house and, seeing Sergey, froze.

«Lёsha, stop!» she cried to her brother. He waved his hand and left.

«Sort it out yourself, sister.»

«Please forgive me, Nastya!» Sergey handed her a bouquet of wildflowers he had bought from a grandmother along the way. «I still don’t know what your favorite flowers are…»

«These are my favorite…» she said and accepted the flowers. «By the way, your mother called.»

Sergey tensed.

«Why?»

«She said she’s cutting off all contact with you and if her son is still of interest to me, I can take him!»

«And am I of interest?» Sergey asked with a smile.

«Well, I don’t know,» Anastasia playfully stretched and, smiling, took her now only man by the arm.

Don’t start hysterics, Arina. You should have known, marrying a promising surgeon, that this would happen sooner or later. Just look at yourself in the mirror if you haven’t done so in all these years. You’re old, and I need a young wife. I’m a well-known doctor, people talk about me. People try to get appointments with me. I need a beauty by my side, someone I wouldn’t be embarrassed to show off. Thank me for putting up with you for twenty-five years. That’s a significant amount of time. It was all for the sake of our son, but now that he’s grown up, I can leave you with a clear conscience.»

Arina looked at her husband, listening to his hurtful words, but she didn’t show any emotion. Inside, she was boiling. Twenty-five years had passed! In her mind, they were happy years of marriage. Now her husband was holding his head high, saying things she never expected to hear.

«The apartment that you inherited from your parents is currently empty. You haven’t managed to rent it out to new tenants yet, so move there. I think you lack the wit to demand a division of property, considering you didn’t contribute a penny to buying this house?»

Sergey looked at Arina as if trying to silence her with his gaze. Their son, Roman, had just gotten married a week ago. The father had given them a nice two-bedroom apartment and paid for their honeymoon, and now he came with news that made him shiver. Had he been waiting all this time for his son to settle down? But why endure a wife he didn’t love at all? Arina had dedicated herself entirely to the marriage. She once fell in love with a young surgeon who was just starting his challenging career.

Arina remembered how she twisted her ankle, slipping off a rock. Luckily, she managed to hold on, and nothing serious happened. They were hiking with friends at the time. Sergey was also there. He rushed to help the girl, telling her not to worry because he was a surgeon and wouldn’t let her suffer. That was exactly what happened. The guy skillfully fixed the dislocation, and the leg barely hurt. Arina fell in love with his eyes, blue as the clear sky, and agreed to go on a date with Sergey. They married quickly. Sergey carried his beloved in his arms, promising to move mountains for her. The man insisted that his wife should take care of the home. He was too jealous, and Arina was very beautiful. Sergey immediately made his stance clear – let the wife stay at home, and he would provide everything necessary. Arina didn’t argue. She easily agreed with her husband’s position. The role of a housewife was daunting but seemed manageable. Arina was the perfect wife, and Sergey adored her. Or so she thought until today.

Twenty-five years had passed. Arina was now forty-five, and her husband was forty-nine. A quarter-century walked hand in hand, only to be destroyed now? But there was nothing left to save. Arina understood that she could not fight for a relationship that no longer needed anyone but her. She could also not forgive her husband for such hurtful words.

«You should have told me earlier that you no longer wanted an old wife. I’m sure our son would have understood,» Arina managed a smile. «I’ll go pack my things.»

«That’s it? You won’t even say how bad a husband I am? Won’t you insult me?»

«Why?» Arina asked, leaving her bewildered husband alone with his thoughts.

The woman entered the bedroom, closed the door behind her, and felt something too important and significant break inside her. All this time, she had barely been breathing, listening to her husband’s words and trying to comprehend them. He. Does. Not. Love. Her. And how long had he fallen out of love?

Packing would take a few days. Arina wasn’t planning to leave behind what was so dear to her, knowing that her husband hadn’t asked her to vacate the house for nothing. Surely, he planned to bring his mistress there as soon as possible. To use the comfort Arina had created? That would never happen!

The woman approached the wardrobe, opened it to assess how many suitcases she would need to pack her things, but felt an intense burning in her chest. Nausea crept up her throat, tightening like a vice. Breathing became increasingly difficult, as if her lungs were filled with molten lava, burning from within. Everything before her eyes blurred, and a sparkling pain pierced her chest, and a stifled moan escaped her lips. The light before her eyes dimmed.

Hearing a crash from the bedroom, Sergey immediately rushed there. A bad premonition had gripped him, and when he saw his wife lying next to the wardrobe, he instantly turned pale. After administering first aid and calling an ambulance, Sergey cursed himself for that conversation. He had long wanted to confess that he had a mistress, but probably should have kept it a secret. Sergey felt responsible for his wife. He knew his son would not forgive him if he found out who had driven his mother to a heart attack. Perhaps he wouldn’t forgive him for the divorce either. But it was so hard to pretend when someone else had appeared on the side. A young assistant had turned Sergey’s head, and he hadn’t even noticed how she ended up in his bed. Then she also informed him of her pregnancy.

 

Sitting outside the intensive care unit, Sergey replayed the conversation with his wife over and over in his head. He thought he could have done it more softly. He wanted to blame her for the breakup, but it was necessary to take the full blow himself to make it easier for her to bear the depressing truth. Clenching his hands into fists, praying that everything would be okay with her, Sergey realized he hadn’t fallen out of love with his wife. But he could no longer stay with her. He had betrayed their relationship, a marriage they had built over the years. All the happy moments of their life together flashed before his eyes. Sergey remembered how he met Arina, their first kiss, how she said the desired «yes» and married him. No mistress could ever give him so many pleasant memories. And what had he traded it all for? A fleeting infatuation? He felt nothing for the mistress that bound him to his wife. However, he couldn’t leave her either, as she claimed to be expecting his child. The baby would need a father. Sergey had raised his son, and now he had to take care of a second child, albeit late in his life to be starting a family. The man blamed himself and thought about how he better proceed until the doctor came out and informed him that Arina’s condition had stabilized. She would be okay.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Sergey pondered. He was trying to understand how best to behave moving forward. Should he insist on a divorce or ask his wife for forgiveness? Something inside screamed that he couldn’t live without her. He loved Arina, and she loved him. But on the other hand—what about the young woman who craved his attention and care?

The man was torn.

When Arina was transferred to a regular room, her husband couldn’t come to visit her right away because he didn’t know how to start the conversation. How to apologize? And when he came, it all just happened. He simply asked how Arina was feeling, what she needed. Standard phrases, a strained conversation. It was crucial for Sergey to decide here and now. He had to stop beating around the bush, but he was deeply mired in a swamp of lies.

There was no one to ask for advice, as Sergey had not managed to make friends. His wife had always been his only advisor and support. Sometimes he talked with his son and asked for support, but now he knew for sure that Roman wouldn’t understand his father. It would be good if he even spoke to him at all.

Meeting with his mistress, Sergey understood that she didn’t love him but was drawn to his success. As he was drawn to fresh young blood. He couldn’t be happy with this woman, but he couldn’t yet tell her his thoughts. Like a dog in the manger, the man was torn between two fires and thought about what he should ultimately do, who to choose? Who to stay with and share the rest of his life with? If the mistress was not embarrassing to show at important meetings, then with his wife, he felt more comfortable. Comfort or beauty? To be loved or to feel young again?

Arina, meanwhile, tried not to think about her husband’s betrayal. If initially, the woman tried to find flaws in herself, thinking about what she had done wrong and how she had displeased her husband, she now simply let go of all these worries. She had done everything right, surrounding her husband and son with care and warmth. Perhaps there was one major drawback after all—Arina never thought about herself. And now she had to decide how she would earn a living and what she would do next. She knew her son wouldn’t leave her and would help, but she didn’t want to burden him. He had his own family. They needed help, not to look out for when they would bring her treats or buy something for the house.

 

The woman decided that she would try to find a job related to her hobby because she really enjoyed baking, and her cakes were so good that many confectioners might envy her. In the end, there were courses after which she could find a job. And if not, she would try baking to order. There was a lot of work ahead, but the woman was sure she wouldn’t be lost, and she definitely wouldn’t suffer over a husband who left her with nothing. Let God judge him. Everyone makes mistakes in this life. Perhaps the mistake cost Arina her entire youth. But even now, the woman didn’t blame Sergey. She had been happy with him all this time, so those twenty-five years lived under one roof with a man she once trusted were not in vain.

Arina decided not to call her son and tell him that she was in the hospital. She didn’t want to spoil the young couple’s vacation, nor did she hint at the upcoming divorce now. Let them rest and enjoy, and the parents would somehow figure out their relationship and go their separate ways on their own.

The day of discharge arrived. Arina wasn’t kept in the hospital long because she recovered quickly, and there was no point in inpatient treatment. She was prescribed heart-strengthening medications and advised not to worry. She promised she wouldn’t. First and foremost, to herself. Sergey couldn’t come and meet his wife because he was on duty. They met at home in the evening. Arina quietly packed her things, deciding that she wouldn’t rush and that her husband wouldn’t throw her out on the street. After all, they had lived together for twenty-five years.

«Arina, forgive me. I understand that you ended up in the hospital because of me. I’m very sorry. I shouldn’t have driven you to such a state. Maybe I should have said softer that I had decided to separate. I don’t know what came over me, and why I decided to just dump everything on you so rudely. Don’t be mad at me. I didn’t want to blame everything on you.

Of course, I wanted to, but then I realized that it was a crude mistake, and I decided to make amends.» Sergey found out that his young mistress was pregnant and not from him at all. Her revelations were a real blow, but at the same time, the man was relieved.

«Arin, drop this matter. No need to pack any stuff. We’re not going to divorce. I was wrong and fully realize my guilt. I know it won’t be easy for you to accept and forgive me, but please… don’t make a rash decision. I cheated on you, but I never stopped loving you.

Now Arina even found it funny to listen to all the nonsense her husband was telling her. Ended up in bed with another woman, but never stopped loving his wife? Let him tell those fairy tales to someone else, but Arina was fed up with deception.

«Be that as it may, you cheated on me. And everything you said – it didn’t come out of nowhere after all. It means you really think that our marriage should be torn apart. You were right about everything: I achieved nothing in this life, devoting myself entirely to the family. I didn’t take care of myself and didn’t think about it before. Maybe I didn’t look the way you wanted. That’s my fault. The more we love someone, the less they notice it. Don’t blame yourself, Sergey. It happened. Go to her and be happy.

«No, Arina,» Sergey protested. – I won’t be happy with anyone but you. She was deceiving me. Wanted to pin another man’s child on me. I realized that no one loved or would love me as you do. I don’t want to divorce you.

«But I want to divorce you, Sergey. Have the decency not to interfere with me packing my things. After all, I shouldn’t get worked up.

Sergey thought his wife was just offended, that she would eventually cool down and give him another chance, but soon their son returned and helped his mother move. Arina didn’t tell Roman that she left his father because of an affair. She didn’t want to pit father and son against each other and decided that if Sergey wanted to—he would confess himself. However, the boy was smart and figured it all out without any extra words. He couldn’t forgive his father for betraying their marriage with his mother, so he decided that he would minimize communication with him and return the apartment his father had gifted as soon as he could afford his own housing. The boy wanted to achieve everything on his own.

Arina got a job in a small bakery. Her cakes quickly captured the attention of customers, and the place gained popularity. The woman had no shortage of orders, and she started earning well. She spent all the money on herself and now truly lived. She started attending yoga, going to the fitness center, often visited the pool, and generally went out, which had been a luxury for her before, to not irritate her husband unnecessarily.

Sergey couldn’t understand why his wife had left him after all. How could she just forget twenty-five years of marriage and leave him? He told himself that Arina had never loved him at all and was looking for an excuse to leave and find another man. It’s always easier to blame others than to think everything through and find reasons in oneself. After all, not everyone can forgive betrayal, let alone forget it.

Sometimes, fate delivers such surprises that you spend your entire life marveling at how it all turned out. I still remember that chilly October day when I was returning from the market in the neighboring village. Back then, buses were rare, and I had to walk, cursing the broken road and the heavy bags of potatoes under my breath.

At forty-two, I lived alone, if you don’t count a ginger cat named Barsik, who honestly looked more like a small pillow with a cheeky face. After my divorce, neither my personal life nor my relationship with my children turned out well. I worked at the village library, knitted socks in the evenings, and watched TV shows—just the typical life of an ordinary woman from the sticks.

I was just wondering if I had the strength to drag these damn bags home when I noticed her. A little figure in a thin jacket was sitting under an old oak tree, hugging her knees. At first, I even thought I was seeing things—who in their right mind would leave a child alone between villages in such weather?

‘Girl, whose are you?’ I called out, approaching her.

She lifted her head—a pale little face, frightened eyes, and silent. She just wrapped herself tighter.

‘Are you lost? Where are your parents?’

Silence. Only her lips trembled.

‘Lord, you’re completely frozen!’ I put down my bags and sat next to her. ‘My name is Tatyana Ivanovna. And what’s yours?’

‘S-Sonya,’ she whispered faintly.

‘Sonya, will you come to my house? I’ll make you some hot tea, you’ll warm up, and then we’ll figure out where you’re from.’

She timidly nodded, and I, grabbing the bags with one hand, took her icy little hand with the other. So we went—I, huffing under the weight of the potatoes, and she, trotting alongside like a little sparrow.

At home, the first thing I did was wrap her in a blanket, turn on the heater, and put the kettle on. Barsik, usually indifferent to guests, immediately jumped onto her lap and purred like a tractor.

‘Look, he likes you,’ I smiled, pulling out some cookies. ‘And he’s picky, doesn’t just go to anyone.’

Sonya timidly petted the cat, and I noticed her shoulders relax a bit.

‘Sonya, how old are you?’

‘Five… I think.’

‘And do you know your last name? Or where you live?’

She shook her head, and I felt a tightness inside. Something was very wrong here.

That evening, I fed her soup and pies (thanks to my habit of baking in advance), put her to bed in my room, and settled myself on the sofa in the living room. I couldn’t sleep all night—I called the police, the administration of neighboring villages, but no one had reported a missing child.

A week passed, then another. Sonya slowly thawed, began to smile, especially when I read her fairy tales before bed. But she remembered nothing—or didn’t want to remember—about how she ended up on the road.

When the juvenile affairs officer shrugged her shoulders again, I realized—I had to decide something. An orphanage? The very thought made me nauseous.

‘Sonya,’ I called her one evening when she was drawing at the table, sticking out her tongue from diligence. ‘Do you want to live with me? Permanently?’

She paused, gripping the pencil, then looked up:

‘Can I?’

‘Yes. You’ll be my daughter.’

‘And can we keep Barsik too?’

I laughed:

‘And Barsik too.’

She got off the chair, walked over to me, and suddenly hugged me tightly. As I stroked her head, I thought—come what may. We’ll manage somehow.

Then, of course, the visits to the authorities began, gathering documents, checks. But that’s another story.

I remember the first day at school as if it were yesterday. Sonya clung to my hand as if they were leading her to a cage with tigers, not to the first grade. A new polka-dot dress, white bows, which I tried for an hour to make symmetrical—everything as it should be.

‘Mom, what if I can’t do it?’ she whispered as we approached the school.

That ‘mom’ still resonated warmth somewhere deep in my heart. She first called me that a month ago when I was lying down with a fever of forty, and she brought me a cup of tea, spilling half along the way.

‘Of course, you can,’ I squatted down in front of her, adjusting a bow. ‘You are my smart girl.’

‘What if they laugh?’ she lowered her eyes.

I knew what she meant. In the village, everyone knows each other, and the story of the ‘foundling’ had already sprouted a dozen versions, each more ludicrous than the last.

‘You know what?’ I pulled out a small notebook with kittens on the cover from my bag. ‘Here, hold this. You’ll write down all the interesting things you learn there. And you’ll tell me in the evening. Agreed?’

She nodded, pressing the notebook to her chest, and we went on.

The first months were tough. Sonya tried her hardest, but math was difficult for her. However, in drawing lessons, she was transformed—the quiet girl was unrecognizable when she picked up pencils.

‘Tatyana Ivanovna, could you stay for a minute?’ Marina Petrovna, the drawing teacher, called me after a parent meeting one day.

I tensed—teachers usually don’t hold you back just like that.

‘Sonya has an amazing talent,’ she pulled out an album. ‘Look at this.’

On the sheet was a landscape—our street in autumn. But the way she saw it! Every leaf, every puddle reflecting the sky…

‘We need to develop her talent. There’s an art school in the district…’

I sighed. Art school means money. And with a library salary, we were barely making ends meet.

‘I’ll think about it,’ I responded.

That evening, as Sonya did her homework and I prepared dinner, there was a knock at the door. On the threshold stood Grandma Zina, our neighbor.

‘Tan, here…’ she extended a bag. ‘Apples were plentiful this year, the girl needs vitamins. And raspberry jam.’

I was taken aback:

 

‘But Zinaida Nikolayevna, really…’

‘Take it, take it,’ she waved her hand. ‘And this… I sometimes do odd jobs, cleaning apartments in the city. If you want, I can recommend you. They pay decently.’

That’s how my ‘black’ weekends started—twice a month, I’d go to the city to clean. Sonya stayed with Grandma Zina, who taught her to bake pies and told her stories.

By the end of first grade, we had saved enough for art school. True, it required two bus rides, but Sonya never complained.

Problems started in middle school. Adolescence is tricky, and then there were those eternal questions about the past.

‘Why did they leave me?’ she asked one evening as we drank tea. ‘Was I bad?’

My heart clenched.

‘Sonya, listen…’

‘No, you listen!’ she jumped up, overturning the cup. ‘All normal people know who their parents are! And I… I’m nobody! A foundling!’

‘Stop it!’

‘What, does the truth hurt?’ she stormed out of the kitchen, slamming the door so hard that plaster fell.

Barsik, aged and even more corpulent, scurried under the sofa.

I didn’t follow her—I knew it was pointless. In such moments, it’s better to let her cool down. I sat in the kitchen, mechanically wiping up the tea spill, thinking—maybe I did something wrong? Maybe I should have then…

The front door slammed. I jumped up—it was almost ten at night.

‘Sonya!’

Silence in response.

Throwing on a jacket, I rushed outside. The rain drizzled, every other streetlight was out. Where could she have gone?

I ran down our street, then the next. I checked the playground—empty. Horrible images spun in my head—maniacs, accidents, dogs…

She was found at the old cemetery—sitting on a bench near Grandma Zina’s grave, who had died a year ago.

‘Sonya…’

She lifted her head—soaked, teeth chattering.

‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered. ‘I didn’t mean to…’

I silently took off my jacket, draped it over her shoulders, and sat next to her.

‘You know,’ I said after a long silence, ‘when I found you, I thought—well, she’ll stay a bit and leave. To an orphanage or to relatives, if they’re found. But then… then you started drawing those doodles on the wallpapers…’

‘They were unicorns!’ she protested through tears.

‘Yeah, especially that purple one, with three tails,’ I smiled. ‘And I realized—I won’t let you go. Because you’re mine. Not by blood, but by heart. And I don’t care who your real parents are. For me, the real one is you.’

She buried her face in my shoulder and sobbed. We sat like that, probably for 10 minutes—wet, frozen, but somehow… purified, I guess.

‘Mom,’ she said as we walked home. ‘Can I repaint my room? In purple?’

‘The one with a violet shade or the one with a pinkish tint?’

‘I don’t know,’ she shrugged. ‘Let’s try both?’

The following weekend we spent painting the walls. I still couldn’t figure out which shade it ended up being, but Sonya was happy.

By the age of fifteen, she already knew she wanted to be an artist. Her works regularly won at district contests, and one was even sent to a regional exhibition.

‘Mom, look!’ she burst into the house, waving some paper. ‘I’ve been invited to a master class at the art school! In the city, for a whole week!’

I felt a chill. A week in the city—accommodation, food, materials…

‘Great,’ I forced a smile. ‘When?’

‘In a month!’ she flopped down on the sofa next to me. ‘Imagine, there will be a real artist from Moscow! And they’ll teach us to paint with oil!’

That evening, I took out the stash—a small part of what I had saved for her college fund. I counted it—should be enough. We’ll figure something out.

That week changed everything. Sonya came back different—matured, with sparkling eyes and a firm intention to apply to the art school after ninth grade.

‘But what about school?’ I was bewildered.

‘I’ll take external exams! The teacher said I have all the chances to get in on a budget. Can you imagine?’

I could. I imagined her moving to the city, how I’d stay alone in this house, every corner soaked with memories. How I’d wait for her letters and her rare visits on weekends.

‘Mom,’ she sat next to me, taking my hand. ‘I won’t leave forever. I’ll come every weekend. And then I’ll return—to set up an art studio for kids here. You’ll see!’

I looked at her—not a child anymore, but not yet an adult. A stubborn chin, eyes that turn green when she’s nervous. My girl. When did she grow up?

‘Alright,’ I said. ‘But on one condition.’

‘Which?’

‘You’ll send me all your works. I want to be the first to see your masterpieces.’

She laughed and hugged me tightly.

That evening, I couldn’t sleep for a long time. I went out to the porch, sat on the old bench. Somewhere far away, dogs barked, and it smelled of ripe apples from Grandma Zina’s former garden. Life is strangely arranged—it goes on, follows its usual course, and then suddenly—bang!—and everything changes because of one encounter on the road, one decision, one moment…

‘Mom, why aren’t you sleeping?’ Sonya came out, wrapped in a blanket. She sat next to me, resting her head on my shoulder.

‘I was just thinking.’

‘About what?’

‘About how quickly you’ve grown.’

She was silent for a moment, then said:

‘You know, sometimes I think—what if you had walked past that day? Or if I had been somewhere else?’

‘I don’t know,’ I hugged her shoulders. ‘I guess it was meant to be.’

We sat on the porch until dawn, making plans for the future and reminiscing about the past. In the morning, I started gathering documents for her external exams.

Her readiness for college became our common cause. I worked two jobs, she studied at night, preparing for exams. At times, it seemed we wouldn’t make it, we’d break. But we managed. She got in.

Time in the city changed Sonya. She spread her wings—new friends, exhibitions, creative evenings. In the first year, she called every day, then less often, but always sent photos of her works. I printed them and hung them on the walls—creating a whole gallery.

The house without her seemed unusually quiet. Even Barsik, who by then had turned into a real old man, wandered the rooms mournfully, as if looking for someone.

‘Mom, just don’t worry,’ she said once over the phone. ‘But I think I’ve found a way to learn about my past.’

Inside, everything in me froze.

‘What do you mean?’

‘Remember that jacket I was wearing? Do you still have it?’

Of course, I kept it. The little blue jacket lay in the back drawer of the dresser along with other keepsakes.

‘There’s a tag in the lining with the name of a tailor shop. I found it—it’s still in business! Maybe they remember who ordered the jacket?’

I was silent, not knowing what to say. On one hand, I understood her desire to know the truth. On the other…

‘Mom? Are you there?’

‘Yes, dear. Just… are you sure you want to know this?’

She was silent, then said softly:

‘I need to close this door. Otherwise, it’ll remain ajar.’

I took out the jacket. It still smelled of mothballs and, strangely, apples—probably from being stored next to jars of jam in the dresser.

A week later, Sonya came home—thin, with dark circles under her eyes.

‘Well?’ I asked, seating her at the table and pouring tea.

‘Nothing,’ she shook her head. ‘The shop changed owners, all the old order journals are gone. Dead end.’

She suddenly burst into tears—the first time in many years.

‘You know what’s funny? I don’t even know what I wanted. Find them? And then what?’

I hugged her, stroking her back:

 

‘My dear…’

‘No, really,’ she wiped her eyes. ‘Imagine—I had found them. And what? Would I have said, «Hello, I’m that same girl you left many years ago. How are you?»‘

She bitterly smirked:

‘And then I sat in the bus and thought—it’s they who lost, not me. They lost the chance to see how I grow, draw my first pictures, get into school… And you—you’ve been there all along. You’re the real mom, not the one who gave birth to me.’

I was silent because I couldn’t speak—a lump in my throat got in the way.

‘Remember the day you found me?’ she suddenly asked.

‘Of course.’

‘I remember more than I said. I remember being taken out of the car, told to wait… I sat there almost a day until you came.’

She went to the window:

‘You know what I realized? Sometimes people leave your life so that others—the real ones—can appear.’

Two years later, Sonya organized her first personal exhibition. I came to the city, dressed up and excited, with a bouquet of wildflowers—her favorites.

The gallery was full of people. Fashionably dressed women, men in expensive suits, artists with beards—all discussing my girl’s paintings. And I walked from work to work, my heart ready to burst with pride.

‘And here’s the heroine of the day!’ a voice called from behind.

I turned around—a gray-haired man in a tweed jacket extended his hand:

‘You’re Sophia’s mother, aren’t you? I’m her painting teacher. You know, your daughter has an amazing talent—she sees the soul of things.’

‘My daughter’—how wonderful that sounded!

‘Mom!’ Sonya made her way through the crowd to me. ‘Come on, I want to show you something.’

She led me to a large painting at the back of the hall. I froze.

In the painting, I saw our old road—the same one, broken, with tractor ruts. The huge oak we always called ‘grandfather’ spread its gnarled branches. And under it—two figures: me, with shopping bags (God, she even remembered my ridiculous green raincoat!), and tiny Sonya in that same blue jacket. We were holding hands, and around us, red leaves danced. And you know what’s most amazing? From somewhere above, right through the gray clouds, a golden ray of light shone—just like that day. I didn’t even remember it, but she… she remembered.

‘It’s called «The Encounter,»‘ Sonya said softly. ‘Do you like it?’

I looked at the painting, and our whole life flashed before my eyes—first steps, first joys and grievances, ups and downs, quarrels and reconciliations… Twenty-five years that flickered by like one day.

‘Thank you,’ I whispered.

‘It’s to you, thank you,’ she hugged me tightly. ‘For everything.’

That evening, we sat in her rental apartment, drinking tea with cake and talking about everything under the sun. On the wall hung a photo of Barsik—he had passed away last winter, quietly and peacefully, in his sleep.

‘By the way,’ Sonya suddenly bustled, ‘I have news for you. Remember I talked about the art studio in our village?’

I nodded.

‘Well, I applied for a grant. And…,’ she paused, ‘they approved it! Can you believe it? Now we’ll have our own studio!’

‘In our village?’ I couldn’t believe it.

‘Why not?’ she shrugged. ‘Children grow up there too. And they also need art. Besides…’ she squinted slyly, ‘someone has to look after you in your old age.’

‘Ah, you!’ I jokingly swung a towel at her.

She dodged with a laugh:

‘Just first, we need to do some repairs on the house. The porch has really deteriorated…’

‘And the fence is leaning,’ I chimed in.

‘And the garden has overgrown…’

We looked at each other and laughed. So many plans ahead, so much hope!

And the painting ‘The Encounter’ now hangs in our living room. And every time I look at it, I think: how wonderfully life is arranged—sometimes you just need to not walk by, to find the most important thing.»

Denis resolutely pushed the plate of borscht away from him and, with an indifferent, careless tone, as if even solemnly, declared:

«Sveta, I’m leaving you!»

The forty-five-year-old woman, stunned by such unexpected words, dropped the cup she was holding, which shattered into pieces upon hitting the tiled floor. Sveta looked at her husband and, seeing his serious expression, realized he was not joking. She froze, silently wrapping her arms around herself.

Sveta had lived with her husband in what she thought was a happy marriage for twenty-five years. She loved her Denis with all her heart, considering him a reliable, faithful husband and a wonderful father. But these strange words, like a whip, struck her where it hurt most, shaking her deeply. Sveta had not yet fully grasped the reality of the situation. She raised a bewildered look to her husband and asked in a broken voice:

«How can you leave? Where, Denis? After all, we’ve been together for a quarter of a century!»

«Exactly!» the man replied irritably, abruptly standing up and fixing his wife with a scintillating gaze, «I’ve lived with you for twenty-five years. But what have you become during this time? Tell me, where is that young, beautiful, slim, carefree girl I once fell in love with? Just look at what you’ve turned into! You’ve gained weight, started to go gray, and now these annoying wrinkles too. Well, that would be half the trouble, but all you have in your head are cutlets, borscht, cleaning, laundry. No wonder I’m fed up with such a life. There’s absolutely nothing to talk to you about. And I don’t want to bury myself alive, sorry. I deserve more. I hope we can divorce calmly, without hysterics. I’ve fallen in love with another woman and you need to understand that. She’s younger, more interesting, more beautiful, and is expecting my child. I’ll soon be a father again, so please let me go without a scandal. I haven’t loved you for a long time, Sveta, sorry.»

 

Sveta sank into a chair and desperately clutched her head with both hands. Denis’s words inflicted unbearable pain. She could not come to terms with the fact that the man she had dedicated her life to, for whom she had sacrificed so much, had turned away from her so cruelly. Denis had traded a loyal, loving, caring wife for one who was younger and more attractive.

«Leave,» Sveta barely managed to utter the words, her head bowed low.

Denis silently left the kitchen. He quickly packed his things and left, announcing at the door that he would file for divorce soon. Sveta cried all day. By evening she was so exhausted from the searing pain tearing her soul apart that she fell asleep right at the table. She woke up after midnight but did not go to bed. She gently leaned against the wall and sat, hugging her legs, until morning. In the morning, Sveta had to go to work. She met the dawn with a haggard, frightening look. Suddenly, Sveta realized that she had no desire to work, and she could hardly get up from her place. She called her boss and said she was sick and could not come to work, asked for unpaid leave, and plunged into her grief. She stopped cooking, eating, taking care of herself, and looking after the house. From morning till evening, Sveta spent in bed, staring blankly at one spot, mourning her fate.

This continued until one day, her son Artem unexpectedly arrived with his young wife. Artem had decided to surprise his mother, so he showed up without warning. On the way, he bought her favorite cake. Artem was used to seeing his mother always cheerful, used to coming to a clean, well-kept home where the vanilla aroma of fresh baking always emanated from the kitchen, so the scene that greeted him was a real shock.

«Mom, what’s wrong with you? Are you sick? What happened? You don’t look like yourself,» Artem worried, rushing to his mother, who was sitting in the kitchen, thoughtfully examining the chandelier.

«Your father left me,» Sveta confessed in a trembling voice, directing a dimmed gaze at her son, stunned by the news.

«What do you mean… left?» Artem managed to say, tightly gripping his mother’s hand.

Sveta told her son and daughter-in-law everything that had happened in their family. The young couple looked at each other in surprise. They began to console Sveta, who had started crying again, convincing her that life had not stopped, that a new, happy life awaited her. However, Sveta shook her head in despair, saying that she had no future left.

«Svetlana Nikolaevna, I’m begging you, hold on. Everything will be alright, you’ll see. You’re a young, beautiful, interesting woman. You’ll meet your fate and be happy,» Marina tried to reassure her mother-in-law, but she didn’t want to hear it.

«There’s no use comforting me. I understand everything. I’m no longer that young girl Denis fell in love with twenty-five years ago. My life is over. It’s lost its meaning. What’s there to hope for in the twilight of my years? I’ve gained weight, gone gray, wrinkles have appeared…»

Her son and daughter-in-law’s words brought Sveta no comfort. She fell into an even deeper depression, realizing that her youth had irretrievably gone, and she was utterly alone. Artem thought long about how to help his severely suffering mother. He had been deeply attached to her since childhood, so seeing his mother in such a disheartening state was unbearable.

And then, the spouses decided to involve Marina’s grandmother, whom Sveta had always sincerely loved. Tamara Ivanovna was a very wise and insightful woman. She promised her granddaughter and her husband that Sveta would soon live a happy, full life again.

Sveta was sorting through old things when her phone rang. Seeing her son’s number on the screen, she immediately grabbed the mobile and put it to her ear.

«Hello, son. I’m fine. Well, don’t worry about me. Everything is really, good. How are you? What? Poor Tamara Ivanovna! Of course, I’ll go to her in the village, yes, yes, take care. I’ll be there in the evening. Tell Marina not to worry and to work with a clear conscience. Agreed.»

Sveta hung up the phone and immediately began to dress. She was going to the village to take care of her daughter-in-law’s ailing grandmother. Artem had informed his mother by phone that Tamara Ivanovna was ill and needed care. He also mentioned that Marina couldn’t get time off work and was in despair, not knowing what to do. Sveta gladly volunteered to help her daughter-in-law’s grandmother, with whom she had warm relations. Sveta also hoped that caring for an elderly, sick woman would distract her from her gloomy, intrusive thoughts. She quickly packed everything necessary and set off for the village.

Tamara Ivanovna was not only a wise but also an artistic woman. In her youth, she had acted in plays, so she easily pretended to be a sick person needing constant attention. Sveta believed in her illness and began treating the elderly woman.

«Svetochka, darling, please go to my neighbor. He has hawthorn in his garden, which is very good for the heart. Konstantin promised to bring me a berry infusion but forgot.»

Sveta went to Tamara Ivanovna’s neighbor to get the healing infusion. He lived in the house opposite. The woman was delighted by the man’s plot. At first glance, she understood that a real handyman, a master of all trades, lived in the neighboring house. Sveta loudly called Konstantin, and he appeared after a few seconds. He opened the gate and politely greeted Sveta, who was captivated by the well-kept yard of the man’s house, utterly enchanted by his garden. For a moment, she felt as if she had stepped into a fairy tale. The man himself also made a pleasant impression on her. Sveta was so mesmerized by the captivating beauty around her that she even forgot why she had come.

«Come into the house. I’ll treat you to some tea and pie,» Konstantin offered in a friendly voice, curiously examining his neighbor’s guest.

«Thank you, but I need to return to Tamara Ivanovna. I’m afraid to leave her alone for too long,» Sveta replied, trying to imagine the woman who was the mistress of this house and Konstantin’s wife.

Sveta took the infusion and returned to the elderly woman, who sincerely sighed, complaining of dizziness and rapid breathing. She was glad that Sveta had a good impression of her neighbor, who was indeed a decent man and, importantly, a free man.

«My neighbor is a good man,» Tamara Ivanovna muttered, sitting at the table with Sveta and finishing her tea, «Such men are hard to find these days. Industrious, responsible, kind, and he can do anything around the house and in the yard. A former military man. Now retired. Imagine, he left a spacious apartment in the city center and moved to live in the village. He bought the neighboring house in a deplorable state. There was no garden, no vegetable garden, no beautiful yard on that plot. Konstantin did everything with his own hands. Not just a man, but gold, it’s just a pity that he hasn’t found a kindred soul. He’s completely alone.»

The next morning, taking advantage of the fact that Sveta was doing laundry in the yard, Tamara Ivanovna twisted the fuses and cut off all the electricity in the house.

«Svetochka, my dear, come here,» the elderly woman called her guest.

Sveta hurried into the house:

«Yes, Tamara Ivanovna, did you call me? Are you alright?»

«I’m fine, but something happened to our meter. There’s no electricity in the house. My series is about to start. And I can’t live without it. Go fetch Konstantin. Let him take a look and fix it.»

Sveta obediently went for the neighbor, who immediately came to Tamara Ivanovna’s and fixed everything in a matter of minutes. The light was back on in the elderly woman’s house. At lunch, Tamara Ivanovna asked Sveta to bake her favorite strawberry pie. Sveta fulfilled the elderly woman’s request, delighted that she had regained her appetite. During tea, Tamara Ivanovna casually said:

«Svetochka, take a piece of pie to Konstantin. We need to thank him for fixing the meter. I didn’t miss my series. Go to him. He’s probably doing something in the yard right now, even without having lunch.»

Sveta nodded and, cutting a large piece of pie, went to the neighbor. Konstantin was pleased with Sveta’s arrival and said that the pie was just in time, as he hadn’t eaten anything since morning. Kostya offered Sveta to have tea with him, and she couldn’t refuse. Arranging a tea party in the garden, they talked for several hours. Konstantin told Sveta about his service, and she listened to him, holding her breath. Time with Konstantin flew by unnoticed. Sveta returned to Tamara Ivanovna with a pleasant impression.

Soon, Konstantin himself began to visit Tamara Ivanovna and Sveta. He visited the «sick» neighbor, brought her medicinal herbs, helped tidy up her yard. Tamara Ivanovna, with a self-satisfied, mischievous smile, watched how Konstantin and Sveta, forgetting about everything in the world, passionately talked to each other and realized that her plan had worked brilliantly. The man and woman did not notice how they became attached to each other.

 

One day, during another tea party, Konstantin told Sveta about what had happened in his life a year ago.

«I moved here a year ago after my wife left me. I’ll be honest, it was a tough time for me. I realized that I had to drastically change my life. In the village, I found myself, forgot about the past, and learned to be happy in the present.»

Sveta was amazed at the neighbor, thinking about the woman who decided to leave such a man as Konstantin. She was sure that Konstantin’s ex-wife regretted her decision more than once. Sveta involuntarily compared Konstantin with Denis and realized that her ex-husband was significantly inferior to Tamara Ivanovna’s neighbor. Konstantin was a real man, a person who knew how to keep his word. The woman increasingly caught herself thinking that she had stopped remembering her ex-husband and thinking about where he was, what was with him. Sveta simply enjoyed the carefree life in the village, the summer sun, and the pleasant, inspiring communication with her new acquaintance. But Sveta’s mood suddenly changed the moment she realized that her vacation was coming to an end and she would soon have to return to the city, to her previous life. The remaining few days flew by unnoticed. Tamara Ivanovna stopped playing the role of a sick woman and announced that she had recovered, thanks to Sveta’s tireless care.

Sveta, without much enthusiasm, packed her things in the evening and went outside to say goodbye to the village, which had become her own and beloved. She did not notice that Konstantin was approaching her.

«Are you leaving?» he asked thoughtfully, not taking his eyes off the saddened woman.

«Yes,» Sveta replied regretfully, «It’s time. Tamara Ivanovna has recovered. My vacation is over. The city is waiting for me.»

«You don’t sound very happy about it. Are you sure there’s nothing else keeping you here?»

The man looked into the eyes of the bewildered neighbor and timidly took her hand.

«Maybe you’ll stay? I see that you don’t want to leave. And I don’t want that either. Sveta, I’ve become so attached to you that I can’t imagine living without you.»

«Konstantin,» Sveta stammered, taken aback by the surprise, «I really have to leave. I have my own life in the city. Work, apartment, friends, son.»

Sveta’s words were an attempt to convince herself of the correctness of her decision. Deep down, she did not want to part with Konstantin but was afraid that staying in the village would be a mistake. But when Konstantin unexpectedly embraced Sveta by the waist and pulled her to him, all fears and doubts immediately dispersed. She realized that she had hopelessly fallen in love with Tamara Ivanovna’s neighbor and could not now live far from him. Sveta willingly accepted his embrace.

«Don’t leave,» Konstantin whispered, his hot, intermittent breath burning the woman’s skin.

Sveta knew that, no matter how much she wanted to stay with the beloved man in his small, cozy paradise, she could not just abandon everything she had before meeting him.

«My job is waiting for me in the city,» she whispered shakily, pressing her body against Konstantin’s.

«Then I’ll go with you to the ends of the earth. I can’t be without you. I’ll be by your side, just call.»

Sveta, without a second thought, invited the man, without whom she could no longer imagine her life, to come with her. He moved into her apartment. By that time, Sveta was already divorced from Denis, and they with Kostya filed an application at the registry office. Tender feelings miraculously transformed the woman. Now she radiated happiness, which was felt in every word, look, gesture. Sveta blossomed like a flower that, after a long drought, finally quenched its thirst with warm rain. Her son and daughter-in-law sincerely rejoiced at the changes occurring with Sveta. They thanked Tamara Ivanovna, who gently and delicately brought two lonely souls together, so in need of love and tenderness. Every weekend, Sveta and Konstantin spent in the village and always visited the elderly woman, coming to her with gifts.

A year later, the past unexpectedly reminded itself. It happened on a sunny Saturday morning when the spouses, as usual, were preparing to go to the village for the weekend. Konstantin was at the store. When suddenly there was a ring at the door, Sveta hurried to open it, assuming that her husband had forgotten to take his keys with him. She was stunned by surprise, seeing Denis with a one-year-old boy on the doorstep.

«Denis?!» Sveta exclaimed, throwing up her hands, «What are you doing here?»

«Hello, Sveta,» the man said timidly, «Will you let me in?»

«Denis, why did you come? I thought that everything between us was long over.»

«Svetka, you always understood me better than anyone else, generously forgiving all my mistakes. Forgive me now too. I know you love me. I came to ask you for another chance. Let’s start over.»

From her ex-husband, Sveta learned that the woman he had left her for had abandoned him with a one-year-old child in his arms and ran off with a young and promising man. Denis was forced to take care of the child and pay for the rent of the apartment where they lived. Sveta understood that her ex-husband was looking for an easy way out, that it was not love that brought him to the doorstep of the apartment where he too had once lived.

«Denis, I now have another family, a husband whom I love. I’m sorry for your son, but I can’t help. There can be no question of your return. You should understand that from now on I live my own life, in which there is no place for you. Please leave. You’ve already made your choice.»

«Husband?! Family?! You couldn’t have gotten married so quickly! You loved me…» Denis shook his head in disbelief, then burst out laughing.

Before Sveta could respond, Konstantin, who had returned from the store, appeared at the doorway. He looked questioningly first at his wife, then at Denis, who at that moment understood everything.

«Honey, I couldn’t find the cake, we’ll stop by the supermarket on the way. Do we have guests?»

«A person got the wrong door and is already leaving,» the woman replied calmly, and after politely saying goodbye to Denis, returned to the kitchen with her husband.

The ex-husband was forced to admit defeat and leave. He left, bitterly regretting what he had done a year ago. Sveta mentally thanked her ex-husband for leaving her. Only by meeting Konstantin did she realize that it was habit, not love, that had kept her with Denis. They were completely different people. Sveta tightly embraced Konstantin, feeling that she had found her true happiness.