All Amazing Babies

Tatiana woke up at 6:45 — as always, to the alarm. Monday.

The kitchen smelled of oatmeal — grandma was already up. Life was going on as usual: ninth grade, lessons, homework, rare meetings with friends.

It seemed like everything was as it should be. But in reality, it was a little different.

Since childhood, Tatiana knew one thing, which had been repeated to her many times: her father was a hero, who died before she was born. That’s what her mother said. That’s what grandma said. And it was easy to believe. They told the story without unnecessary details, but with a special tenderness in their voices, as if it were a sacred secret that should not be touched. Her father was a «real man,» he «left too early,» and she — his «greatest legacy.»

This story became her shield. It was easier to live behind it. She could tell it to her classmates — without shame, even with a sense of pride. Some had fathers who beat them, some whose fathers disappeared entirely, but she — had a hero, who died for the country. In her mind, there were images, glimpsed from films: a man in uniform, a determined look, a farewell to his family before battle. Fantasy replaced reality.

After school, Tatiana often helped her grandmother — going to the store, carrying groceries. Grandma was aging, her legs often gave out. They had dinner together, at a small table. These evenings were filled with calm, but such a fragile calm that it seemed like one wrong move and everything would collapse.

And collapse, it did — suddenly.

Illness took her mother quickly. First, weakness, then pain, the ambulance, examinations. The diagnosis — cancer. A word that shatters the familiar world. Lena hid the truth as long as she could. But when it became impossible, Tatiana started taking care of her mother: holding her hand in the ward, learning to cook, running errands, calling doctors. All of this — at fourteen. Her childhood ended earlier than expected.

Her mother died quietly, almost imperceptibly — she just stopped breathing one night, when Tatiana had fallen asleep, her head resting on the edge of the bed.

After the funeral, she didn’t cry. Not immediately. It seemed like it wasn’t happening to her. That her mother had simply gone and would return any moment. In the evenings, Tatiana would catch herself waiting for familiar footsteps in the hallway. But the silence was never broken.

Her guardian became grandma. All the formalities were taken care of legally — documents, benefits, allowances. Svetlana Petrovna held herself together as best as she could. She cooked, washed, ironed, hugged. And every evening, she would repeat:

“Mom is now with us — watching from heaven. You are not alone, Tanya. We are together.”

But this “together” became increasingly fragile. The house became colder, even when the heaters were hot. Emptiness filled the rooms, even when they were both inside. Tatiana would sit by the window for hours, staring at the streetlight — the only constant light in her life. As if, in its beam, the answers were hidden.

One evening, when grandma was ironing and Tatiana pretended to be reading her textbook, a question escaped her chest, one that had been growing inside for a long time:

“Why did mom and dad… both die?”

Her voice trembled. It wasn’t a question — it was a cry of pain. The words she spoke aloud, for the first time, to see if they were real. Or perhaps this pain was just a dream?

Grandma flinched, put down the iron. There was a pause. Then a look — full of worry.

“Sometimes it happens. People leave too soon. But we are alive. We need to live on.”

“Both died.” These words became a new spell for Tatiana. She repeated them over and over, as if hoping to understand the meaning. But somewhere deep inside, a suspicion began to form — something didn’t sit right.

The morning began as usual. Tatiana arrived at school early, in the worn sweater her grandma had knitted. The air was sharp with autumn cold, her fingers frozen on the way.

But something felt strange in the building. People were staring. I mean, really staring. Some turned their eyes away, others whispered. The teachers avoided her gaze. Her friends acted strangely.

During break, Nastya, the school’s rumor queen, approached her. With a mixture of sympathy and curiosity, she said:

“Listen, Tanya… Please don’t be offended, okay?.. But do you know that your dad… didn’t die?”

Her heart stopped.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, my mom saw some homeless guy in the park. He called himself Pavel. He says he used to be with your mom. Like… your father.”

The words sank into emptiness. “Alive.” “Pavel.” “Homeless.”

At home that evening, Tatiana demanded the truth. Her voice was sharp, almost adult — like someone who had been deceived.

At first, grandma tried to distract her, avoid the conversation. But Tatiana didn’t back down.

And then Svetlana Petrovna sat on the sofa and told her everything. Slowly. Without embellishment.

Pavel was Lena’s youth friend. They grew up in the same village, loved each other. He went to the army, promised to return. Half a year later, a letter came — cold, soulless. He rejected Lena and the child. Asked her to forget him.

Lena couldn’t stay in her hometown. She moved to the city, hiding her pregnancy, starting a new life. There, Tatiana was born. Pavel never showed up again. Lena didn’t search — there was nothing to forgive.

Later, they heard that he had married, worked. Then — his life turned upside down. He hit rock bottom. For the last years, he lived on the streets. A stranger. Lost. Just a shadow.

“This is your father, Tanya,” grandma said quietly. “But he’s nobody to you. You grew up without him. You became yourself — not because of him, but in spite of him.”

The next day, Tatiana was walking home along the usual route when she saw a police car near the store. A man was standing next to it — hunched over, in worn clothes. His hair was matted, his face hidden by stubble, dirt, and time. But something in his appearance made her stop.

When the police led the man to the car, he suddenly turned around. Just for a second. But that second was enough. His gaze — blurry, but familiar — pierced through Tatiana.

It was him.

At home, grandma confirmed the terrifying truth: yes, it was Pavel. Yes, he was alive. And yes, now he was homeless.

Tatiana’s heart clenched with conflicting emotions: anger, pain, pity, shame. She wanted to scream. She wanted to erase everything from her memory. She wished he were really dead.

But he was alive. And he was her father.

On Monday, Tatiana came to school as usual — early, in her old sweater, with a backpack on her back. The previous blow had not yet passed, but she kept her face — cold, composed. However, the atmosphere in class had changed. The looks were different — full of judgment, almost hatred.

“The homeless girl has arrived,” someone whispered behind her, as she took her seat.

The nicknames poured in: “daughter of an alcoholic,” “heir to the trash,” “princess from the dumpster.”

The teachers also kept their distance. The homeroom teacher no longer smiled, the deputy headmaster pretended not to notice her. Absolute silence from those who once seemed to be reliable.

The worst part was that no one said a word in her defense. Not one of her friends, not one adult said: “It’s not your fault.” The world she had once felt safe in turned its back on her.

Before this, Tatiana had been one of the best students: responsible, curious, diligent. But suddenly, there were threes instead of fives, lower marks on essays, and answers in class were “unconvincing.”

At first, she chalked it up to coincidence, then to inattention. But the mistakes kept repeating. One evening, when she returned home, she quietly told grandma:

“I can’t take it anymore. I want to transfer to another school.”

Svetlana Petrovna, restrained but worried, went with her to the principal. The reception was polite but distant. The man in glasses, barely looking at them, said:

“We would help… but the load is heavy. And children like her, with emotional instability, create tension in the group. We already have a lot of problems.”

No apologies followed.

Tatiana left the school and didn’t go home. She sank onto a bench in the park, watching the leaves swirl at her feet. Children were playing ball, women were walking with strollers. And inside, everything hurt.

Why? Why did she have to pay for someone else’s mistakes? Why was her life falling apart just because she had such a father? She studied, helped, tried — why wasn’t that enough?

A thought, sharp as a blade, rose by itself:

“I am not my father. I am not guilty. Why should I suffer for this?”

But that thought changed nothing. The world had already decided: now she was “the daughter of the wrong one.”

“Adults can be stupid too,” grandma said that evening, when Tatiana cried on her shoulder. “There will always be good and evil. It’s not you who’s bad. It’s just that they are weak.”

Svetlana Petrovna spoke softly but firmly — like someone who knew the value of life. She patted her granddaughter on the head, as if she were little again.

“You’ll grow up, Tanya. You’ll forget all these people. Just don’t lose yourself. Do you hear? Don’t give yourself up to betrayal.”

These words became a lifeline. The only one to hold on to at that moment.

Winter began with a cough. Light, barely noticeable, growing into a deep one, with a wheeze. Grandma wasn’t worried at first: “She caught a cold,” “The weather’s like that.” But the cough got worse, added fever, shortness of breath.

The clinic, X-rays, diagnosis: bronchitis with complications on the heart. Prescribed treatment — drips, medications, rest. The pension went to medicine, there was little left for food.

Tatiana started keeping track of expenses. She kept a notebook, carefully writing down every penny. Sometimes she skipped breakfast to buy pills. She paid for utilities on the last day to avoid debts. School became secondary.

Her pale face, hollow cheeks, and oversized coat — none of it went unnoticed. But instead of sympathy, there were new mockeries.

“Saving on food?” one of the classmates sneered. “Or giving it to your dad?”

The girls snickered. Even those who had once been close friends.

The torn sleeve of her jacket became the subject of whispers. The ripped strap on her backpack — a reason for jokes and memes. And in the phones of her classmates, there was a photo of Tatiana eating a bun alone in the schoolyard, with the caption: “homeless girl.”

When the doorbell rang, and two women in strict coats with folders in their hands appeared at the doorstep, Tatiana immediately knew — it was from the guardianship.

“We need to talk. A signal has been received. We need to ask a few questions.”

The conversation was polite but formal. The women asked about living conditions, food, school. They inspected the apartment. Grandma tried to keep her dignity but couldn’t hide her cough. Their eyes met.

“There is an opportunity to offer temporary accommodation. At the center. A room, food, support. It would be easier for you.”

Tatiana stood up as if glued to the floor:

“No. I’m not going anywhere. I’m staying with grandma.”

“Think about it, it doesn’t take away your life, it’s help.”

“This is betrayal,” she said firmly and closed the door.

At night, tears flowed, not from fear, but from helplessness. From the realization that she couldn’t protect even those she loved most.

One of the women — younger, with brown eyes — lingered at the stairwell. She turned around and suddenly said:

“You’re a very strong and smart girl. Everything will get better. I believe in you.”

These were the first words from a stranger that touched her heart. These words became the anchor during those long nights when everything seemed hopeless. They reminded her: she was not broken. Not yet.

The school year was coming to an end. The class was rehearsing for graduation: some were preparing poems, others — songs, others — decorating the hall. The lists of participants were made, Tatiana’s name was nowhere to be found.

She sat in the corner of the class, listening to the voices, as if she didn’t exist. Worse than mockery was this — being invisible. As if she had been erased from the world.

Grandma couldn’t take it anymore. She called Nastya’s mother — Veronika.

“She’s a person too,” she said. “You may not like her, but she’s not to blame. Give her at least a chance.”

There was no response.

At one of the rehearsals, Tatiana was approached by the literature teacher, who was in charge of the event.

“We’ll have a song about dads. Very touching. Maybe you’d like to take a verse? Do you want to?”

Tatiana silently took the text. Read it. The lines: “Thank you, dad, for love and strength…” — they cut through with pain.

She carefully folded the paper and returned it.

“I won’t sing it.”

“Why?” the teacher was surprised.

“Because it’s not about me.”

And then something inside her broke. Everything that had been pressing for years collapsed.

“Because you’re just not like that!” Nastya shouted. “That’s why you didn’t fit in! Your mom died — and it’s good that such a child was left alone!”

The ringing silence. The world froze.

Tatiana jumped up:

“Don’t you dare say that about her! Don’t you dare! She was better than all of you put together! Better than you! She never betrayed, never lied, never humiliated. She lived — and loved! And you… you’re an empty shell! Nothing inside!”

Tears broke through the dam. She ran out of the class, slamming the door. She ran, not caring about the road. Just away — from these walls, from the faces, from the poison that had long filled her school days.

An explosion happened. But now — for the first time — she spoke. Loudly. Honestly. For herself. For her mom. For her voice, which no longer wanted to stay silent.

Tatiana came to the place where she had always felt safe — by the riverbank. This place had known her since childhood, hidden her under the willows, kept her silence. Here, she could be herself. Here, the world didn’t see her, but it didn’t hurt her either.

She sat on the grass, hugged her knees, and looked at the water. Her heart was empty, but not cold — more like burned out. It seemed like there was nothing left — neither pain, nor tears.

But suddenly, a cry rang out:

“Help!”

The voice was hoarse, almost weak, but full of despair. Tatiana jumped up. From behind the willow, there was a struggle in the water — someone was drowning.

Without thinking, she kicked off her sneakers, ran down, and jumped into the river.

The cold hit like an electric shock. Her breathing quickened. She swam, overcoming numbness and fear. The hand, the hair, the scream — all merged into one impulse: to save.

They pulled her ashore with difficulty. The ground was slippery, her legs gave way, but she didn’t let go. They were both alive — wet, trembling, but alive.

“How… are you…” Tatiana gasped.

“I don’t know… Thank you,” the girl whispered, coughing.

Her name was Maria. She was nineteen — a first-year architecture student. With a trembling voice, she explained that she had come here to meet a guy named Anton, with whom she had been dating for almost a year.

“I was going to end it…” she sniffed. “He changed. Became cruel. A stranger. Not the person he was before.”

Anton had suggested taking one last walk — along the river. But instead of parting ways, something terrible happened.

It turned out that he hadn’t just lost his feelings. He was part of a dangerous game. Through Maria, he had tried to get to her father — the governor of the region. His group had staged the girl’s disappearance to blackmail her father, forcing him to sign documents for a large construction project.

“He said: ‘Your daddy will sign if he thinks you’re dead,’” Maria said calmly now, but her eyes were still shocked.

They stood on the shore. At some point, Anton checked his phone and muttered:

“It’s done. Time’s up. Dead people don’t talk.”

And he shoved her into the water.

“I didn’t even have time to scream… But someone heard. It was you,” Maria looked at Tatiana, and in her eyes sparkled gratitude that couldn’t be put into words.

The next day, Tatiana brought Maria to her house. Gave her dry clothes, hot tea, and an old phone to contact her father.

The conversation was short, tense.

“Dad, it’s me. I’m alive. Don’t sign anything. It’s a trap. They wanted to use me…” Her voice trembled.

There was a long pause in the receiver, followed by a scream, then silence again. And finally — relief:

“I’m coming.”

Two hours later, a black jeep drove up to the house. A tall man in a strict coat got out. Upon seeing his daughter, he rushed to her, hugged her tightly, not hiding his tears.

“I almost went crazy…” he whispered.

Maria turned to Tatiana:

“She saved me. Without her, I wouldn’t have survived…”

The governor slowly approached Tatiana. She, confused, hid her hands in the sleeves of her sweater. He looked at her for a long time, as if he wanted to say something important, but only nodded. Then he left, holding his daughter tightly.

There were no interviews, no news headlines. But a new person entered Tatiana’s life — Maria. And that connection stayed.

The school was preparing for graduation. The last bell. Everyone was in dresses, with flowers, with ribbons. Tatiana stood at the entrance. In her hands — a simple white ribbon. It seemed no one was waiting for her. But she came.

When the famous song “about dads” played, she stayed aside. Didn’t raise her eyes. Just stood. But inside — there was no more pain. Only silence. Calm. Acceptance.

And then the hall noticed: Maria was entering. In a light dress, with neatly waved hair, in shoes that Tatiana herself wouldn’t have worn. On her wrist — a thin bracelet, on her face — a smile. All this — a gift from Tatiana.

“Let them see you as you are,” Maria had said the day before.

As the celebration was nearing its end, the doors opened. Sergey Nikolaevich, the governor of the region, walked in. The room froze. He confidently walked toward Tatiana. In his hands — a bouquet of red roses.

He handed her the flowers. Silently. Then leaned down and kissed her cheek.

“You’re not a stranger to me.”

The world froze. Teachers, students, parents — everyone watched. Some whispered: “Who is she to him?” Some filmed videos. Some couldn’t utter a word.

Tatiana turned to one of the girls, smiled, and quietly said:

“He said I’m not a stranger to him.”

And she left. Not running. With dignity.

Since then, Tatiana and Maria became inseparable friends. Now they often meet in the student cafeteria, discuss architecture and psychology, laugh, argue, dream — just live.

In the spacious workshop, there was a bustling, businesslike atmosphere. Margarita bent over a complex pattern, carefully sketching the darts on a new designer dress. Ten years of hard work had turned a tiny room with a single sewing machine into a proper workshop with professional equipment and a team of five skilled seamstresses.

The phone buzzed, displaying the name «Galina Petrovna.» Margarita sighed deeply and put down her pencil.

«Hello, dear,» her mother-in-law’s voice sounded sickeningly sweet. «Will you and Vitya be coming on Saturday?»
«Good afternoon, Galina Petrovna. Yes, as agreed,» Margarita rubbed her nose.

«Wonderful! I’ve made a list of what needs to be brought. The tiles in the bathroom are all chipped, it’s time to replace them.»

Margarita bit her lip. Another renovation that would fall on her shoulders.

«Galina Petrovna, we only fixed the roof a month ago…»

«Margarita, don’t you want to help your husband’s mother?» The voice of her mother-in-law turned icy. «Or is it too hard to spend some money on your parents?»

«No, of course, it’s not too hard,» Margarita gripped the phone tightly. «Send me the list, I’ll buy everything.»

After finishing the conversation, Margarita buried her face in her hands.

Later that evening, footsteps could be heard outside the workshop. Viktor entered, holding a bouquet of wildflowers.

«Hello, darling! How are you?» He kissed his wife on the cheek and handed her the flowers.

«Your mom called,» Margarita took the bouquet. «We’re going to replace the tiles in the bathroom on Saturday.»

The smile faded from Viktor’s face.

«Rita, you know it’s hard for mom to do it alone…»

«Vitya, I don’t mind helping, but why do I always have to do everything?» Margarita carefully placed the bouquet on the table. «You spend hours with her in the kitchen while I’m here painting, sawing, planing, all by myself.»

«Mom says you’re better than me at doing repairs,» Viktor shrugged. «You have a talent for handiwork.»

«This is not handiwork! This is hard physical labor!» Margarita stood up from the table. «And yet your mother calls me a weakling!»

Viktor frowned.

«Don’t exaggerate, she’s just joking.»

«Joking?» Margarita’s eyes widened. «Last week she told her friend that I only know how to do cross-stitch and don’t do anything around the house!»

Viktor shifted uncomfortably.

«You know how she feels about your atelier. She doesn’t see it as real work.»

«Not real?» Margarita gestured around the workshop. «I earn more than you, Vitya! We have five employees, regular clients, we were even invited to a show in Moscow!»

«I know, dear. I’m proud of you,» Viktor tried to embrace his wife.

Margarita pulled away.

«Proud, but you can’t defend me in front of your mom?»

«Rita, let’s not fight,» Viktor glanced at the clock. «By the way, mom asked if you could visit her tonight. She says the porch is creaking, needs checking.»

Margarita froze. Would this never end?

«Vitya, I have an urgent order. A key client is coming for a fitting tomorrow.»

«But mom’s waiting. You can handle the order, right?» Viktor looked at her pleadingly.

«And if I can’t? What’s more important, my work or a creaky porch?»

Viktor remained silent. His eyes scanned the room, avoiding his wife’s gaze.

«Fine,» Margarita gave in. «I’ll go. But I’m bringing work with me. I’ll fix the porch after I finish.»

«Thank you, darling!» Viktor beamed. «Mom will be so happy.»

Galina Petrovna’s house resembled an eternal construction site. In the bright light of the setting sun, Margarita could see the unfinished porch, the crooked fence, and the garden overrun with weeds.

«Finally!» Galina Petrovna appeared at the window. «I thought you had changed your mind!»

Margarita took a box of tools from the car. Her mother-in-law greeted them at the door in a perfectly pressed silk robe.

«Vityenka, darling!» She hugged her son. «And you, Rita, heading straight for the porch? You won’t even have tea?»

«Hello, Galina Petrovna,» Margarita forced a smile. «I’ll finish my work first, then I’ll handle the repairs.»

«What work?» her mother-in-law pursed her lips.

«I have an urgent order,» Margarita pulled out a bag with fabrics and sketches.

«Ah, your little dresses,» Galina Petrovna waved her hand. «You could’ve postponed it for the family.»

Viktor stood silently beside them, watching.

«This is my work, Galina Petrovna. The client is waiting,» Margarita clutched her bag tighter.

«Vitya, tell your wife that family comes before any rags,» Galina Petrovna turned to her son.

Margarita froze. Would he stay silent again?

«Mom, this is a serious business, not just rags,» Viktor spoke softly, without looking at either his mother or wife.

«Business?» Galina Petrovna laughed. «Real business is when you have millions in your account! And your savings, Rita, you only keep for yourself. You won’t even help your parents with money.»

«I’ve never refused to help you,» Margarita tried to stay calm. «I buy everything, bring it over, do it myself.»

«Yourself? Without our help, you wouldn’t have managed!»

Margarita choked on the unfairness of the accusations. The last straw broke her patience.

«Mom, let’s not discuss this now,» Viktor awkwardly intervened.

Margarita dropped the toolbox on the floor. Another evening had turned into a nerve-wracking trial. She completed the work for her client and then started fixing the porch. By midnight, exhausted both physically and mentally, Margarita fell asleep in the car, waiting for her husband, who had stayed with his mother.

May turned out to be hot. Margarita spread out the sketches for the summer collection on the table. Ahead lay the long-awaited three-week vacation—the first in five years.

«Margot, where are you planning to go with Vitya?» asked Alyona, her right-hand woman in the atelier, as she arranged fabrics.

«To Sochi,» Margarita smiled. «We’ve already made the reservation, I’ll pay tomorrow.»

The phone rang, displaying her mother-in-law’s name.

«Ritochka, I have great news!» Galina Petrovna’s voice sounded excited.

«Hello, Galina Petrovna,» Margarita stepped into the hallway of the atelier.

«I’ve decided to do a major renovation! Can you imagine how well it’ll coincide with your vacation? What a lucky coincidence!»

Margarita froze with the phone at her ear. A cold wave of premonition washed over her.

«Renovation? But Vitya and I planned…»

«Darling, you can relax at home,» her mother-in-law interrupted. «Just think how beautiful it will be for New Year’s when you arrive. I’ve already made a list of materials.»

«What list?» Margarita leaned against the wall.

«It’s five pages long, don’t be scared,» Galina Petrovna laughed. «Vitya said you have good savings.»

Margarita clenched her teeth so hard it made her jaw ache.

«What exactly did Vitya say about my savings?»

«Why are you so nervous?» Her mother-in-law’s voice became condescending. «He said you were saving just in case. But that can wait, right? Family comes first, then hobbies.»

«My atelier is not a hobby, it’s my business,» Margarita tried to speak evenly.

«Vitya thinks otherwise,» her mother-in-law snapped. «He said you’ll definitely help. I’ll send the list in the chat.»

The dial tone sounded before Margarita could reply. She slowly lowered the phone. Rage bubbled inside her chest.

At home, Viktor greeted her as if nothing had happened. Margarita didn’t start the conversation. For three days, she remained silent, pondering the situation, while her husband wondered why she seemed so distant.

«Rita, what’s going on?» Viktor finally asked on the third evening. «You’re not even discussing the purchases for mom’s renovation.»

«Why discuss it?» Margarita set her fork down. «You’ve already decided everything.»

«What do you mean?»

«About our vacation plans, about my savings,» Margarita’s eyes sparkled. «You told your mother that I would give money for the repairs.»

Viktor hesitated.

«Rita, you have to understand, mom really needs this help. We can help with the repairs.»

«We can,» Margarita nodded. «But we won’t.»

«What?»

«I called Elena yesterday,» Margarita took a sip of water. «Remember my jeweler friend? She’s expanding her business. I transferred my savings to her as an investment.»

Viktor stared at her as if he’d seen a ghost.

«You… what have you done?»

«I invested in a promising business,» Margarita replied calmly. «It’s a smart move. I’ll get good dividends soon.»

«Rita, have you lost your mind?» Viktor jumped up from the table. «How could you do this without telling me?!»

«And how could you promise my money to your mother without telling me?» Margarita stood up too.

Viktor grabbed his head.

«What am I going to tell mom?»

«Tell her the truth,» Margarita cut him off. «There’s no money.»

A week passed in tense silence. Margarita took some time off and focused on household chores. Viktor returned late every evening, avoiding conversation.

The night before their vacation, he finally made up his mind.

«Rita, mom’s asking when you’ll go shopping for the materials.»

Margarita looked up from her book and stared at her husband.

«There’s no money. This vacation will be spent at home. And your mom can fix her own house!»

Viktor paled.

«You can’t do this!»

«I can, and I am,» Margarita slammed the book shut. «I’ve worked for ten years in her house. Ten years she’s considered my business a joke. Enough.»

«But mom was counting on it…»

«And I was counting on the support of my husband,» Margarita interrupted. «On respect for my work. Where’s that?»

Viktor’s phone rang. The screen displayed «Mom.» Margarita warned her husband:

«Don’t you dare say I refused. Tell her the truth—there’s no money.»

Viktor answered the phone, but instead of replying, he handed it to his wife.

«Say it yourself. I’m not part of this.»

Margarita took the phone.

«Yes, Galina Petrovna.»

«Ritochka, when will you come? It’s time to buy the materials!» her mother-in-law’s voice was excited.

«Never,» Margarita replied firmly. «I will no longer be free labor. And we don’t have money for the renovation.»

Silence hung on the line.

«What do you mean ‘no’?» her mother-in-law’s voice turned cold. «Vitya promised!»

«Viktor has no right to manage my money. I invested it in a business.»

«What business?» Galina Petrovna shrieked. «Has your atelier gone bankrupt?»

«No, I invested in a jewelry company. And this is not up for discussion.»

«Give the phone to Vitya!» her mother-in-law demanded.

Margarita handed the phone to Viktor. He stepped back a pace.

«No, mom, Rita’s right. We can’t…»

«Traitor!» Galina Petrovna screamed so loudly it could be heard even without the speakerphone. «You’re choosing her… this… this upstart over your mother?»

Viktor helplessly looked at his wife.

«Mom, let’s calm down…»

«Go to her, since she’s more important to you!» The sound of sobbing came through the speaker.

«Mom, stop,» Viktor turned pale.

«Make your choice,» Margarita said quietly. «Now, once and for all.»

Viktor kept glancing from the phone to his wife.

«I can’t do this…»

«Then it’s decided,» Margarita turned and walked into the bedroom.

«Where are you going?» Viktor followed her.

Margarita opened the wardrobe and pulled out a suitcase.

«I’m packing your things. You’ve made your choice.»

«What? Rita, wait…»

«I’ve tolerated enough,» Margarita folded his shirts into the suitcase. «I hoped you’d stand by me. Enough.»

«But I love you!» Viktor’s voice was full of desperation.

«And I’m tired,» Margarita shook her head. «You won’t change, Vitya. The road to your mom is open. Go help her with the renovation.»

An hour later, Viktor, bewildered and downcast, stood at the door with a suitcase.

«Rita, let’s not be so harsh…»

«Goodbye, Viktor,» Margarita closed the door without listening.

The bright July day filled the apartment with light. Margarita sat with a cup of coffee, reviewing the financial report from Elena. The first dividends from her investments were already starting to come in.

The doorbell interrupted her thoughts. At the door stood Viktor—gaunt, with a dull gaze.

«Rita, I came to apologize,» he handed her a bouquet of her favorite peonies. «I’ve realized everything. Mom was wrong…»

Margarita silently stared at the man she had lived with for so many years.

«Leave, Vitya,» she said firmly. «We’re no longer on the same path.»

«But Rita, I’ve changed!» His eyes begged.

«It’s too late,» Margarita shook her head. «I’ve changed too.»

Closing the door, she returned to her reports. Life was calmer without Viktor and his family. And her investments in her friend’s business were already yielding profits. A new life was just beginning.

Where was your head when you got involved with her?» Irina Andreevna fumed upon learning that her son was about to marry Yulia. «She’s only nineteen, what kind of wife will she be?»

«What can I do now?» Nikita, twenty-three, shrugged. «It just happened…»

«Just happened…» Irina Andreevna repeated after her son. «All these years, and you’re still so stupid. I thought you had brains!»

«Mom, aren’t you tired of this yet?» Nikita pursed his lips, offended.

Even he wasn’t thrilled about having to marry Yulia, but he saw no other option—she was three months pregnant.

«I hope no one is planning to throw a wedding celebration?» Irina Andreevna frowned.

«We’ll go with friends to the countryside, have a barbecue,» Nikita responded reluctantly.

His mother rolled her eyes but didn’t ask another question on the matter.

A month later, the couple got married, and Yulia and Nikita officially became husband and wife.

There was no wedding ceremony, nor a dress with a veil. The couple and their friends went to the countryside to celebrate the event.

After her son’s wedding, Irina Andreevna stopped calling him, unwilling to forgive his actions.

Yulia couldn’t help but notice her new mother-in-law’s behavior and started expressing her dissatisfaction to her husband.

«Why does Irina Andreevna treat me like this?» Yulia asked with frustration.

«How ‘like this’?» Nikita asked, not looking away from his phone screen.

«She knows I’m carrying her grandchild, but she doesn’t want to help us,» Yulia pouted.

«How is she supposed to help us?» Nikita sighed irritably, realizing another round of complaints was beginning.

«Well, for example, Irina Andreevna could buy fruits, vegetables, or vitamins,» the pregnant girl began listing. «And she could offer financial help…»

«Tell her all that yourself,» Nikita smirked and continued looking at his phone.

Such an opportunity indeed came soon for the pregnant girl.

Two months later, on the day of her son’s birthday, Irina Andreevna came to the house where the young couple lived, on the outskirts of the city.

«I didn’t bring you money; I thought groceries would be much more needed,» she said, handing Nikita a large bag.

By the way he pursed his lips, it was clear that he would have preferred to receive money.

Yulia, holding her stomach, stepped out of the room and greeted her mother-in-law.

«Irina Andreevna, don’t you want to help us? At least bring some fruits or vegetables for me…»

«Am I supposed to?» The woman looked at her daughter-in-law with surprise. «Did we sign some kind of contract?»

«I’m pregnant with your son’s child,» Yulia put her hands on her hips. «I’d at least like some basic help.»

«What do I have to do with your child? Nothing! Whoever got you pregnant should take care of it!» Irina Andreevna snapped.

«Nikita is your son. He’s only twenty-three… A good mother would never abandon her child…»

«Do you think I like hearing this?» Irina Andreevna’s face flushed with anger. «I’ve fed myself all my life! And I suggest you do the same!»

Nikita winced, trying to ignore the escalating conflict, but he realized the situation was getting out of hand.

«Yulia, why did you start this pointless conversation? We’ll manage on our own,» the young man tried to calm both women. «Mom, don’t pay attention. No one’s asking anything from you.»

However, Irina Andreevna didn’t even look at her son. Her gaze was fixed solely on Yulia.

«Manage? Ha! I’ve seen your ‘independence’! You know what? If you have no money, go steal!» the woman laughed sarcastically. «In the end, you have no other option left. I see you don’t want to work anyway…»

Yulia’s eyes widened in indignation at Irina Andreevna’s unexpected words.

«Mom, enough! Stop humiliating us with such words,» Nikita decided to stand up for himself and his wife.

However, Irina Andreevna seemed not to hear her son’s words and continued:

«Stealing is the easiest thing! If you don’t have money, then your only option is to sneak around and grab whatever you can! You can hide the stolen goods under your belly before the baby arrives.»

Yulia’s mood completely soured. Her lips trembled, and tears slowly ran down her cheeks.

«You should’ve never come here…» she whispered softly and, sobbing loudly, left the kitchen.

Seeing his wife’s reaction and feeling the awkwardness of the situation, Nikita cautiously said to his mother:

«Mom, you’re probably taking it too far. We’re struggling, I understand your feelings, but such statements are inappropriate…»

Irina Andreevna just waved her hand in irritation.

«So you’re saying it’s tough? Then work harder!» she retorted. «You got married, became a father—now you have to support your family on your own. But no one is to blame for your poor choice!»

«Let’s stop discussing whose choice is good and whose isn’t! I understand your position. If you don’t want to help, then fine!» he said dryly, making it clear that the conversation was over.

Irina Andreevna shook her head disapprovingly and, sighing, headed for the exit.

Mother and son didn’t communicate until the child was born. One evening, Nikita called her and, happily, announced that she had become a grandmother.

At first, Irina Andreevna responded somewhat coldly, but a couple of hours later, she asked for a picture of the grandson.

«You know, son, I’ll admit honestly: it’s hard for me to accept your mistake and shortsightedness. You’re twenty-three, and you still haven’t learned responsibility. Your father and I worked at the factory when we were your age. But since you’re like this, I suppose it’s partly my fault too…»

An awkward silence hung in the phone line. Nikita felt uncomfortable.

Quickly saying goodbye to his mother, he hung up and thought that it was time to start looking for a steady job, not just part-time gigs.

However, finding one wasn’t as easy as he thought. Because of this, the young family’s expenses were growing faster than their income, and the lack of financial support from their parents made them anxious.

Opening the fridge and looking at the half-empty shelves, Yulia couldn’t hold back and started crying:

«I’m scared to think about what we’ll do tomorrow… We don’t have anything left. The formula’s run out… Why aren’t you doing anything?»

«What should I do?» Nikita, irritated by his wife’s constant whining, responded.

«Work! Why did I even marry you?!»

«No one asked you. You shouldn’t have gotten pregnant! Admit it, you just wanted to trap me with a child and set yourself up well!» Nikita snapped.

«Set myself up well, yeah… better than ever!» Yulia responded irritably.

She glared at her husband and, unexpectedly for herself, made what seemed to be the only logical decision.

As soon as Nikita fell asleep, Yulia quietly slipped out of the house with the things she had packed earlier and left a note on the table saying she didn’t need the child.

Nikita had to call Irina Andreevna urgently and beg her for help.

Realizing that she had only two options—either send her grandson to an orphanage or arrange guardianship—she chose the latter.

Yulia stopped reaching out, and Nikita, having handed the child over to his mother, continued living his carefree life.

The closer the wedding day came, the gloomier Illya became. Mila couldn’t understand what had happened to him. Maybe he had changed his mind, and like her, began to feel guilty toward his friend? He was tender with her, caring for Vanechka, and everything seemed fine on the surface. But Mila felt that something was eating him from the inside.

— Illya, — she couldn’t take it anymore. — What’s bothering you? Has something happened?

Mila’s heart suddenly skipped a beat.

]

— Could it be some news about Vanya?

Illya lowered his gaze and spoke in a muffled voice.

— I thought I would keep this secret forever, but I realize now that I can’t do this to you. After what you’re about to hear, you won’t want to be my wife. But I will still say it. Vanya is alive. He’s living in his hometown.

— What are you saying? — Tears rolled down Mila’s cheeks. — When did you find out about this? Why didn’t you tell me? Is he hurt? — Mila suddenly became frightened and seemed to understand everything. — He became disabled, didn’t he? He doesn’t want to be a burden to me? I’ll go to him right now!

She rushed to the wardrobe and started pulling out drawers, searching for something, as though she were actually about to pack a suitcase and leave.

Illya grabbed her hand.

— Wait, Mila. Everything’s fine with Vanya. He came back with me. He asked me to say that he was missing. You see, he wanted to leave the door open to return to you.

Mila listened to Illya, not understanding what he was saying.

— Vanya met someone else. His first love. She’s ten years older than him and always rejected him, but the last time he visited his parents, everything finally clicked, and… He decided to try with her, and if it doesn’t work, he’ll return to you.

— You’re lying! — Mila screamed. — You’re all lying! Why are you saying these cruel things?

— Mila, forgive me, — he exhaled. — I love you, and I can’t keep lying anymore, even knowing the truth will hurt you this much.

Mila wiped her tears and said:

— Leave. I don’t want to see you. Never, do you hear?

— I knew this would happen, — he nodded. — You’re right — I deserve this. I shouldn’t have gone along with him, I should have told you the truth right away. Honestly, I hoped he’d realize that no one is better than you and would come back to you and Vanya. That’s why I stayed silent. Then I fell in love with you, and I didn’t want to hurt you. Forgive me again.

He reached out to hug her but stopped himself, dropped his hands, stood there, defeated and miserable, then left.

Mila didn’t want to cry anymore. There was an icy lump in her chest that wouldn’t let the tears out. Deep down, she already knew that everything Illya said was true. But she wanted to see for herself. Mila gathered Vanya, bought a plane ticket. She had the address — on that very envelope that contained a letter from Ivan’s mother. Mila didn’t know what she would say, but she decided that the most important thing was to get there, and she would figure it out from there.

An elderly woman in a flowery dress and a long fur vest opened the door. She looked at Mila, then at her son, and grumbled:

— He’s a spitting image of Vanya as a child. He said you’re lying. Come in.

Mila entered the room and sat down. Vanya became shy and clung to his mother.

— So, why did you come? — asked Ivan’s mother. — You need his address, right?

Mila nodded.

— I’ll call him now, — she said. — His wife is very jealous.

— Wife? — Mila repeated.

When she saw Ivan, her first instinct was to throw herself into his arms. But she was met with his cold gaze, which briefly flicked over their son, and she froze.

Ivan’s mother took her grandson’s hand and led him to the kitchen. Mila and Ivan were left alone.

— Do you even realize what I’ve been through? — Mila quietly asked.

— So in the end, everything worked out? I heard you’re getting married, right? — There was an unfamiliar aggression in Ivan’s voice, one that Mila had never heard before. It was as if she, Mila, was the one who had deceived him.

— I’m not getting married anymore, — she replied bitterly.

— Well, that’s your business, — he shrugged. — Say what you need to say quickly. Alla can call any minute.

Mila suddenly realized that the Ivan she knew and loved was no longer there. He loved another woman, was probably happy with her, tolerated her jealousy, and even now, when he first saw his son, the only thing on his mind was that his wife might call.

Mila stood up and said:

— Nothing. Although… I only have one question: weren’t you at all interested in seeing your son?

— Illya sent me pictures, — he answered. — He told me how things were. I offered him money so he could help you, but he refused. So, it’s not my fault.

He stood for a little while longer and asked:

— Well, should I go?

Mila nodded. What more was there to say?

She was about to leave immediately, but Ivan’s mother stopped her.

— Let me feed you at least. And the child needs to sleep, do you even follow his schedule?

— I do, — Mila replied defiantly.

— Well, then, eat and put him to bed.

Mila didn’t know how it all turned out this way, but while Vanechka slept, she told this woman everything. How happy she had been with her son, how they had saved up for a house and a wedding, how she had waited for him and couldn’t believe that Vanya was missing.

— What a rascal, — Ivan’s mother reluctantly scolded her son.

Before Mila left, she said:

— Alla is a stubborn girl, you better not come here. I’ll try to come to you, though, after all, you’re my own blood. Don’t hold it against me, how was I supposed to know this was Vanya’s son? And about Illya… He’s a good guy, you don’t throw away guys like that. Well, he made a mistake, he wanted to help his friend. You forgive him, he just wanted to do what was best.

Mila waved her hand vaguely.

She forgave Illya, but not immediately. It was Vanechka who helped her, crying and whining, missing Illya, who had long been like a father to him.

— Mama, where is Uncle Illya? — he asked. — Does he not love us anymore?

And then Mila gave in. After all, everyone can be forgiven. Especially when you love them.

The Severny market bustled with life every morning, as if driven by an invisible engine: vendors called out to customers, students haggled over the price of tangerines, loaders cursed under their breath while heaving sacks of potatoes. But on that particular April Thursday, the usual buzz had turned edgy, as if the very air had thickened with unkindness.

A gaunt old man approached the sausage stall. He looked well over eighty—gray military-style coat with patched elbows, shoes laced with mismatched strings. In one hand he held a cane; the other he kept pressed to his chest, as if cradling a pain that hadn’t yet cooled.

The seller—a tall, rosy-cheeked young man named Timur—turned around, knife in hand:

“Move along, grandpa. You’ve got no business here.”

The old man froze, as if he had run into an invisible wall.

“I’d like a small piece of lard, son… I’ll pay.”

“You’ll pay? Where’s your pension, then?” Timur laughed loudly enough for the neighboring stalls to hear. “Tired of freeloaders!”

Shoppers turned. Some smirked, some lowered their eyes.

The old man tried again:

“I’m not begging. I want to buy.”

He pulled out a worn paper wallet. Two ruble coins and an aluminum medal—“For Bravery”—fell out.

Timur snorted.

“Don’t want your coins. See the prices? Go away, you’re in the way.”

The old man looked around. Not a single face showed sympathy. Even the elderly women with bags of herbs averted their eyes. Then he took a deep breath, slowly climbed onto a wooden crate left by the loaders. He stood tall, feet planted wide, as if he were once again at attention.

“Comrades…” His voice was weak but clear. “Allow me to sing a song. Not for charity. For remembrance.”

Timur waved him off.

“Here we go again with the concert! I’ll call security!”

But security guard Petya was busy brewing tea in the booth. People froze—some from curiosity, others from a gnawing discomfort. The old man drew in a breath, pushed past the rasp in his throat, and began to sing that very wartime song:
“Roads… dust and fog…”

The first to pay attention was a boy with a backpack. Then the seed vendor stopped cracking sunflower seeds. The loaders raised their heads. The voice was thin but steady—taut like a string. Each word rang in the hush.

Timur stood still, knife above the sausage. His customer slowly put away her wallet—just stood and listened. The verses flowed on:
“And the steppe’s now overgrown with weeds…”

And suddenly everyone understood—the old man was handing them a thread reaching all the way back to 1945.

Within minutes, the market fell silent. No knives clanged, no scales clicked, even the motion around them stilled. Only the kettle in the guard’s booth let out a whistle—then went quiet as Petya turned it off, not quite knowing why.

The old man finished the final verse, stepped down, and nearly lost his balance. The same boy caught him.

“Please sit down, Grandpa,” he said gently.

A woman in a stylish puffer coat stepped forward from the crowd. She silently handed the old man a bottle of water.

“Here, drink.”

He took a few sips, nodded in thanks. He was about to step off the crate when Timur suddenly moved forward. He grabbed a chunk of lard the size of a brick, wrapped it in paper, and handed it to Fyodor Savelievich.

“Take it. I… didn’t realize right away. Forgive me.”

“No, I must pay,” the old man said stubbornly.

Timur frowned, pulled out money from his pocket, and laid it next to him. Then he added more: a pack of pasta, a head of cheese, a bag of buckwheat.

“This is for you. From all of us.”

It was like the people around woke up from a trance. One by one, they began to offer food: someone gave candies, another a can of beans, someone else—a dozen eggs. Loader Senka tossed in a couple of oranges, the herb vendor—some dill. Bags, bundles, and jars flew into his tote as if the market itself had decided to replenish the lonely veteran’s pantry.

The boy from the front row asked:

“Grandpa, is it far? Need help?”

The old man looked at him with eyes watering from the cold wind.

“I’ll manage. But it’s not for me. It’s for my neighbor—veteran Pavel Artyomovich. His lungs are bad. We lived through it all together, and now… only the two of us remain.”

Timur quickly untied his apron.

“Alright. Petya and I will drive you in the Gazelle. Truck’s free.”

The old man was silent for a long time, as if unsure whether to believe. Then he nodded and quietly said:

“Thank you, kind people. My name is Fyodor Savelievich.”

“I’m Grisha,” the boy smiled. “Grandpa Fyodor, can you teach me that song?”

“I will, grandson. You’ll learn the tune too.”

The crowd parted, forming a living corridor. Grisha walked ahead, holding the medal like a torch. Behind him—Timur and the guard with the heavy bag. People watched them go, as if witnessing a parade.

When the truck pulled away, the market buzzed again. But now the sound carried a different tone—softer, more attentive.

“Maybe we should invite veterans to sing every Thursday?” someone said.

“Let’s do it,” came replies from every side.

Timur returned to his stall, picked up the knife—but his hand trembled. He took off his gloves, closed his eyes, and swiftly wiped something from his face.

A customer in glasses approached:

“What’s the price for cervelat today?”

Timur smiled:

“Discount for those who remember: ninety-eight.”

The market returned to its usual rhythm. But beneath the everyday noise, a new note threaded its way—faint, almost inaudible, yet vital: people remembered how, for just five minutes, everything had stopped—and how the voice of one old man made them hear not price tags, but their own conscience.

The day at the office began as usual. Some were drinking coffee, some were anxiously checking the clock, counting how much time was left before they could leave, while others got to work to stand out in front of the boss. By the way, the company was led by Yuri Timofeevich, a young and cocky guy who was openly disliked by his subordinates, who behind his back invented new insulting nicknames for him.

«Well, has our little boy already made a couple of million today?»

«Where would he? He’d better not squander what he has!» — the girls from the office laughed in the smoking room.

This attitude toward him was caused not only by his behavior but also by the fact that he had gotten his position through marriage to the daughter of the company’s owner. His father-in-law had to employ his son-in-law, although at first, he was completely against him marrying his daughter.

Although everyone in the company knew how Yuri’s career had been built, they remained silent, as everyone valued their own position and stable salary. Moreover, objections against the boss never led to anything good, and the young man, even though he had indeed caught a lucky break, was goal-oriented, clever, and shrewd. He tried to find a benefit in everything. For example, he sought to sign contracts under the most profitable terms for the company, but for some unknown reason, this did not lead to an increase in profit.

Yuri understood why this was happening. After all, he had taken on a managerial role «through connections,» whereas before, he had only been following orders. He didn’t have any business management skills. He had thought, while his father-in-law was alive, that it was simpler than it turned out to be.

Leonid Davidovich had created the company many years ago but lost his health building the business from scratch, and a few years ago, he died, having given his all to his creation. While his father-in-law was alive, Yuri had behaved inconspicuously and obeyed the orders of the management, but after Leonid Davidovich passed away, he had gained confidence and started to act differently. And when he took over the position of company leader as a relative, the new position went to his head. If only his father-in-law had known into whose hands he was passing his business, which he had built from scratch in the turbulent ’90s…

The old man had sacrificed his life for prosperity. Everything was running smoothly in the company; the system was working excellently, while Yuri had accumulated wage arrears, reduced profitability, but didn’t seem too concerned about it. The generous inheritance came to him too easily.

Yuri turned out to be an unreliable successor, not only in business. In his personal life, he also played an unfair game, regularly cheating on his wife. Dasha knew nothing about this, but a woman’s heart could feel that something was wrong. Yuri, however, was not in a hurry to listen to her words. He clouded his wife’s mind with excuses about constant meetings and lots of work.

One day, a new cleaning lady named Zinaida appeared in the office. Usually, people at this level go unnoticed. Cleaners are the invisible workers who do the dirty work. But Zina was not like that. Life had been harsh on this young woman, and it was impossible to look at her without sympathy. Half of her face was covered with burns, which were shocking.

Sometimes, someone’s gaze lingered on the girl too long, which caused a general awkwardness. Office workers would leave their rooms in disgust when Zina came to clean. Some of the pretty girls seemed to be shy about their beauty in Zina’s presence, some pitied her, while others openly despised her. Moreover, the girl was mute.

The HR manager, upon hiring her, approved her candidacy without a second glance, as Dasha, Yuri’s wife, had called and asked to hire her. Fortunately, there was an available position. And so Zina began her modest career in the company, where she was often openly mocked. She never answered back. She simply worked, keeping her head down and her gaze lowered.

For Yuri Timofeevich, such people were nothing. One day, his gaze fell on Zina’s unremarkable figure.

«Another ugly girl,» he thought.

Over time, rumors began to spread in the company that the cleaning lady stayed late, literally polishing the director’s office. At first, Yuri was flattered by this. He thought the girl was secretly in love with him. After all, he was a handsome guy, and young new employees often ogled him. Knowing that he was a big boss, some of them tried to get closer to Yuri, dreaming of a higher position. And he indeed promised these beauties everything, but once they got what they wanted, he simply fired them. Yuri sometimes had the desire to have some fun with the cleaner.

«Such a strange one in my collection,» he would smirk to himself.

However, Zina, although she spent more time in the boss’s office than required by her duties, never asked for a raise. The office didn’t want to drop the topic. Along with the rumors about the cleaner spending a lot of time in Yuri’s office, discussions followed about where Zina’s enthusiasm came from and whether she was trying to win favor.

«Look, she’s working hard! Doesn’t she know that our Yuri doesn’t give out raises…»

«Yeah, the business is struggling right now,» said the gossiping tongues in the office.

To clear up the situation, Yuri Timofeevich decided to have a talk with the cleaner, but he couldn’t get anything out of her. He shrugged it off and soon forgot about it.

One morning, he noticed that the papers on his desk were not in the same position he had left them the evening before. This made Yuri suspicious. Without much thought, he decided to run a small test, placing an object — an ashtray — on top of a stack of documents and memorizing how it was positioned. The next morning, everything was confirmed — someone had been rummaging through the papers, and the ashtray had been moved

The sun was barely breaking through the kitchen window when Olga was already bustling around the house. The morning greeted her with the usual silence, only interrupted by the mumbling of the television from her mother-in-law’s room. Olga straightened the tablecloth, brushed off invisible crumbs from the table, and opened the fridge. Eggs, milk, cottage cheese – breakfast had to be hearty. Valentina Andreevna liked everything to be like in the hospital – on time and without unnecessary noise.

The kettle on the stove was boiling when Olga noticed the wrinkled pillow on her mother-in-law’s couch. She hurried over, fluffed it, and smoothed the lace pillowcase. Ten years in this house, and it still felt like she was a guest. An unwanted one.

«Valentina Andreevna, breakfast is ready,» Olga called softly, stopping by the half-open door.

From the room came the voice of the morning show host, but her mother-in-law did not respond. Olga sighed. She could have stopped trying; all she would hear in response was an annoyed muttering.

Returning to the kitchen, she mechanically sliced the bread, arranged the cheese on a plate. Her hands went through the familiar motions, while her mind was spinning: «Andrey will be late again. He’ll come home and bury himself in his phone. Maybe I should ask him about vacation? No, he won’t talk.»

Outside the window, the voices of the neighbor’s children could be heard. Olga froze with a knife in her hand. A lump formed in her throat, and she swallowed, trying to push away the unwelcome sadness. They never managed to have children – first, they postponed, then they tried, but now… now there were only these walls, a stranger’s house, and the expectation of who knows what.

«I’ve over-salted it again,» came her mother-in-law’s displeased voice from the room.

Olga jumped and hurried to answer the call. The day was beginning, just like hundreds of others before it.

Unwelcome Guest

Olga was dusting the sideboard when the front door suddenly burst open so sharply that it slammed against the wall. There was no need to look – only Marina could enter the apartment like that, as though it was her own home.

«Ol, take the gifts!» Marina appeared in the hallway with two large boxes. She immediately handed one to the stunned Olga. «Here, this is a gift from our family.»

Something in Marina’s voice was… unpleasant. After ten years, Olga had learned to distinguish all the shades of hostility from this family.

«What are these boxes? Why?» Olga asked, confused, watching Marina efficiently take off her boots without untying them.

«To pack your things,» Marina walked into the room as if she couldn’t wait to start the process of evicting her. «Mom said you’re moving out.»

Olga stood frozen with the box. Her head was buzzing, as if she had entered a vacuum.

«What do you mean… moving out?»

«Exactly what I mean.» Marina plopped down on the couch, crossing one leg over the other. «I’m moving in with Mom and Misha. She needs help, and good people are renting my place, I’d be crazy to miss that. Andrey knows everything, so you can stop pretending to be surprised.»

From the mother-in-law’s room came the sound of a throat clearing – the same sound Valentina Andreevna usually made when expressing approval of her daughter’s actions.

«Andrey… knows?» Olga felt her lips go numb.

«Of course!» Marina snorted. «My brother is always on the right side. Our side.» She stood up and fixed her hair in the mirror. «Will you be done by the end of the week? Misha wants to set up his room, and your place has the best layout.»

The TV in the mother-in-law’s room got louder – a clear sign that Valentina Andreevna was listening but didn’t want to speak.

«Okay, I’m off. I have to pick Misha up from his class.» Marina was already pulling on her boots. «Oh, leave the keys on the nightstand when you… finish.»

The door slammed shut. Olga stood there with the empty box, clutching it to her chest like a shield. From the other room, participants in some show were laughing loudly. Her mother-in-law turned the volume up even more.

Deafening Silence

Olga couldn’t bring herself to move for a long time. The cardboard box suddenly felt so heavy, as if it already contained all ten years of her marriage. Finally, as though snapping out of a trance, she set it down on the floor and took out her phone.

Andrey. She needed to call Andrey.

Her fingers trembled as she dialed her husband’s number. One ring, then another, then a third… With each ring, her heart beat louder. On the fifth ring, he picked up.

«Yeah,» Andrey’s voice sounded distant, as though he were speaking from far away.

«I need to talk to you,» her own voice sounded foreign to her.

There was a pause at the other end, followed by a heavy sigh.

«Was Marina already here?» The question, which sounded more like a statement, shattered any remaining hope.

«I want to hear it from you, Andrey,» Olga sat down on the edge of the nightstand, her legs suddenly unable to support her. «Did you really decide…»

«Let’s not do this now,» he interrupted her. «We’ll talk tonight. I have a meeting in five minutes.»

Olga bit her lip. Ten years together, and he couldn’t find a minute for her now.

«What time should I wait for you?» she asked, trying to keep her voice steady.

«I don’t know, Olga. Too much stuff piled up,» he sighed again. «Listen, don’t make this into a tragedy. Mom is getting older, Marina is struggling with Misha… It’s logical.»

«And me?» the question escaped her involuntarily.

«What – you?» There was irritation in her husband’s voice. «Your mom is alive, the apartment is empty. Why are you acting like we’re kicking you out?»

Olga remained silent, crumpling the edge of her sweater in her hand.

«Okay, I gotta go,» Andrey was clearly in a hurry to end the conversation. «We’ll discuss the details tonight.»

Short beeps followed.

Details. Ten years of marriage had come down to «details.» Olga sat there, staring at one spot until she heard her mother-in-law’s irritated voice from the other room:

«Olga! Are you bringing the tea? The show’s already started!»

She mechanically got up and headed for the kitchen. Her hands went through the familiar motions – cup, tea bag, boiling water, cookies on the plate.

The hot tea burned her fingers, but Olga didn’t flinch. What was a little pain compared to what was happening inside?

Revelation on the Bench

The air outside seemed fresher than usual. Olga sat on the bench by the entrance, watching the wind play with the fallen leaves. In her purse was a pack of cigarettes, bought on the way here. How many years had it been since she last smoked? Seven? Eight? She had quit when Andrey said he couldn’t stand the smell of tobacco.

Her fingers found the lighter. She pulled it out, fiddled with it in her hands – it was old, with chipped red paint. She didn’t take out a cigarette. She sat there, mindlessly flicking the wheel on the lighter. The little flame flared up, and then immediately went out with the light breeze.

«Olga, is that you? I thought it was you, but then I wasn’t sure,» a familiar voice said nearby.

Galia Petrovna, the neighbor from the fifth floor, set down her bag and sat on the bench. The old lady had lived in their building forever. She knew all the news before it even happened.

«Hello, Galia Petrovna,» Olga tried to smile, but it didn’t quite work.

«Why so down? Something happened?» The old lady peered at her over her glasses.

«Just… life,» Olga replied vaguely.

«Aha,» Galia Petrovna dragged out the sound knowingly. «I heard, I heard. Valentina Andreevna is happy that her daughter and grandson are moving in. She’s cleaning up, preparing the room.»

Olga froze. So, the decision had been made a long time ago. They had planned it, discussed it – everything, except her.

«How long has she… been preparing?» her voice trembled betraying her.

«Yeah, it’s been about two weeks since they repainted the wallpaper in the small room,» Galia Petrovna was digging through her bag enthusiastically. «She says Misha needs space for his lessons. And you, well…»

She vaguely waved her hand in the air as if brushing away a speck of dust.

«Well, me,» Olga repeated faintly.

It was like a puzzle piece falling into place in her mind. That was why her mother-in-law had been almost friendly lately. That was why Andrey had been staying late at work more often. That was why Marina suddenly started calling her mother every day.

«How’s your health?» the old lady asked kindly, not noticing Olga’s state. «Valentina Andreevna said that’s why you don’t have kids, that you’re often sick.»

Olga stood up abruptly.

«Sorry, Galia Petrovna, I have to go.»

She clenched the lighter tightly in her fist. For the first time in a long while, everything was perfectly clear to her about what was happening in her life. And what to do next.
Shards of the Past
The apartment was quiet. Even the constantly running television in the mother-in-law’s room was silent—Valentina Andreevna had gone to a friend’s for «a cup of tea.» Probably telling her how skillfully she was getting rid of the unwanted daughter-in-law.

Olga slowly scanned the bedroom. Her and Andrei’s room. Although no, not anymore—Misha’s room. How many times had she rearranged the furniture here, trying to create comfort? She had changed the curtains, the bedspread… But it turned out, all this time, she was just preparing a nest for someone else.

She took an old suitcase from the closet, the one she had brought here ten years ago. She opened the empty drawers of the dresser. There was little to pack—just a few dresses, underwear, loungewear. Books. A photo album.

An old porcelain cup with a blue rim stood on the shelf—a gift from her mother for the housewarming. «For good luck,» her mother had said then. Olga reached for it, but her hand trembled. The cup slipped off the shelf and shattered on the floor with a sharp crash.

Olga froze, looking at the shards. White porcelain pieces with blue edges scattered across the floor, like her unfulfilled hopes. She dropped to her knees, instinctively trying to gather them.

The sharp edge cut her finger. A drop of blood appeared. Red on white. For some reason, this little pain suddenly sobered her. Olga opened her palm, letting the shards fall back to the floor.

“Enough of gluing together what’s not mine,” she said aloud, surprised by the firmness of her voice.

She stood up, wiped her hand on a napkin. She looked at the clothes thrown on the bed, at the open suitcase. And suddenly, she laughed—a short, bitter laugh. Ten years of life fit into one old suitcase. Ten years of trying to belong in a family where she had never been wanted.

Olga walked decisively to the closet and flung it wide open. She took all her clothes off the hangers and threw them into the suitcase, not caring about the wrinkles. On the table, she found a pen, tore a sheet from a notebook. She stared at the blank page for a few seconds and then wrote just one word: «Goodbye.»

She left the note on the dresser, weighing it down with the apartment keys. The shards of the cup remained on the floor—let Valentina Andreevna figure out what to do with them.

The front door clicked shut behind her. Olga walked down the stairs lightly, as if she had just shed a heavy burden.

Returning to Herself
The door to her mother’s apartment opened with the familiar creak. Olga stepped over the threshold and froze, inhaling the stale air of the empty house. No one had lived here for six months—since her mother moved to her sister’s place in the regional center. «Don’t sell the apartment,» she had said then. «Who knows how life will turn out.»

Life had turned out just this way. Her mother had known.

Olga set the suitcase down in the hallway. Dust covered the furniture in a fine layer, and the windowsills were streaked with the dried remnants of soil—the only trace left of her mother’s favorite violets. Sunlight filtered through the loosely drawn curtains, illuminating the dust particles dancing in the air.

In the living room, on the dresser, there was a photograph—her mother in the garden, with a basket of apples. She was smiling. Olga took off her scarf, ran her fingers over the frame, brushing off the dust.

“Well, I’m back, Mom,” she said aloud. Her own voice seemed too loud in the empty apartment.

The kitchen greeted her with the stale smell of an uninhabited place. On the table was a cup with a dried tea stain at the bottom. Olga sighed, turned on the tap. The water ran rusty at first, then gradually cleared. She found an old towel in the cupboard, wet it.

Her movements were mechanical, familiar—wiping the table, the windowsill, dusting the shelves. From the outside, it might have looked like she was just cleaning. But with every swipe of the cloth, with every smudge she wiped away, Olga felt like she was erasing the past. Ten years of humiliation, ten years of trying to earn the love of people who had never wanted her.

In the bedroom, her mother’s scent lingered—barely perceptible, the aroma of lily-of-the-valley, her favorite perfume. Olga spread fresh linen, made the bed. She took a photograph from the suitcase—one from their wedding, the only thing she had kept from her married life. She looked at the smiling faces of herself and Andrei.

«Happy,» she smirked. «How foolish we were.»

She placed the photograph in a drawer. She didn’t throw it away—she hid it. Like a part of her life that needed to be accepted and let go.

By evening, she had finished most of the cleaning. She washed herself under barely warm water—the boiler hadn’t heated up yet. She wrapped herself in her mother’s old robe, big and cozy. She sat on the windowsill, looking at the sleeping yard.

For the first time in many years, she felt at home. Truly at home.

The Unwanted Return
A month passed. Olga no longer flinched in the mornings, no longer listened for unfamiliar footsteps or prepared breakfast for three. Her mother’s apartment had come to life—violets appeared on the windowsills again, the curtains were replaced with light, airy ones, and in the evenings, music drifted from the open windows—unhurried, calm, like its owner.

The doorbell rang as Olga was finishing dinner. She wiped her hands on her apron and walked to the hallway. On the doorstep stood Andrei—gaunt, with dark circles under his eyes and an awkward smile on his lips.

“Hi,” he said, shifting from one foot to the other. “Can I come in?”

Olga silently stepped aside, letting him into the apartment. He walked in, glancing around, as if he had never been here before. Although, why “as if”—he really had only been here a couple of times, when they had just started dating.

“It’s cozy,” he nodded, pointing at the new curtains. “You’ve always known how to create an atmosphere.”

Olga leaned against the wall, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Why are you here, Andrei?”

He took a box of fruit from his bag and placed it on the side table.

“Here, I brought… peaches, grapes. Remember, you used to love them?”

“Thanks,” she nodded but didn’t touch the box. “And yet?”

Andrei sighed, ran a hand through his hair—a gesture that had once seemed so familiar to her. Now it just looked like a tired man who didn’t know where to begin.

“I miss you, Ol,” he finally managed to say. “At home… everything’s not right. Mom and Marinka are always fighting, Misha’s running around like crazy. No peace.”

Olga involuntarily smiled. Of course. No one silently prepares breakfast, no one irons shirts, and no one tolerates feet on the coffee table.

“So, what do you propose?” she asked calmly.

“Well… maybe… we think it through again?” Andrei took a step toward her. “You come back, we talk to Mom. Marinka can rent an apartment, there are plenty of them, right…”

Olga shook her head. Strange, but she felt no pain, no resentment—only a calm confidence.

“I’ve spent my whole life in someone else’s house, Andrei,” she said softly. “My whole life adjusting, pleasing, becoming convenient. Now I’m home.”

She walked to the door and opened it.

“You can take the peaches. Misha likes them, I remember.”

Andrei looked at her as if seeing her for the first time. Maybe that was how it was.

“Ol, you… you’ve changed,” he mumbled.

“No,” she smiled. “I’ve just returned to myself.”

When the door closed behind him, Olga returned to the kitchen. She took a new cup from the cupboard—bright red, with a golden rim. She poured tea. She sat by the window, watching as Andrei walked slowly down the path, hunched over, hands in his pockets.

At that moment, she realized she was truly free. Not from her husband— but from the fear of being unwanted.

— Lyudmila Sergeyevna, please at least eat something,” the young woman said softly, looking at her mother-in-law with worry.

“I just can’t, Ninochka, truly I can’t. Just the thought of food makes me feel ill,” the elderly woman sighed, shaking her head.

Nina sat down beside her mother-in-law on the sofa.

“You can’t do that,” she said quietly. “I’m not feeling well either and have no appetite, but we have to learn to live on.”

“For what’s the point, Ninochka?” asked Lyudmila Sergeyevna, her eyes dimming as if the last ray of hope had faded.

“What do you mean, ‘for what?’” Nina hesitated in confusion, not knowing how to answer.

It had been only six months since the day Pavel, her husband and Lyudmila Sergeyevna’s son, died. Both women were struggling unbearably with the loss. Yet while Nina was at least trying to piece herself together, Lyudmila Sergeyevna seemed to have completely given up on life without her son. She was withering before their eyes: staying at home and eating almost nothing. In just half a year she had lost so much weight that she became unrecognizable, though she had once been a stately and energetic woman.

Nina cried too, often at night, burying her face in a pillow. But deep inside, she was convinced that Pavel wouldn’t have wanted his wife and mother to give up. He had always been a cheerful, impulsive man—sometimes even recklessly so. And that very trait had led to his downfall.

When the house next door caught fire, they barely managed to get outside. The roof was already ablaze, and their little boy cried, trying to go back inside for his beloved cat. Without a second thought, Pavel rushed back in. Nina screamed, and Lyudmila Sergeyevna simply collapsed to the ground. One second, then another.

On the porch, Pavel appeared with the cat in his arms. But at that very moment, a beam fell right on his head. The cat survived, but Pavel died instantly. Nina’s and Lyudmila Sergeyevna’s cries echoed through the neighborhood. The little boy, frightened and pale, clutched the choking cat and slowly moved away from the scene of the tragedy.

They had no children, even though they had lived together for five years. The mother-in-law often reassured Nina, “There’s still time, you’re still young.” But Nina knew: time waits for no one. She had just turned thirty, and Pavel was thirty-five. They had met late and married not early either.

Nina struggled to get up from the sofa.

“We have to get ready. We can’t be late—the boss will scold everyone.”

“Oh, Ninochka, you should change that job. They don’t respect you at all. And they pay next to nothing. Look, all our people cross the river to work in the city,” sighed Lyudmila Sergeyevna.

Nina sighed too. Truly, it was a little frightening. So many years in one place. Sometimes it’s worth trying something new.

Lyudmila Sergeyevna turned away toward the wall. Nina sighed again. She knew that as soon as she stepped out the door, her mother-in-law would start crying—hysterically, desperately. That sight was unbearable.

Nina stepped outside. She had never liked night shifts. She was always worried about her mother-in-law, treating her like a mother—especially since she had never known her own. Her aunt had raised her, and that woman had seen her more as a burden than as a child.

As soon as Nina turned eighteen, she left her aunt’s home and immediately got a job, so she wouldn’t have to ask anyone for anything. She lived alone, barely speaking with anyone, until one day the stove started to smoke. Someone advised her to turn to Pavel. She did, and everything changed.

Pavel and she fell in love at first sight. After the stove was repaired, he became a frequent guest at her home. They never parted again. They often visited the mother-in-law, even though they lived in her small house. After Pavel’s death, Nina moved in with Lyudmila Sergeyevna. She didn’t want to leave her alone, and it made it easier to endure the grief together.

She carefully closed the door and walked along the path. The mother-in-law’s house stood a little way off. One had to pass through a small grove with a marsh, and then arrive at the village. But those who went to work in the city passed by the house. Almost immediately behind it was a small bridge over the river, and then literally a kilometer to the city.

Nina looked back at the house, sighed, and continued on. She had almost passed the grove when she heard a splash and a groan coming from the marsh. Something inexplicable. She stopped, then rushed toward the marsh. Maybe some dog had gotten caught.

Or perhaps it had its collar snagged and couldn’t get free. Nina even scratched her hand as she pushed through the bushes. Finally, she reached the edge of the marsh and nearly screamed. A child was thrashing in the murky sludge just a couple of meters away.

“Don’t move, do you hear? Hold on and stay still!” she shouted.

Quickly grabbing the trunk of a young tree, she stepped into the water, praying only that the trunk would hold. The water was thick and foul-smelling. Nina literally pulled the little girl out of the quagmire.

“Who are you? Whose are you?” she asked.

But the child could not speak. The little girl kept nearly falling. She had no strength left. She appeared to be about five or six years old, no more.

“Oh, my poor thing!” exclaimed Nina, picking the child up in her arms and dashing back to the house.

“Mom!” she called as she burst through the door.

Lyudmila Sergeyevna turned around in surprise and even fear. Seeing her dirty, wet daughter-in-law with a similarly dirty and wet child in her arms, she gasped and leapt out of bed.

“Ninochka, who is this? What happened?”

Nina hurriedly began to strip the soaked clothes from the girl. She grabbed a blanket from the stove and wrapped the child up.

“She needs to be washed. Oh, Mom, I pulled her out of the marsh—I don’t know what to do. I have to warm her up, feed her, but I can’t linger—I’m going to be late. Go, don’t worry, I’ll manage.”

Nina looked at Lyudmila Sergeyevna with doubt.

“Are you sure you’ll manage? You yourself seem so unsteady.”

“Go, don’t worry,” her mother-in-law replied firmly, and her voice carried such assurance that Nina, though reluctantly, believed her.

Within five minutes she washed herself with cold water in the bathhouse, changed, and dashed off to work. Their boss was an unbearable man: he didn’t care about anyone’s problems. Late—get fined. No matter how much Nina rushed, two minutes always turned out to be too many. She was already met by a note: “Nina Alekseevna is deprived of five percent of her bonus.” She gritted her teeth and then couldn’t hold back:

“To hell with your bonus!”

Her thoughts at that moment were far from work. She had left behind a barely living mother-in-law with an unknown little girl. Not only could the child get sick, but what if Marishka developed a fever and Lyudmila Sergeyevna couldn’t do anything? Sigh—she should have stayed home. They could have sacrificed the bonus and survived. And now she wouldn’t be able to get out. The guard would only open the factory in the morning.

“Nina, where are you rushing off to?” Larisa, who worked nearby, looked on in astonishment as Nina gathered her things.

It was quite surprising. Usually in the mornings they would leisurely leave the factory, stand and talk.

“There’s a two-day weekend ahead—why rush? We could just chat.”

But there Nina was, dashing off so fast that she might even lose one of her shoes.

“Larochka, don’t be offended, I really must run. Things aren’t well with my mother-in-law.”

Larisa looked at her with sympathy. She knew Nina’s whole story.

“No, no, later, all later.”

And Nina dashed off—not just walked, but ran, almost as if she were flying. People she passed gave her puzzled looks. She had never moved so quickly before. Lately, she had been walking slowly, her head down.

“Mom, Mom!” She literally burst into the house.

Lyudmila Sergeyevna, who was frying pancakes in an apron, turned around in surprise.

“Ninochka, what are you shouting? You’ll scare Marishka.”

Nina then sat down. She couldn’t understand what was happening. Yesterday she had left the child with an exhausted woman on the brink of life and death, and now she was facing an entirely different person. Yes, emaciated, with dark circles under her eyes, but a living Lyudmila Sergeyevna. A person not with a lost look, but with a spark of life. Nina glanced further.

At the table sat a small guest. Light curly hair, dark eyes. She froze, holding a pancake in one hand and a mug of milk in the other. The girl was clean. Her clothes were old, but neat. What was going on? Had Lyudmila Sergeyevna even washed her clothes?

“Mom, how are you here?” the little guest asked.

“Everything’s fine. Marishka and I washed yesterday, ate, and went to bed. And then I did the laundry. And for breakfast I prepared everything. I even ran to see Sveta. I wanted to buy milk, but that rascal Sveta wouldn’t take any money.”

At the mention of milk, Nina suddenly burst into tears. Her mother-in-law rushed to her:

“Nina, Ninochka, what’s wrong with you?”

“Yesterday, you see, I realized that I can be useful to someone, that I can help, you know?”

Marishka explained that she lived in a neighboring village. She hadn’t intended to go to the marsh—she was just hiding in the grove from her drunken stepfather. And her mother, also an alcoholic, obeyed the stepfather, and he beat the girl with a belt.

Nina listened, and the hair on her head stood on end. How should one live so that a child could recount everything so nonchalantly?

“And does your stepfather beat you often?” she asked.

“This one not so much. But the previous one—and even the one before him—very, very much.”

Nina and Lyudmila Sergeyevna exchanged looks.

“How many stepfathers have there been, that the child remembers three already,” Nina shook her head.

“And isn’t your mother’s name Katya?” she asked.

The girl nodded.

“Katya.”

Nina looked at her mother-in-law:

“Well, I think I understand who they are. Remember, they came to us about ten years ago, lived here for less than a year, and then moved to another village? There were about ten people in the household, all drinking. The little girl, they called her Katya. Always so unkempt.”

“Oh, I remember something,” Lyudmila Sergeyevna frowned.

“They said many died from drinking. But as we see, not everyone did. What are we going to do? We can’t give the girl to them. Absolutely not,” Nina stated firmly.

“Ninochka, you should go see our local inspector. The women say that, though he’s young, he’s a very capable man. You should consult him. It’s not right to just hide the child with us,” said her mother-in-law.

“Right. Fine, I’ll go. And where does he live?”

In the evening, timing her visit so as not to catch the inspector during work hours, Nina went to the designated house. Dmitry Sergeyevich—a man of about thirty-five—appeared in the window.

“Are you here for me? I’ll be right out.”

He appeared in the yard, draping a shirt over his shoulders.

“Did something happen?”

“Let me tell you everything, and you can advise me on what to do,” Nina proposed.

“Alright then, have a seat,” nodded the inspector.

They sat on a bench, and Nina recounted the entire story: about Marishka, about the marsh, about her drunken mother and abusive stepfathers. Dmitry Sergeyevich scratched his chin thoughtfully:

“Yes, I’ve already dealt with that family. Though it was for a different matter. Do you have some free time? Let’s drive over there. We’ll see what they’re up to and how they’re looking for the girl.”

“Of course,” Nina answered without hesitation.

When they arrived at the house, thick smoke billowed, as if the building were about to catch fire. Nina didn’t immediately recognize the same Katya. Only one thing remained unchanged—the woman was just as dirty and emaciated.

“Ma’am, where is your daughter?” asked the inspector.

“She’s somewhere around here, probably wandering about,” the woman replied indifferently with a dismissive wave.

“How can that be? The daughter hasn’t been home for two days, and you don’t even know where she is. Here’s a person who saved her from death, took her in,” Dmitry Sergeyevich exclaimed indignantly.

Ekaterina stared blankly at Nina for several seconds, then burst into laughter:

“What, you’ve taken a liking to my brat? You can take her away—I’ll give her for a couple of bottles.”

Nina abruptly jumped up and ran out the door. A minute later, the inspector came out to her.

“These kinds of people,” Dmitry Sergeyevich shook his head.

They got into his car.

“Dmitry Sergeyevich, now what? Will Marishka be handed over to an orphanage? And will she grow up to be another Katya?”

“Yes, she will be given away. There are no other options at the moment. There’s absolutely no way to bring her back here.”

Nina sighed heavily. The inspector looked at her attentively and said:

“Would it be alright if she stays with you for one more night? It’s too late to call today.”

Nina perked up:

“Yes, of course. Perhaps then on Monday you could call? Today is Wednesday. Why start at the end of the week?”

The man smirked:

“Well, we’ll see.”

On the drive back, they began chatting.

“So, does that mean your husband died for the sake of the child’s happiness?” asked Dmitry Sergeyevich.

“For the cat,” Nina bitterly smiled.

“No, you’re mistaken. It doesn’t matter whether the child cried over a cat or a toy. Your husband gave his life so that the child wouldn’t cry,” he said.

For the first time, Nina heard such a perspective on what had happened. She felt unbearably ashamed for having stopped speaking with the fire victims. They had come to her several times, but she always turned them away.

“I must definitely talk to them. Clearly, they are suffering too,” she thought.

The inspector called the guardianship only two weeks later, and during all that time he helped Nina gather the necessary documents. Lyudmila Sergeyevna looked upon him as a hero. And though Nina felt embarrassed, she didn’t dwell on it.

When the girl was finally taken away, real torment began. Nina was torn between the orphanage and the guardianship. The guardianship was unyielding. Dmitry Sergeyevich drove with her many times, offering support.

“If only you were married, that would at least bring some stability,” they repeatedly said at the guardianship office.

Lyudmila Sergeyevna immediately declared:

“You need to get married—even if only temporarily.”

After a full year, they managed to bring Marishka back home. The little girl was so overjoyed she nearly collapsed. She hugged Lyudmila Sergeyevna for a long time, calling her grandmother, and cried with happiness. And Dmitry Sergeyevich smiled sadly:

“Nina, whenever you decide that you need your freedom, just say so, and we’ll get a divorce immediately.”

Nina looked at him, lowering her eyes. And then Lyudmila Sergeyevna began to speak. At first the words came with difficulty, then as if someone had released her voice:

“You know, I never thought I’d say this—never… It’s so hard for me,” she sighed deeply. “But I see that there is still a thread connecting you two. Perhaps you shouldn’t separate? Nina, you were a good wife to my son, but he is no more. And you, Ninochka, are young. And Marishka will always be my granddaughter.”

Dmitry Sergeyevich bowed his head:

“Thank you, Lyudmila Sergeyevna. I know how hard it was for you to say that.”

Then they all sat together for a long time, embracing, and began making new plans for a new life.

Vadim, with utmost caution, like a professional thief, inserted the key into the lock. The mechanism made a nasty screeching sound, as if deliberately trying to attract the attention of everyone in the house. The man froze in place, listening intently. In response, there was only the deathly silence.

“That was close,” he exhaled with relief.

As he proceeded, he tried to avoid the creaky floorboards, slowly making his way further into the hallway. From the kitchen came the appetizing aroma of fresh borscht and browned cutlets.

“She probably left dinner,” Vadim thought with a warm smile, running his tongue over his dry lips.

Hunger didn’t torment him, but the smells were so enticing that it was impossible to resist. Who else but his wife would greet him with a hot meal, even if he returned at dawn? That’s why he clung to his marriage despite the increasing quarrels.

Stepping over the kitchen threshold, Vadim almost screamed in surprise. All the pleasant anticipation evaporated instantly. His stomach tightened into a knot. In the dim light, like a menacing ghost, sat his mother-in-law, Darya Viktorovna, on the corner sofa. She didn’t move, her cold eyes glinting in the moonlight streaming through the unshuttered window.

“Again, Vadim?” her voice sounded low and piercing, like a winter storm.

The man flinched. His “close call” turned into an inevitable storm. With such a vigilant guard, it would be impossible to avoid questioning, and he desperately wanted to avoid unnecessary explanations.

“Darya Viktorovna, why ‘again’ right away?” he mumbled, feigning naive confusion. It didn’t sound convincing. The smell of alcohol, which he unsuccessfully masked with chewing gum, betrayed him completely. “Not again, but… it just happened. My colleagues gathered, it’s Friday… What’s with the look? Didn’t you ever stay out late when you were young?”

“Friday,” Darya Viktorovna hissed. “And your wife is at home alone, worried—does that not matter? You’ve been drinking away your salary again? Or celebrating your record time spent in the smoking room?” Each of her words was soaked with sharp sarcasm.

Vadim swallowed. Arguing with Darya Viktorovna was pointless—she responded to his one word with ten biting phrases. She was known for her sharp mind and even sharper tongue. With such a woman, jokes were dangerous. Although she usually didn’t interfere in her daughter’s relationships, she wouldn’t stay silent if Zina was hurt. Where his wife might remain quiet, his mother-in-law would certainly speak up.

“We didn’t drink it all away, but… we celebrated. It was a friend’s birthday… that’s why we stayed late. We grilled kebabs… But it smells so good here, I’ll definitely have a bite.”

“Birthday!” Darya Viktorovna snorted. “You rush headlong to someone else’s party, but at home, you don’t care? Zina is already asleep, all worn out. How are you going to look her in the eye, huh? Aren’t you ashamed? How long will you keep treating your wife like this? Is she nothing to you?”

Vadim felt irritation boiling up in his chest. Her lecturing tone had worn him thin, and with every phrase from his mother-in-law, his certainty in his own rightness only grew stronger.

“Darya Viktorovna, listen,” Vadim started, trying to keep his tone even, though his voice clearly betrayed growing annoyance. “We are both adults, independent people. Why the unsolicited advice? I have the right to manage my time! My own mother never told me when I should come home.”

His mother-in-law narrowed her eyes slightly, her piercing gaze growing colder. If this woman had lived with them, Vadim would have long ago filed for divorce. Her presence was stifling. Every visit from her felt like a test—he didn’t want to return to a house like this. This perceptive woman could never be fooled! Vadim knew this all too well. When Darya Viktorovna visited, he played the role of a model husband, but sometimes his masks would slip. And now, he couldn’t help but run off to where no one greeted him with a home-cooked meal, but instead offered something far more tempting… something he couldn’t resist. All he could do now was hope that his mother-in-law wouldn’t see the truth in his eyes, wouldn’t expose him and become the catalyst for the collapse of his family. And if that did happen… maybe it would be for the best?

“Life isn’t just about fun, Vadim. You have a family. Your place is with your wife. What will happen when children come? You won’t be of any help!”

“That’s our personal business! It’s none of your business,” Vadim couldn’t hold back and raised his voice. He realized his words could spark a storm, but her endless moralizing had pushed him to the brink. “I don’t need your advice on how to live. Your constant interference in our family matters irritates me. I’m an independent person and I’m not going to report to you!”

Darya Viktorovna pressed her lips together tightly. Her gaze grew even more severe. She remained silent, but the atmosphere thickened, like before a storm. Vadim abruptly turned and headed toward the bedroom, deciding to ignore this unpleasant conversation and in the morning force his wife to choose—either him or her mother.

To his surprise, Zina was awake. The young woman sat by the window, her tired gaze sliding over her husband, and she sighed heavily.

“I was waiting for you. You didn’t even bother to call, to let me know you’d be late, even though you could have done that.”

“I could have, but I didn’t. Stop trying to control every step I take. I didn’t have time for you. You can be as angry as you want, but what’s done is done.”

Zina silently looked at her husband, as if waiting for him to confess everything. But Vadim stubbornly pretended nothing had happened.

“If I didn’t know where you were, I would have already called all the hospitals and morgues.”

“Did you know? And where, according to you, was I?” Vadim got nervous.

“And you thought it was necessary to show her your attention?” Zina frowned. It was unbearably painful, but she had already cried all her tears. She hadn’t told her mother—she knew she wouldn’t let them even talk properly. And now it was unclear—did she even want to have this conversation? What was she waiting for? Pleas for forgiveness? Pitiful excuses? Everything was already crystal clear… The decision came instantly. Zina had no doubt—such betrayal couldn’t be forgiven.

“Her? It was Yuri’s birthday…”

“But you weren’t with him. Stop lying. Tell me the truth, looking me in the eyes.”

Vadim gritted his teeth, looking at his wife’s face. Could it be that she really knew everything? The truth he had so carefully hidden? His confidence melted with each passing second.

“She sent me your photo. In bed. And don’t you dare talk about Photoshop… There’s even a video. You cheated on me, lied shamelessly, and I went mad with worry. It’s over.”

Vadim flared up. He didn’t expect his brief fling with the girl from the neighboring department to turn into such a loud scandal. Now what? A divorce? Over something so trivial? He hadn’t taken the girl seriously. They’d had fun together, but Vadim never considered living with her—unlike his wife, who always delighted him with her culinary masterpieces.

“Zin, wait! Don’t make hasty decisions! I’m a man! Sometimes I need something fresh. Do you understand? If you wear the same shirt for years, it gets worn out and boring. It’s the same in relationships. I was looking for new experiences, so the spark between us would flare up again. Do you catch my drift?”

From the look on his wife’s face, Vadim immediately knew—she had already made up her mind. She wasn’t going to forgive him or give him a second chance. But where would she go? How could she live without him? She had always been so dependent. She always talked about her love. Once, she had run after him like a devoted puppy. No… she wouldn’t dare to do this. Vadim decided to maintain his confident facade, as if he didn’t feel guilty. And it was true—he genuinely didn’t think his actions were anything terrible. His wife just needed time to cool off.

“You know what…” Apparently, the alcohol he had drunk with his mistress was giving him a false sense of courage. “I’m already sick of your moralizing. You both are always teaching me how to live. Maybe I should teach you? A real wife should sit quietly and not stick her nose into everything, and your mother has no place in our house. Don’t like it? Then get out! Take your mother with you!” At that moment, Vadim felt like a hero. He looked at his crushed wife, feeling like the absolute master of the situation. He wasn’t going to tolerate this anymore. He decided to be the head of the family that everyone should fear and respect.

“But this is my house,” Zina protested, standing up and placing her hands on her hips. “And if anyone should leave, it’s you.”

Vadim’s confidence evaporated instantly. He shook his head, realizing he had crossed the line. The house really belonged to his wife. Now she could easily throw him out, and he had nowhere to go.

“Listen… let’s calm down and talk about everything tomorrow. I’m so tired, I can’t think straight right now.”

“No. We won’t discuss anything. You’re leaving right now. Where? That’s your problem. You can go to her. She didn’t send me that photo for nothing; she probably wants you to move in with her. I won’t forgive you, Vadim. It’s over. Such betrayal is impossible to forget.”

“Do you even understand who you’re talking to?”

Vadim shouted so loudly it seemed he could wake the dead. His ears rang. He raised his hand toward his wife, but just in time, Darya Viktorovna managed to intercept his arm. His mother-in-law threatened to call the police if he didn’t leave immediately. There was no choice. Spitting on the floor, Vadim promised he would never step foot in this house again.

With nowhere else to go, he headed to his mistress’s place, but she refused to take him in, saying she was ending their affair and had sent the photo to his wife on purpose so she would know the truth. In a fury, Vadim stayed with a friend for a few days, hoping his wife would reconsider, but Zina remained adamant and filed for divorce. Since they had no shared property after two and a half years of marriage, and no children had come along, the divorce promised to be swift.

Left alone, Vadim bitterly reflected on his ruined life. He realized what a fatal mistake he had made, but it was too late to fix anything. Would he be lucky again? Could he find a wife as domestic as Zina? That remained uncertain… Maybe, as punishment, he was now destined to live a miserable life in solitude? He used to justify his affairs by claiming his wife restricted his freedom, and his mother-in-law was constantly pressuring him. But deep down, he knew—Darya Viktorovna was a good person and only scolded him for serious misdeeds… He had simply been looking for excuses for his weaknesses, and now he fully realized his wrongs.

Zina, on the other hand, thanked her mother for her constant support. Temporarily staying with her, the woman decided to sell the old house and start a new life elsewhere. All of this would take time, just like healing emotional wounds.

Vadim had to quit his job and move to his parents’ house in the village. He had lost everything he had… He had let go of a loyal bird in hand for the fleeting pleasure of a crane in the sky… And now he had to face the consequences of his choice.

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A phone call shattered the morning silence so unexpectedly that Natasha jumped. The screen displayed the name: “Aunt Lyuba.”

— “Natashenka!” an excited voice came from the other end of the line. “Can you imagine, we’re coming to your country house!”

Her cup of coffee froze mid-air. Aunt Lyuba was the very one who had “stayed over” in their new apartment for three months while she was renovating her own. Those three endless months were filled with constant questions like, “Why don’t you have this?” or “Why is that done that way?” along with her favorite remarks about how things were “in my day.”

— “How… are you coming? Who… are we?” Natasha managed to choke out.

— “We’re coming with the girls! To relax for a week,” replied the aunt, and laughter and the clinking of bottles could be heard on the line. “What’s the problem? We’re family!”

The word “family” had always been a magic key for Aunt Lyuba, capable of opening any door. After the episode with the apartment, Natasha and Vitya had decided not to tell the rest of the family about the country house. But someone they trusted had apparently let it slip… even giving away the address.

— “Aunt Lyuba, we can’t…” Natasha tried to object, striving to steady her voice.

— “We’re already on the train!” her aunt cheerfully interrupted. “We’ll be there soon!”

A few short beeps ended the conversation. Natasha felt her heart beginning to beat faster. She dialed her husband:

— “Vitya, Aunt Lyuba and the girls are coming.”

— “My God, again,” he sighed. “Can’t you just not open the door?”

— “They won’t just leave,” Natasha replied nervously while fiddling with the edge of her apron. “They’ll wait by the fence, shaming us in front of the neighbors. Do you remember the apartment story? ‘The beloved niece kicked her own aunt out onto the street!’”

By lunchtime, Aunt Lyuba and her companions — three middle-aged cousins — were already taking over the kitchen. The veranda, where Natasha had enjoyed solitude that morning, was now cluttered with strangers’ suitcases. The refrigerator was filled not only with homemade preserves but also with someone else’s groceries, and neatly arranged beside them were packs of wine.

— “Natasha, where are your towels?” yelled the middle cousin, Lyuda, from the bathroom.

— “And bring some toilet paper!” added the youngest, Katya.

— “And your shampoo is so odd,” criticized the eldest, Vera, sniffing the bottle with a lavender scent. “Give me a normal one!”

Natasha clenched her fists so tightly that her nails dug into her palms. Her shampoo was exactly as she had wanted it to be – personal, unique, not meant for a crowd of guests. It seemed it was time to learn how to say “no,” even when it came to relatives.

— “And I see you’re living pretty nicely here!” declared Aunt Lyuba as she comfortably settled into the wicker chair that she and Vitya had brought from Italy. “The plot is spacious, you’ve got a bathhouse… Why didn’t you tell us? We’re still family!”

— “Exactly because of that,” Natasha said softly, yet a restrained emotion could already be heard in her voice.

— “What-what?” Aunt Lyuba pretended to bring her hand to her ear. “I didn’t quite catch that!”

— “Exactly because!” Natasha’s voice suddenly rose to a cry. “Because you are exactly the relatives who think they have the right to just show up, occupy all the space, and use everything that belongs to us!”

— “Natashenka!” Aunt Lyuba nearly lifted herself as if preparing to defend herself. “How dare you…”

— “That’s exactly how!” Something hot that had long been suppressed began rising within Natasha. “Do you remember what happened in the apartment? ‘Oh, I’m just staying for a week!’ – and then it turned into three months! And every day it was: criticisms, directives on how to live, what to change…”

At that moment, the “girls” appeared in the doorway – some with towels, others with wine glasses – looking on in bewilderment at the scene unfolding.

— “And anyway, we’re soon leaving on vacation,” Natasha tried to speak calmly, though her voice betrayed a quiver. “We’ve already bought the train tickets.”

— “Oh, don’t worry, we can handle it ourselves!” Aunt Lyuba waved off carelessly, settling back into her chair. “Go on with your vacation!”

— “No,” Natasha replied, feeling her knees trembling but her voice remaining firm. “You’re not staying here. Not now, not for a week. This is our home, and we want to be alone.”

Aunt Lyuba seemed either not to have heard or pretended not to understand.

They endured for three days. Three endless days of strained hospitality. In the morning – unfamiliar voices in the kitchen, in the afternoon – endless remarks: “Why is it like that with you?” or “Others do it completely differently…” In the evenings, guitar songs went on until midnight, completely ignoring the neighbors whom it disturbed. Natasha’s petunias nearly withered because no one bothered to water them. Masha’s toys disappeared from the veranda – “they’re in the way of relaxation.” The cat even chose to move in with the neighbors to escape the constant noise.

But on the fourth morning…

— “Aunt Lyuba,” Natasha said firmly as she placed the suitcases before her relatives. “Today you need to leave.”

— “What do you mean, ‘need to’?” the aunt snapped, withdrawing from her wine glass. “We agreed – it’s just for a week.”

— “No,” Natasha shook her head. “We never agreed to anything. You simply decided for us. It was like that with the apartment. But now, that’s it. Enough. Our tickets are for tomorrow, and there’s so much left to pack.”

— “How dare you?!” Vera jumped to her feet, outraged. “We…”

— “Relatives, I know,” Natasha said bitterly with a sad smile. “But being relatives is no reason to intrude into someone else’s life. You didn’t even bother to ask if it was all right to come. You just showed up and…”

— “And what’s wrong with that?” snorted Lyuda. “A little stay isn’t a big deal!”

— “A little stay?” Natasha felt her anger boil within. “You are not guests, you’ve occupied our home. You command, criticize, change the way things are arranged… Do you know how many times I cried in that apartment when you lived there for three months?”

Aunt Lyuba froze, holding her glass:

— “Natasha, we didn’t mean any harm…”

Natasha remembered that moment vividly, as if it had happened just yesterday. The knock at the door, a teary Aunt Lyuba on the threshold: “Natashenka, I have a renovation! Just for a week!” That week turned into three long months.

At first, everything seemed amusing. Well, the aunt would only stay a few days, so what? They had just settled into their new apartment – a two-room place in a quiet neighborhood, every detail lovingly planned. Everything was in its place, every little item chosen with special care.

And then…

— “Natasha, why are those curtains so dark?!” Aunt Lyuba said as she methodically rearranged cups in the sideboard according to her idea of order. “Look at Vera’s place: they’re beautiful! With frills, with flowers…”

— “They’re not dark, Aunt Lyuba, they’re Scandinavian style,” Natasha tried to explain.

— “Scandinavian?” the aunt snorted. “I’d call it cemetery-like! And really, who arranges dishes that way? Just let me organize everything the way it should be…”

Day after day, their little cozy space transformed into something entirely different – more like a dormitory than a home. In the kitchen, bright napkins with little roses appeared – “otherwise, your kitchen looks like a hospital ward!” In the bathroom, countless little jars and bottles were arranged – “after all, the girls do come over!” And in the hallway, a whole rack of someone else’s coats and shoes formed – “I can’t help but welcome family!”

Then came the “girls’ nights”…

— “Natashenka, please be quiet!” Aunt Lyuba said as she arranged wine glasses for the evening tea. “We’re just going to have a little tea!”

However, the “tea” stretched into the deep night. Vitya was forced to hide in the bedroom with his headphones, trying to concentrate on work. Meanwhile, Natasha barricaded herself in the bathroom, silently crying.

— “Sweetie, why are you hiding?” the aunt peered through the door. “Come out, sit with us! Look, Vera brought her signature pie…”

Morning inevitably arrived with new remarks, strange habits, and opinions on what their home should be like.

— “Natasha, why is your refrigerator so empty?” Aunt Lyuba lamented. “In my day…”

The phrase “in my day” sounded like the final verdict. In her day, housewives cooked every day, welcomed guests, and always adhered to strict rules. Every morning, Natasha woke up with a determination: “Today I’ll finally say it’s time to clear out the apartment.” But day after day, the words remained unspoken.

— “Hang on,” Vitya whispered at night, holding her close. “It’s temporary…”

That “temporary” stretched into three long months. Three months of someone else’s scents in the kitchen, someone else’s items in the cabinets, someone else’s way of keeping order in their own home. Three months filled with comparisons: “but look at how others do it…”, “in my day it was different…”, “and how Vera does it…”

And when the aunt finally began to pack up…

— “Sweetie, how will I manage without you?” she said, clutching her last bag. “Maybe I can stay just a little longer?”

— “Aunt Lyuba…” Natasha tried to speak softly yet firmly. “Your renovation is finished, isn’t it?”

— “Is it really about the renovation? We’re family! We’re related!”

Then, for two whole weeks, they restored the apartment. They returned everything to its former places. They got rid of those “cozy” napkins with pink patterns. Gradually, they reclaimed their home. And then they made a promise to each other: this would never happen again! No uninvited visitors, no “I’ll just drop by for a week,” and no relatives without prior agreement.

But here she is again – with suitcases, with friends, and with the same argument “we’re all one family” ready at hand…

In the prevailing silence, the ticking of the clock on the veranda could be heard distinctly, the buzzing of bees over the flowers, and the distant hum of a passing train…
— “Alright,” Aunt Lyuba said in an unexpectedly calm tone. “You’re right. We… really overdid it with our stay. Girls, start packing.”

An hour later they left. Without extra words, without scandals or the dramatic slamming of doors. They simply disappeared – as if realizing something important.

That evening, as Natasha settled on the veranda with a cup of hot tea, she pondered: perhaps this was how it should have been handled from the start? Just plainly say “no”? Without long explanations and invented reasons… Sometimes the hardest part in life is not learning to say “no,” but finding the strength to say that “no” at the right moment.

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