All Amazing Babies

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes?” he asked, sizing her up.

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

The man thought for a moment, then smiled broadly.

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

“I’m Anya,” she smiled.

“Igor,” the man smiled back.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The blonde frowned, casting a suspicious glance at Sergey.

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

Sergey clenched his teeth.

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

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

The blonde tensed.

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

The blonde quickly turned and left the café.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sergey ran his hand through his hair.

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

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

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

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

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

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A knock on the door sounded just as I was about to toss another batch of burnt pancakes into the trash. Three in the morning isn’t exactly the best time for culinary experiments, but insomnia mixed with VK video recipes is a dangerous combination.
— If it’s Petrovich again with his homemade moonshine, I swear I… — I muttered, wiping my hands on an apron that read “Best Monday Cook.”

The knock came again. This time it was softer, as if the person at the door had changed their mind and decided to leave. I peeked out the window—it was so dark you couldn’t see your own eyes, only the lantern by the gate flickered like a hangover-stricken firefly.
When I opened the door, I froze. On the doorstep sat a wicker basket. “Not this,” flashed through my mind as a soft whimper emanated from inside the basket.

Two infants. One was asleep, tiny fists clenched, and the other looked at me with tear-filled eyes. Nearby lay a note, the handwriting jittery and hurried: “Please, save them. This is the only thing I can do.”
— Damn it… — I began, suddenly remembering the children. — I mean, oh my God.

My hands trembled as I carried the basket into the house. Thirty-five years old, a single woman with a cat that doesn’t even catch mice—and suddenly children. I had always dreamed of having them, but in a more… traditional way.

— Alright, calm down, Anna, — I told myself as I laid the infants on the sofa. — Now we’ll call the police, and…

The phone was already in my hand, the number dialed, but my finger hesitated over the call button. Images flashed before my eyes—news reports about orphanages, stories of acquaintances working in the foster system. No, not that.

The crying baby spoke up again. I dashed to the refrigerator—one liter of milk. That should do. The internet had kindly provided instructions on how to make a homemade milk formula for newborns.

— There, there, quiet down, little one, — I cooed as I fed the first baby. — Good job.

The second one woke up and started crying too. I darted between them like a penguin on roller skates, trying to soothe both simultaneously.

Morning found me in the kitchen. The half-eaten pancakes had become coasters for baby bottles, and there I sat, head in my hands, watching the sleeping infants.
— What am I going to do with you? — I whispered.

One of the little ones smiled in his sleep, and something inside me either shattered or mended itself. I looked at the phone, then at the children, then at the phone again—and decisively deleted the police number.

— Alright, kids, — I said, feeling my lips curve into a smile. — Looks like you now have a mom. A bit clumsy, but very dedicated.

At that moment, both babies woke up and cried in unison.
— And yes, we urgently need to learn how to change diapers, — I sighed as I opened the internet. — Because it looks like we have a very interesting morning ahead.

Sixteen years passed in what felt like a single day. Well, not exactly—a day that resembled one endless episode of “Santa Barbara,” where every scene was filled with drama, comedy, and unexpected twists.

— Aunt Anna, why don’t we have any baby photos? — Kira asked one morning at breakfast, picking at her oatmeal with a spoon.

I nearly choked on my coffee. Over sixteen years I had become a virtuoso at lying about my non-existent sister, inventing an entire story about a tragic car accident, and even shedding a few tears at parent-teacher meetings, all while claiming I had heroically taken care of my nieces and nephews.
— They… burned in a fire, — I blurted out the first thing that came to mind.

— Along with Mom and Dad? — Maxim interjected, glancing up from his phone.

— No, it was a different fire, — I faltered, getting tangled in my own lies. — At a photo studio. All the films were there…

— In the digital age? — Kira raised an eyebrow. I, who had once poured my heart out in my youth, now with an even heavier dose of sarcasm.

— Darling, are you finishing your oatmeal? Otherwise we’ll be late for school.

Working two jobs had taught me how to change the subject with ease. In the morning I was an accountant at a construction firm; in the evening, an English tutor. In between were cooking, cleaning, checking homework, and endless parent chats where moms competed over whose child was the most brilliant.

— Anna Sergeyevna, — my neighbor Maria Petrovna called out to me as I walked our dog Balamut (a gift to the kids on their seventh birthday to distract them from questions). — Is it true that your sister was a ballerina?

— An artist, — I automatically corrected myself, silently cursing my memory. A week ago I had called her a math teacher.

— And Klavdia from the fifth building said…

— Sorry, Balamut ate something! — I shouted, hauling the perfectly healthy dog home.

In the evening I sat in the kitchen, checking my students’ notebooks and listening to the children’s bustling in the next room. They were whispering about something, and it never boded well.

— Mom, — Maxim appeared in the doorway like a ghost, making me jump. — I mean, Aunt Anna…

That “aunt” stung my heart. In recent years they had increasingly called me that, especially when they were upset.

— Kira and I were thinking… — he hesitated. — Can we look at the old photo albums? With Mom and Dad?

— Of course! — I replied too quickly. — Only they’re in the attic; we need to find them…

— We already looked, — Kira entered the kitchen, arms crossed. — There’s nothing there.

I froze, feeling a chill down my spine. There were indeed albums in the attic—my old photographs, children’s books I had bought before they even existed, when I dreamed of having my own kids. And that very basket with the note that I couldn’t bring myself to throw away.

— Children, I…

— No need, — Kira raised her hand. — Just tell the truth. Just once.

At that moment the phone rang—another mom wanted to discuss her child’s progress in English. I had never been so grateful for spam offering to install plastic windows.

— Excuse me, it’s an important call, — I mumbled, darting out of the kitchen.

The evening ended with a silent dinner. The children retreated to their rooms, and I remained in the kitchen, gazing at their childish drawings on the fridge. There was a stick-figure family drawn by Kira in first grade—a mom with a huge smile and two children holding her hands. And a superhero drawn by Maxim—somehow with my hairstyle and wearing an apron that read “Best Monday Cook.”

Suddenly I heard a rustle in the attic. My heart skipped a beat. No, not this. Not now.

Quietly, I climbed the stairs and saw light coming from the attic hatch. Then I heard Maxim’s voice:

— Look what I found…

In his hands was that same note, yellowed by time yet still holding the secret of that night that changed our lives forever.

I froze on the last step, unable to move. Sixteen years of lies, fabricated stories, and evasive answers crumbled like a house of cards. My throat dried up, and only one thought pounded in my head: “I could lose them. Right now.”

— Mom? — Kira’s voice trembled. — I mean… who are you to us, really?

The story demanded a resolution. And it came in the dusty darkness of the attic, amid boxes of the past and the awkward silence of the present.

— I… I don’t know where to start, — my voice sounded hoarse in the dusty quiet of the attic.

Kira switched on an old desk lamp, and our shadows danced on the walls like actors in a silent film. Maxim still clutched the note, his fingers trembling slightly.

— Maybe start with the truth? — Kira’s voice rang out like steel. — For a change.

I sank onto an old trunk, feeling my knees buckle. I had rehearsed this moment in front of the mirror for so many years, coming up with the perfect words, but now every prepared speech evaporated.

— Do you remember that time with Balamut, when he ate my papers? — I began unexpectedly.

— What does that have to do with this… — Maxim started.

— I said back then that it was the worst night of my life. I lied. The worst—and at the same time the best—night was 16 years ago, when I tried to learn how to make pancakes at three in the morning.

And I told them everything. About the knock at the door, about the basket, about the note. About my fear and panic. About how I googled “how to calm a crying baby.” About sleepless nights and first smiles.

— I should have called the police, — my voice trembled. — But I looked at you and… I couldn’t.

— You kidnapped us, — Kira whispered.

— No! Well, yes. I mean… — I stammered. — I stole you away from a system that would have turned you into statistics. From an orphanage that might have torn you apart. From everything you didn’t deserve.

Maxim sat down on the floor, leaning against an old dresser.
— And our real parents? — he asked. — You didn’t even try to find them?

— I tried, — I stood up and walked over to a cardboard box in the corner. — Here.

Inside the box were newspaper clippings, forum printouts, letters to various institutions. Ten years of searching that yielded nothing.

— I looked. God, how I looked. But… — I spread my hands.

— And that’s why you decided to lie? — Kira flipped through the clippings, her voice quieter. — To invent a dead mom—ballerina, artist, math teacher?

— I know, it was stupid, — I smiled sadly. — Especially mixing up her professions. But I wanted… I wanted you to have a story. So you wouldn’t feel…

— Abandoned? — Maxim looked up. In the lamp’s glow, I saw tears in his eyes.

— Loved, — I said as I sat next to him. — I wanted you to feel loved. I just… did it all wrong.

A silence fell, broken only by the rustling of papers as Kira sorted through them. Suddenly she pulled out a photograph.
— And what is this?

I looked at the picture and felt a lump in my throat. It was a photo taken on their first birthday. I had bought two toy cakes because real ones were still out of the question. In the photo, I was holding them on my lap, and the three of us were laughing.

— Why did you hide it? — Maxim asked.

— Because there’s no “real” mom in it. Just me.

Kira clutched the photograph so tightly I feared she might tear it. But instead, she suddenly burst into tears.
— You’re strange, — she sobbed. — So strange…

— I know, dear.

— No, you don’t! — she looked up at me with tearful eyes. — Did you really think we needed some made-up mom—ballerina—when we have you?

I felt Maxim hug me from the other side. We sat there in the dusty attic, embracing and crying like characters in a tearful melodrama. Balamut, sensing something was wrong, limped up to the attic and tried to join our embrace as well.

— I still want to find them, — Kira said after a while. — Our biological parents.

I stiffened, but she continued:
— Not to go to them. Just… to know. And maybe to say thank you.

— For what? — Maxim wondered.

— For leaving us right at that door, — Kira smiled through her tears. — With the craziest mom in the world, who teaches English, makes inedible pancakes, and lies worse than a five-year-old.

I laughed, feeling the weight of sixteen years lift from my shoulders.
— Speaking of pancakes, — Maxim stood and stretched. — Maybe we should order pizza?

— At three in the morning?

— Well, it’s kind of a family tradition—to do silly things at three in the morning, — he winked.

We went down to the kitchen, and I brought out a worn album.
— What’s this? — Kira asked.

— Our new family album, — I said, opening it to the first page and inserting that same photograph from the first birthday. — I think it’s time to start our real story.

On the next page I pasted the note with which it all began. And underneath I wrote: “Thank you for the best gift of my life. And sorry for all the burnt pancakes.”

Write what you think about this story! I’d be delighted to hear your thoughts!

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

Grigory gathered the tools into his bag and smirked:

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

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

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

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

The elderly woman burst into laughter:

— “Oh, you joker!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

— “Yes, Elena Sergeyevna?”

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

— “Of course, don’t worry.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Grigory raised his voice:

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

— “I understand.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Grigory took the list and scanned it quickly.

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

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

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

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

— “How do you feel?” Grigory asked.

— “Fine.”

She wanted to turn away again, but suddenly asked:

— “Are you a doctor?”

He smiled.

— “I used to be.”

After that, they exchanged no further words.

Three days later, Grigory sat down beside the couch.

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

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

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

— “Why?”

Grigory was at a loss.

— “Why? So that you can live.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Liza blushed.

— “Sorry.”

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

— “Plans?”

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

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

Grigory raised his eyebrows in surprise.

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

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

One evening, Grigory exclaimed:

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

The woman skimmed through the documents.

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

Grigory laughed and playfully kissed her on the nose.

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

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

— “Did you fall in love?”

Liza looked at her mother strangely:

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

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

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

— “What happened?” Liza asked, frightened.

He sat down across from her.

— “Is Elena Sergeyevna not here?”

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

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

— “Grish, speak normally—what happened?”

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

Liza sighed:

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

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

— “Liza…”

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

— “God willing, perhaps…”

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

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

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

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

— “As usual?” the bartender asked.

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

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

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

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

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

He gripped his glass so tightly that it shattered.

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

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

Without me, you are nothing, Anna. Remember this well,” Igor threw the last of his clothes into the suitcase and sharply zipped it closed. His words sliced through the semi-darkness of the apartment like a cold blade. Anna stood in the doorway, clenching her fists until they hurt. She was silent, not out of fear, but from a strange paralysis, as if watching an inevitable catastrophe—horrific, yet mesmerizing.

“Silent?” Igor straightened up, casting a scornful look at her. “For ten years, I kept you afloat. For ten years, you hid behind me. And now what? Think you can manage without me?”

Anna slowly raised her eyes. There were no tears—just the glint of the table lamp and something new, unfamiliar to Igor.

“I’m already managing,” she said quietly, yet firmly. His laugh sounded confidently usual, but now it clearly carried a false note.

“We’ll see,” he slung the bag over his shoulder. “A month. I give you a month. Then you’ll come back to me.” The door slammed loudly, and a picture frame on the shelf cracked right between their faces.

The first days after his departure felt like a strange dream. The silence in the apartment was so oppressive it almost felt like physical pain—not calm and cozy, but ringing, like a taut string. Anna constantly caught herself listening for every rustle in the hallway, the creak of the elevator, the turn of a key in neighboring locks.

At the table, she mechanically prepared food for two, poured two cups of coffee each morning. Each time, realizing this, her hands treacherously trembled.

“You are nobody without me”—these words haunted her everywhere: in the noise of water, the hum of household appliances, the rhythmic ticking of the clock. The worst part was that there was a grain of truth in those words. Who was she, really? A successful husband’s wife—that’s how she was introduced at business meetings. A perfect home’s owner—that’s what the neighbors said about her. But who was she without these labels?

The bank account was rapidly dwindling, frighteningly fast. Igor had “invested” their joint savings into his business six months ago. Only her personal funds remained—a very small amount, enough for maybe two to three months. After that, she’d have to borrow.

Her resume looked pitiful: education, yes, but minimal and outdated work experience. Skills? What skills? “Professional shirt ironer,” “stain removal expert,” “possessor of my husband’s contacts”?

The phone was silent. Not just potential employers ignored her calls, but friends did too. It turned out most of their mutual acquaintances were really his acquaintances. They awkwardly avoided her gaze upon meeting, canceled planned meetings, gradually disappearing from her life.

In the evenings, Anna sat by the window, watching passersby. They all hurried somewhere, knowing their direction. They had goals, plans, dreams. What did she have? Only emptiness.

One night, she went up to the attic and pulled out an old box. Inside were her student projects—interior sketches, drawings, doodles. She once dreamed of creating spaces where people would feel comfortable. Flipping through the yellowed pages, she felt something inside her begin to stir.

“It’s all nonsense,” she muttered and slammed the folder shut. But the next day, she opened it again.

“Anna? Anna Sokolova? No way!” In the supermarket, a familiar voice called out to her. Marina, her university friend, looked almost the same as before—only her hair was shorter, and her eyes held more confidence.

“It’s been ages! You’re still as beautiful,” Marina hugged her. “How’s life? Still creating your magical interiors?” Anna shook her head, feeling awkward.

“No… I haven’t done that for a long time. There was a family…” “Ah, I see,” Marina nodded. “Married that arrogant lawyer from our third year. What’s his name…” “Igor. We… we’ve separated.” Anna surprised herself by saying these words aloud. All this time, she had been living in anticipation of his return, but now, having said it, she realized it was over.

Marina didn’t ask any further questions, just looked at her thoughtfully.

“You know,” she said after a pause, “we actually need someone for an internship at our studio. Mostly paperwork, but it could help you get back into the profession. If you want, of course.”

Anna felt her heart beat faster. Something akin to hope stirred in her chest—tentative, barely noticeable.

“I… I’ll think about it,” she answered, taking the business card. In the kitchen, laying out groceries, her gaze kept returning to the small rectangular piece of cardboard with the design studio’s emblem. It was a fragile, uncertain chance, but still a possibility to change her life.

“You are nobody without me.”

She took a deep breath and dialed the number. Her voice trembled, but her words sounded firm:

“Marina? This is Anna. I agree.”

“Contrast” studio was located in an old building, but inside, a completely different atmosphere reigned: high ceilings, huge windows flooding the room with light. Anna stood at the entrance door, feeling her fingers chill. Her heart pounded so hard, it seemed it might leap from her chest. Through the glass, she could see people, caught up in perpetual haste, voices chattering, a coffee machine burbling. It was a world that seemed alien and distant after years of domestic comfort.

“Be brave,” Anna commanded herself and pulled the door.

The first week of the internship was a real challenge. The computer seemed to mock her, programs refused to obey, and colleagues embodied confidence and professionalism. She felt out of place among these young specialists whose fingers fluttered over keyboards faster than thought. Every evening, she returned home to quietly cry, curled up on the couch.

“You are nobody without me.”

Those words still had power over her, though she hated herself for it.

By Friday, she was ready to run away. A mistake in a drawing, a manager’s remarks, colleagues’ mocking looks—all of it overwhelmed her, draining her strength. But Marina stopped her before she could leave.

“Hey, where are you rushing off to? We have a corporate party today. Come in, meet the team.” Anna wanted to refuse, but Marina was already dragging her across the street, chatting about a new place with great cocktails.

“You just haven’t settled in yet,” she said as they squeezed through the crowd to a table. “Everyone goes through this. You know, you have an amazing sense of space. I saw that sketch for the cafe—very stylish. A little practice with the programs, and you can do incredible things.”

Anna looked up in surprise:

“You saw it? But I didn’t send it…”

“Just happened to glance at it,” Marina smiled. “And you know what? It’s really cool. Maybe you should think about your own projects?”

The cocktail was truly splendid. Or maybe it was the company—for the first time in a long while, Anna felt part of something bigger. They discussed projects, debated design decisions, laughed at inside jokes. And no one treated her as “Igor’s wife.”

She returned home late, her head full of new ideas and her phone now adorned with several new contacts. On the table lay her sketches—now she saw not only mistakes but endless possibilities.

She pulled out a clean sheet of paper and began to draw. Not for work, not for an assignment—just for the pleasure of it. For the first time in many years.

The first independent order came unexpectedly. A regular workday, a regular Tuesday. Anna had been working as a junior designer for a month.

“A client for you,” Marina announced, peeking into the room. “A cafe on Sadovaya Street. They want a renovation. Can you handle it?” Anna nodded.

“I can handle it.”

The cafe was tiny—just six tables in a former bakery. The owner, a young man with a beard, seemed vaguely familiar.

“We studied together,” he explained, noticing her confusion. “You were in design, and I was in economics. Remember, we danced at one of the university parties.” Anna blushed. She didn’t remember him at all.

“I always thought you were talented,” he continued as they surveyed the premises. “I saw your work at the course exhibition. So when I heard you were back in the profession, I decided: my interior will only be from you.”

“You are nobody without me,” Anna recalled Igor’s words, but now they were just sounds, devoid of any power over her.

She worked day and night. Drawing, creating plans, choosing materials, negotiating with suppliers. For her, it became a challenge, a starting point for a new life.

When the project was completed, even the stern Arkady grunted approvingly:

“Not bad, Sokolova. A bit more boldness could have been added, but for a first time—worthy.”

It was the equivalent of a standing ovation.

“Sadovoye” cafe opened in the fall. Dmitry insisted that Anna’s name be listed as the interior designer. It graced the glass door in small, elegant letters next to the logo.

It was a moment of triumph. Anna watched from the shadows as people admired her work, unaware of who had created it. She felt a special joy of the creator.

“I propose a share in the business,” Arkady said three months later, as “Sadovoye” became one of the city’s most popular spots, with a line of clients queuing up for Anna. “Five percent. You attract customers, have your own vision, effectively lead the direction. It’s time to formalize our relations.”

Anna carefully studied the contract. Her own studio—albeit under the aegis of “Contrast”—exceeded all her expectations from a year ago.

Signing the document, she felt a tremor in her fingers.

“Congratulations, partner,” Arkady extended his hand.

That evening, she and Marina spent at the same bar where they once celebrated small victories.

“I always knew you’d achieve this,” Marina raised her glass. “You had the potential from the very first course. Just a pity it took ten years for you to reveal it.”

Anna shook her head.

“No ‘regrets.’ This path was necessary. Every step, every mistake made me who I am now.”

She didn’t mention the main thing: all these months, she had been waiting for a call from Igor. At first, she feared it, then hoped for it, and then just waited for it, like a common natural occurrence—without special trepidation. But the call never came.

At home, she walked through the rooms, which now felt different. Not because she had renovated, but because the space was no longer theirs. Now it was her territory—with sketches on the table, shoes in the hallway, her favorite cup no longer hidden in the back of the cabinet.

A photo from grateful cafe “Sadovoye” clients hung on the bathroom mirror. In it, she smiled, holding a glass in front of her first successful project.

“You are nobody without me.”

Anna glanced at her reflection and smiled.

“I am someone without you,” she said aloud. “And that’s all that matters.”

Bright spring noon. A light office filled with the aromas of fresh coffee and blooming plants. Anna settled at the director’s table of her own studio “ASdesign,” now independent from Arkady. In front of her lay the sketches of a new project—a restaurant in a historic building on the waterfront. It was one of the most extensive and prestigious orders in her career.

The studio thrived. Over two years, Anna had set up a modern office overlooking the city center, assembled a team of seven talented specialists, and created a portfolio that even competitors envied. Of course, not everything went smoothly—there were failed projects, financial difficulties, conflicts with clients. But each challenge only toughened her character.

“Anna Sergeyevna,” Svetlana peeked into the office, holding the door frame, “a candidate for the manager position has arrived. Tall, in a blue jacket.”

“Alright,” Anna finished the last stroke on the drawing without taking her eyes off it. “Take him to the meeting room and offer him coffee.”

She checked her appearance in the mirror and went downstairs. The position required an ideal candidate—a person capable of controlling the progress of all projects, finding an approach to the most capricious clients, and keeping track of deadlines. After the previous manager left, the team had been working at their limit.

Opening the meeting room door, Anna froze on the threshold.

Igor was sitting at the table.

His reaction was just as surprised. His face reflected a whole range of emotions: from shock to embarrassment.

“Anna?” his voice sounded different, lacking the usual confidence. And he himself looked different: the suit no longer fit perfectly, his hair had begun to gray, wrinkles were more noticeable.

“Good afternoon,” she calmly took her place. “Are you here for the interview?”

Igor nodded, still not hiding his astonishment.

“I… I didn’t know it was your company. The ad just said ‘ASdesign.’”

“My initials,” Anna smiled. “Anna Sokolova. So, you’re interested in the project manager position?”

“Yes,” he replied, gradually regaining confidence. “I have extensive experience managing teams…”

“Tell me about your last job,” she interrupted, opening his resume folder.

It turned out his business had collapsed like a house of cards. A partner had deceived him, taking the money, clients had scattered, and debts had continued to grow. He had aimlessly wandered for the last year, changing jobs repeatedly.

“Why our company specifically?” Anna asked, making notes in her notebook.

Igor pondered, carefully choosing his words.

“Honestly, I’m tired of living out of a suitcase,” he finally admitted. “I’ve heard a lot about your studio—’ASdesign’ is on everyone’s lips. You create truly quality projects, not just showcase facades. Your team consists of real professionals. I’d like to be part of this team.”

Anna looked at him attentively. Something in his demeanor had changed—no more arrogance. Before her sat a man with a dimmed look, as if life had drained all strength from him.

“What do you know about design?” she calmly inquired.

“Honestly, minimal,” he answered, slightly crookedly smiling. “But I learn fast, soak everything up like a sponge. Plus…”

He paused, as if preparing for something important.

“Anna, I need to apologize,” he said quietly. “For those words, for everything that happened between us.”

Her face remained impassive, devoid of emotions. At another time, two years ago, she had dreamed of this moment, imagined every detail of this scene: how she would react, what she would say, whether she would forgive or not. Now, she felt complete indifference, as if meeting a mere acquaintance from a distant past.

“Unfortunately,” closing the resume folder, she said, “we cannot accept your application. It’s best to keep personal relationships and professional activities separate.”

Igor flinched as if struck. A spasm flickered across his face, his eyes darkened.

“So, you decided to take revenge?” he hissed, gripping the armrests of the chair. “Remembering old grievances?”

“Nothing of the sort,” Anna replied coldly. “This is strictly a business decision.”

“Business?” his voice trembled. “You just want to get even! Enjoying this moment! And I thought…”

“Thought that I’m still ‘nothing’ without you?” raising an eyebrow, she interrupted. “As you can see, it’s different. Thank you, the interview is over.”

He abruptly stood up, knocking over a glass of water. A dark stain spread across the documents on the table.

“You’ll regret this,” he hissed, grabbing his briefcase. “The business world is very small.”

“I have no doubt,” she barely smiled. “Svetlana will see you out.”

He exited, slamming the door so hard the glass trembled. His muffled grumbling carried from the corridor.

Anna looked at the spoiled papers. Surprisingly, she felt neither schadenfreude nor a victory joy—just lightness, as if she had rid herself of long-stuck shards.

When she returned to her office, Svetlana cautiously asked:

“Are you alright? That man was… unusual.”

“Everything’s fine,” Anna replied, and it was true for the first time in a long while.

Approaching the window, she watched the city bustle below: people hurried about their business, cars honked, chestnut trees were in bloom. In the glass reflection, she saw her face—the face of a woman who feared nothing anymore.

“You are nobody without me.”

Now these words had lost their power. They became just an echo of the past, which could finally be left behind.

Anna smiled and returned to work. A new project awaited, her team, her life—rebuilt entirely, completely her own.

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

Grigory gathered the tools into his bag and smirked:

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

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

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

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

The elderly woman burst into laughter:

— “Oh, you joker!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

— “Yes, Elena Sergeyevna?”

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

— “Of course, don’t worry.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Grigory raised his voice:

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

— “I understand.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Grigory took the list and scanned it quickly.

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

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

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

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

— “How do you feel?” Grigory asked.

— “Fine.”

She wanted to turn away again, but suddenly asked:

— “Are you a doctor?”

He smiled.

— “I used to be.”

After that, they exchanged no further words.

Three days later, Grigory sat down beside the couch.

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

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

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

— “Why?”

Grigory was at a loss.

— “Why? So that you can live.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Liza blushed.

— “Sorry.”

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

— “Plans?”

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

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

Grigory raised his eyebrows in surprise.

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

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

One evening, Grigory exclaimed:

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

The woman skimmed through the documents.

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

Grigory laughed and playfully kissed her on the nose.

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

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

— “Did you fall in love?”

Liza looked at her mother strangely:

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

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

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

— “What happened?” Liza asked, frightened.

He sat down across from her.

— “Is Elena Sergeyevna not here?”

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

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

— “Grish, speak normally—what happened?”

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

Liza sighed:

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

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

— “Liza…”

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

— “God willing, perhaps…”

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

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

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

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

— “As usual?” the bartender asked.

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

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

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

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

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

He gripped his glass so tightly that it shattered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes?” he asked, sizing her up.

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

The man thought for a moment, then smiled broadly.

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

“I’m Anya,” she smiled.

“Igor,” the man smiled back.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The blonde frowned, casting a suspicious glance at Sergey.

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

Sergey clenched his teeth.

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

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

The blonde tensed.

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

The blonde quickly turned and left the café.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sergey ran his hand through his hair.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“At the cemetery,” the girl whispered.

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

Sveta cried even harder, unable to contain her emotions.

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

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

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

Sveta shyly said:

“The one that just played…”

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

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

Sveta sobbed and answered:

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

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

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

“Yes…” Sveta confirmed.

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

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

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

“Yes, they are,” Sveta confirmed.

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

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

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

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

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

Soon he addressed her:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

As soon as the car stopped, Sveta asked:

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

The man nodded confidently:

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

The woman gently placed her hand on his shoulder:

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sveta guessed that everyone here knew her mom.

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

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

“A real grandmother?”

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

Svetochka quietly asked:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A few minutes earlier…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Polina, what are you…”

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

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

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

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

Let her now live through this wonderful news. Alone.

That’s better that way!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sergey twitched oddly and looked away.

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

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

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

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

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

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

A harsh voice responded:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Anya? What are you doing here?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What to sign?” Anna asked suspiciously.

Sergey handed her the stack of papers, smiling unnaturally:

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

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

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

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

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

Sergey turned pale:

“You… you know?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sergey nodded, his head still down:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Where to?” Sergey asked bewildered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I filed for divorce, Sergey.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Rita smirked:

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

Roman flushed with irritation:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hello,” she said awkwardly.

The man smiled:

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

Rita nodded, looking around in confusion:

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

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

Rita sighed:

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

The man shrugged:

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

Rita was about to close the door but paused:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He looked at her gloomily:

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

Rita firmly placed the tray on the table:

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

Oleg was embarrassed:

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

Rita sat down on the chair:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Rita raised her eyebrows in surprise:

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

“And what do you suggest?”

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

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

Rita got up, began to gather the dishes.

“I’ll settle in that room then.”

Oleg nodded:

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

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

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

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

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

“God help you,” Rita grated.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Rita laughed too, then said:

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

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

Rita smiled:

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

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

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

Two years passed.

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

Oleg shyly looked at Rita and nodded:

“Well, can’t do without it.”

“What do you say, doctor?”

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

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

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

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

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

“I can do it. For you, I can.

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