All Amazing Babies

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

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

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

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

Her grandfather was a stern, withdrawn man, almost a hermit.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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But first she asked her grandfather:

“Is that why you live here?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What can be done now?”

“Let me through! Let me through!”

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

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

“Let’s go for a walk. I miss you.”

Klava looked at him with pain and distrust:

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

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

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

Sergey grew dark:

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

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

Sergey squinted at her:

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

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

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely.”

“Okay. I won’t see you again.”

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

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

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

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

“No, I’ll stay here.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Well, my stop. Bye, Klava!”

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

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

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

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

“What on earth…”

She picked up the bag; inside was a note:

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

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

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

“Sergei! Don’t do this!”

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

“What will I tell your children?”

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

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

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

Sergey burst into tears:

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

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

“Do you hate me that easily?”

“Did you believe me?”

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

“Come on. The children are alone there.”

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

“Fufu, he’s one of us.”

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

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

“Forgive me, forgive me, bad daddy.”

She took the second baby herself:

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

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

“Sorry, I lied to you.”

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

A month later, Sergey sat in front of Claudia:

“We need to talk.”

The children were asleep.

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

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

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

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

Sergey even stood up in surprise:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I see,” she exhaled.

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

“No, it’s just this hair…”

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

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

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

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

The phone rang on the table.

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

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

Short beeps came from the line…

Anya immediately dialed her friend.

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

“No problem, come by.”

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

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

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

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

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

Getting into the car, Anya called her husband again.

“Are you free yet?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I don’t have anyone…”

“Well, sit down. What’s going on?”

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

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

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

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

“Hi, are you going home?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you know her? Tell me.”

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

“What kind?”

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

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

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

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

“And if he opens the door?”

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

“First. The apartment faces the avenue.”

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

“So, is he there?”

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

“But how? I don’t understand…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why do you think I lied to you?”

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

“I already explained everything,” Egor said nervously.

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

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

“Were you following me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Uh-huh,” Anya smirked.

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

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

Then Anya called Sasha.

“I need your help, come to me.”

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

“Hi, where’s Egor?”

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

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

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

“How do you know?”

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

“But he’s my friend.”

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

“Deal. You’re a dangerous woman.”

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

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

Egor was waiting for her on the porch.

“You look wonderful.”

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

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

“Uh-huh.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You… you…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Get a mortgage.”

“We can’t, we already have loans.”

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

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

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

Everyone got what they deserved.

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

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

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

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

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

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

— Nikolai? Nikolai Andreevich?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Maria nodded. Of course, she remembered.

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

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

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

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

— And you… why are you alone?

Maria sighed. Her eyes grew glassy.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But one day, everything changed.

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

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

Maria felt her heart tighten.

— And who are you to him?

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

Maria looked at him closely.

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

Valery nodded.

— I understand.

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

— Dad… — Valery rasped. — Forgive me.

Silence hung in the room. Then Nikolai spoke:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Maria hugged him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

One day, watching them, Maria quietly said:

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

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

— Because of you.

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

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

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

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

Sasha read these notes with bated breath.

And when he turned sixteen, he said:

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

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

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

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

Nikolai stared at her for a long time.

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

And he closed the door.

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

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

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

Sasha wrote the book. He called it:

“The Bench Where Life Began”

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

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

— It’s time to go home, Kolya.

He smiled and took a step toward her.

Epilogue.

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

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

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

“I found you. Now you’re not alone.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mom, I don’t need money.”

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

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

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

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

“Are you sure? About the divorce?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Documents?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Have you been watching me?”

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

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

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

“How did you…?”

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

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

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

“Yana…”

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

“And what have you decided?”

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

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

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

“Did you count?”

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

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

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

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

He flinched: “How did you…”

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

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

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

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

“How… when?”

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

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

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

“Fuck…” Dima hissed.

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

“Are you kidding me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I love you!”

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

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

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

“How did you…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How did it go?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Let me make you a hot dinner?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you okay? Did something happen?”

“I remembered…” the man muttered hoarsely.

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

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

Alice shook her head, deciding he was mistaken:

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

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

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

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

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

Nikolai slowly pushed his plate aside and said:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Dad is home again. He’s with us.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What happened?” Marina hurried to him worriedly.

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

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

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

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

Marina sighed, stroking Misha’s hair.

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

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

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

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

Herman frowned but shook his head:

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

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

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

Herman sharply turned to his son:

“Are you sure it was Inga?”

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

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

She tried to say something, but Herman was firm.

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

Fifteen minutes later he returned, pale but resolute.

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

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

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

Marina was slightly embarrassed but smiled too:

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

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

In the kitchen, Marina and Herman continued their conversation.

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

Herman nodded, looking at her carefully:

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

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

Herman gave the boys some money:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Reading it, he laughed:

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

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

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

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

Tamara Semyonovna, laughing, called the kids home:

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

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

And life became kind again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

My heart stopped.

“This is not a sanatorium.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The man slowly turned around.

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

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

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

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

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

He swallowed, unable to look away.

“Alina… What are you doing here?”

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

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

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

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

I stepped closer and looked into his eyes.

“Remember how I covered for you back then? How I left my residency so you could continue your career? So you could become the chief doctor?”

He shuddered as if I had hit him.

“I haven’t forgotten anything, Alina.”

“Then prove it.”

He thought for a second, then pressed the selector button.

“Valentina, come in.”

A middle-aged woman in a white coat with a sharp, keen gaze entered the office.

“Patient Alina Vorontsova is placed in room seven, VIP wing. Prescribe mild herbal sedatives and vitamins. No strong drugs without my permission. I’m personally overseeing the patient.”

The nurse was surprised but didn’t dare object.

When she led me away, I noticed a hidden signal in Arseny’s eyes: “Trust me. I’m on your side.”

The room looked more like a hotel room: a comfortable bed, a private bathroom, even a window without bars overlooking the garden.

In the evening, Valentina came to me with a tray and a glass of pills.

“Take these,” she smiled sweetly. “The doctor prescribed them. For sleep.”

I looked at the pills. She was clearly on their side. Bought.

“I sleep fine,” I answered. “But thanks.”

“Arseny Igorevich insisted,” her smile tightened.

I took the glass and some water. As soon as she left, I spat the pills into my palm. White and one yellow. Not like “mild sedatives.”

I hid them in my pocket. It was the first proof.

I had to act. Arseny gave me a chance, but it might be limited. I couldn’t wait.

I had to prove myself that I was brought here by deceit and force. I needed an ally. Or at least a phone.

Hearing the corridor was quiet, I began to make a plan. Risky, bold, but the only possible one.

And the key was Valentina. She loved money. And I still had enough.

The next morning I waited for her, sitting on the bed, collected and calm.

“Valentina, let’s talk. I have a business proposal.”

She hesitated, but curiosity won.

“What kind?”

“I know my husband and mother-in-law paid you to give me different medicines than the doctor prescribed,” I said softly but firmly. “No need to deny it. I’m not going to report you. On the contrary — I want to pay you more.”

Her face went pale.

“I don’t understand…”

“You do. And very well. Did they give you two hundred thousand? Three hundred? I’ll give you a million. I can sign a receipt right now. For one favor.”

The word “million” worked.

“What favor?”

“I need a phone. For at least an hour. And for you to confirm that I have been sane since admission.”

She didn’t hesitate long. Within half an hour, Valentina’s phone was in my hands.

First thing I did was call my lawyer, Igor. Explained the situation. He immediately knew what to do. Then I called Stas.

“Darling,” I purred into the phone, turning on the recording. “I realized everything. You were right. Come get me out of here. I’ll sign whatever is needed.”

Stas instantly took the bait:

“Good girl! Tomorrow we’ll come with mom, bring the papers.”

The next day they arrived — pleased, ready to celebrate victory. Arseny showed them to the office where I was waiting — in my clothes, not a hospital gown.

“Alina? Where is…?” Stas began.

“Where’s the insane wife ready to sign everything?” I smirked. “She never existed.”

Tamara Igorevna flushed.

“Why aren’t you in the ward?”

“Because I’m not a patient,” Arseny replied calmly. “But you’re in serious trouble now. Fraud, illegal imprisonment…”

The door opened. My lawyer entered holding a recorder.

“Good afternoon. I suggest we discuss this,” he placed the device on the table. “And the testimony of witness nurse Valentina. And the examination of those drugs they tried to give my client.”

Stas’s face turned pale. Tamara Igorevna opened and closed her mouth convulsively. Their perfect plan collapsed like a house of cards.

I looked at them with no anger. Only contempt. My revenge wasn’t in prison for them, but in taking everything they wanted.

As they left, defeated, I approached Arseny.

“Thank you.”

“I just repaid a debt. What’s next?”

“To live,” I answered, looking out the window at the vast, free world. “Just to live.”

Elena slowly flipped through the photos in the worn leather album she had carefully kept all these years. Her fingers gently touched each picture, pausing on those where Olga—her adopted daughter—genuinely smiled during school celebrations, the graduation party, her first day at university, and birthdays. Twenty years of motherhood had flown by in the blink of an eye, leaving an indelible mark on her heart. She remembered every tear on the child’s cheeks, every joy, every achievement of this girl who had become dearer to her than her own after Olga’s biological mother simply disappeared from their lives, as if dissolved into thin air.

The crutches stood by the sofa—a constant reminder of that unfortunate fall on slippery stairs and the subsequent complicated knee surgery. Now her entire leg was literally studded with metal pins—it was horrible to look at. The doctors promised a full recovery of mobility, but the process was dragging on much longer than originally expected. It was precisely then, when Elena was completely helpless and could not even get up from the sofa without assistance, that her husband—her beloved Grigory, with whom she had shared twenty happy years of marriage—suddenly stopped spending nights at home.

At first, she excused his absence by blaming work. But then she realized—he had found someone else. Young, healthy, able to give him what she could not.

The phone rang sharply, breaking the heavy silence of the apartment. Olga’s name appeared on the screen.

“Mom. How’s your leg?” her daughter’s voice was filled with genuine care and worry.

“Everything’s fine, my dear. Don’t worry about me. Tell me about the wedding instead. Has Igor already booked the restaurant? How’s the preparation going?”

“Yes, everything is ready, even the menu has been approved. Mom, do you happen to know where Dad is? I haven’t been able to reach him for several days. His phone is either busy or doesn’t answer at all.”

Elena fell silent. To tell the truth about her father’s mistress would irrevocably shatter her daughter’s last illusions on the eve of the most important day of her life.

“He’s… very busy at work right now,” she lied with difficulty, hating herself for it. “You know how it is at the end of the quarter.”

“I see. Mom, don’t forget—the registry office at eleven a.m. on Wednesday. I’m definitely waiting for you there. You’ll come, right? Promise you’ll come! I’m so nervous; I really need my mom to be with me that day.”

“Of course, my sunshine. Of course, I’ll come. Nothing will stop me from being with you on such an important day.”

After the call, Elena slowly leaned back on the soft pillows. She still did not know how to explain to her daughter that her father was now living with Kristina—a young twenty-five-year-old employee from his office who could have been his daughter.

The sound of a key in the lock made her flinch. Grigory entered the apartment, not even greeting her, and silently went into the bedroom.

“Grigory, let’s just talk calmly about…”

“We have nothing to discuss,” he sharply cut her off, not even turning toward her. “It’s all been decided. There’s no point in dragging it out.”

Elena struggled to pick up her crutches and slowly, fighting through the pain, got up from the sofa.

“Our daughter keeps asking about you. The wedding is in three days. She’s waiting for her father.”

“She’s my daughter, not yours, and I know that very well,” he replied coldly. “And I know exactly what I’ll say to Olga.”

“What exactly are you going to tell her?”

Grigory slowly turned to face her. In his eyes, she saw not a trace of the love that had once been there.

“After the wedding, I’ll honestly tell her that it’s over between us, that I’m filing for divorce. And remember this once and for all—you mean nothing special to her. In fact, you’ve always been nobody—no real mother, just a temporary nanny who helped raise the child. In short, you’re just a stepmother who will soon become completely useless.”

Elena knew, knew very well all along, that Olga would never be her daughter by blood, but she was her daughter by soul. Elena had dreamed of having her own children all her life but had been unable to conceive—which had been the main cause of her first divorce. But after she married Grigory, who already had little Olga, she wholeheartedly accepted her as her own, while Olga’s biological mother had vanished without a trace and had not appeared in their lives for many years.

“Don’t say such monstrous nonsense!” Elena exclaimed. “I raised your daughter as my own. I am her mother, and no one else!”

“You’re not a mother!” Grigory shouted, genuine malice in his voice. “You’re just my wife—a woman who couldn’t even give me a child in twenty years of marriage! And now you’re disabled with crutches. Who needs you?”

This was exactly what Elena feared most—that she would remain disabled forever and would not be able to take a step without crutches.

“I loved you both more than my own life,” she said quietly.

“Love?” Grigory laughed bitterly and scornfully. “Your so-called love is endless pots and constant cleaning. Olga will perfectly understand that I’m making the right choice. I’ll have my own child now; I’m far from old yet, but you…”

With these cruel words, Grigory sharply turned and left the room. Elena no longer had the strength or desire to argue with him—and what was the point if he had already made up his mind?

For several heavy days before the wedding, they existed in oppressive silence. Elena’s loyal friend Galina regularly visited, bought groceries, cooked simple meals, helped with cleaning. Her husband only occasionally appeared at home—sleeping, silently eating, and then leaving again, supposedly for work but actually to see his mistress.

And the day before the long-awaited wedding, Grigory harshly and categorically declared:

“You definitely won’t go to the wedding. I won’t allow a crippled old woman to spoil my daughter’s most important celebration. Just imagine how pitiful you’ll look in all the photos! Like a shadow from the past.”

“We’ll see who’s the pitiful shadow here,” Elena answered quietly but firmly.

“Don’t even think about showing up at the wedding, or I’ll personally throw you out without ceremony.”

Grigory snorted disdainfully and continued silently chewing his dinner as if nothing had happened.

Late in the evening, Elena sat in her three-room apartment, which now seemed incredibly large and lifelessly empty. She dialed Olga’s familiar number, her heart painfully tightening at the impending conversation.

“Mom! So, are you ready? Tomorrow is…”

“Olechka, my dear, I have very bad news. I won’t be able to come to your wedding.”

“What?! Why?! What happened?”

“My leg… serious complications, very painful. The doctor strictly forbade any long trips,” she lied with a heavy heart.

Her daughter’s voice instantly became sad:

“Mom, is something wrong? I think you’re crying?”

“No, my dear. I’m just very upset that I’ll miss the most important and happiest day of your life.”

“Mom, don’t be too upset, I…”

From the next room came Grigory’s muffled but clearly audible voice:

“You did the right thing, sit quietly here, don’t spoil people’s celebration. That’s it—you’re long gone; my daughter will soon forget about you forever, and you… well, I’ll deal with you properly later. And don’t waste time—pack your things, find a rental place. I’ll help you move your stuff but don’t delay. Understand me?!”

Elena desperately wanted to burst into tears—twenty years of life with this man, and he treated her worse than garbage ready to be thrown out without ceremony. She quietly hung up the phone, unable to speak any longer.

The wedding day arrived—the bright spring sun shone through the windows, and joyful birdsong was heard outside. Grigory put on his best dark blue suit and left early in the morning, reminding Elena once again that the wedding was exclusively for his daughter, not her, that she needed to pack her things, and that she must not call Olga or upset her on such an important day.

Elena silently sat by the wide window, slowly leafing through the thick album filled with numerous photos of her daughter, when suddenly there was an insistent knock at the door.

At the threshold stood Igor—the groom—wearing his wedding suit, holding a bouquet of white roses.

“Elena Mikhailovna, please get ready quickly. Olga absolutely refuses to go to the registry office without you.”

“Igor, dear, I just can’t. You see—I have these horrible pins in my leg, I can barely move, I’ll only ruin your celebration…”

“Elena Mikhailovna,” he gently but firmly interrupted. “Olga knows about Kristina. She knows about the impending divorce from her father and that he forbade you to come to our wedding. She knows everything. And she wants her real mother to be beside her—that’s you.”

Elena carefully got up from the sofa, firmly leaning on her crutches, and looked at this wonderful young man who sincerely loved her daughter.

“All right. Give me half an hour to get ready.”

At the registry office entrance, a small group of guests had gathered. The warm June day was perfect for celebration, and everyone was dressed in their best clothes. Elena, holding onto the building’s wall to avoid falling from weakness, carefully surveyed the crowd. Her gaze landed on a familiar figure—Grigory stood at the entrance with a young woman about twenty-five, obviously Kristina herself. The girl wore a bright pink dress with a deep neckline, which seemed inappropriate for a wedding. Upon seeing Elena, her ex-husband’s face instantly twisted with anger; his eyes narrowed and lips pressed into a thin line.

“She wasn’t supposed to come,” he hissed into Kristina’s ear.

“And who is she anyway?” the young woman shrugged carelessly.

At that moment, Olga emerged from the registry office building in a stunning white dress with lace sleeves and a long train. Her face radiated happiness, and her eyes sparkled with joy. Seeing her mother, she immediately ran to her, ignoring the possibility of wrinkling her dress.

“Mom!” she exclaimed, hugging Elena. “I knew you’d come!”

“I’m afraid I’ll spoil your photos, sunshine,” Elena replied, holding her daughter tightly as tears welled in her eyes. “But you’re simply glowing with happiness. You’re so beautiful, my dear.”

“Mom, you can’t spoil anything. You know the most important thing for me is that you’re here,” Olga hugged her mother tighter. “How are you feeling? Maybe you should sit down?”

“I’m fine, dear. Today is your day, and I can manage.”

When Olga moved away to greet other guests with the groom, Grigory approached Elena with determined steps. His face was red with anger.

“You still disobeyed and showed up here,” he hissed angrily, coming very close. “Well, fine, it’ll only be worse for you. You’ll end up on the street today, understand? As soon as I get home, I’ll throw all your rags out the door. Think I was joking?”

“Grigory, don’t make a scene,” Elena replied quietly, trying not to attract the attention of the other guests.

“Don’t make a scene?” he sneered. “And you had to ruin my daughter’s mood with your pathetic appearance? Look at yourself—a walking skeleton! You scare people!”

But then Olga came up to them, having heard her father’s last words. Her face instantly changed—joy turned to anger.

“What did you say?” she asked quietly but firmly.

“Daughter, I’m just explaining to your mother…”

“Get out of here!” she pushed her father hard in the chest. “And don’t you dare raise your voice at Mom! Get out! You’re a miserable scoundrel! Mom is sick, and you came to my celebration with your mistress and still dare insult her! Get out! Immediately!”

“Olya, you don’t understand the situation,” Grigory tried to justify himself, looking around at the stunned guests. “She’s not a mistress… She… we’re going to get married…”

“I have only one mom, and no father!” Olga interrupted him. “And you… you’re a traitor and a coward! Get out of here!”

“But I’m your father!” Grigory exclaimed, trying to take his daughter’s hand.

“Ha-ha-ha!” Olga laughed bitterly, pulling her hand away. “Suddenly remembered! Where were you all these years, dear papa? Maybe you taught me to read? Or took me to kindergarten? Or went to parent meetings? Or stayed with me when I was sick? What did you do? Nothing! Absolutely nothing! Mom raised me alone, worked, and you only spent money and told us what to do! Now get lost from my wedding and don’t forget to take your woman with you! Out!”

Grigory stood with his mouth open, clearly not expecting such a reaction. His face flushed and paled alternately. Kristina, who had been standing aside nervously biting her lips, firmly tugged his sleeve.

“Grigory, let’s get out of here,” she hissed. “Don’t get involved with this crazy daughter. She’s clearly not herself.”

“Yes, yes,” Olga agreed. “Both of you get out! And never come back into my life! I don’t need such a father!”

Igor, Olga’s fiancé, approached the bride and hugged her shoulders:

“It’s okay, sunshine. Don’t be upset.”

Grigory, realizing the situation had completely gotten out of control, turned and quickly walked away from the registry office. Kristina clicked her heels and hurried after him.

“Well, good,” Olga said, calming down. “Now we can continue the celebration.”

After the wedding ceremony, when all the congratulations had been said and photos taken, Olga approached her mother and handed her a small key.

“What’s this, dear?” Elena asked, examining the key.

“It’s for your home, mommy,” Olga smiled. “While we were here at the ceremony, the locksmith already changed the lock on the apartment. Dad’s things were packed up by our neighbor, Aunt Valya. She said she’ll be happy to help you anytime.”

Elena hugged her daughter tightly.

“Thank you, sunshine. You have no idea how important this is to me.”

“Thank you, mom,” Olga replied. “For being by my side all these twenty years. For loving me like your own daughter. For being a real mother even when everything was falling apart around us. For teaching me to be strong.”

“You’re the best daughter in the world,” Elena whispered, stroking Olga’s hair.

Late at night, after Elena had taken her medicine and rested a little from the exciting day, there was a persistent knocking at her apartment door. At first, it was normal knocking, but it gradually became louder and more aggressive, turning into a real drumroll.

“Elena!” came Grigory’s familiar voice. “Open up immediately! What the hell are you locked up like a rat in a hole for? I’ll break this lock! Have you packed your things? Found a place to live? I’ll remember how you ruined my daughter’s wedding by being here!”

Elena calmly approached the door but did not open it. Instead, she answered loudly and clearly:

“No, Grigory, I haven’t packed and haven’t even thought about it.”

“What do you mean ‘haven’t thought about it’?” he roared outside. “I told you!”

Grigory was raging with anger. An hour ago, his mistress had thrown him out after a grand scandal. Kristina called him a loser who couldn’t even handle a sick wife and an uncontrollable daughter. They fought to pieces, and now he was completely alone. And here was this stubborn woman locked in the apartment, refusing to let him in!

“Open up right now!” he shouted, banging his fists on the door. “This is my home!”

“No, Grigory,” Elena replied calmly, leaning against the door. “It was never yours. You seem to have forgotten that the apartment belongs to me. I let you live here, took you in like a stray dog, but you’ve gotten so attached that you already consider it yours. No, it’s my apartment, bought with my money, registered in my name.”

“But… but…” he was clearly confused, then realized that the apartment really belonged to his wife. “And my things? Where are my things?”

“With the neighbor. Ask Aunt Valya; she’ll explain everything.”

The banging on the door stopped. Elena cautiously went to the window and looked outside. At that moment, neighbor Valentina Petrovna was already carrying out numerous bags and packages with her ex-husband’s things. Grigory paced between them, shouting and waving his arms, but Aunt Valya methodically continued to clear her hallway of someone else’s belongings.

“If you don’t pick them up within an hour,” came the stern voice of the neighbor’s husband, Petr Ivanovich, “everything will go straight to the trash bins. What a scoundrel you turned out to be, Grigory! I thought you were a real man. Ugh!”—and he demonstratively spat at Grigory’s furious feet, who now didn’t know what to do or where to go.

Elena involuntarily smiled, watching the scene. Justice had finally prevailed.

At that moment her phone vibrated. A message from Olga appeared on the screen: “Mommy, thank you for the best day of my life. I love you more than anything in the world. Catch the photos from our celebration. Tomorrow Igor and I will come to you with the wedding cake and tell you everything in detail. Take care!”

Elena returned to the sofa, carefully sat on the soft pillows, and opened the gallery on her phone. One by one appeared the beautiful photos from the wedding: Olga in a pure white dress smiling joyfully, standing next to Igor; the newlyweds exchanging rings; Olga tossing the bouquet to her friends; her and her mother hugging against the backdrop of the registry office. In every photo, her daughter was glowing with happiness, and that was the most important thing.

“How fast time flies,” Elena thought, looking at the pictures. “Just yesterday she was a little girl afraid of the dark, and today she’s a wife. But she grew up strong and fair. So, I didn’t live these years in vain.”

A warm, happy smile appeared on her face. Despite the illness, despite all the hardships, she was truly happy. She had a daughter who loved her, a roof over her head, and now no one could take this peace away from her.

Anna Fedorovna sighed heavily, placing another pot under the stubborn trickle of water seeping through the dilapidated roof.

— What a disaster! — she whispered, looking up at the ceiling as if trying to see the very sky through the cracks. — When will this ever end? The rain’s gone mad — it just keeps pouring nonstop! Could it be that the roof in heaven itself, right above the Lord, has sprung a leak?

Before, during past downpours, a couple of basins were enough, but now she had to arm herself with an entire arsenal: four buckets, a small pot, and even an old enamel basin — everything was in use.

— Just as long as the roof doesn’t collapse, — she sighed, surveying the crooked beams. — Or it’ll crush me, and no one will even find me under these ruins!

With a habitual gesture, as if warding off bad thoughts, the old woman made the sign of the cross over herself. Suddenly, outside, a deafening clap of thunder rolled, causing the windowpanes to tremble.

— Oh, Lord have mercy! — she exclaimed, clutching the cross hanging on her chest. — What a calamity is this? I haven’t seen such a storm in twenty years, at least!

Anna Fedorovna had long been used to having long conversations with herself—or rather, with the cat, who, however, never responded. The gray, mustached sentinel sat on the stove, his green eyes shining in the dim light like two glowing coals.

— What, scared, furry one? — she said soothingly. — Don’t be afraid, the thunder won’t do us in. I’ve been through worse…

But no sooner had the words left her lips than the door creaked open and a tall male figure drenched by the rain appeared in the doorway. The old woman gasped and stepped back, her heart pounding wildly.

— Don’t be afraid, mother, — came a hoarse voice. — I come in peace.

She looked closer: before her stood a gaunt man, his face pale, his eyes heavy with deep fatigue.

— Well, since you come in peace — come in, warm yourself, — she mumbled, stepping aside.

The stranger took a few steps and then, as if struck down, collapsed onto a stool, breathing heavily.

— I need… a drink… — he rasped.

Quickly, she scooped some apple kvass from an oak barrel with a wooden ladle and handed it to him. The man greedily drained it to the bottom, set the ladle down, and closed his eyes as if gathering strength.

— Don’t be afraid of me, — he finally said. — It happened that I had to run to prove my innocence. But I can’t go further — I was wounded. Could I stay here for a while? Even in the cellar or attic…

Anna Fedorovna slowly approached him, peering closely at his face.

— Well, if you’re telling the truth — stay. But if you lie — God will punish you, — she said sternly, waving her hand toward the far room. — There’s a free spot there. Make yourself comfortable.

The stranger, who introduced himself as Nikolai, struggled to the bed and sank onto it, feeling his consciousness begin to drift. He pulled off his half-wet robe — his entire side was soaked in dark blood.

— Damn it… — he whispered through clenched teeth.

Struggling to remove his coarse clothes, he collapsed onto the pillow, feeling as if he wasn’t falling asleep but plunging somewhere into an abyss, trying to hold on but failing.

As soon as his eyelids closed, the hostess entered with a basin of warm water. Looking him over, she shook her head, carefully cleaned the wound, ensuring it was a through-and-through injury, then smeared it with a thick, herb-scented salve.

— Sleep, dear, — she softly said. — You need it now more than anything.

Nikolai awoke to a bright sunbeam shining directly into his face. Nothing reminded him of yesterday’s storm — outside, birds chirped, and the air was clear and fresh. For a moment, he even forgot where he was and how he got there. But memory quickly returned, and he tried to sit up. A sharp pain pierced his side, and at that moment, as if by magic, the door opened and Anna Fedorovna appeared in the doorway.

— Awake! Thank God! — she rejoiced. — Don’t rush to get up, lie down some more. The wound is fresh; it needs to heal.

— Grandma, how long have I been asleep? Eight hours? — he asked hoarsely.

She laughed, a warm, almost motherly note in her laughter.

— More than a day, dear! Well, do you want to eat?

Suddenly, Nikolai realized he was so hungry he would eat anything.

— More than that!

— Then let’s go slowly.

He carefully got up and, to his surprise, found the pain was not as bad as he had expected.

The old woman set the table, placing a large bowl of steaming cabbage soup, a pot of sour cream, and cutting a slice of fresh bread. Nikolai looked regretfully at the modest portion, but the hostess only smiled.

— Don’t rush, dear. If you manage, I have some potatoes simmering in the oven.

He began eating with a greediness he hadn’t noticed in himself for a long time. Anna Fedorovna sat opposite him, watching.

— My name’s Anna Fedorovna, what’s yours?

— Nikolai.

— Interesting… — she said thoughtfully.

Halfway through the bowl, he felt full but continued eating out of habit. Meanwhile, the grandmother placed a mug of dark broth in front of him.

— Drink this. It’s bitter, but good for you now.

He sniffed, grimaced, but took a sip — he didn’t even think the old woman might wish him harm.

— Well, Nikolai, now tell me your story, — she said softly.

He pushed the bowl aside, sighed, and began:

— There’s not much to tell. I had everything: a house, family, money. But one day, my wife decided she didn’t need me, but my wealth — she did. At night, she and her lover… accidentally, I hope, hit a man and fled. Then she testified that I was driving. Her lover is a journalist, has connections everywhere. I was convicted within a day and served three months. I couldn’t stay any longer — I had to find one person to help me. I managed to escape but don’t know how to reach him yet.

— If all is as you say — truth will prevail, — the old woman said confidently.

— Oh, Anna Fedorovna, if only I had your faith! — he bitterly smiled. — I thought if you have money, everyone respects you. But when trouble came — everyone turned away. Not even for a reason, just like that…

The hostess stood, cleared the dishes, and suddenly pulled out a worn deck of cards. Nikolai watched in surprise as she laid them out, whispering something. Finally, she gathered the cards and looked at him.

— You need to leave in three days. If you leave at the hour I tell you — you will reach your man.

He never believed in fortune-telling, but something in her voice made him quiet.

She dealt the cards again, and again, then said:

— You were born far from here, the only child in your family. Your parents are alive, sitting there, watching the road and crying. They wait for their son. But he’s not hurrying… Not because he’s in prison, but he never was.

Nikolai felt a hot wave of shame wash over him. It was exactly so — he’d been sending money to his parents for years but hadn’t visited them in three years.

— Your wife is beautiful, but a liar, — the old woman continued. — She always had many men: before you and with you. And also… she didn’t want your child. You could have had a son, but not fate.

He bowed his head. It seemed this simple woman knew more about him than he did himself.

He sat stunned, thoughts tangled, his head ringing. And he had suspected! Svetka said she had “minor female ailments,” so she moved to the guest room for a couple of weeks. And she went to the clinic suspiciously often, even stayed there for a few days. Everything was before his eyes, but he distanced himself, preferring not to dig deeper.

— And your friend is worried, looking for you, — the grandmother continued, shuffling cards. — People have already come looking for you. But he will help you, rescue you, and won’t even remember the offense you caused him.

Nikolai almost fell off the chair.

Well, okay, suppose the old woman is a good psychologist. But how does she know about Larisa? About how he left his friend’s sister for Svetka? How she left then, broken? He and his friend fought fiercely, nearly breaking each other’s bones, but later… they reconciled.

He always thought Larisa persuaded her brother to forgive him.

The grandmother folded the cards. He exhaled:

— Incredible…

She laughed — loud, young, as if she were not an old woman but a girl.

— What did you expect? I used to be known all over the region — the best fortune-teller! But now… — she waved her hand — I don’t do it anymore. Don’t want to. It’s hard to see other people’s fates, Kolya. People rarely come when everything’s fine. Only when they’re desperate, when they hit rock bottom. So what do you think you see then? Most often — the end.

Thunder rumbled outside as if confirming her words.

— What the heck! — Anna Fedorovna exclaimed, throwing up her hands. — A week of storms, like cursed! When will this mess end?

The cat, as if on command, slipped onto the stove and curled up. Nikolai watched with amazement as the hostess skillfully placed basins exactly where the drips were. So it went: amid cheerful drops and thunderclaps, they continued their evening.

— Almost no one left in the village, — sighed the old woman. — Before, when city folks came to me for fortune-telling, I could ask — men would come, fix the roof. But now, no one to ask. I wonder: what will come first — will I die, or will the ceiling fall on me?

Three days passed. Nikolai grew stronger; the wound healed. No new faces appeared in the village — only once a local traveling store passed through. At dawn on the fourth day, Anna Fedorovna woke him early:

— It’s time, Kolya. They’re coming already.

He rose easily — his body obeyed as if he’d never been wounded. He hugged the old woman tightly:

— We will meet again. Thank you…

— Go already, — she muttered, turning away, — or I’ll start crying. We’ll see each other, I’m sure.

She explained the way through the garden to the station, how best to leave — by bus or train. She stood long at the door, peering into the pre-dawn gloom where he disappeared.

— What a misfortune… — she muttered. — What a summer it’s been…

She had to empty the buckets — the ones she used to carry water from the well. She watched new wet spots spreading across the ceiling. Yes, the roof wouldn’t hold much longer.

The rain stopped as suddenly as it had started. That summer, the weather seemed out of control: hot in the morning, flood by afternoon, and stifling again by evening.

Anna Fedorovna gathered the basins, emptied the water, went outside—and froze.

Approaching the house was… no, not just a car — a whole big machine! A truck with some kind of basket on top. And behind it, a large black sedan.

— Could it really be war? — she whispered, crossing herself frantically.

The vehicles stopped. Now visible: in the truck bed were boards, packages, something red like slate, but not slate. From the sedan stepped out…

— Nikolai!

The bucket crashed to the ground. She hobbled toward him, unable to believe her eyes.

— Hello, Anna Fedorovna! — he smiled widely. — I told you — we’ll see each other soon!

— Soon, you say… — she snorted. — Three months — that’s your “soon”?

— It wasn’t up to me. They took me again while my friend was sorting everything out. Only for a month though — until the trials and investigation. I didn’t come alone!

He opened the car door. A young woman stepped out, shyly smiling:

— Hello.

They dined outside. Larisa, Anna Fedorovna, and Nikolai cooked enough for the whole crew — three huge pots. While Larisa set the table, the old woman laid out cards. Kolya sat beside her:

— Well, what now?

— They say you did the right thing, returning to your past and fixing the mistake. — She squinted. — It was your cruelty that caused everything to go wrong back then. But… — Nikolai tensed — Are you going to get married?

— Even now! I’m just afraid she’ll say no.

— She won’t. — Anna Fedorovna smiled slyly. — The baby can’t be born without a father, you know.

Kolya stared at Larisa in shock. She blushed but smiled.

Late at night, when the old woman was already asleep and the workers had gone to bed, Larisa and Nikolai settled in the car.

— Lar… — he suddenly spoke, looking at the ceiling. — How do you feel about tying your life to an ex-con?

She turned surprised, but he kept studying the starry sky.

— Is that… a proposal? — she whispered.

— Yep.

— Hmm… — Larisa pretended to frown. — Not the best prospect: a husband in and out of jail, and me with a bunch of kids. — She sighed and turned to the window.

Nikolai jerked and hit his head on the roof. Larisa laughed:

— Yeah, dummy, of course yes! I’ve waited so many years for those words. Although… — she made sad eyes — I thought there’d be a ring, flowers…

— Oh my! — He jumped out of the car, looked around, grabbed the first lily he could find from the grandmother’s garden, and ran back in. — Flowers! We’ll buy the ring tomorrow. And also… — he said seriously — we’ll visit my parents.

— Of course, we will.

Anna Fedorovna, watching them from the summer kitchen, smiled and crossed herself:

— That’s good. Now everything’s in its place.

— Who is this? — Sergey Alexandrovich asked coldly as soon as Anna entered the house, tightly holding a small baby wrapped in a soft blanket against her chest. There was no hint of joy or surprise in his voice. Only irritation. — Do you seriously think I will accept this?

He had just returned from another business trip that had lasted several weeks. As usual, he was immersed in work: contracts, meetings, endless calls. His life had long become a series of business trips, conferences, and flights. Anna knew this even before their marriage and accepted this lifestyle as a given.

When they met, she was only nineteen. She was in her first year of medical school, and he was already a mature, confident man — respectable, successful, reliable. Exactly the kind she had once dreamed about in her school diary. He seemed to her a support, a rock behind which she could hide from all troubles. She was sure: with him, she would be safe.

That’s why the evening that was supposed to be one of the brightest days in her life suddenly turned into a nightmare. The moment Sergey looked at the child, his face became alien. He froze, then spoke — his voice ringing sharp in a way she had never heard before.

— Look for yourself — not a single feature! Not mine at all! This is not my son, do you understand?! Do you think I’m stupid enough to believe this fantasy? What are you up to? Trying to hang noodles on my ears?

His words cut like knives. Anna stood, unable to move, her heart pounding somewhere in her throat, her head buzzing from fear and pain. She could not believe that the person she trusted with all her heart could suspect her of betrayal. She loved him completely. For him, she had given up everything: career, dreams, her former life. Her main goal was to give him a child, to create a family. And now… he was reproaching her like an enemy.

From the very beginning, her mother warned her.

— What did you find in him, Anyuta? — Marina Petrovna often repeated. — He’s almost twice your age! He already has a child from his first marriage. Why be a stepmother if you can just find someone who will be an equal partner?

But young, in love Anna didn’t listen. For her, Sergey was not just a man — he was fate, the embodiment of masculine strength, a support she had long sought. Without a father she never knew, she had spent her life waiting for exactly such a man — strong, protective, a real husband.

Marina Petrovna, of course, was cautious about him. It was natural that a woman Sergey’s age would see him more as a peer than as a suitable partner for her own daughter. But Anna was happy. Soon she moved to his large, cozy house where she dreamed of building a life together.

At first, everything really seemed perfect. Anna continued studying medicine — as if fulfilling her mother’s cherished dream, who once wanted to become a doctor but couldn’t because of an early pregnancy and the disappearance of the man who became her daughter’s father. Marina raised Anna alone, and although the daughter never knew a father’s love, that void pushed her to seek a “real” man.

For Anna, Sergey became that person — a figure replacing the absent father, a source of strength, stability, family. She dreamed of giving him a son, creating a full family. And then, two years after the wedding, she found out she was pregnant.

This news filled her life like spring sunshine. She shone like a flower. But for her mother, it was a cause for concern.

— Anna, what about your studies? — Marina Petrovna asked worriedly. — You won’t quit everything, will you? You put so much effort into your education!

There was truth in these words. The path to medicine was not easy — exams, courses, constant stress. But now it seemed distant. Ahead of her was a child — living proof of love, the meaning of her whole life.

— I’ll return after maternity leave, — she replied softly. — I want more than one. Maybe two or three. I need time for them.

Such words stirred anxiety in her mother’s heart. She knew what it was like to raise children alone. Experience taught her caution. So she always believed: you should have as many children as you can manage if the husband leaves. And now her fears were coming true.

When Sergey threw Anna out like an unwanted guest, Marina Petrovna felt something important inside break. For her daughter, for her grandson, for the shattered dreams.

— Has he lost his mind?! — she cried, holding back tears. — How could he do this? Where is his conscience? I know you — you would never betray!

But all her warnings, years of advice, and anxious words crashed against her daughter’s stubbornness. Now she could only bitterly state:

— I told you from the start what he was like. Didn’t you see? I warned you, but you went your own way anyway. Here’s your result.

Anna had no strength for reproaches. A storm raged inside her. After the scene Sergey threw, only pain remained in her heart. She never thought he could be so cruel, so capable of throwing such humiliating words in her face. They burned into her memory, especially sharply the day she brought their son home from the maternity hospital. Then she still thought — their son.

She imagined a different picture: how he would hold the baby, thank her for giving birth, hug and say now they were a real family. But instead, she got coldness, anger, and accusations.

Reality turned out crueler than she could have imagined.

— Get out, traitor! — Sergey shouted furiously, as if losing the last shreds of humanity. — Did you have someone behind my back? Have you completely lost your mind?! You lived like a princess! I gave you everything! It was a real fairy tale — and this is how you repay me?! Without me, you’d be crammed in a dorm with some failing student, barely finishing medical school! Working somewhere in a forgotten clinic! You’re incapable of anything else, understand?! And you brought someone else’s child into my home! Do you think I’ll swallow this?!

Anna, trembling with fear, tried to somehow stop his anger. She begged, said he was wrong, that she had never cheated on him. Every word was a thrown stone hoping to hear reason in his eyes.

— Seryozha, you know your daughter, remember what she was like when you brought her home from the hospital? — she pleaded desperately. — She didn’t look like you right away! Babies aren’t born looking alike. Resemblance comes over time — eyes, nose, manners. You’re a grown man, why can’t you understand such simple things?

But his face remained cold as ice, as if his soul had left his body.

— Not true! — he sharply cut her off. — My daughter was an exact copy of me from the first minute! And this baby isn’t mine. I don’t believe you anymore. Pack your things and leave. And remember: you won’t get a single penny from me!

— Please, Seryozha! — Anna sobbed. — He’s your son, I swear! Do a DNA test, it will confirm everything! I didn’t lie to you, hear me? I would never do this… Believe me, at least a little…

— Like I’m going to run to labs and humiliate myself?! — he roared in rage. — Do you think I’m such a fool to believe you again?! Enough! It’s over!

Sergey Alexandrovich finally locked himself in his paranoid certainty, in a world full of accusations and lies. He did not want to hear pleas, arguments, or even the voice of love. His truth was one, and no one could break through that wall.

Anna had no choice but to silently pack her things. She gently took her son in her arms, looked back one last time at the house she wanted to make a family hearth, and left. Left into the unknown, into a bottomless void from which it was almost impossible to escape alone.

She returned to her mother — there was no other way. Crossing the threshold of her childhood home, Anna finally allowed herself to cry.

— Mommy… how foolish I was… so naive… forgive me…

Marina Petrovna did not cry. She knew she had to be strong now. Her voice was strict, but each word was full of care and love.

— Stop whining. You gave birth — we’ll raise him. Life is just beginning, understand? You’re not alone. But you must pull yourself together. Don’t you dare quit your studies. I’ll help. We’ll manage with the child. What are mothers for if not to pull their children out of trouble?

Anna could not say a word. Her heart was full of gratitude that words could not express. Without her mother, without that firm support, she would have simply broken down. Marina Petrovna took care of the baby herself, giving her daughter a chance to finish university and start a new life. She did not complain, did not reproach, did not lose hope — she kept working, loving, fighting.

And Sergey Alexandrovich, the man Anna once considered her whole life, truly disappeared. He didn’t pay alimony, didn’t care about their son’s fate, didn’t give any news. He just left, as if their past together was only a hallucination.

But Anna stayed. Only now, not alone. She had a son. And she had her mother. Perhaps here, in this small but real world, she first found true love and support.

The divorce was a real tragedy for Anna. Something inside seemed to collapse, and everything happening felt like a nightmare with no way out. The man she had planned her whole life with suddenly cut all ties, as if there had never been love, trust, or endless evenings dreaming of the future.

Sergey had a difficult character, often bordering on obsession. His jealousy had long become a painful trait that destroyed many marriages. However, meeting Anna, he skillfully hid his true self, presenting her with a carefully crafted story that his previous marriage ended over money disagreements.

And Anna believed him. She couldn’t imagine how prone he was to jealous outbursts and how easily he lost control over even the slightest, most innocent gesture.

At the very beginning, everything seemed perfect. Sergey was attentive, caring, romantic. He gave expensive gifts, flowers without reason, always asked how she was. Anna was sure she found her one and only.

But when Igor was born, a new chapter began. Anna fully devoted herself to the child, trying to surround him with care and love. But when her son grew older, she realized she had to think about herself too. She decided to return to university because she wanted to become a true professional, not just a graduate.

Her mother, Marina Petrovna, supported her in every way. She took care of her grandson, helped financially and morally. The first work contract was an important victory for Anna. Since then, she supported the family herself, living modestly but with dignity.

The chief physician of the clinic where Anna started working after graduation immediately noticed her potential. In the young woman, there was determination, inner strength, and a desire to develop. The chief physician, a woman with vast experience, saw in Anna the reflection of dreams she herself once could not achieve.

— Becoming a mother early is not a tragedy or an obstacle, — she once said, looking at Anna with warmth and approval. — It’s your strength. Your career is ahead. You’re young, your whole life is ahead. The main thing is you have a backbone.

These words became a ray of light for Anna in a dark time. They warmed her and instilled faith in the future.

When her son turned six, during one of the visits to his grandmother, kind Marina Petrovna, the senior nurse, said with sympathy:

— Anna, it’s time to think about school. The year will fly by — and Igor will be in first grade. And now, to be honest, he’s not ready for the school workload. Without proper preparation, it will be very difficult, especially nowadays.

These words added another worry to those already on her shoulders. But Anna did not let fear win — she always acted even when afraid. In the following months, she fully focused on her son’s development. Lessons with tutors, revising daily routines, creating a comfortable environment at home for studying — all became part of her new reality.

— I wanted to promote you for a long time, but I couldn’t before, — Tatiana Stepanovna, the chief physician, admitted once. — You understand — without experience they don’t promote here. Everything must be based on facts.

She paused as if gathering her thoughts, then continued:

— But you have talent. It’s obvious right away. Not just ability — a real medical gift.

— I understand perfectly and am not trying to argue, — Anna replied, her voice confident and grateful. — On the contrary, I sincerely thank you for your support. You helped me more than anyone else. Not only me — you were there when Igor needed help. We will never forget it.

— Oh, stop it, — Tatiana Stepanovna gently waved it off, slightly embarrassed. — Enough with the pathos. The main thing is for you to justify the trust. I’m counting on you.

— No doubts at all. I’ll do everything possible — and more, — Anna assured her. Her words were not just beautiful phrases — they were backed by every step, every decision.

Over time, Anna’s reputation as a doctor grew. The young surgeon quickly earned respect from colleagues and trust from patients. Every review was full of admiration. Sometimes Tatiana Stepanovna wondered if there were too many compliments.

But even on the day a person from the past entered her office, Anna remained composed. Her face stayed calm, her voice confident.

— Good afternoon, come in. Sit down, tell me what brought you here, — she said, indicating the chair opposite.

The visit was painfully unexpected. Sergey Alexandrovich, following a recommendation about the city’s best surgeon, did not expect that the initials hid her. He thought it was a coincidence. But opening the door, he recognized her immediately. No doubt remained.

— Hello, Anna, — he said quietly, with a slight note of inner excitement, taking an uncertain step forward.

The meeting happened against tragic circumstances. His daughter Olga had been suffering for almost a year from a mysterious illness that no one could diagnose. No tests or specialist consultations gave results. The girl was exhausted, her strength nearly gone.

Anna listened carefully to Sergey’s story without interrupting. Then, strictly and professionally, she said:

— I’m truly sorry you’re in this situation. Especially painful when a child suffers. But we cannot delay here. A full examination must be done urgently. Time is against us — every day can be decisive.

Sergey nodded. He knew — this time they found the right doctor.

— Where is Olga today? Why did you come alone? — Anna asked, tilting her head slightly, looking intently into his eyes.

— She’s very weak… — he whispered barely audibly, as if he himself didn’t believe the words. — So tired she can’t even get out of bed. It’s a real struggle.

He spoke restrainedly, but Anna, as an experienced doctor, felt behind that external coldness a deeply hidden anxiety. Behind the seeming composure raged a storm of feelings he desperately tried to control.

— I was told you are one of the best surgeons. A top professional. If that’s true — help. I beg you. Money doesn’t matter. Name any price — I’ll do whatever it takes, — he said tensely, as if throwing a last chance.

Years passed, but he remained the same — still convinced any problem could be solved with effort… and money. He didn’t even bother describing his daughter’s condition in detail — as if thinking his own grief was enough to make everything clear without extra words.

Igor’s name never came up in their conversation. As if he didn’t exist. That might have hurt before. Now Anna just noted indifferently: old grievances were in the past.

She was a doctor — and that meant more than any personal relationship. A professional does not divide patients into theirs and others. She must help everyone in need. Nevertheless, Anna wanted Sergey to understand: she was not all-powerful. So later, in moments of despair, he would not blame her for failing.

— I can’t even imagine how I’ll live if she doesn’t make it… — he suddenly uttered, and these words affected Anna more than she expected.

She gathered herself, remaining professionally distant. Preparation for the operation went as usual — with maximum precision and attention.

A week later the girl was examined, all tests collected. Then Anna called Sergey. Her voice sounded clear and firm:

— I agree. I will take the operation.

Silence hung on the other end, broken by a trembling voice:

— Are you really sure?.. What if something goes wrong? What if she doesn’t survive?..

— Sergey, we have to try, — she said firmly. — If we just wait — it will be like a death sentence. Do you want to watch her slowly fade away?

He didn’t answer but nodded — like a man accepting the inevitable. It was not surrender but conscious consent.

On the day of the operation he came with his daughter. He did not leave the clinic for a minute, as if his presence could influence the outcome. When Anna came out of the operating room, he rushed to her, his eyes mixed with fear and hope:

— Can I see her? Even for a minute! I need to talk to her!

— You’re talking like a child, — Anna replied lightly reproachful. — What kind of conversation do you think about now? She just woke up from anesthesia, will rest a few more hours. The operation was successful. No complications. Soon she’ll be moved to the ward. Come tomorrow — you’ll see her.

It was true. Sergey did not sleep all night, tormented by terrible thoughts and dark images. But he did not argue. For the first time in many years, he did not throw a scandal or demand immediate access to his daughter. He just nodded and left.

It was unexpected. The old Sergey would have exploded: “How come?! I’m her father!” But now he understood — yelling would not help. The only thing he could do was trust.

And that night he did something that used to seem ridiculous and unnecessary. He knelt and began to pray. Not to doctors, not to fate — he begged for a miracle.

Sergey Alexandrovich lost faith in a happy outcome. All his strength was exhausted, and now he was alone with a harsh reality where there was no consolation, only hopelessness.

He returned home like a broken man. His legs barely held him as if he had lived a whole life in the last day. But he did not allow himself rest — barely pausing, he gathered himself and headed back to the hospital.

— May I see my daughter? — he asked the tired-faced doctor. Outside, the city was immersed in deep sleep, streets deserted, only lanterns flickered through the damp fog. But Sergey noticed none of it. Neither cold nor time nor space — his thoughts were entirely about Olga.

By then, the girl had regained consciousness. Her condition improved noticeably, although weakness remained. Seeing her father at night, she was genuinely surprised:

— Dad? What are you doing here at night? Is it even allowed to receive visitors now?

— I just couldn’t sleep until I knew how you felt. I had to see you, — he answered, a little embarrassed. — Wanted to make sure you’re alive, that you’re better… even a little.

At that moment, Sergey suddenly and sharply understood what it meant to be a father. What family was. How little true family he still had. And the bitterest realization — that he himself destroyed most of what was valuable — twice, by his own will or weakness.

When dawn cautiously touched the city with its first rays, father and daughter said goodbye. After a long and deep conversation Sergey went out into the corridor — exhausted, but somehow a little relieved inside. But barely a few steps later, Anna suddenly appeared before him.

— What are you doing here? Explain! — her voice was sharp, almost irritated. — I clearly said — visiting patients outside visiting hours is forbidden. Who even let you in?

— Sorry for breaking the rules, — he said quietly, lowering his eyes like a schoolboy caught by a strict teacher. — It was my initiative. I just asked the guard… He had nothing to do with it. I begged. I had to see Olga. Make sure she was okay…

— Same old story? Thought money would help you get through any barriers? — Anna sighed reproachfully. She paused, then, as if shaking off irritation, added: — Okay, doesn’t matter. You came, saw, made sure. Now you can consider the task done.

Without waiting for an answer, she passed him and entered Olga’s room. She stayed there about half an hour, while Sergey remained in the corridor. He wasn’t going anywhere.

He didn’t expect what awaited him in her office. What happened next shocked him.

When the door swung open and Sergey appeared in the doorway, Anna raised an eyebrow questioningly. Fatigue was clear in her eyes.

— You’re here again? — she said with mild annoyance. — What happened?

In his hands was a large bouquet of fresh flowers filling the air with a light spring scent. Under his jacket, he held a neatly folded envelope — inside was gratitude expressed not just in words but in deed.

— I need to talk to you. It’s important, — he said seriously, meeting her gaze.

— Okay, but not for long, — she agreed, nodding. — I don’t have extra time.

As if by habit, she opened her office door and gestured him inside. And at that moment Sergey realized: either he speaks now or never dares again.

He stood hesitating, unable to find words, not knowing where to start or what thought to grasp so the conversation would take shape.

But fate, as if hearing his inner call, intervened. The door slammed open and an eleven-year-old boy full of energy and indignation ran into the room.

— Mom! I’ve been standing in the corridor for half an hour! — he exclaimed, pouting and angrily looking at his mother. — I called you, why didn’t you answer?!

That day was reserved for her son — no operations, no urgent calls. Work took most of Anna’s time, and every minute with Igor was a small bright island in an ocean of duties. Now she felt a pang of guilt — again she had broken her promise, let the child down.

Sergey froze as if doused with ice water. He looked at the boy, unable to look away — as if he saw not just a child but a living reflection of the past.

And finally, he managed to say:

— Son… my little son…

— Mom, who is this? — Igor frowned, casting a suspicious glance at the man. — Has he lost his mind? Talking to himself?

Anna tensed inside. The thought boiling within her was full of pain: here he was — the very man who once accused her of cheating, abandoned them, disappeared as if they never existed, crossed them out of his life like a spoiled page.

But she clenched her teeth, holding back tear-inducing words. Her heart ached, but in her chest still flickered a spark of something alive — faint, but real.

Sergey was tormented by regret and fear. He didn’t know if he deserved a chance to fix everything. Didn’t understand why he, of all people, was given the opportunity to return. But he was immensely grateful — for every dawn, for every night spent in hope.