Veronika was returning from the dacha, which she had been unsuccessfully trying to sell for two months. As she drove onto the highway, she slowed down, noticing a pair of rural vendors sitting by the roadside.
Reversing, she was surprised to discover that the vendors were girls around ten years old. They had arranged a pyramid of jam jars on a stool and were waiting for customers, their arms crossed in a grown-up manner.
Veronika remembered that her ailing mother-in-law had asked her to bring something sweet. Her dietary restrictions allowed only marmalade, baked apples, and jam. She got out of the car and asked the girls what flavors they were selling.
“I’m not selling,” the older one replied briskly. “I’m just here with Nastya for company.”
“And what’s your jam made of, Nastya?” Veronika turned to the younger girl.
“It’s written right there,” the little vendor replied, pointing to a label.
Veronika picked up a jar and read the handwritten label in black block letters: “Jam with a Fortune.” Below that, in smaller red letters, it said “currant.” The lid was covered with paper and tied with coarse string.
“Interesting,” Veronika said. “Who makes such fancy jam? It’s almost like a brand!” she smiled.
“My grandpa Dima. He works as a forest ranger and gathers all kinds of berries.”
“And where’s the fortune?” Veronika asked.
“Inside, under the wrapper. Whoever opens it first will have it come true,” the girl said seriously.
“Does your grandpa write the fortunes too?” the customer asked again.
“He doesn’t write them. They come to him in dreams, and he writes them down in the morning.”
“Well, isn’t that something,” Veronika marveled. “You’ve really intrigued me. Alright, I’ll take this jar.”
Veronika handed over the money, placed the purchase in her bag, and headed to the hospital. Entering the room, she immediately took out the jar and waved it lightly.
“Tamara Vasilyevna, I’ve got a surprise for you.”
The woman weakly smiled and asked her to put the jam on the bedside table. Just then, the attending physician entered the room.
“Hello, Veronika. You haven’t forgotten that Tamara Vasilyevna needs to stick to a strict diet, have you? We’re struggling to achieve stable remission. What have you brought her?”
“Jam. She’s allowed to have jam,” Veronika mumbled, always feeling timid in the doctor’s presence.
“She can,” he agreed, “but cautiously. Currants, for instance, can be quite acidic, and right now any acidity could be…”
Before Veronika could gasp, the doctor swiftly removed the wrapper from the lid. He glanced at the slip of paper underneath and froze.
Veronika’s mother-in-law had been bedridden ever since her only son, Alexey, had died. He had worked as the executive director of a small company, met Veronika, and married her. They rented a small studio apartment and planned to save for a mortgage. But fate had other plans: Alexey died in a car accident, and Tamara Vasilyevna fell ill immediately after the funeral.
Feeling pity for her lonely mother-in-law, who had endured such a devastating loss, Veronika moved out of the studio to care for her, juggling work and the constant trips. At the hospital, everyone knew about the unusual daughter-in-law who treated her former mother-in-law like her own.
And now, Veronika’s own mother had asked her to sell their family dacha—a place no one wanted to visit, neither her daughter nor her son and his wife.
The dacha was located in a picturesque village on the edge of a pine forest. There had once been a wooden house on the property, but later a new two-story brick house was built, with hopes that both children and grandchildren would spend their summers there. However, Veronika remained unmarried until the age of 34, and her younger brother couldn’t stand trips to the countryside, where he was always given a long list of chores. And so the dacha stood, overgrown with weeds and losing its market appeal.
As it happened, the very same village was home to the forest ranger, fifty-year-old Grandpa Dima, who spent most of the summer in a forest cabin deep in the woods and wintered in a house in the village.
Sometimes, his granddaughter Nastya, who often had a persistent cough, would be brought to stay with him. To help her, Grandpa Dima made jam from pine buds and young cones. She didn’t like the tangy taste of the pine jam, so her grandpa came up with a clever trick: under each jar’s wrapper, he hid little notes.
Nastya had to eat the medicinal jam, at least one teaspoon three times a day with tea. The resourceful grandpa managed to get her to take the sweet medicine, and soon her stubborn cough was cured.
Later, his daughter, Nastya’s mother, loved the idea of the notes. She began selling “fortune jam” to acquaintances in the city. People bought the unusual product as gifts for their loved ones. The most interest came from small business owners, who ordered the forest jam as New Year gifts for their employees.
Thus, Grandpa Dima’s unexpected business flourished, and he didn’t need to sell his goods on the roadside.
But the jar Veronika bought turned out to be a special case…
Removing the wrapper from the jar of jam, the doctor found a small photograph underneath, clearly taken with a Polaroid camera.
It showed a boy, about nine years old, with his hands tied with rope, standing near a forest cabin. Behind him, a large man in camouflage was holding him by the hood. On the back of the photo, written in pencil, were the words:
“Serebryakovka, forestry, section 50, 325” and a date.
The doctor looked at Veronika.
“Where did you get this jar?”
“On the highway near Serebryakovka,” she replied.
“This needs to be taken to the police immediately,” the doctor said. “It seems someone witnessed a kidnapping and couldn’t find another way to report it.”
A wave of horror washed over Veronika. Most likely, the witness was Nastya’s grandpa, who gave the girl the jam! But why had he chosen to act so strangely? Why hadn’t he gone to the local police officer? Could it be that he was being threatened?
A chill ran through her stomach. And why had he risked his granddaughter’s safety, she wondered, before saying:
“David Evgenyevich, what if this somehow puts the child in danger? You know, some law enforcement officers might even be connected to the criminals.”
The doctor, who had almost forgotten he intended to check the jam for acidity, thoughtfully scooped a spoonful and tasted it.
“Yes, that’s entirely possible. If these are seasoned kidnappers, they likely have informants in the system.”
“So what should we do?” Veronika asked, bewildered. “We can’t just ignore a cry for help.”
“I don’t know…” the doctor muttered. “I’ve got a whole ward crying for help—I have to treat them all, so forgive me, this is beyond me.”
He was almost out of the room when he turned back and added:
“The jam is sweet enough, so Tamara Vasilyevna can have it in small amounts.”
Returning home in a pensive daze, Veronika turned on the local news channel. Suddenly, she jumped up and rushed to her purse. Pulling out the photograph of the boy, she began comparing it to the one being shown on the news.
The report stated that the nine-year-old son of a prominent local businessman had been kidnapped from the courtyard of a sports complex. The perpetrators had subdued a security guard and carried the child out of the building in a large sports bag. Surveillance cameras showed them walking past the parking lot and disappearing out of view. The report concluded with contact numbers for the police station and the boy’s parents.
Veronika took a picture of the screen with the information and began trembling like a leaf in the wind. The boy was the same as the one in the photograph from Serebryakovka. Just then, her mother-in-law’s doctor called.
“Good evening, Veronika. By any chance, are you watching the regional news?”
“I am, David Evgenyevich. It’s the same boy! I want to call his parents.”
“Good idea, better to contact them directly. They must be losing their minds over this. I was thinking… well, I was going to suggest a helper for rescuing the boy. A childhood friend of mine used to work in special forces, specializing in this sort of thing.”
“No, no, we can’t act on our own. Let the parents decide what to do.”
“Alright, but keep him in mind just in case.”
Veronika thanked him and began dialing the number. Her hands shook with nervousness. When the boy’s father picked up, she managed to say with difficulty:
“Hello. I have information about your son. Let’s meet somewhere.”
The father was silent for a moment and then said, “You know, we might be under surveillance. I can’t even think of a safe place to meet.”
After a moment’s thought, Veronika suggested, “How about the hospital? In the therapeutic department on the second floor, there’s a visitor’s lounge.”
“Perfect,” said the businessman, thanked her, and hung up.
She went to the therapy department and sat on a flat couch in the lounge. A minute later, a man and a woman walked in and introduced themselves as Valeriy and Valentina Korsakov.
They sat beside her. Veronika took out the photo and handed it to Valeriy. Upon seeing his son with his hands tied, he clutched his chest. His wife reached out for the photograph, but he pressed it to himself.
“Don’t, Valya. Our son is being kept on a leash; you don’t need to see this.”
Valentina covered her face with her hands, her shoulders shaking as she sobbed.
“Poor Kostya, what he must be going through…”
“Where did you get this photo?” Valeriy asked quietly.
“I have a dacha in Serebryakovka. I was there meeting potential buyers…” Veronika explained how the photo was found in the jar of jam.
“In the jam? Really?” the man asked in surprise.
“No, under the wrapper. A girl said her grandpa is a forest ranger. It seems he took the picture. Apparently, he had no other way to report it.”
“Alright,” Valeriy said, standing up. “We need to go there immediately. That scoundrel is demanding a ransom I couldn’t scrape together in cash even in a week.”
“What are you thinking, Valera? They’re probably armed. What can we do?” Valentina exclaimed in horror.
“I’m not going there empty-handed. I’ll take them all down!” Valeriy said grimly.
“Wait,” Veronika interrupted. “My doctor suggested his friend could help. Maybe it’s better to carry out this operation under a professional’s guidance?”
Valeriy looked impatiently at Veronika.
“But we’d have to wait for him.”
“Valera, don’t rush into this. It’s serious. Let’s ask this person for help,” Valentina pleaded.
Veronika called the doctor and asked him to connect them with his friend. To her surprise, the doctor said, “One moment,” and almost immediately emerged from the therapy department with a tall, muscular man.
“Meet my friend Arsen,” the doctor introduced. “He’s ready to help you.”
The group, along with Veronika, left the hospital, got into Valeriy’s car, and headed toward the highway. At one intersection, Valeriy suddenly turned right and drove toward a gated cottage community.
“Where are you going?” Valentina asked, alarmed.
He stopped at the gate of a mansion and said, “Valya, get out. There’s no reason for you to be there—this is men’s work. We’re only bringing Veronika so she can help us find the girl and the forest ranger.”
Valentina tried to protest, but her husband snapped at her so harshly that, sobbing, she got out of the car and crossed herself several times in distress.
When the car reached the spot where Veronika had bought the jam, there was no one there. They decided to drive into the village to ask the locals about little Nastya.
Suddenly, Veronika spotted the other girl who had been with Nastya that day. She asked Valeriy to stop and got out of the car.
“Hey,” she called out, “can you tell me where I can find Nastya?”
The girl turned around, recognized Veronika, and smiled.
“Nastya went back to her parents. Are you here to buy more jam? Did you like it?”
“Yes, yes, we’d love to,” Veronika said quickly, happy to have a simple explanation for their visit.
“Then you need to follow this road all the way to the end. Near the forest, you’ll see a house with a green roof. That’s where Grandpa Dima lives.”
Veronika got back into the car. Arsen told Valeriy, “We won’t go all the way to the house. Let’s stop short of it. The house might be under surveillance, and we don’t want to draw attention. Let Veronika go to the house and talk to the owner.”
They followed the plan. When they spotted a small house with a green metal roof at the end of the street, they stopped and let Veronika out. Taking her bag, she walked toward the house. A dog barked from behind a low fence. Veronika called out, and an elderly man with gray hair stepped out of the house.
“What do you need?”
“I’m here about the jam and the currants,” Veronika said, noticing how Grandpa Dima’s expression changed.
“Come in quickly,” he said, ushering her inside and securing the dog’s kennel with a broom.
Inside, Veronika immediately told the forest ranger about how she had found the photograph in the jar.
“There’s a car down the street with the boy’s father and his armed assistant,” she said.
Dmitriy shook his head.
“Are they planning to start a fight in the woods?”
“You should’ve seen Valeriy when he saw the photo of his son. He was ready to go in without any help. How could I stop him?” Veronika said anxiously.
The forest ranger began explaining what had happened.
“When those people showed up in our woods, my supervisor from the forestry service came to see me. He told me to stay out of that area entirely and not ask questions. To make sure I didn’t do anything ‘stupid,’ as he put it, he demanded my smartphone and left me with just a radio.
“They’re hiding out in an old hunting cabin—it’s little known and perfect for a hideout,” Dmitriy continued. “So I stayed away. But one day, while patrolling a different area, I heard a child’s scream from that direction, followed by a sound like someone was muffling them. The woods carry sound well. I was frozen with shock—so that’s what was going on there! And from that moment, the scream haunted me. I knew I had to help the child, not knowing if it was a boy or a girl.
“I waited for a windy day when the forest noise would cover me. I know the approaches to that cabin—places even a person can’t walk, let alone a vehicle. I hid in the bushes with my camera.
“I saw the cabin door open, and a big man led out a boy on a leash. I snapped a picture and stayed hidden. After a while, I heard the man banging on the outhouse door, yelling, ‘Hey, are you asleep in there? Hurry up!’ I took another photo, but the boy wasn’t as clear in that one.
“I had evidence, but I didn’t know where to take it. My daughter and her husband had just left for the mountains, leaving me with my granddaughter. That’s when I came up with the idea of selling jam on the highway. I couldn’t go myself—I felt like I was being watched. Even our local police officer has his own informants in the village. So I asked Nastya,” Dmitriy sighed.
“— So, we did the right thing by not driving up to your house?” Veronika asked.
“Of course!” Dmitriy replied. “Now, you need to step outside and make it look like you just bought some jam from me. Later, when it’s dark, we’ll head to the cabin. At night, there’s usually only one guard on duty, so we should manage.”
They stepped outside the gate, holding two jars of jam. Veronika raised them into the light and said loudly:
“Thank you so much! My mother-in-law says your jam is delicious—nobody makes it like this. We’ll definitely come back. Could you please make some from blackberries and cloudberries next time?”
Dmitriy played along, gallantly kissing her hand. “What an actor,” she thought.
Back in the car, Veronika explained, “Well, folks, we’re stuck here until dark. Let’s drive somewhere for a bite, and then we’ll come back. Uncle Dima said there’s only one guard at the cabin.”
“Uncle Dima?” the men repeated, puzzled.
“Yeah, the forest ranger. He turned out to be quite the pleasant gentleman,” Veronika said with a smile.
They drove to a roadside café a few kilometers away, ordered some food, and began making calls. Veronika spoke with her mother and mother-in-law, while Valeriy called his wife. Only Arsen didn’t make any calls. When the others finished, he told them to turn off their phones.
Valeriy reached for a cigarette, but Arsen stopped him.
“Why not? I get it in the car, but why not here?” Valeriy asked, confused.
“The smell will stick to you, and you’ll give yourself away in the forest. Hold off for your son’s sake,” Arsen replied.
Valeriy sheepishly put the cigarettes away.
Once it got dark, they returned to the village, parked the car at the turn onto the street, and walked to the forest ranger’s house. The guard dog was already secured in its kennel, and they entered the house without any issues. Inside, they assigned roles.
“I’ll handle the guard,” Arsen announced.
“Try not to spill too much blood,” Valeriy requested. “Don’t scare the child.”
“There won’t be any blood,” Arsen reassured him, waving a vial. “David gave me chloroform at the hospital. The guy will be out until morning.”
Dmitriy was to stand outside, listening to the forest and signaling if anything went wrong. Valeriy’s job was to enter the cabin and retrieve his son. Along with hunting rifles, they decided to take knives to cut the boy’s bindings—just in case.
Veronika stayed in the forest ranger’s house to maintain the appearance that the owner was home.
Dmitriy led them out the back door to the yard and instructed them to lie on the ground and listen. After a moment of stillness, they crawled through the bushes, only standing up once they were deep in the undergrowth. Moving quietly, they reached the cabin about an hour later. The moonlight betrayed the path, and in the single window of the cabin, a light illuminated the silhouette of the guard.
Dmitriy pressed a finger to his lips, and everyone froze. Soon, they heard the creak of the cabin door. Arsen took off his shoes and crept barefoot into the yard. There was a muffled scuffle, followed by the thud of something heavy hitting the ground. Arsen peeked around the corner and quietly called for Valeriy. The boy’s father rushed to him, and together they entered the cabin.
The boy, wrapped in a thin blanket, was sleeping on a narrow couch covered with a bear hide. Nearby was a cot, presumably for the guard. Valeriy noticed a rope tied to a large hook in the ceiling and, with a sharp motion of his knife, cut it.
The rope fell, and the boy stirred. Valeriy scooped him up, blanket and all, and bolted out of the cabin. Arsen ran to put his shoes back on, while Dmitriy and Valeriy, carrying the boy, hurried down the dirt road.
“Dad,” Kostya murmured, barely believing his eyes. “How did you find me?”
“Shh, son, we’ll talk later,” his breathless father replied.
Arsen caught up to them and took over carrying Kostya as Valeriy, exhausted, lagged behind. Eventually, they reached the edge of the forest. Dmitriy again instructed everyone to lie down and listen. The village was quiet—even the dogs weren’t barking. They followed Dmitriy down familiar paths that only he could navigate in the dark.
Near Serebryakovka, the men finally relaxed, but Arsen reminded them not to let their guard down.
“Veronika, do you drive?” he asked.
She nodded. Valeriy handed her the car keys, and she rushed to bring the vehicle closer. They placed Kostya in the back seat and asked Veronika to sit beside him, while Valeriy took the wheel.
Arsen quietly asked the forest ranger, “Will it be safe for you to stay here?”
“Yes,” Dmitriy whispered. “At dawn, I’ll head to a remote sector. Nobody will find me there—the area is surrounded by swamps, and I’m the only one who knows the way.”
“Take care of yourself,” they all said. Valeriy added, “Let’s go.”
On the road, Veronika cradled Kostya’s head on her lap. The boy seemed very weak. Arsen and Valeriy spoke quietly, and Veronika eventually dozed off. She woke to the car stopping.
They were in the courtyard of the Korsakovs’ two-story home, surrounded by bustling family members: the mother, elder brother, sister, grandmother, grandfather, cook, guard, and other staff. Arsen, who was being showered with handshakes and hugs from the men and the women alike, looked overwhelmed. Spotting the sleeping Veronika, he seized the opportunity to shift the attention:
“Our Veronika! This is all thanks to her. If not for her…”
Veronika was immediately enveloped in hugs, handshakes, and kisses. She had never experienced such family joy. Struggling to free herself from the grateful Korsakov family, she turned to Arsen and said:
“So, how do we get home?”
“Where are you going? And at this hour?” Valentina protested. “At least stay for a cup of tea after such a day.”
Veronika and Arsen agreed to stay for tea, not wanting to offend their hostess. As they entered the brightly lit dining room, Arsen noticed how his clothes betrayed the night’s adventures: clumps of dry earth and bits of grass clung to his jacket and pants. However, the hosts quickly seated the embarrassed man at the table, which, in addition to the promised tea, was laden with an array of snacks. Veronika had never had breakfast at 4 a.m. before, let alone such a hearty one.
Afterward, the guests thanked their hosts for the warm reception and prepared to leave.
Valeriy offered to drive them home, and it turned out that Arsen lived near Veronika’s mother, practically in the same courtyard.
“Let’s meet again?” Valeriy suggested. “I want to properly thank all of you, especially brave Grandpa Dima, who wasn’t afraid to take that photo. Let’s stay in touch, alright?”
A week later, the group returned to Serebryakovka. Grandpa Dima was working on something in his yard, with his granddaughter Nastya cheerfully bouncing around him. Seeing familiar faces, Dmitriy laughed:
“Oh, our heroes are here! Why didn’t you bring Kostya with you?”
“Kostya is still recovering; he stayed home with his mom,” Valeriy replied. “We came to check in and see how you’re doing—any more trouble from those scoundrels?”
“No, no trouble anymore,” Dmitriy said. “The forestry service chief resigned suddenly, the hunting cabin was relocated closer to the village, and I haven’t seen anything unusual for days. Later, my neighbor told me that some people in a jeep came asking if she’d seen any strangers around. But she played it smart and said the only visitors here were my daughter and granddaughter. Oh, and some jam buyers. So, they left empty-handed.”
Just then, a rosy-cheeked, smiling woman came out of the house, greeted everyone, and invited them for tea with fresh pancakes. The guests smiled warmly but politely declined. Valeriy, however, pressed an envelope into Dmitriy’s hands. When Dmitriy tried to refuse, Valeriy firmly said:
“Please, take it. Don’t offend me. You know what you did for me.”
Inside the envelope was a bank card loaded with a substantial sum of money. Valeriy handed similar envelopes to Veronika and Arsen, despite their protests. Additionally, Valeriy offered Arsen, a former special forces soldier who had been struggling to find steady work, the position of Kostya’s personal bodyguard. Surprised and grateful, Arsen accepted.
For Arsen, it felt good to no longer be unemployed.
As for Veronika’s mother’s dacha in Serebryakovka, they decided not to sell it after all. A year later, Arsen, now Veronika’s husband, transformed the house into a cozy and attractive home. It became a favorite spot for gathering with their new friends.
Thanks to Dmitriy’s photographs and the testimonies of everyone involved in the rescue, those responsible for the kidnapping received the punishment they deserved.
When Veronika shared the story with her mother-in-law, the older woman was deeply moved. She listened with admiration, shaking her head during the dangerous parts and smiling brightly at the happy conclusion. Finally, David Evgenyevich confirmed her remission and discharged her from the hospital, much to her delight.