Victoria could barely move her legs—she was utterly exhausted. No wonder, as she had gotten up with the roosters to tackle all the chores. Her daily routine knew no bounds.
Not only did she have to clean the chicken coop and prepare meals, but she also had to fetch water from the well and wash the floors.
In addition, Vika managed to visit the store on the outskirts of the village, wash the children’s clothes, clear the path of snow to the gate, and even repair the door in the old shed by herself.
She did all this while simultaneously looking after the little ones—six-year-old Milana and two-year-old Semyon. Yet the physical exertion helped her distract from sorrowful thoughts and kept despair at bay.
Casting a critical eye over the kitchen, Vika noted its impeccable condition: cleanliness, order, coziness. Now she could afford to go to sleep. Thoughts of a soft pillow and a warm blanket seemed especially delightful.
The little ones were already sleeping peacefully in their room. It was time for her to lie down too, for tomorrow would mean another early start. Meanwhile, Vika was on maternity leave.
What would happen in a year when she had to return to her job at the local school? The thought made her uneasy. After all, Semyon was already two years old—how time flies!
Not long ago, the village had a functioning kindergarten—large, beautiful, and spacious. However, something happened to the building, and a commission from the city decided to close it. Now the children were taken either to a neighboring village or left in the care of grandmothers and nannies.
Vika couldn’t imagine how she would manage when she had to go back to work. Her parents lived far away—nearly a hundred kilometers. She didn’t have a car, nor did she have a license for independent travel. She would have to rely on neighbors or… For now, plan B was nonexistent.
Even plan A raised serious doubts. Neighbors were unreliable—they might fall ill, leave, or encounter other issues. And what would she do with the children if she needed to go to work? She couldn’t possibly take them to school.
Just two years ago, Vika had felt completely happy, not worrying about any problems. She was joyfully expecting her second child, spending time with her daughter, and relaxing.
Fyodor surrounded her with care, not allowing her to lift anything heavier than a cup of tea—he literally shielded her. Every day he tried to make her happier: sometimes he’d bring her flowers for no reason, sometimes he’d fetch her favorite candies.
But now Vika had to face what once seemed unimaginable—shoveling snow and repairing a door. She hadn’t suspected how hard it could be; Fyodor always managed these tasks with ease.
How he played with Milana! He would toss her into the air, ride her on his back, read books, teach her letters, and tell stories from his childhood. The little girl listened intently to every word from her father. Sometimes even Vika, putting her own tasks aside, would become engrossed in his storytelling. Fyodor was an excellent storyteller.
He rejoiced upon learning of his wife’s second pregnancy, dreaming of a big family—at least four children. When the ultrasound revealed that a son was on the way, the man was beside himself with joy. He imagined taking his son fishing, teaching him the ways of manhood. But these bright dreams remained unfulfilled.
It all happened on the eve of childbirth, in winter. Vika remembered that day in minute detail.
As usual, she saw Fyodor off to the sawmill. The day began ordinarily: she prepared breakfast, and she and Milana happily ate a sweet porridge. Then they went out into the yard—to feed the chickens and breathe in the fresh air.
Suddenly, Vika felt unwell: her head began to spin and she started to sweat. She sat down on a bench. The baby in her womb began moving actively.
“Mom, what’s wrong?” her daughter asked, worried.
“I’m just a little tired,” Vika smiled.
She attributed her condition to the hormonal fluctuations typical of pregnancy.
An hour later, Fyodor’s anxious colleagues arrived. From their faces, Vika immediately understood: something had happened to her husband. That same ominous feeling from the morning returned.
“What?” she asked, looking at the men.
“A tree fell on Fyodor,” one of them replied. “It pinned him down badly—they’re taking him to the hospital.”
Her vision darkened. Vika intuitively knew that she would never see her husband again. Yet hope still lingered—Fyodor was alive.
Every three hours she called the intensive care unit, receiving the monotonous response: “in a stable but serious condition.” The word “stable” was reassuring, while “serious condition” was terrifying.
Vika went to the hospital repeatedly, but they wouldn’t let her into the ICU. The doctor forbade visits and provided no details about Fyodor’s condition.
“Go back home, dear,” advised a nurse, glancing at her noticeably rounded belly. “He’s still unconscious. May God help him pull through. He’s a young, strong man—and he has every reason to fight.”
In those days, Vika existed as if in a fog: mechanically performing her duties as a mother, eating, doing household chores, and desperately hoping for a miracle. Then came a late-night phone call. Before she could even pick up the receiver, she understood everything. A city number, which could only bring bad news. A cold voice delivered news that split her life into “before” and “after.”
It wasn’t until the day of the funeral that Vika truly realized Fyodor was gone. Neighbors helped collect funds, organize the ceremony, and watch over Milana. Vika herself seemed to have turned to stone. The young widow refused to accept reality. She couldn’t even allow herself to think about a future without Fyodor. Instead, she immersed herself in memories of the past, especially of those days when she had first met her future husband. That story seemed so wonderful to her and still brought a smile.
Vika’s life unfolded in the small village of Alekseevka, where she lived with her parents and five siblings. After completing ten grades, she stayed to help her family run a large farm—chickens, cows, goats, and rabbits. Days were filled with work: churning butter, making sour cream, and then selling the products along the side of a major highway. It was there that Vika, as the eldest child, spent hours waiting for customers.
Every morning her father drove her in an old cart, dropping her off along the road, and picked her up closer to lunchtime. Later, after becoming a mother, Vika often marveled at her parents’ nonchalance: how could they leave a young girl alone on a deserted road with products and money? How many people would pass by? But back then, it was commonplace for the locals. In their village, time seemed to stand still—there was a unique order, a unique way of life. From an early age, Vika dreamed of another life, though her father had already planned her future: at 18, she was to marry the neighbor Ivan. He was young, handsome, and hardworking, but he never stirred any romantic feelings in Vika. Defying one’s parents was unthinkable in their world.
However, everything changed thanks to one remarkable incident.
On one clear May day, Vika, as usual, was standing by the highway with her baskets. She had just turned 18, and her wedding to Ivan was scheduled for July. These impending changes filled her with excitement: could she handle the new life? What kind of husband would Ivan be? She hoped at least he wouldn’t be cruel.
Cars rarely passed by, but Vika knew that soon the traffic would increase, and someone would definitely notice her goods—crumbly cottage cheese, appetizing chunks of butter, and snow-white sour cream. Her father always rejoiced at successful sales—his stern face would soften.
Then, in the distance, a dark dot appeared. Someone was coming! Vika loved watching the passing cars, imagining their owners. Sometimes someone would wave or honk while driving. This time, she soon spotted an old gray car clearly slowing down. The day’s first customer? If he bought a lot, it would be a successful day!
A tall young man in sports shorts and a black T-shirt got out of the car. His figure immediately caught Vika’s attention: slim, broad-shouldered, with muscular arms, tanned nearly to a deep bronze, with a wide, bright smile and piercing blue eyes. Vika couldn’t take her eyes off those laughing eyes. Usually, her customers were much older, and this young man seemed barely older than Vika herself. Such a turn of events felt almost suspicious.
“Good morning,” the young man greeted her.
“Good morning. The butter is fresh—it was whipped just last night. Take it, you won’t regret it,” Vika replied with her customary phrases.
The young man pretended to examine the items on the wooden table laden with jars and cans.
“I’ll take everything,” he finally declared.
“Really?” Vika couldn’t believe her luck. The young man took out his wallet, counted a few bills, and handed them to her.
“But that’s more than necessary. I don’t have change,” Vika stammered.
“No problem. Consider it your tip,” the young man winked, gathered the purchases into a pile, returned to his car, and drove off, honking farewell.
Vika waved goodbye to him and decided to walk home. The journey through the field and oak grove would take a long time, but why linger on the road when all her goods were sold? It was better to take a quiet stroll, listening to the birds’ songs and the buzzing of insects, as a gentle breeze carried the sound of tires from the unseen highway.
A few days later, that very young man appeared on the highway again. Vika recognized his car from afar, and her heart skipped a beat. Could it be that she would meet him once more?
Good morning,” he repeated as he approached with the same broad smile.
“The butter and curd really turned out to be beyond praise—I’ll have some more.”
“Have you already run out?” Vika asked in surprise. “Just a little while ago you bought up all my goods, and now again…”
“Well, to be honest,” the young man said, his cheeks reddening slightly before he quickly regained his composure, “I’m not here for the sour cream and butter.”
“Then why are you here?” Vika wondered.
“Don’t tell me you’re that oblivious?” His smile grew even wider. “I came to you. I noticed you a long time ago when I was running errands in the city. You often stand here, and… I just wanted to introduce myself, if you don’t mind.”
His openness and slight embarrassment seemed both charming and pleasant to Vika. She forgot all about her upcoming wedding and replied that she wouldn’t mind the acquaintance—in fact, she was very much in favor. The young man’s face lit up.
“Let’s do this. I’ll buy everything from you again so that you’re free, and we can spend this time doing something interesting. For example, we could go to the city and take a walk.”
This prospect made Vika’s head spin. It turned out that this attractive stranger liked her, and the thought was incredibly delightful. However, her fear of the unknown got the better of her—getting into a car with a stranger seemed dangerous. The world is full of stories about bad people.
“Who knows, maybe he’s only pretending to be kind, while in reality…” The young man understood her hesitation and offered an alternative:
“Alright, let’s postpone any joint rides for now. Let’s just chat, get to know each other. I want to learn more about you.”
Vika readily nodded. They moved away from the road, found a cozy spot by a small pond, and settled on a fallen tree.
“My name is Fyodor,” the young man introduced himself. Vika mentally noted that his name suited him perfectly—just as warm and friendly as he was.
“Vika. I’m from Orlovka. Do you know that place?” she asked, though she already expected the answer. Orlovka was a large village located far from their small hamlet. As a child, Vika had been there only once, but the memory remained vivid—wide streets, large houses, a railway along which trains rumbled. There was everything: a two-story school, a kindergarten, a clinic, even a club. In the center was a park with swings and carousels, and tall lamp posts lined the main streets. For a resident of quiet Alekseevka, it seemed like a true metropolis. Back then, she even managed to make friends with the local girls while her father attended to his own affairs.
“I’m from Alekseevka,” Vika replied.
“I’ve heard of it, but I’ve never been there. Not surprising, right? You probably have nothing much to do,” Fyodor remarked with a smirk.
Even though they had just met, Vika felt completely at ease with him—as if they had known each other all her life. The conversation flowed freely, interspersed with jokes and laughter. Fyodor turned out to be an incredibly interesting conversationalist, charging her with his energy and optimism.
The young man explained that he lived on his own in Orlovka. After his parents died when he was three, his uncle and aunt took him in. They helped him get a house—a small but cozy and sturdy one. Fyodor spoke about this simply and openly, without excess emotion, as if he wanted to be as honest with Vika as possible.
“Work in Orlovka is plentiful, the team is good, the salary is stable,” he explained.
“Indeed, I’ve noticed it’s stable,” Vika smiled. “Every other day you buy up all my goods.”
“What wouldn’t one do for a wonderful lady?” Fyodor winked.
For the first time, Vika felt truly special with this young man. He looked at her with such admiration that it both embarrassed and delighted her. She shared about herself but kept quiet about her upcoming wedding. Time passed unnoticed. Glancing at the sun, Vika realized that her father would soon be coming for her—and it would be better if he didn’t meet Fyodor.
From then on, the young man became a frequent visitor by the roadside. Of course, not every day—the demands of work meant he wasn’t always free—but on weekends he always appeared. They talked, laughed, and connected… and soon the first kisses began. Each time, Fyodor took all her goods, calling it “buying her time.”
Sometimes they went into the city, spending time in cafes, going to the movies, or riding amusement rides. When Fyodor left, Vika began to miss him, not even having time to say goodbye. These meetings became the meaning of her life.
One day, Vika mustered the courage to ask the question that had long tormented her:
“Where do you put all that butter and sour cream?”
Fyodor admitted that he shared it with friends from poor families. That was very much like him—kind and generous. For that, Vika loved him all the more.
Two months passed in the blink of an eye. July was approaching, and with it her wedding to Ivan. Now Vika could no longer imagine herself as his wife. The groom too seemed more indifferent than in love. Perhaps, like her, he simply had no choice.
After meeting Fyodor, Vika realized that she could not simply accept the fate arranged by her parents. The thought that their relationship might end was unbearable.
“No, that can’t be.”
Finally, Vika decided to tell Fyodor about the upcoming wedding. She was afraid of his reaction and delayed the conversation for a long time. Fyodor’s face darkened as he pondered.
“We’re going to your father’s,” he said firmly. “Right now. I want to talk to your parents.”
Fyodor stated plainly:
“I’ll go to your father and immediately ask for your hand. I hope you don’t mind?”
“Are you serious?” Vika could barely contain her excitement. How long had she agonized over the impending wedding with Ivan, searching for a way out, and now Fyodor had decided everything so easily and quickly.
“What do you think—your father won’t refuse me, will he?” he asked.
Vika shrugged, still under the spell of his words.
“Why not? You have a house, an education, a job. I’m sure you’ll be a good husband. But if your father says ‘no,’ I’ll leave with you. I’m 18 now, and I can decide my own fate.”
“See, you’re so clever,” Fyodor smiled, pulling her into a tighter embrace.
The conversation with her parents turned out to be difficult. Her father was beside himself with anger upon learning of his daughter’s secret meetings with another man. Her mother, as usual, remained silent, leaving the decision to the head of the family. However, after much thought, her father relented.
“Alright, let it be as you wish. I’ll sort things out with the neighbors. By the way, we can set Ivan up with Alenka—she’s not opposed, and she’s the right age.”
Thus, Vika and Fyodor started a family in Orlovka. The young woman quickly embraced her new life: she made new friends, got used to more modern conditions and developed infrastructure. Most importantly, her beloved, caring, and attentive Fyodor was by her side. Vika felt utterly happy. Every day seemed filled with joy and meaning.
A year after the wedding, they had a daughter named Milana. Later, Vika learned that she was expecting another child—a son this time. Together, they prepared for his arrival: Fyodor set up a baby crib, renovated the room. These were the brightest and most pleasant tasks.
But fate had other plans. A tragedy at the sawmill cut short their happiness. How could one believe that everything ended so suddenly? How could she accept the loss of the dearest person? His smile, his words could always lift Vika’s mood. At first, she refused to accept the reality. Without him, the world seemed empty and meaningless.
Later it turned out that the accident was caused by a foreman who had neglected safety rules in the interest of saving money. The workers unanimously condemned his actions. There was even a trial, but the accused managed to avoid responsibility—possibly thanks to bribes. After that incident, the foreman had to leave Orlovka—his fellow villagers could not forgive him.
Had he been found guilty, Vika would have received significant compensation and could have devoted several years to raising her children. But everything turned out differently.
At that time, worldly matters no longer troubled Vika—she seemed to have dissolved into a fog of grief. Reality returned suddenly—her labor began earlier than expected. They barely managed to get her to the hospital. The delivery was conducted right in the corridor, though under the supervision of doctors. The baby was born with a loud, indignant cry. Vika looked at his red, wrinkled little face and marveled: how much he resembled Fyodor! It was the first glimmer of joy in a long time.
They named the boy Semyon—a name chosen by Fyodor when he learned of the birth of a son. Looking at the baby, Vika realized: one must not give up. Fyodor was no longer with them, but now her children—Milana and Semyon—needed only her.
Suddenly, new strength, energy, and even a will to live awakened within her. Vika decided that she had to be strong for her little ones. She returned to life, determined to build a future for them.
Of course, the longing for her beloved Fyodor never left her for a minute. His absence was felt in every corner of the house, every second. However, so many responsibilities and chores fell upon the young widow that there was hardly any time left for sorrow.
Tucked under a warm blanket, Vika closed her eyes. Two years had passed since the tragedy, almost unnoticed. Milana and Semyon had grown up, and soon Vika herself was to return to work after maternity leave. She worked as a librarian in the local school—a job she enjoyed—but now a problem had arisen: what to do with the children? This thought increasingly occupied her mind.
Her parents suggested returning to Alekseevka, where she could once again sell food products by the roadside, as before. There she would help her parents, and in turn, they would take care of their granddaughters and grandson. But Vika didn’t even consider that option. She liked Orlovka—its modern life. Returning to the backwater, where there was no clinic, school, playground, or clubs, was beyond her. Moreover, the future of her children in Alekseevka seemed utterly bleak.
Unfortunately, help from Fyodor’s relatives was also unlikely. After his death, his uncle and aunt moved in with his adult daughter in another city. Thus, Vika was left alone with her two small children.
The approach of the end of her maternity leave increasingly worried her. How could she combine work with childcare if the nearest kindergarten was in a neighboring village? She couldn’t afford to quit—money was desperately short. The salary was necessary to support the family.
Vika was almost asleep when the wind outside reminded her of the borscht that had been left on the stove. With effort, she pulled herself from under the blanket and went to the kitchen. The red, large pot of borscht stood exactly where she had left it—with its appetizing contents. It should be enough for several days.
Approaching the refrigerator, Vika involuntarily glanced out the window. In the moonlight, the snow sparkled like thousands of diamonds, and the wind created whimsical snowy eddies. Despite the beauty, Vika imagined what it would be like to be homeless in such weather. From afar, the winter storm looked majestic, but being out on the street in such frost was an entirely different matter.
Then her gaze was caught by a strange figure near the neighbor’s fence. Moving closer to the window, Vika made out an elderly woman—Akulina. She stood bundled in a scarf, clearly freezing, yet not moving.
What is she doing here on a night like this? Vika realized something was wrong. The old lady needed help.
Quickly, she threw on her coat, slipped her feet into her felt boots, and ran outside. The cold wind immediately struck her cheeks, and the snowflakes stung her face. Trudging through the drifts, Vika headed toward her neighbor.
“Grandma Akulina! What are you doing here?” she asked as she drew near. The old woman’s eyes were tearing from the cold, but perhaps also from sorrow.
“Oh, I…I’m just breathing the air. I’ll go home soon, just walk me there,” the old lady replied, although her entire demeanor suggested that she wasn’t really planning to go home.
Vika understood—Akulina was afraid of something. Likely, her son had gotten drunk again and caused a commotion. This Viktor had long been known in the village as a drunkard. He lived off his mother, taking her last coins.
“Come with me, we’ll sort it out there,” Vika declared firmly, wrapping an arm around the old woman’s shoulders. Akulina did not resist—it was clear she was already very cold.
At home, Vika seated her neighbor in the kitchen, wrapped her in a warm bathrobe, and poured some tea. The old lady sipped quietly, lowering her eyes, clearly ashamed of her situation.
“I’ll put you to bed on the sofa in the living room,” Vika said, realizing that Akulina couldn’t return home in her condition.
“Thank you,” the old woman finally looked up. “You’re a good person.”
“How are you feeling? Do you need any pills? For your blood pressure or anything else?” Vika asked with concern.
Akulina looked pale, and the bruises under her eyes spoke volumes. How long had she been out in the cold? And what stress had she endured?
“I’m all right,” the old woman replied.
“Oh, you used to be such a good boy, Vityka,” she sighed. “Hardworking, cheerful, with many friends. But then he got mixed up with a bad crowd.”
Vika fell silent. She knew that Akulina was trying to justify her son’s behavior, to shift the blame onto others. But a person always makes his own choices. It’s easier to become a freeloader and a drunkard than to take responsibility for one’s life.
“Who am I kidding?” Akulina sighed. “Maybe I made a mistake in raising him somewhere. I didn’t give them something they needed, these children…”
Vika understood her pain. She knew Akulina’s story—a radio operator during the war, wounded, then a primary school teacher. She had two hopes—her daughter Lena and her son Viktor. However, both disappointed their mother. It was especially hard with Viktor—he began drinking at thirty and still lives off his mother.
Neighbors often discussed Akulina’s family. “The parents are respectable, hardworking, responsible people, but the children… are trash,” they would say.
Viktor really was a parasite. He didn’t work, he took money from his mother—sometimes by force, sometimes stealthily. With that money, he threw drunken parties, after which Akulina was forced to go from neighbor to neighbor to borrow food. She always repaid her debts on the day she received her pension, before her son could snatch away any more money. This went on for years.
Vika had long been accustomed to such a situation in Orlovka. When she moved here, everything was already settled and had become commonplace for the villagers. Besides her son Viktor, Akulina also had a daughter, Elena—a woman Vika had never once seen. Neighbors said that Elena grew up spoiled, convinced of her superiority over everyone else.
– “She always carried herself like a queen,” the locals said about her.
Elena looked down on village life, considering it the lot of those who do not value themselves. “I am different,” she would say. “I will leave for the city, marry a wealthy man, and create a life that here is only a dream.” And at first, everything went just that way: after finishing school, she entered university and married a well-off man.
The beginning was successful, but then… What happened next, no one knew for sure. It seems her husband abandoned her, leaving her with two small children in her arms. After that, Elena began to demand money from her parents, even though she herself never visited the village, preferring to remain in the city—even though it was now clearly hard for her without her husband’s support.
The elder, Akulina, and her late husband had worked tirelessly, trying to provide for their daughter and grandchildren. They even acquired additional cows to increase milk sales, yet they received no gratitude from Elena. She took their help for granted, and then she found a new husband—again a wealthy one. They say she completely cut off communication with her family. Vika did not know how things were with Elena now, but she marveled at how an adult, seemingly independent woman could allow her mother to live in such conditions.
Akulina unconsciously shrugged, as if she were still freezing. The robe draped over her began to slide off, and Vika noticed something she had not seen before: a fresh bruise on the old woman’s arm.
— “What is that?” asked Vika, pointing with her eyes at the bruise. Although she herself understood perfectly well what it meant.
— “It was just an accident,” Akulina hastily began. “It’s my own fault. You can’t argue with a drunk person.”
— “He beats you,” Vika stated, without even asking a question.
Akulina nodded bitterly and looked down again.
— “But it cannot be like this!” exclaimed an indignant Vika. “Tomorrow we will call the local officer. We’ll tell him everything. Let him open a case on Viktor. Let him be sent to prison, and you will be able to live in peace!”
— “Peace?” Akulina smirked. “Do you have any idea what it would be like for me to know that my son is in jail? We have our own ways here, and Vitya definitely wouldn’t take it. He has already been in prison. This time he will get a long sentence. No, I cannot bear such a sin on my conscience. Let things remain as they are. It seems I deserve it.”
At first, Vika was angry with Akulina:
— “How can you tolerate such treatment?”
But then she thought it over and understood her. “He wasn’t always like that,” Vika mused.
Akulina looked off into the distance, as if transported to the past. Her face changed, lightened with a gentle smile. Even her wrinkles seemed less noticeable.
She began to recount the years when the family was happy. Vika listened attentively without interrupting. The old woman needed to speak, and her story was truly interesting. Akulina turned out to be an amazing storyteller.
— “We were a happy family, until my husband Ivan was alive. His children loved and respected him. In the village, everyone valued Ivan for his unique carpentry talent and good nature. He could make anything out of wood and never refused help to his neighbors. Our family lived well, harmoniously, and financially we were secure too. I worked as an elementary school teacher, and Ivan worked at a factory in the city. Every day he drove to work in his own car—a real rarity at that time. Later, almost every family got a car, but back then, taking a ride in our neighbor’s car was something of an attraction for the villagers.
The children were proud of their father, especially Lenochka. She was his devoted companion, always following him like a shadow. Vitya was not far behind either. Ivan earned well at the factory, taking on additional jobs, so the family needed for nothing. We vacationed by the sea, bought modern appliances, dressed beautifully, and, of course, saved money.
When Vitya turned sixteen, we had already accumulated a significant sum. Father decided to buy a second house—for Viktor. “Soon he will be an adult and want to get married, and then he will have a place to bring his young wife,” Ivan said.
Lena tried to dissuade the parents. Even then she was studying at university and dreamed of a life in the city. She proposed selling the village house, adding money from our savings, and moving to the city. But back then we didn’t even want to think about it. We loved Orlovka, our home, the animals, the neighbors, our life. Perhaps that was when it all began. Maybe Lena got upset with us, Akulina said thoughtfully.
Thus, the second house appeared—spacious, sturdy, beautiful. The spouses decided to rent it out so it wouldn’t be empty.
Akulina often imagined the perfect picture of the future: her grandchildren playing in the yard, watched over by a young woman with thick, light brown braids and a gentle look—her daughter-in-law. Her son Vityenka would come home from work, and the whole family would joyfully welcome their provider.
But that dream never came true.
Viktor finished nine grades and followed in his sister’s footsteps, heading to the city. He enrolled in a college for Olympic reserves, and now the parents had two students, which required significant financial expenditure. But Akulina and Ivan did not complain about that.
— “Although, sometimes the neighbors hinted that our children could at least earn a little,” Akulina recalled. “They said we spoiled them too much. The neighborhood students worked and studied, managing everything. But we thought: if there is a chance, let the children focus on their studies. They will have time to work later.”
And indeed, Elena and Viktor spent their parents’ money without a second thought. They led a lavish life: wearing fashionable clothes, dining in cafés, although cooking at home would have been cheaper. But if you have money, why limit yourself?
Meanwhile, the children made new friends and almost stopped sharing details of their lives with their parents. Time passed, Viktor finished college, served in the army, and returned home. He did not rush to get married, and his attitude to work was lukewarm. However, his father was a strict man, and Viktor had to become a driver in the collective farm.
The young man did not even think about marriage, preferring a free bachelor’s life. The house intended for his future family remained occupied by tenants. Ivan frowned disapprovingly as he watched his son, but Akulina defended Viktor: “He is too young; let him enjoy himself, everything will be fine.”
For Lena, on the contrary, her personal life went well. She married a businessman, fifteen years her senior. She did not invite any relatives to the wedding, explaining that only close friends were present. So Akulina and Ivan never saw their son-in-law in person, only in photographs. It was hurtful, for Lena was ashamed of her rustic parents.
Happiness did not last long. In the marriage, two children—twins, a boy and a girl—appeared. Akulina was ready to help her daughter, but her help was not needed. Elena hired a nanny. This greatly upset Akulina—she longed to be with her grandchildren, to watch them grow. But they met rarely, mostly during big holidays when Lena visited her parents. The children were even afraid of their grandmother when she tried to hug them. Gradually, they became strangers to each other.
And then something terrible happened—suddenly Ivan died. Who would have thought that he had heart problems? The man had never complained about his health. Akulina felt utterly alone.
— “We understood each other without words,” the old woman sighed. “I have lost my person.”
After that, new misfortunes befell the family. Without paternal control, Viktor completely went off the rails. One day he showed up at work drunk, got behind the wheel, and had an accident. Fortunately, no one was seriously hurt, but his car was badly damaged. Naturally, Viktor was fired, a trial began, and soon he ended up in prison for two years. His driving license was also revoked.
At the same time, Lena divorced her wealthy husband. The businessman arranged the division of property in such a way that she and the children were left with nothing. Akulina did not know exactly the reasons for the divorce—Lena always replied evasively. Now her daughter was left alone in the city with two schoolchildren and without money.
— “I offered her to come back to Orlovka. It would be easier to raise the children together,” Akulina said. “But she had her own plans. Lena categorically refused to move. She had a job, friends, and the children attended a prestigious gymnasium. She did not want to trade all that for the peace of the village.”
Lena was counting on her mother’s financial support. But Akulina was no longer working and did not know where to get money. Then the daughter proposed to sell the house that Ivan had bought for Viktor. She was indignant, claiming that she had the right to that house, since they had two children, not just a son.
Ivan had decided to buy a house for Viktor, believing that a man should bring his wife to his home. Akulina thought long and hard and decided that her daughter was right. She needed money to raise her children, and Viktor, after prison, was unlikely to become responsible.
Thus, Akulina sold the house. Lena came to Orlovka with her already adolescent children, speaking kind words and thanking her mother for her help. Akulina gave her the entire sum, deciding that money was more important for her daughter. And what about Viktor? He was a man; he would find a way to earn money.
After receiving the money, Lena happily left for the city, never to show her face for a long time again. And Viktor, upon hearing about the sale of the house, flew into a rage. He called his mother a fool, his sister a viper, even riding to Lena’s place demanding his share. However, the daughter’s new acquaintances quickly intimidated him, and he returned with his tail between his legs. After that, Viktor no longer mentioned the inheritance, but he became more aggressive, especially when drunk. He never managed to get a proper job after prison, periodically left for the city trying to start a new life, but each time he returned empty-handed. In the end, he completely sank, turning into a typical village drunkard.
Mother’s money was only enough for cheap alcohol and simple snacks. He insulted Akulina, sometimes even raising his hand. The old woman had to accept it.
Lena only appeared in the mother’s life when she needed money. Although Akulina could no longer help financially, she always offered food. Even in her venerable age, Akulina continued to keep goats and chickens.
Later, Lena married again—this time, also successfully. After that, contacts with her mother practically ceased. She had a new, well-to-do husband. She didn’t want to maintain any relationship with her brother at all. After the house incident, Viktor and Elena became irreconcilable enemies.
— “But I can’t understand where I went wrong,” the old woman said thoughtfully. “At what moment did everything go off track? Why did they grow up like this?”
— “Parents aren’t always to blame for everything,” Vika replied gently. “You raised them, provided them with an education. Everyone in the village speaks of you as wonderful parents.”
— “It seems that is not entirely so,” Akulina sighed sadly, lowering her head.
— “You are tired,” Vika observed. “Let me take you to the hall.”
Akulina did not object. She obediently followed the hostess, sat on the prepared sofa, and looked around with interest.
— “Your place is so cozy,” she nodded approvingly.
— “Thank you,” Vika smiled. “You are also a good person. It is very hard for me after losing my husband, and you help me.”
— “It’s not hard for me at all,” Akulina admitted honestly. “Moreover, I was very interested to talk with you.”
Vika returned to her room, turned off the light, and quickly fell asleep. In the morning, Akulina began to get ready to go home. Vika managed with difficulty to persuade her to stay for breakfast. The woman was sure that there was no food at the old woman’s home—after all, Viktor had most likely emptied everything during the night. He and his friends usually took everything down to the last crumb. A snack was needed for the drinking. For breakfast, Vika decided to bake pancakes.
Akulina watched carefully as the hostess prepared the dough.
— “You do that so deftly. Just try adding a little baking soda, it will be even better,” she suggested.
Vika followed the advice, and the pancakes indeed turned out fluffier than usual.
— “Good morning, Grandma Akulina!” came the sleepy voice of Milana. Dressed in a pink pajama set with two long ponytails, the little girl looked especially sweet. Seeing her neighbor, she was surprised, but quickly cheered up.
— “Hello, beautiful,” Akulina smiled.
Breakfast passed in a warm, relaxed atmosphere. The children devoured the pancakes, and the old woman kept adding sour cream for Semyon or pouring milk for Milana. Her eyes shone with tenderness and joy. It was clear how pleasant it was for her to care for the little ones. Vika’s heart ached: what a wonderful grandmother Akulina could be for her grandchildren if only Lena hadn’t barred the way.
— “Your place is so cozy and warm, I don’t even want to leave,” Akulina confessed as breakfast drew to a close.
— “And don’t leave!” Vika and Milana chorused.
The old woman smiled sadly and shook her head.
— “I must go home. I need to check what mischief Vitya has done overnight.”
— “Maybe I should come with you?” Vika offered worriedly.
— “Where for?” Akulina waved her off. “Sit at home and take care of the children.”
— “Or perhaps call someone from the neighbors? It’s kind of scary to let you go alone…”
— “There’s no need to disturb people,” Akulina reassured her. “I know my son. He’s drunk, now sleeping a death-like sleep and no longer remembers his antics. There’s no need to show everyone our family drama.”
— “But if you find yourself out in the cold again, come straight to me,” Vika earnestly pleaded. “I always enjoy talking with a wise person. Promise you will come.”
— “A wise person?” Akulina smirked. “If I were wise, I wouldn’t be living like this now. But thank you for your concern.”
— “Just come by whenever, no special reason—like a neighbor.”
Akulina went home. Vika, standing at the window, watched her bent figure until it disappeared from sight. Nearby, children played like two little kittens. Vika couldn’t help but think that once Viktor and Elena were just as small and carefree.
The story of Akulina did not leave her. Since then, a special bond had formed between them. The old woman became a frequent guest, always bringing something tasty: sometimes candies for the children, other times fresh pies. Once she even knitted mittens and socks for Vika’s grandchildren, even though she was nearly ninety years old.
Vika loved it when Akulina visited. She radiated warmth and coziness. Next to the old woman, Vika felt like a child, and she liked that. The children also grew fond of the neighbor and eagerly awaited her visits. She played with them, told fairy tales, sang old songs, and knew many little rhymes. Thanks to her efforts, Semyon finally began to speak—Vika was already starting to worry, as Milana, at his age, spoke much earlier.
Akulina became a true grandmother to the little ones. Vika’s parents rarely saw their grandchildren—distance, the household, and more attention were given to the children who remained in Alekseevka. After Fyodor’s death, Milana and Semyon grew up only with their mother.
Vika sincerely cherished her friendship with the neighbor. She especially got along well with Semyon. Although Akulina loved both children equally and never made distinctions in gifts or attention, it was as if there was a special connection with Semyon.
Recently, an incident occurred. Semyon fell ill during the night. Vika checked his blanket, touched his forehead, and was frightened: the little one had a high fever. The thermometer showed a temperature above 40. Vika couldn’t close her eyes all night. Of course, she called a doctor, but ambulance services were often delayed, especially in winter when the roads were covered with snow. The young mother tried to reduce the fever on her own…
Vika did everything possible: gave fever reducers, sponged Semyon, and applied cooling compresses. But the fever wouldn’t break. The little one tossed and turned, calling for his mother and Grandma Akulina.
The ambulance arrived only at dawn. By that time, Vika had managed to bring the fever down. The doctors examined the child and decided that hospitalization was necessary. They suspected pneumonia. However, there was also Milana—what to do with the older daughter? They were not allowed to admit her to the hospital.
— “It’s your problem, but figure it out somehow,” the paramedic said sternly. “Miss your chance, and it will be too late.”
The injection quickly took effect, Semyon calmed down, and fell asleep. Vika also lay down, but sleep did not come. The doctor’s words tormented her. What to do? How to cope alone with two children? In such moments, she felt helpless and alone.
Early in the morning, Akulina dropped by with hot pies in a small metal saucepan. Judging by everything, she had risen very early to manage baking.
— “Sorry for the early visit,” the old woman said. “But my heart was aching all night. I was worried about you, especially about Semyon. One minute he would fall asleep, and the next I’d dream that he was reaching out to me, calling…”
Vika looked at the neighbor in surprise—after all, Semyon had indeed been calling for her in his sleep! Could it be that Akulina had sensed it?
— “Yes, we had a hard night,” Vika admitted and explained her problem.
— “What problems?” Akulina exclaimed. “I can stay and look after Milana. You gather your things and go to the hospital. If it turns out that Semyon really has pneumonia, it is serious.”
With a light heart, Vika left her daughter with a kind neighbor. The week in the hospital passed successfully—the pneumonia was not confirmed, and the bronchitis quickly subsided. When they returned home, they were greeted by the aroma of fresh baking and sweet porridge. The rooms were impeccably clean, and Milana was neatly braided and dressed.
— “You are our guardian angel,” Vika said tearfully, embracing the old woman.
— “Who saves whom, who knows,” Akulina replied. “You saved me from the cold that day. And here, I rest my soul, I feel young again.”
But the situation with Viktor continued to worsen. Now he was scarcely sober, spending days and nights in a drunken stupor. His “friends” constantly gathered in the house. Passing by the neighbor’s yard, Vika often heard quarrels, shouts, sometimes even the sounds of a fight and clattering dishes. She often thought about what it must be like for Akulina to live in such an environment—a woman who valued cleanliness, coziness, and peace.
The old woman suffered from her son’s behavior, but she left the house only in the most extreme cases. Vika always welcomed her warmly, arranging a sofa in the living room, but it was clear that Akulina felt awkward being a burden on her neighbors. She was ashamed of her situation and embarrassed by her son in front of other people. Akulina held herself responsible for how her children turned out. Vika tried to persuade her otherwise, explaining that adults are responsible for their own decisions, but the old woman could not accept that thought.
Not wanting to upset Akulina, Vika concealed her conversation with Elena. She hoped to reach her daughter, to explain how much their mother suffered. Vika had obtained Elena’s number from the long-time residents of Orlovka, who once knew Elena. She could not believe that Elena, upon learning about her mother’s life, would leave her in such a state. After all, Elena was no longer a young woman; her children had grown up and were independent. It was time to care for the one who gave her life.
Vika pondered long about how to start the conversation. When the phone rings quieted, and a low, slightly hoarse voice came from the other end, she frantically searched for words.
— “Hello, I am from Orlovka, your mother’s neighbor,” Vika introduced herself.
— “What about her?” Elena asked tensely. Vika realized she had probably frightened her with the call.
— “Everything is fine for now,” the woman hastened to reassure. “But I didn’t call for no reason.”
— “Well then?” Elena said coldly.
— “Your brother Viktor… He drinks, takes money from your mother, sometimes even raises his hand against her.”
— “No wonder,” Elena replied indifferently. “He has always been a bad person.”
Her voice was even and unfeeling. Elena clearly felt no sympathy for her mother, who had raised her and helped her throughout her life.
Vika tried to explain how dangerous the situation was for the elderly woman:
— “He drives her out into the cold, humiliates her, beats her. One cannot live like that!”
— “What can I do?” Elena shrugged. “Let her reap the fruits of her own upbringing. She spent her whole childhood running around with Vityenka, as if he were a bag of belongings. Everything for him, everything his. And look at the result.”
— “She even sold the second house for your sake,” Vika said sadly. “For you and the grandchildren she was ready to do anything, but you wouldn’t let her be a part of their lives.”
— “That has nothing to do with you,” Elena snapped coldly, clearly losing her temper.
— “Aren’t you at all sorry for your mother?” Vika asked quietly, already realizing that help from Elena was not to be expected. She had encountered a cruel, cold, and selfish person—completely the opposite of her kind-hearted mother.
— “Not sorry,” Elena replied indifferently. “For many years I reproached them for staying in the village. When father was alive, I begged them to move to the city. They did not pity me then. I spent my childhood and youth in this backwater, then I achieved everything on my own, became a successful person—not some village bumpkin. Mother made her choice—stayed in the village, taking care of a drunken son. That is her joy, her life.”
— “You are mistaken. You are very mistaken,” Vika countered.
— “Nonsense. You know nothing and meddle in others’ affairs,” Elena snapped harshly. “Besides, our parents never beat me, never humiliated me, never burdened me with hard work. But they did pester me with their care, with their moral lectures. They did not understand that I was different, not like them. Why am I even telling you this? I don’t even know you. And why are you asking such strange questions?”
— “I was asking for my own sake,” Vika replied softly. “I have children of my own. I wanted to know how not to raise them so that they wouldn’t turn out like you and your brother.”
— “Oh, you insolent girl!” Elena raised her voice. “If you ever disturb me again, blame yourself. Never call me again, understood?”
— “Understood,” Vika whispered and hung up.
She went to the bathroom and washed her face, feeling emptied and as if sullied after that conversation. Of course, she did not tell Akulina about it, but now she finally realized: the old woman is utterly alone in this world.
Life continued its course. Akulina often visited Vika. Despite her age and constant stressful situations, she remained strong and energetic. Her memory was astonishing—she remembered countless old tales, stories about Orlovka. The children and Vika herself listened to her stories for hours.
At the beginning of March, the neighbor took it upon herself to teach six-year-old Milana how to read. Within a week, the girl was confidently forming syllables. Sometimes Akulina came late in the evening, when the children were already asleep. Vika always understood without words what was happening and hurried to prepare the sofa in the living room.
One day, Viktor met her at the store.
— “What are you up to with my mother?” he asked angrily, reeking of alcohol. “Are you getting close enough to her to have her change the house’s ownership in your favor?”
— “I’m just helping a good person,” Vika attempted to explain, though inside she was filled with indignation.
— “Lies!” Viktor spat. “Nothing happens in this world without a reason. You’re all alone—without a husband, with two children, and lacking money. So you found a way to get rich. Confess!”
— “What house? I need nothing! I just feel sorry for Akulina,” Vika replied, but her voice betrayed a tremor, making her words less convincing.
— “Look at me,” Viktor threatened, pointing his finger. “If I find out you’re scheming something, there will be trouble. Don’t play with fire.”
Vika went home, trying to hold back tears of hurt. She wasn’t afraid of Akulina’s son, but his sordid suspicions filled her with disgust. Poor Akulina… How did her children turn out so badly?
— “I am to blame,” the old woman often repeated. “I watched over others’ children, and lost sight of my own.”
— “That’s not true,” Vika argued. “All parents in those days worked hard, but most children grew up to be good people. There must be something else at work here.”
— “There are bad genes in the family,” Akulina once admitted. “My husband’s brothers were drunks, much worse than Viktor. My husband never drank, but his son… followed in his uncles’ footsteps. We noticed alarming signs in his youth, constantly feared he would take to drinking. Unfortunately, our fears were realized.”
It was an ordinary early March evening. The sun already warmed in a spring-like manner, sparrows chirped merrily, and the air was filled with a special fragrance known only at this time of year. Vika felt a surge of strength and hope. The future seemed bright and colorful. The children had been playing in the yard all day, making snowmen and building forts out of the sticky March snow.
Vika was busy with housework, watching her favorite TV series. She periodically looked out the window to check that everything was all right with the little ones. At the sight of playing children, her heart filled with warmth. They were the meaning of her life, her happiness. Vika prepared dinner—meatballs in a sour cream sauce and a pie with fish and cabbage, the children’s favorite dishes.
It would have been nice if Akulina had dropped by today. Vika hadn’t seen her in a long time. Recently, they met at the store, and the old woman said that Viktor was ill, and that she was caring for him. Then Vika became a bit worried—had he infected his mother? Although Akulina’s age was worrisome, Viktor’s health did not raise doubts—a young man recovers quickly.
Vika checked the pie in the oven and turned to the meat. The key scene of the series had started on the screen, and she was inadvertently engrossed. An hour passed unnoticed. At some point, Vika realized that she had not checked on the children for a long time. Habitually she looked out the window, but the yard was empty.
At first she wasn’t scared. Perhaps the little ones had gone to play in the yard behind the house? They might be enjoying winter fun until the snow completely melted. Vika headed to the bedroom with a window overlooking the backyard. However, there was no one there either.
Now she began to worry. The children definitely should not have left the yard without permission. Milana always asked before stepping outside. Vika grabbed her coat, quickly put on her boots, and ran out into the yard.
— “Milana! Semyon!” she shouted, but the only response was silence.
Then she noticed the slightly open gate. Her heart clenched with fear. The children were nowhere to be seen. They had left the yard and might be in danger. The thought that they might simply be wandering around the village and would return seemed too naive. Something had happened, and action was needed immediately.
Vika looked around, hoping to see at least traces of the children’s footprints in the snow. But the March snow was dirty and loose—finding anything was impossible. Her heart panged at the thought that the children might have gone toward the Snake River. All winter they had played there on solid ice, but now it was becoming dangerously thin. The ice break-up was imminent.
She rushed toward the river, calling out Milana’s and Semyon’s names, but only the echo answered her. Meanwhile, Akulina felt a worry that wouldn’t let her rest. She knew: something had happened with the neighbors.
“How can it be? Vika is always so caring, so well-mannered,” the old woman thought. She took some candies for the children and hurried to them. Approaching the house, she noticed the open gate. That was strange—Vika always kept a close watch on safety.
Akulina cautiously peered inside. The door was wide open, and the pie in the kitchen was beginning to burn. She turned off the stove and went back out into the yard. Where is everyone?
Meanwhile, Vika was scouring the village, searching for her little ones. She met several local residents and explained the disappearance. They immediately offered help. One of them ran to call the police, others began questioning neighbors. Vika stood nearby, her heart filled with fear.
Finally, one of the teenagers spotted Milana. The girl was walking hand in hand with another child. Seeing her mother, she shouted loudly, and Vika rushed to her. Embracing her daughter, the woman nearly burst into tears of relief, but then remembered Semyon.
— “Where’s Semyon?” she asked, trying to keep calm.
Milana only cried and shrugged her shoulders. She was clearly frightened. Vika knew she needed to calm her daughter to find out what had happened.
— “Girls,” Milana said through her tears, “I saw them beyond the fence… They wanted to say hello…”
It turned out that the little girl had decided to catch up with some acquaintances, breaking her strict rule of not leaving the yard without permission. Semyon had followed his sister. Milana led him through the village, where they encountered a large white dog. It seemed so friendly! Milana couldn’t resist the urge to play. The dog initiated a game of tag, and the children ran after it until they were far from home.
When Milana realized that she was lost, she became frightened. Semyon began to cry, saying he wanted to go home. Then she ordered him to stay put, and she tried to find the way back. Along the way, she met a familiar teenager who helped her return.
Now Vika knew that Semyon was still somewhere in another part of the village. She rushed out in search again, while the volunteers split up to check every corner of Orlovka. Night was falling, and the cold was growing stronger.
After a while, one of the groups found little Semyon. He was sitting by a stranger’s fence, shivering with cold and fear. Seeing his mother, he ran toward her with joyful cries. Vika tightly embraced her son, gratefully looking at the people who had helped find him.
Later, when the children were safe, Vika reflected on the incident. She understood that she must be more attentive. Now, the rules would become stricter, and outings would only be under supervision. This story became an important lesson for her.
— “Take us to him, take us to Semyon!” Vika pleaded, looking at her daughter with hope. Milana confidently went ahead, followed by a group of people who helped in the search. Someone was already smiling, anticipating the swift resolution of this worrisome situation.
Yet Vika remained gripped by fear. She could not relax until she found her little son. Milana stopped at one of the houses, surrounded by a tall green fence decorated with bright flower paintings.
— “He was here, Mom! At this fence with the flowers!”
In the distance, the sound of a train horn reminded everyone that the railway tracks ran not far from here. The residents of Orlovka were used to the sound and even used it to keep track of the train schedule.
— “Eight o’clock in the evening,” someone mumbled. Night was approaching, and the cold was becoming more noticeable.
Milana was temporarily taken to the neighbors’—she was freezing and needed warmth and comfort. The search continued. People awaited the arrival of the police and K-9 units, but worry began to engulf everyone.
Meanwhile, Akulina was walking through the field beyond the village. Something inside pushed her toward the railway. Somewhere deep in her soul she knew: there, near the tracks, is Semyon. The wind grew stronger, the temperature dropped, and twilight thickened. How did she guess that? Akulina herself could not explain why she was so certain to head that way.
Approaching the tracks, she saw a small figure. Semyon was walking right along the rails, sobbing in fear. The old woman’s heart froze. In the distance, the headlights of an approaching diesel locomotive appeared. The engineer noticed the child and started braking urgently, but the locomotive still moved forward, slowly but inexorably approaching the little one.
Semyon seemed oblivious—he was simply walking forward, as if in a dream. Akulina gathered her last strength and ran. Her heart pounded like mad, and one thought ran through her head: “He is waiting for help; he must not be let down.”
The distance between the locomotive and the child rapidly decreased. The old woman covered the last few meters almost in a leap, grabbed Semyon, and tumbled with him into the snow on the other side of the tracks. A second later, the diesel train passed by, blasting them with its heat. The engineer, leaping out of the cab, angrily tossed his cap to the ground.
— “Why don’t you take better care of the child?” he scolded.
Akulina did not bother to argue. She only smiled joyfully, holding the living, unharmed little one tightly to her. Semyon looked at her in wonder, having stopped crying.
— “I called you, Grandma, and you came!” he exclaimed.
Meanwhile, Vika and the other villagers reached the scene. They had seen everything: how Semyon had walked along the rails, how Akulina rushed to help him, and how the black machine almost hit them both. The diesel train disappeared beyond the horizon, and the people stood in silence, stunned by what had happened.
A week passed after this incident. It was an ordinary March evening. The children had already played outside, had warm milk with a bun, and were preparing for bed. Now they happily changed into their pajamas, for Akulina now lived with them. Every evening she told them marvelous stories—sometimes about a firebird, sometimes about a magical wolf. Previously, putting the children to sleep was a real trial for Vika, but now everything had changed.
Vika insisted that Akulina remain living with them. She accepted no objections. The neighbors helped to move her goats and chickens into Vika’s yard.
— “You are our guardian angel,” Vika said. “When you are near, everything always ends well.”
Akulina agreed. She understood that her place was here, with these children and Vika. And life with Viktor was becoming unbearable. Now the old woman began a new life—a warm, bright one, full of love and care.
Vika could not be happier with the changes. She marveled at herself: why did the right decision come only after such a terrible ordeal? After all, it had been obvious for a long time—Akulina was meant to be part of their family.