Sergey Vladimirovich had always been a man of action. That’s why, after just a week and a half, on one clear May day, he—having left the manager in charge—climbed into the driver’s seat of his SUV and set off, not exactly knowing what awaited him ahead.
It should be noted that the head of the “New Thresholds” company had not taken the wheel simply for pleasure in a long time. Usually, his trips were connected with business matters—transporting documents, meeting with clients, or handling urgent issues. But this time, everything was different. As soon as Sergey Vladimirovich merged onto the highway, an almost forgotten feeling of freedom washed over him. The ease with which he drove and the absence of his usual haste reminded him of what it meant to enjoy the journey.
He wasn’t in any hurry. Deep down, he harbored a fear that once he reached his destination, he might be disappointed by his own scheme. Thus, Sergey Vladimirovich drove slowly, curiously taking in the surroundings. Spring had fully arrived: nature, having shaken off the lethargy of March and the sluggishness of April, now burst forth in colors and aromas.
His preparations for the journey were spontaneous. Sergey Vladimirovich didn’t bother with elaborate planning—he simply tossed a couple of items into the trunk, bought a few cans of preserves and semi-prepared foods. Unsure of the success of his idea, he didn’t want to waste time on unnecessary preparations. However, closer to the end of the route, when only a few kilometers remained until the needed turn, a strong hunger hit him. And then, to his delight, he noticed a group of women sitting by carts selling homemade food on the roadside.
Sergey Vladimirovich had passed by such makeshift “markets” many times before, but he had never stopped. He had always been skeptical of homemade food, preferring tried and true cafes or restaurants. But now, he had no other choice. Deciding to make an exception, he slowed down.
“Pirozhki! Chebureki! Homemade apple pies! Mushrooms!” voices rang out from all around.
He did not rush his choice, carefully examining the counters. And then his gaze fell on one of the saleswomen, who was standing apart. She wasn’t shouting or calling out to customers; she simply looked at him with a strange, almost recognizing expression. Beside her stood some old milk cans and empty jars.
Sergey raised his eyes and froze. It was Maria, his former employee. She looked simpler than he remembered her: a headscarf, plain clothes, and a slightly more mature face. But it was definitely her.
Sergey Vladimirovich Veretennov, the owner of the real estate agency “New Thresholds,” was a principled and honest man. He disliked lying or cheating unnecessarily, preferring to speak frankly or remain silent when the situation demanded it. For that, his employees—the three agents and a secretary who made up his small but tight-knit team—respected him.
The agency was located in an administrative building that housed dozens of similar firms. Despite its modest size, “New Thresholds” was spoken of with warmth. Sergey Vladimirovich always focused on quality rather than quantity, and his motto “Less is more, but better” became the firm’s calling card. Thanks to this, the agency gained loyal clients and earned a reputation that attracted new customers through word of mouth.
However, success brought new difficulties. The influx of clients grew so much that the existing staff barely managed the workload. He had to hire new employees, expand the office space, and even consider hiring a permanent cleaner. Previously, cleaning had been handled by cleaning companies, but now that wasn’t enough.
It was then that, on the recommendation of one of the clients, Maria—a young girl from the countryside who had come to the city to study and work part-time—joined the agency. Despite his prejudices against youth, Sergey Vladimirovich decided to give her a chance.
He had always been skeptical of the new generation, believing that young people were incapable of serious deeds and preferred to live off their parents. His opinion was based on personal experience: he himself had been accustomed to hard work from an early age, having gone through numerous trials before finding his place in life.
But in Maria he saw something special. She was hardworking, responsible, and, contrary to his expectations, quickly fit into the team. However, their paths eventually diverged, and now, after some time, they met in such an unexpected place.
Standing by the roadside, Sergey Vladimirovich looked at Maria, his mind flooded with memories. He thought about how life sometimes delivers surprises, and how important it is not to judge people by first impressions. Perhaps this meeting would serve as a new lesson for him.
Despite a slight inner discomfort, while speaking with Maria for the first time in a long while, he couldn’t help but think: “She looks young! Beautiful! But, it seems, a bit naive and simple-minded—such girls are usually ‘chewed up’ by the city without any regrets. Well, I’ll hire her and see how she copes. And who knows, maybe she’ll even get pregnant by some local guy. Although… who knows? Man proposes, and life disposes.” He added to himself: “Besides, I’ve taken precautions—I’ve contracted her on a civil law basis. So if anything goes wrong, I won’t have to worry about maternity benefits.”
Calming himself with these thoughts, Sergey Vladimirovich signed the necessary documents, affixed the company seal, and politely reminded the new cleaner not to be late for work. To his surprise, Maria proved herself extremely responsible from the very first day. She arrived at the office exactly on schedule, greeted everyone cheerfully, and then quickly and efficiently carried out her duties. After cleaning, she headed off to her studies and, if necessary, returned in the evening to tidy up the office after especially hectic days.
Over time, the trust in Maria only grew. She was given her own set of office keys so that she could enter in the evenings and clean the premises on her own. She was also included in the list of permanent employees that was handed over monthly to the security agency. Maria was even shown how to set the office’s alarm system. Initially, everything went smoothly: the cameras recorded the girl, who, with her favorite music playing on her phone, handled the cleaning effortlessly. Her movements showed that she had been accustomed to household chores since childhood and wasn’t afraid of large volumes of work.
Gradually, Sergey Vladimirovich began to interact with Maria more warmly. In turn, she, like the other employees, developed respect for her boss. However, this did not go unnoticed. The secretary, Olga, though married and not particularly fond of Sergey Vladimirovich, felt a tinge of jealousy. She was the type of person who was used to being the center of attention, especially for men. And now, as Maria began receiving more approval from the boss, Olga harbored a grudge.
Everything culminated in an unpleasant incident in the middle of the workweek. After one evening, a large sum of money—a deposit for the purchase of an apartment—disappeared from a small safe where money was kept before being sent to the bank. All the evidence seemed to point to Maria, who had been cleaning the office that very evening.
There was no direct proof of her guilt. The cameras, which were supposed to have recorded what happened near the safe, had not been working that day. The technician responsible for the video surveillance system had repeatedly hinted to Sergey Vladimirovich that the equipment was outdated and in need of serious updating. However, despite the growing revenues, the director considered such expenses premature. And now, this backfired on him.
Miraculously, the money reappeared in its place the very next evening. But this only deepened the suspicions among the staff. Everyone, including Sergey Vladimirovich, was convinced that it was Maria who was to blame, as she had reappeared at the office that day.
The girl did not try to defend herself. She listened to her boss’s accusations with a haughty expression, asked to be paid that very day, and left the office. For a moment, Sergey Vladimirovich lost his composure and shouted after her:
“Say thank you for us not having called the police!” – then quietly muttered to himself: “How many times have I told myself not to get involved with the youth…”
It seemed that this was the end of the story. However, everything changed after a visit from the technician who maintained the video surveillance system. A tall, taciturn man named Pyotr, the owner of a small firm, unexpectedly appeared in Sergey Vladimirovich’s office and gestured for him to follow.
Soon they found themselves in the server room, where a monitor connected to all the building’s cameras was set up.
“You must be surprised,” Pyotr began, “but we don’t only service your office.”
“I’m aware,” Sergey Vladimirovich replied, still not quite understanding where his interlocutor was heading.
“No, you don’t understand. We trust your firm, but not all of our other clients. Therefore, just in case, we installed an additional camera in the corridor to monitor activity near the server room. You never know who might try to sneak in. Look.”
Pyotr pressed a few buttons, and a recording appeared on the screen. In the frame, Olga was seen deftly opening the door to the technical room with a set of keys and entering.
“So you’re trying to say that she took the money?” Sergey Vladimirovich asked, as everything in his head began to come together.
“I don’t know all the details, to be honest. Only rumors and conjectures. But it seems to me, Sergey, that you accused the wrong person.”
“But why would she do that?” Sergey Vladimirovich asked incredulously.
“Olga?” Pyotr shrugged. “Let’s ask her directly. And also, let’s find out from the guard why he handed her the keys.”
They started by questioning the guard.
A gray-haired man in a black uniform, sitting at the checkpoint with a cup of tea, clearly did not expect the visit of two irritated men.
“Did you hand over the keys to my server room to Olga Mikhaylovna?” Pyotr asked sternly, the owner of the video surveillance maintenance firm.
“Yes,” the guard coughed slightly, sensing the tension in the air.
“And on what grounds did an outsider get access to the territory I rent?” Pyotr continued, raising his voice.
“Outsider?” the guard replied, genuinely surprised. “She works here!”
“Everything is clear,” Sergey Vladimirovich interjected, feeling the picture of what had happened beginning to clear up. “But we won’t get anywhere with this.”
Soon, three irritated men appeared at the reception: the director, the technician, and the guard, who felt betrayed and decided to join the investigation.
“Olga Mikhaylovna,” Sergey Vladimirovich addressed his secretary, “can you explain what you were doing in the server room on the day the money went missing?”
“Me? Nothing!” Olga replied quickly, but upon seeing the guard, her tone immediately changed. “I mean, I accidentally went in there. I thought it was a manicure room. I needed to pick up a phone for a friend from the neighboring office. Anechka forgot it, you know? A really nice girl who does manicures one floor up.”
“I know Anya,” Sergey Vladimirovich interrupted coldly. “But the camera clearly recorded you entering the technical room and leaving it, and then you left the floor. Was the phone there?” he asked sarcastically.
“And what were you doing on my property?” Pyotr interjected. “I remind you, as you know, I don’t have any manicure rooms. And as for the room you mentioned—you never even went there.”
“Camera?” In Olga’s eyes, confusion flashed. She clearly hadn’t known about the additional device. “Well, I…”
“By the way, Sergey,” Pyotr turned to the director, not letting Olga finish, “I once showed her how to reboot the system and the individual cameras. Apparently, this was a setup. Everything fits together…”
“Sergey Vladimirovich!” Olga burst out. “You yourself didn’t want Maria in the office! Yes, I pulled a little trick to speed up her departure. But the money did return to its place! I’ve been working for you for three years and never let you down. Are you really going to fire me over something so trivial?”
“No, Olga, not ‘over something trivial’,” Sergey Vladimirovich replied coldly. “Maria Viktorovna left on her own. And you framed an innocent person. Therefore, I’m firing you ‘for breach of trust.’ Be thankful that I’m not calling the police. But if you don’t bring in your resignation by this evening, you’ll have only yourself to blame—I’ll initiate more serious measures.”
With those words, he turned and headed for the exit.
“Where are you going?” asked Pyotr.
“Looking for Maria, of course,” Sergey Vladimirovich dismissed, and left the office.
Despite the firm’s strict rules, he decided to call the client who had once recommended Maria to get her contact details. The girl’s phone had been unreachable for several hours.
“Yes?” the client answered, surprised.
“Oleg Pavlovich, I apologize for the inconvenience,” began Sergey Vladimirovich. “Could you tell me where Maria Viktorovna is right now?”
“Oh, it’s you, Sergey Vladimirovich?” Oleg Pavlovich’s tone carried a hint of irritation. “My relative left for the countryside. She was deeply disappointed by your attitude and by the city in general. I couldn’t persuade her to stay. She took the documents from the educational institution. By the way, not all the mobile operators work in her region, so it’s currently impossible to reach her.”
“That’s very unfortunate,” Sergey Vladimirovich mumbled. “Perhaps she has another number?”
“If she does, I don’t know it. And, Sergey Vladimirovich, I no longer wish to continue this conversation. Maria is a person of absolute honesty. After what happened, it’s hard for me to view you the same way as before. Goodbye.”
The interlocutor hung up, leaving Sergey Vladimirovich with a heavy feeling of guilt.
…Almost a year passed. Life went on, and the “New Thresholds” firm continued to develop, albeit without Olga on the team. Yet every time a new cleaner couldn’t keep up with the duties, Sergey Vladimirovich kept remembering Maria. Her responsibility and diligence became the standard for him, while her unjust dismissal remained a constant source of remorse.
One day, while once again reflecting on the past, Sergey Vladimirovich realized he needed a reset. But here lay the problem: he simply didn’t know how to rest. Tourist routes, beaches, hotels—it all seemed boring and meaningless to him.
He shared his feelings with Pyotr, who had come to fix yet another glitch in the video surveillance system:
“Is that how people rest—doing nothing?” Sergey Vladimirovich asked thoughtfully. “I can’t even imagine it.”
“Well, that’s not good,” replied Pyotr, without taking his eyes off his work. “If you can’t rest passively, then rest actively. For example, my grandmother used to leave for her country house every spring and stayed there until deep autumn. Everyone thought she was suffering—spending whole days digging in the garden, opening greenhouses, and weeding. But for her, it was the best kind of rest. When her relatives sold the house, claiming it was ‘for her health,’ she quickly withered from idleness.”
Sergey Vladimirovich pondered. Perhaps he really needed to find his own way of resting—active, productive, and far from his usual routine.
“So, are you suggesting I buy a country house?”
“Or a house, if you’re not afraid of long trips. The region is full of abandoned houses in the villages—it’s simply amazing. Of course, with your busy schedule, you probably won’t be growing a crop. But you’ll find solace in tending to the plot and fixing up the house. I’m not saying you need to go to the backwoods. But recently, I was in the village of Zapolese, not far from the highway, and I spoke with the local head. He told me he launched a whole campaign: houses there are given almost for free—just pay the fees and the paperwork, and move in. But despite the affordability, there aren’t many interested yet. Maybe this will interest you.”
“Really, that sounds interesting,” Sergey Vladimirovich’s tone betrayed a spark of interest. “At the very least, I’ll try it for the season. If I like it, I’ll stay. If not—it wasn’t meant to be.”
“Great! And I’ll even teach you how to fish. The places there are simply magical. A wide river, meadows, a dense forest. I’d buy a house myself, but unlike you, I work with my hands. After a week of climbing stairs, as they say, ‘both your paws and your tail will give out.’”
“Alright. I’ll arrange for a vacation.”
“Wow! You, the notorious workaholic, are taking a vacation?” Pyotr couldn’t hide his surprise.
“Yes. I’ll put someone in my place and give my girls from the primary team a raise. They already know the business well—they’ll manage. And if needed, I have a car. An hour’s drive is no problem.”
“Just keep in mind, the connectivity there isn’t great. Be ready to be off the grid.”
“Thanks for the heads-up!”
“Anytime…”
…On the highway, feeling as if the ground was slipping away beneath him, Sergey Vladimirovich approached his former cleaner:
“Maria! I find it hard to come up with words to justify myself. I’m deeply sorry to you. Forgive me, but only a week after you left did we figure out who set you up.”
“Amosova?” Maria frowned, though there was no surprise in her voice. “I had almost suspected, but I decided to stay silent. She rushed into the office that evening when the money went missing. And just as quickly, she returned it. I didn’t see her open the safe, but by the sounds I understood that someone had gone in.”
“Why didn’t you say anything in your defense?”
“Would you have listened to me?” Maria answered reasonably.
“How can I make amends? I searched for you, but couldn’t find you.”
“I know. Oleg Pavlovich said that you called,” Maria relaxed slightly. “I just wasn’t in the mood for it.”
“But he said you took the documents and left because of me!”
“Really?” Maria smiled faintly. “That’s his way of getting back at you so that your conscience gnaws at you even more. My father died, and my mother was left alone and fell seriously ill. I had no choice.”
“Phew,” Sergey Vladimirovich exhaled and then immediately realized, “I wasn’t happy about your misfortune at all. I was just tormented by the situation. I kept thinking, ‘I’ve ruined a girl’s life.’ Now I understand that Oleg Pavlovich took his revenge in a subtle and fitting way.”
“Come on, Sergey Vladimirovich! It happens. But I’m glad we talked. By the way, what brings you to our neck of the woods?”
“I’m heading to Zapolese. I want to check out a house.”
“Really? That’s great! So, Efim Petrovich has got your back?”
“Efim Petrovich? Who’s that?”
“The head of the village. His surname is rather funny—Skorobogatko. As soon as he took office, he decided to revive the village. Now he’s promoting the idea that city folks should come here at least for the summer.”
“Then that’s where I’m headed. And do you live in Zapolese too?”
“Yes. We have a house on the main street. Ask anyone about where Orlov lived—they’ll show you.”
“Excellent. Do you have your own milk?”
“Of course. I charge fifty per liter. I sell it in cans to passersby, but for you, like family, I’ll give it straight from the can—half is left over. Then you return the container.”
“Deal! We’ll see each other again and have a good chat!”
“Buy the house first,” Maria smiled. “Otherwise, you might change your mind and leave our backwater.”
“I won’t leave. I see what kind of people live here—good and honest. But I’ll make a few trips to the city. It turns out I brought too few things with me.”
The village administration was located in a small wooden house with a corresponding sign, but it turned out to be closed—probably due to the lack of need for a full-day operation. Efim Petrovich was found quickly—a passerby pointed out a sturdy log house not far from the center of Zapolese.
The village was surprisingly beautiful. On one side, it was surrounded by a pine forest; on the other, a birch grove bordered the wide river. However, it was noticeable that the population was gradually aging, and the youth were leaving for the city.
Efim Petrovich—a sturdy, gray-haired man in a striped shirt and military trousers who resembled a seasoned sailor—welcomed the guest warmly:
“Most of the abandoned houses are still available. Don’t be alarmed by the word ‘abandoned.’ I make sure that all the buildings are preserved. So—remove the window boards, open the doors, and move in.”
“Aren’t the previous owners going to mind?”
“Are you a superstitious person?” he replied with a question in return.
“Seems to be the custom here,” Sergey Vladimirovich thought, but aloud he said, “I believe that there are things in the world we can’t explain. But overall—not.”
“Then I’ll be direct: the houses we offer belonged to people who are no longer with us. So, there’s nothing to worry about. But there is one condition—you must take care of the house and keep the plot in order. If you agree, I’ll give you a packet of documents. You notarize them at the district center and become the legal owner. However, the contract states that if you don’t maintain the house for a year, the agreement will be nullified.”
“You clearly understand legal intricacies well,” Sergey Vladimirovich remarked respectfully.
“And I happen to be a lawyer. I was quite well-known once. But then I got tired of it all. I pointed at the regional map and left for the first village I came across. I’ve never regretted it,” Efim Petrovich replied with a wide smile.
“Do you like milk?” the guest suddenly changed the subject.
“Of course.”
“I need to return the container. Let me see the documents, I’m ready to sign.”
After sorting out the paperwork, Sergey Vladimirovich returned to the village. Meeting with Efim Petrovich, he headed straight for the Orlovs’ house.
Maria’s dog barked as she came out:
“Ah, Sergey Vladimirovich! You’re not in a hurry!”
“I’m not used to dragging things out. But there are heaps of papers. By the way, I need to return the container.”
“Thank you. Did you like the milk?”
“Simply exquisite!”
“Our cow does her best. Now you know where to get it.”
“Alright,” smiled the former boss as he handed over the can. “If anything, my new home is now by the birch grove. Drop by if you get bored.”
“People will start gossiping,” Maria giggled. “It’s not like the city here—everything is out in the open.”
“Not entirely—I’m here with my mother. How’s her health?”
“Much better. There’s something magical about one’s native place.”
“And what happened?”
“After my father passed away, she fell very ill, but chemotherapy helped. I think she’ll be fully recovered in a year or two.”
“Alright! God bless!”
After arriving at his new home, and having prudently borrowed a crowbar from Efim Petrovich, Sergey Vladimirovich removed the window boards and rather clumsily broke in through the door. Immediately, the smell of neglect hit him—a mixture of dampness and old furniture varnish.
“Ah, there’s a lot of work to be done,” muttered the new owner. “Just the way I like it,” he added with a smile.
First things first: he had to clean up and remove the old furniture. But he couldn’t finish the task.
On the doorstep, Maria appeared, her face flushed and her head uncovered.
“Sergey Vladimirovich, what was that about?” she began from the doorway.
“Compensation,” he answered honestly. “A contribution toward your mother’s treatment.”
“I looked in the can and couldn’t believe my eyes. That’s unacceptable!”
“Money is like water, Maria. It flows in and out. To me, that sum is significant, but it’s nothing compared to what I have done. So I won’t take anything back. Better put it aside for your studies in the city, to which you’ll surely return someday. Or deposit it in an account with interest. I’ll teach you how to do that.”
“But I can’t accept such a gift.”
“It’s important to me. Consider it that I’ve finally made peace with my conscience.”
“If that’s the case… perhaps I can help you with the house?”
“I’m not even sure where to start—there’s no plan yet. But most likely, I’ll often come by for tools. I don’t have my own set yet.”
“Excellent! Come over this evening. My mother and I will treat you to some tea. With milk.”
“Alright,” Sergey Vladimirovich laughed. “I still need to meet the neighbors, after all—around here it’s nothing but trees and a cemetery. But please, no milk—I’m allergic to it…”
…In old fairy tales, it was often said: “A tale is told quickly, but the deed is done slowly.”
In conclusion, it should be said that Sergey Vladimirovich lingered in the village. He spent the entire summer there, relying on the trusted manager left in the city. But that wasn’t the most important part. The main thing was that Maria’s mother, Arsenia Mitrofanovna—gentle, smiling, and still beautiful despite her illness and the loss of her husband—had so charmed the city guest that he began stopping by for tools far more often than necessary.
By the end of the summer, everyone in Zapolese knew that the widow and the visiting businessman communicated far more warmly than ordinary neighbors. And a year later, all the speculations ceased—the couple officially announced their relationship.
Over time, Sergey Vladimirovich became immersed in village life and turned into an indispensable handyman. The house by the river had to be returned—there wasn’t enough time or strength for two plots. But Efim Petrovich understood and calmly annulled the deal, ultimately gaining another resident for his village. And it was impossible to be resentful—the “New Thresholds” firm launched a successful advertising campaign for Zapolese, and within three years, not a single house was left unsold—the city dwellers snapped them all up.
Soon, the Orlov house became merely a summer residence. Although, more accurately, it belonged to the Veretennov family, as the marriage was officially registered.
Despite having suffered an illness and his advancing age, Arsenia Mitrofanovna managed to become pregnant and gave birth to a son—named Efim, in honor of the recently deceased village head. And Maria, never abandoning her dream of education, trained to be a veterinarian and became a respected specialist in the region.
But all of that was just a consequence—consequences that, incidentally, continue to branch out and influence the fates of the characters in this story to this very day.