Gray office walls seemed especially dreary that day, swallowing the dim light of an autumn morning. Anna Igorevna stood by the window, staring at the rain-soaked rooftops, and felt a heavy stone rise to her throat. The news she had just learned had turned her familiar world upside down.
— “Anna Igorevna, are you listening to me?” The voice of the head of HR, Svetlana Petrovna, was even and dispassionate, like a newsreader. “The decision has already been made. There’s no point discussing it.”
— “But I don’t understand,” Anna forced out, turning to the woman at the desk. “I’ve given this department seven years. Seven years without a single reprimand, never late. Every project delivered on time. And now… now Irina becomes senior specialist? She’s been with us only a year.”
Svetlana Petrovna took off her glasses and wearily rubbed the bridge of her nose.
— “Anna, dear, I understand how you feel. But management considered a whole set of factors. Irina has strong specialized education, she shows initiative.”
— “Initiative?” Anna shook her head with a bitter smile. “And my daily work, my responsibility—what is that, not initiative? I handle the key suppliers, I know every nuance of the paperwork flow. Isn’t that enough?”
— “The decision is final. It isn’t within my power to contest it. Please try to accept it with dignity.”
Anna nodded silently, turned, and left the office, trying not to look around. In the corridor she nearly ran into her colleague Marina, who was walking with two cups of coffee.
— “Anna, what happened? You’re white as a sheet,” her friend reacted instantly, setting the cups on the windowsill.
— “They promoted Irina. To senior specialist.”
— “What?” Marina’s eyes widened in disbelief. “That can’t be! That’s just unfair! You deserved that promotion more than anyone!”
— “Apparently not,” Anna’s voice trembled, but she steadied herself. “Management decided she has a more suitable ‘set of factors.’”
— “What factors! She just has an uncle on the board! Everyone knows it!”
— “That changes nothing, Marina. The decision’s been made.”
Anna went to her workstation and switched on her computer by habit. The desktop wallpaper—a photo of her and her daughter at the seaside three years ago—now felt like mockery. That carefree smile, that sense of happiness, felt so far from her current reality. This job wasn’t just a way to earn a living. It was her fortress, her island of stability after a difficult divorce, after all those years she had carried her daughter, the apartment, the endless loans on her own. She had given the company everything, and in return the company simply showed her her place.
The workday dragged on painfully. Numbers in the spreadsheets blurred before her eyes; calls from suppliers grated with their monotony. Anna tried to focus, but her thoughts kept circling back to the same point: her diligence, her devotion meant nothing. She was just a cog that could easily be replaced by another—newer, shinier.
— “Cafeteria?” Marina suggested near lunchtime, coming up to her desk. “You shouldn’t sit alone—you’ll only upset yourself more.”
— “No, thanks. I’m not hungry. And I can’t look at these… at all of them right now.”
— “Anya, don’t let this break you. You’re strong. You’ve always handled everything.”
— “Strong?” Anna gave a bitter half-laugh. “Marina, I’m forty-nine. Retirement isn’t far. What strength? My best years are behind me, and I’ve achieved nothing.”
Marina said nothing, just squeezed her shoulder and stepped away, understanding that words were powerless. Anna was left alone in the half-empty office. She took a lunch box from her bag but didn’t eat. Instead she stared out the window again, where the fine autumn drizzle was pulling a gray, hopeless veil over the city.
In the evening, getting ready to go home, Anna felt incredible fatigue, as if she hadn’t sat at a computer all day but had been unloading freight cars. She threw on her coat, grabbed her umbrella, and headed for the exit.
— “Anna Igorevna, a moment!” The head of the department, Aleksei Petrovich, stuck his head out of his office. “Could you stay a bit? We urgently need the quarterly deliveries report.”
— “Aleksei Petrovich, I already…”
— “I know, I know, but it’s very important. The client’s demanding it. Half an hour, no more.”
Anna nodded without protest, took off her coat, and returned to her computer. “Half an hour” stretched into an hour and a half. When she finally left the office, it was already dark. The rain hadn’t let up; it had only grown stronger, lashing the asphalt and the car windows. Anna hurried to the bus stop, but just as she reached it, her bus disappeared around the corner, taillights blinking. The next one was in forty minutes.
A quiet, cold despair rose to her throat. Everything was slipping from her grasp. Everything was against her. She leaned against the shelter wall and closed her eyes. She remembered how a few days ago her colleague, a young guy named Denis, had said he was selling his old car. Cheap. Maybe she really should buy it? She was tired of depending on bus schedules, of this constant waiting, of the crush and the stuffy air.
When the bus finally came, it was packed to the gills. Anna squeezed into the crowd at the door, barely finding footing. She spent the whole ride home pressed against the glass, watching the city lights distorted by rain. Yes, the decision was made. She needed to buy a car. If only to preserve the last scraps of dignity and independence.
The next day she talked to Denis. He was delighted.
— “Of course, Anna Igorevna! Take it, don’t hesitate. I bought a new one, and I don’t need this at all. The car’s not young, but it’s sound, the engine’s good. I’ll let it go for a hundred and twenty.”
That was exactly the amount Anna had been setting aside for years, dreaming of finally renovating the bathroom. But now priorities had changed. The renovation could wait. Freedom of movement was worth more.
The purchase and paperwork took a few days. Denis helped her figure everything out, showed her the main features of the car. She’d had a driver’s license since twenty-five, but she’d only driven a handful of times, and those skills had long faded. The first days behind the wheel were a true ordeal. Every horn, every car cutting in made her flinch. But gradually the fear receded, giving way to cautious confidence. The car was hardly new, but it obeyed the wheel and started reliably, even on that raw, autumn day.
On Friday, finishing work early, Anna decided to do what she’d long planned—visit her mother, who lived alone in a village a hundred and twenty kilometers from the city. A retired schoolteacher, she kept cheerful, but the years were taking their toll, and her daughter tried to visit at least once a month, bringing groceries, medicine, and most importantly—her attention.
Anna drove out of the city when the rain had turned to a fine mist. She drove unhurriedly, carefully observing the rules, peering into the road’s hazy distance. The landscape outside was bleak: bare fields, wet roadside trees, the occasional crooked little house. About halfway there, on a nearly deserted stretch of highway, she noticed a lone figure on the shoulder. An elderly man, hunched under the rain, was waving hopelessly at passing cars. No one stopped.
Anna had already driven past when something inside made her brake. She watched the lonely, soaked figure in the rear-view mirror, and her heart tightened with a sharp, sudden pity. “No,” she said aloud to herself. “I can’t.”
She carefully backed up and stopped beside him.
— “Are you going far?” she asked, cracking the window.
The man came closer. He was at least seventy. His face was lined with deep wrinkles, but his light, clear eyes looked straight and open. Water was literally pouring off him.
— “To Novoozyorsk, dear,” he answered, genuine relief in his voice. “If you’re not going that way, don’t trouble yourself.”
Novoozyorsk lay exactly in the direction Anna was headed, just a few kilometers from her mother’s village.
— “Get in,” she nodded, unlocking the door. “I’m passing right by.”
— “Thank you so much,” the man settled into the passenger seat, trying not to soak the upholstery. “Forgive the inconvenience. I missed my bus, and the next one’s in three hours. Miscalculated.”
— “It’s dangerous to stand by the road in this weather,” Anna said gently, pulling away.
— “Yes, I know,” he smiled, embarrassed. “But what can you do? Hope dies last, as they say. And as you see, not in vain. Thank you again.”
They drove in silence for a few minutes. Anna focused on the road, and her passenger looked out the window as if remembering something.
— “You drive very carefully,” he finally broke the silence. “That’s commendable. Nowadays many tear along at breakneck speed, thinking neither of themselves nor of others.”
— “I’ve only just started driving again,” Anna admitted. “I still don’t feel very confident.”
— “Caution is the sister of safety,” he said wisely. “Better to arrive later, but arrive. You’re doing the right thing.”
Little by little the conversation took shape. The stranger introduced himself as Mikhail Semyonovich. He said he’d gone into the city to see his granddaughter, who was in university, helping her move into a new apartment.
— “She’s a good girl,” he said with pride. “She works hard, studies well. And I… I miss her. I live alone in Novoozyorsk, in an old house. I was born there, lived my life there.”
— “I understand,” Anna replied. “My mother lives alone in a village too. I’m on my way to her. There’s such peace there, such quiet… You can’t find that in the city.”
— “True, true,” Mikhail Semyonovich nodded. “The city presses on you with its bustle. Everyone’s running somewhere, looking for something, and for what—they don’t know themselves. In the village time flows differently. Slower. Humanly.”
Anna couldn’t help smiling. In the words of this simple, elderly man there was some unarguable, calm truth.
— “And what do you do, if you don’t mind my asking?” he said.
— “I work at a construction company. In the supply department.”
— “Oh!” His face lit with sincere interest. “Construction is wonderful. It’s a craft that lasts for ages. I spent my whole life in that field. Started on a building site, then moved to a design institute.”
— “Really?” Anna was surprised. “What a coincidence.”
— “Small world,” he smiled. “And which company do you work for, if it’s no secret?”
— “Project-Garant,” Anna answered.
Mikhail Semyonovich nodded, as if recalling something, but said nothing more.
Soon a sign for Novoozyorsk appeared. The rain had almost stopped. Mikhail Semyonovich pointed to where he needed to get out.
— “Right here, by the post office, is perfect. My house is just nearby.”
Anna pulled over. The old man reached into his pocket for a worn wallet.
— “Allow me at least to pay for gas…”
— “Oh no, Mikhail Semyonovich, absolutely not!” Anna protested firmly. “I was going this way anyway. It was no trouble at all.”
— “But your time, your kindness…”
— “Really, it’s not necessary. I’m just glad I could help. I wish you health and all the best.”
He looked at her gratefully, tucked the wallet away, and stepped out of the car. He leaned down to the open window.
— “Thank you, Anna. A big, human thank-you. May God keep you. You’re a very kind person.”
— “And you as well,” she said shyly. “Take care.”
He waved and set off down the street with an unhurried, slightly old-man gait, disappearing around the corner. Anna watched him go, a warm, bright feeling blooming inside. That brief conversation with a stranger had given her a drop of the very human warmth she had been missing so much in recent days.
Her mother greeted her, as always, with open arms. They drank tea with homemade jam and talked about everything under the sun. Anna brought groceries, medicine, helped around the house. The evening flew by in these simple but vital chores. At night, lying in her old childhood bed, Anna thought about Mikhail Semyonovich’s words on bustle and peace. And she realized he was right. Her failure to get the promotion was just a small part of that city bustle that hides something far more important.
In the morning, helping her mother in the garden, she felt a long-forgotten calm. Driving back to the city and passing Novoozyorsk, she thought of her passenger for a moment and smiled again.
On Monday the office was unusually lively. In the morning, Aleksei Petrovich gathered the whole department and solemnly announced:
— “Colleagues, today we have the honor of a visit from none other than Mikhail Semyonovich Orlov. I ask everyone to be at their desks and maintain a businesslike atmosphere.”
A restrained murmur of surprise passed through the department. The younger employees asked, “Who?”, while the old hands exchanged meaningful looks.
— “He’s our founder,” Marina whispered to Anna. “A legendary figure. He created the company almost forty years ago. Then he stepped back and handed the reins to his son. They say he shows up here once every few years, like the Holy Spirit.”
Anna froze. Mikhail Semyonovich? Orlov? Could it be the same man? But he had looked so… simple. Like an ordinary village pensioner. The owner of a large construction company wasn’t supposed to be standing in the rain thumbing a ride.
At exactly eleven the door to the department swung open. He came in with Aleksei Petrovich. The very same Mikhail Semyonovich. In the same modest jacket, with the same kind, wise look.
Anna rose involuntarily, feeling the blood rush to her face. He scanned the room, nodding to the staff, and suddenly his gaze stopped on her. He recognized her instantly. His eyes lit with a joyful spark.
— “Anna!” he exclaimed, striding toward her desk, to the astonishment of the entire department. “What a surprise! What a pleasant meeting!”
— “Mikhail Semyonovich…” she said, flustered. “I… I had no idea.”
— “And I didn’t say,” he laughed. “Why should I? I wanted to meet you as a person, not as an employee. And I must say, I’m pleasantly surprised. No—more than that—moved. You didn’t pass by an old man in trouble. That’s worth a great deal.”
Everyone watched the scene, holding their breath. Aleksei Petrovich looked at Anna with a new, unfamiliar respect.
— “You know each other, Mikhail Semyonovich?” he asked.
— “Indeed! This wonderful woman picked me up on the highway under a downpour Friday and drove me right to my house. No one else stopped. But she did. She took pity on an old man.”
Mikhail Semyonovich turned to Anna.
— “And now, Anna, please show me around the department. Tell me how things are here. I want to hear your opinion.”
That day changed everything. After the tour of the office, Mikhail Semyonovich invited Anna to a conference room, where they spoke at length about work, life, and her career goals. Forgetting her shyness, she told him everything: about her years of hard work, the promotion that never came, the sense of injustice.
— “Education?” he asked.
— “Secondary specialized,” Anna answered honestly. “After technical college I had to raise my daughter; there was no time to study.”
— “Nonsense!” Mikhail Semyonovich waved it off. “It’s never too late to learn. If you like, the company will give you the chance to get a higher education. Evening program, without leaving your job. We’ll pay for everything.”
The prospect took Anna’s breath away. She could only nod, feeling tears of gratitude welling up. It was unbelievable.
Soon after his visit, Anna’s life changed dramatically. Her salary was raised; they helped her gather documents to enroll in a university’s part-time economics program. Aleksei Petrovich began consulting her on key issues, and colleagues looked at her with new, genuine respect. One day Irina—the very one who had gotten the coveted promotion—came up to her.
— “You know, Anna,” she said quietly, “I envy you. Not your position, but that light you have. Everyone truly values and respects you. And me… they just tolerate me.”
Anna found what to say:
— “Ira, it’s all in your hands. Nothing stops you from looking at the world differently. Just try to help someone not for the record, but from the heart.”
Time passed. Anna studied successfully, and her work grew more interesting and meaningful. One day Aleksei Petrovich called her in and offered her the lead on a new, promising project. She agreed without hesitation.
And so, a year later, standing on the shore of the lake by her mother’s house and watching the setting sun paint the water in gold and crimson, Anna grasped a simple, clear truth. The most important encounters in life often happen not in grand offices, but on rain-washed roads. And the most precious wealth is not high positions or bank accounts, but that quiet, warm glow that is born inside you when you act by the call of your heart, not calculation. That glow can neither be bought nor taken away. It lights the way not only for you, but for everyone walking beside you. And she carried this light, like her most precious treasure, through every trial, to one day understand—her life had not been in vain, and her soul was truly rich.