Anna would never forget that spring day. Her friends gathered in her modest apartment on the outskirts of Zarechny, preparing for the upcoming wedding. The air was filled with aromas: juicy apple pies baked by her mother, and fragrant lilacs brought by Tatiana. Outside, birds sang, and a warm May breeze, entering through the open window, played with the light curtains.
“His genes are clearly not the best!” the friends tried to convince the love-struck bride. “We see how he behaves with alcohol. Remember his father! Do you recall how the elder Kravtsov used to cause scenes at the factory entrance?” But Anna merely stirred her tea with lemon, dismissing their words. For the twenty-year-old girl, lost in love, the warnings seemed absurd. Victor was her ideal: handsome, confident, strong. At twenty-five, he already held the position of a master at the machine-building plant where his father once started as a simple locksmith. That he sometimes smelled of alcohol, she attributed to youth and company. “He’ll grow out of it,” thought Anna, recalling how romantically Victor courted her, giving her roses and driving her around the evening city in his old Moskvich.
“Anna, dear,” her close friend Marina would say, “you saw his behavior on New Year’s Eve. He changes completely when he drinks. Remember how he almost fought with the security guard, Petya?” Anna remembered something else — how Victor came the next day to apologize, standing on his knees in the courtyard with a huge bouquet of carnations, serenading under her window, causing adoration among the neighboring grandmothers.
The wedding was luxurious — in the best restaurant in the city, with live music and fireworks over the river. Victor was sober and charming, dancing with the bride until exhaustion, delivering beautiful toasts. Anna shone in a white dress, specially ordered from the regional center, and her friends whispered, envying the happy couple. The first months of married life flew by like a fairy tale. The new two-room apartment, bought by Victor’s parents, became their first joint nest. The elder Kravtsov had by then become the head of the workshop and helped his son settle down. Anna lovingly arranged the house, hung curtains, and decorated the windowsills with flowers. Victor regularly returned from work with gifts — either candies or a new vase for her favorite chrysanthemums.
Pregnancy caught them at the end of summer. They returned from the country house, laden with baskets of apples and tomatoes. That evening she felt a strange weakness and dizziness. Victor lovingly cared for her. He bought the test himself, and seeing two lines, twirled his wife around the room in joy.
But the joy was short-lived. Just a week after this initial ecstasy, everything began to change. Victor got drunk to oblivion for the first time. He yelled about not being ready to become a father, that they were too young, that they should have waited. Anna cried for a long time but then decided that it was just fear of responsibility. The next morning, Victor apologized, promised not to drink again, and swore to be a good father.
Pregnancy was difficult. Anna often stayed in the hospital. Victor increasingly rarely appeared at home. When he did show up, he smelled of alcohol. Later, he tried to mask his drunkenness — spoke quietly, moved cautiously. But his eyes betrayed his true state — cloudy, with red veins.
When Marina was born, Victor did not show up at the maternity hospital. Later, Anna learned that he had been drinking in the garage with friends for three days, celebrating the birth of his daughter. This marked the beginning of the end of their family life.
Five long years flew by in endless scandals. Little Marina grew up smart and beautiful, but her childhood was overshadowed by constant conflicts. Victor drank more and more. Money slipped away to the “Pier” bar on the corner of River Street. To make ends meet, Anna took a job as an accountant in a small firm. Her mother-in-law helped with the granddaughter. After her husband’s death from liver cirrhosis, she feared contradicting her son.
“You drink yourself when I’m not here!” Victor yelled, bursting into the house late at night. “Where did you get money for a new dress? Who are you having an affair with at work?” Anna remained silent. Her mother had bought her the dress. Talking to a drunk husband proved pointless. He didn’t believe a single word she said, suspected her of infidelity, followed her, created scandals at her workplace.
Marina was terrified of her father. At the sound of his steps on the stairs, she either hid in the closet or ran to the neighbor — Aunt Valya. The growing girl became increasingly nervous, often cried at night, but managed to do well in school — it was her way to escape from home problems.
That fateful autumn night, everything went wrong from the first minutes. The end of September was rainy, a fine drizzle fell outside. It was Marina’s sixth birthday, and Anna decided to throw a small party for her daughter. The neighbor helped bake a “Bird’s Milk” cake, they hung balloons around the room, and invited two friends from kindergarten. Victor promised to return sober — he had recently found a new job, drank less, and gave hope for change.
However, he returned unusually early, around seven in the evening, and was already heavily intoxicated. He reeked of some cheap liquor. Marina was about to blow out the candles on the cake when her father burst into the room.
“What kind of party is this without me?” he exploded, knocking over the table. The cake flew to the floor, and the girls squealed as they ran to the hallway. Marina burst into tears.
“Why are you doing this?” Anna asked quietly, trying to pick up the cake. “It’s your daughter’s birthday today…”
Victor grabbed her by the hair: “Shut up, you beast! Who allowed you to manage in my house?”
“Dad, stop!” Marina cried, trying to stand between her parents when Victor swung at her mother.
He pushed his daughter, and she hit the cabinet, crying out in pain. That was the last straw. Anna grabbed a heavy crystal vase — a wedding gift from colleagues — and struck her husband on the head.
Victor collapsed like a felled tree. A dark stain appeared on the white carpet, a gift from her mother-in-law for the housewarming. Marina cowered in the corner, clutching her favorite teddy bear tightly.
With trembling fingers, Anna dialed the police: “Come… I… I think I killed my husband. Just take care of my girl, please. She’s innocent.”
The trial was quick. They considered the state of affect, positive work references, the presence of a minor child. Anna received ten years in a general regime.
Marina was taken in by her grandparents — Anna’s parents. They lived in a private house on the outskirts of the city, keeping a small farm. Grandfather Stepan worked as a carpenter, and grandmother Klavdia took care of the garden and raised her granddaughter.
Twenty years later, Marina sat in the cozy kitchen of her suburban house in the “Pine Forest” cottage settlement. Her husband Andrei, the director of the local machine-building plant, played with their youngest son, teaching him how to assemble a radio-controlled car. Two older children did homework in the next room.
“Imagine,” Andrei said, tightening the motor with a screwdriver, “our Dimka assembled a radio receiver by himself today! He’s just like your granddad. Remember how your granddad Stepan was always crafting something?”
Marina smiled, looking at her happy family. She met Andrei by chance — at a reunion. He studied in a parallel class, then graduated from a polytechnic institute, started his career as a simple engineer. A year after meeting, they married when Andrei had already become the deputy head of the workshop.
She harbored no resentment towards her mother — she had protected them both. After ten years of imprisonment, her mother was released but moved to another city, not to stir up old wounds. They corresponded, congratulated each other on holidays, but rarely met.
When her eldest son, fifteen-year-old Pavel, noticed that his father often held his side and winced in pain, she began to worry. Andrei dismissed it — usual fatigue, a lot of work at the plant, a new contract with Chinese partners. But a month later, the truth surfaced on its own.
“Cancer, dear,” he confessed one evening when the children were already asleep. “Don’t tell the kids yet, okay? Especially Dimka — he’s too impressionable.”
Andrei lived another six months. He died hard, but held on to the end — continued going to work as long as he could stand on his feet, played with the kids, made plans for the future. Marina was left alone with three children, but she didn’t break. She got a job teaching piano at a music school — her education in youth came in handy. Grandmother Klavdia helped with the kids, although she could barely move by then.
Then Marina decided to learn to drive — it was difficult with three kids without a car. Especially when the youngest, Dimka, started swimming at a sports school on the opposite side of the city.
At the “Traffic Light” driving school, Marina was assigned to instructor Mikhail Yuryevich — a jovial man about fifty, with graying temples and lively brown eyes. He quickly found a rapport with students, although he sometimes surprised them with unexpected gaps in knowledge.
“How have you not read Lermontov?” Marina wondered after one of the lessons, when they discussed the recently filmed “A Hero of Our Time.” “Why?” Mikhail smiled. “I’m more of a technician. Served in the tank troops in the army, worked as a truck driver for twenty years. And you’re an excellent student — not everyone gives such a smooth start!”
At one of the music lessons, Marina noticed an unusual boy — Zhilya. His piano playing was poignant, as if he were conversing with the instrument. It turned out that this was Mikhail’s son.
“Let’s meet at a cafe, talk about Zhilya’s progress,” Mikhail suggested after the lesson. “He’s got a character, all like his mother.” They went to “Float.” This cozy restaurant on the water was built on an old barge. To the gentle rocking of the waves, Mikhail shared his story. Many years ago, he was hopelessly in love with a girl from an intelligent family. But her parents were categorically against marriage with a simple driver. She married another. When Mikhail returned from the army two years later, he learned that he had a son — Zhilya, whom that very girl had given birth to.
“Zhilya — from Yulia,” Mikhail explained. “Such an unusual nickname stuck in childhood, now everyone calls him that. His mother died five years ago, and we live together.”
The quirks of fate continued: one day, during a driving lesson, practicing parking at the “Dream” supermarket, Marina accidentally hit an elderly woman at the crosswalk. Fortunately, she was only scared — only her groceries scattered across the asphalt. Mikhail insisted on taking the injured woman home…
“Mom?” was all Marina could say, recognizing the elderly woman as her mother. They sat in a modest rental apartment. Drank tea with cookies. The mother told everything. How she couldn’t take her daughter after being released because her parents were against it. How she met the kind-hearted Ivan Petrovich, a bus park mechanic, who helped her start a new life. After his death from a heart attack, she was left alone, working odd jobs.
“Forgive me, daughter,” the mother cried. “Every day I thought of you. Watched your life from afar. Knowing that you got married, that you had children… I just didn’t dare approach.” Marina hugged her mother, forgiving years of separation. At that moment, she realized that there was no point in holding a grudge — life was too short for that.
A month later, Mikhail invited everyone to a family dinner. Zhilya played the piano, which his father had bought with money from long-distance trips, the children listened, holding their breath, and the grandmother quietly wiped away tears. Now they live together — a large happy family. Mikhail and Marina got married in the local church, quietly wed just for their own. The children call him dad, and Zhilya finally found brothers and sisters. Grandmother moved in with them, helps with the household, fusses over the grandchildren. In the evenings, the whole family gathers in the spacious living room — some doing homework, some reading, some playing the piano. And no one remembers genes anymore — destiny is not determined by them, but by love and forgiveness. Mikhail doesn’t drink even during holidays, although neighbors sometimes tease him about his mineral water. A large family photo hangs prominently in the living room, where they all are together — happy, smiling, real. Every Sunday they visit Andrei’s grave. Marina has learned to live with this loss, although sometimes, looking at her eldest son, so much like his father, she can’t hold back tears. But Mikhail is always nearby — reliable, understanding, ready to support at any moment. Recently, Zhilya was accepted into the conservatory — to study as a pianist. At his first big concert in the philharmonic, the whole family gathered. And when the first chords of Chopin flowed from the stage, Marina looked at her mother sitting next to her and realized: nothing in life happens by chance. Even the most terrible trials can lead to happiness if you maintain the ability to love. Now, in their big house, music often sounds in the evenings. Zhilya prepares for concerts, the younger ones take lessons from him, and Mikhail, though he doesn’t understand the classics, proudly listens to his children. In such moments, Marina thinks that fate is a strange thing: sometimes you have to go through pain and loss to find true happiness. And recently, Pavel, her eldest son, asked permission to invite a girl over. And looking at her son in love, Marina realized: the main thing is to teach children to love and forgive. Because only this way can you break the cycle of pain and loneliness, only this way can you create a real family where no one will ever raise a hand to a loved one.