Semyon Markovich, an elegant elderly gentleman with an impeccable reputation in business circles, sat in the police chief’s office with his head bowed. He wished he could sink into the ground—he was being reprimanded like a child!
The police chief, unable to contain his emotions, raised his voice:
“Dear Semyon Markovich! This is now beyond acceptable limits! We have turned a blind eye to your grandson’s antics many times. But now he has outdone himself! Racing on the track while intoxicated, wrecking cars—both yours and our patrol car—and then getting into a fight with a law enforcement officer. This is utterly unacceptable… With all due respect to you, I can no longer ignore it. Vladimir is now in the hospital under guard, and then there will be trial and prison. Perhaps only there will he learn his lesson!”
“I understand everything; I let the boy slip away, completely losing control. But please, do not get heated. It’s my grandson… Give me one week, and I will take drastic measures. I promise he will never cause you any trouble again,” pleaded the businessman.
Semyon Markovich left the room, red as a beet and angry as a thousand devils. He got into his luxurious car and said to the driver:
“To the hospital, quickly! We must deal with this scoundrel!”
Then, he wearily closed his eyes and sank into his memories. “When did I let Volodka slip away?” played over and over in his mind like an old film that just wouldn’t stop.
In his youth, he had worked at a research institute alongside his wife, Zinaida. They lived modestly but happily. They raised their son, Matvey, with love—pouring all their heart and time into nurturing him—and grew a wonderful person. Matvey graduated with distinction from the economics institute. In the tumultuous ’90s, when money was scarce and life was hard, Semyon Markovich ventured into business. His son, though young, helped with everything: protecting them from extortion and surviving the default. Gradually, the business expanded, evolving into a powerful network.
Certainly, such a scale demanded enormous effort, good health, and nerves of steel. Meanwhile, his son got married, and a grandson was born. They named him Vladimir. The businessman rejoiced—now he could hand over the business to his son and finally relax.
But fate had other plans. A cursed accident shattered his dreams. His son and daughter-in-law died on the spot, despite all the doctors’ efforts. The culprit— a young, drunken daredevil—received a long prison sentence; Semyon Markovich had seen to that personally. But what was the point? His son could never be brought back.
Three-year-old Volodka was left an orphan. Had it not been for his grandson, the businessman might have broken under the weight of his grief. And Zinaida cried incessantly, as if her heart were being torn apart. She mourned her only son—her pillar and hope.
A month after the funeral, Semyon sternly said to his wife:
“Stop crying! Now we need to raise the grandson!”
Zinaida, immersing herself in caring for the child, gradually began to thaw. She loved Volodya with boundless, blind devotion and spoiled him without measure. The boy was allowed everything: he commanded, he demanded, and every whim was immediately fulfilled.
Meanwhile, Semyon Markovich threw himself completely into the business. The capital needed strengthening, so he appeared at home rarely. He arrived late, collapsing into bed, utterly exhausted. In the rare moments of family time, he lavished his grandson with expensive gifts, trying to make up for his lack of attention.
Thus, Volodya grew up to be a brazen, self-satisfied, insolent rich kid. From childhood he understood that grandpa was always busy, while grandma would grant any wish if you played on her pity. The phrase “I’m an orphan, after all” worked like magic on Zina, rendering her blind and deaf to his misbehaviors.
Vova studied terribly, rudely treated his teachers, and bullied his classmates. Since his school was private and his grandfather a benefactor, everything went unpunished.
In university, the same story repeated: he was formally enrolled as a student, yet he spent his nights at discos and returned home at dawn in a barely coherent state—often falling asleep right in his clothes.
Zina tried to admonish her grandson:
“Volodya, go have breakfast. We need to have a serious talk. How long are you going to behave this way? I’ll tell your grandfather! Your father was completely different—studying excellently, building a career…” “Granny, what breakfast? Don’t nag! And don’t scare me with grandpa—he’ll just grumble and forget. Who cares about studying anyway? It’s all boring!” the boy retorted dismissively.
Time passed, and Zina grew increasingly ill. She could no longer bear to watch her beloved grandson ruin his life. Last year, she passed away. Semyon Markovich withdrew into himself, abandoned his business, and for a time completely forgot about his grandson, deeply grieving the loss of his wife. When he finally came to his senses, he realized he had irrevocably lost Volodya. The boy had become aggressive, cruel, and insolent. And now, this nightmare had come to pass!
The man devised a plan. He directed the security in detail and entered the ward. Volodka lay on a cot—no visible fractures, only a few abrasions and bruises.
“Hello there, grandson,” Semyon Markovich began.
“Hi, grandpa. Don’t scold me. The car is dented, but it wasn’t my fault… And one more thing,” he said, gesturing with handcuffed wrists, “You’ll take care of everything, right? Really?”
“Of course, don’t worry. It’s already settled. Get dressed and into the car,” he ordered. “Do not remove the handcuffs!” he added for the security, and he left.
“Hey, grandpa, what have you planned?” the boy wondered in perplexity.
If only he had known what awaited him… The car rattled along dusty, bumpy roads for a long eight hours. Volodya grew hysterical and protested:
“Where are you taking me? Grandpa, what nonsense is this? What kind of game?” he shouted.
“This isn’t a game, it’s work therapy! Soon you’ll understand everything yourself!” bellowed Semyon Markovich.
The boy immediately fell silent. “Better not anger grandpa now,” he thought, and even dozed off.
“Wake up, Volodya, we’ve arrived,” the businessman smirked.
Volodya rubbed his eyes, completely bewildered. Before him stretched a remote village with a slanted hut, without a fence or any sign of civilization. What were they doing here?
“Here’s the deal, dear grandson. Listen carefully. Since you consider yourself mature enough to drink, party, wreck cars, and fight with the police—all on my money, mind you—then be prepared for independent living! This is now your home. In the basement, you’ll find a week’s supply of food—nothing fancy, just the essentials. Here’s a little money for bread, also for a week. Beyond that, you must fend for yourself! I no longer intend to sponsor you. You are an adult now. Don’t look for me. If you try to come back—you’ll go straight to prison. The case against you is still open, and I will personally ensure it goes to trial.”
As he got back into the car, Semyon Markovich waved to the security. The bodyguards removed the handcuffs from Volodya and left, trailing a cloud of dust…
Volodya was in shock! He refused to believe what was happening. He spent the first night fully dressed on an old, dusty, dilapidated couch. Deep down, he was convinced that it was all just a joke—that his grandfather had decided to teach him a lesson and would definitely return in the morning. How could it be? Could he really abandon his beloved grandson in this backwater?
The next day, closer to noon, the boy began to realize that grandpa was not coming for him. He had intended to call Semyon Markovich and plead, as he always did, but discovered that in this godforsaken village not even a network signal could be found.
Anger overwhelmed him: “Oh really? So what! I’ll manage on my own! After all, in a week they’ll come and take me back—they never really go anywhere anyway!” the young man fumed.
But hunger brooks no delay. For the first time in his life, Volodya had to take charge of the household. Living in the filthy hut became unbearable. Dust was everywhere, cobwebs clung to every corner, and even the floors cried out for a wash. Unaccustomed hands grabbed a bucket, a broom, and attended to the well. In one day, he exhausted himself to the point of collapsing into sleep on that old couch, which now felt as soft as a feather bed.
Two weeks passed, and there was still no sign of Semyon Markovich. The money for bread had run out; supplies were nearly gone. Panic set in. He fashioned a primitive fishing rod, dug up worms from the yard, and headed to the local pond for fishing. Not far away, a local resident was fishing from a boat. After thoroughly laughing at Volodya’s clumsy attempts to catch anything, the man took pity on him and offered help. And so they met. The fisherman’s name was Grigory; he worked at a farm in a neighboring settlement and fished at the pond purely for pleasure.
Thus began the working days of the young cattleman. At first, the boy was angry, exhausted to the point of collapse—his hands became calloused, and the stench of the cowshed made him nauseous. But seeing how deftly and briskly Grigory and the other men worked, he began to feel ashamed of his whining and complaining.
Interacting with ordinary people, working under the blazing sun with sweat and exhaustion—it all gradually opened Volodya’s eyes. He began to understand how hard-earned every penny was and how much it should be valued.
Finally, on a day off, a luxurious foreign car pulled up to the house. Without a moment’s wait, Volodya leaped onto the porch as he was, exclaiming:
“Hooray, finally! Grandpa has arrived!” he rejoiced.
But to his surprise, out of the car stepped his grandfather’s attorney, who delivered a shocking message:
“Please accept my condolences, Vladimir. Your grandfather, Semyon Markovich, has passed away. I have brought his will for you to review.”
With trembling hands, Volodya took the document and read it three times before grasping its meaning. His grandfather had bequeathed his entire capital and property to orphanages and shelters. And not one word about him, Volodya, was mentioned in the will!
The attorney drove away, and the boy stood on the porch as if rooted to the spot, completely stunned. Then, almost automatically, he grabbed a towel and trudged to the pond to freshen up and clear his head. One thought dominated his mind: “Grandfather… How could this be? And now I’m penniless… I have nothing except this dilapidated hut! Well done, grandpa! What a lesson he has taught me!” he lamented silently.
Suddenly, a desperate cry erupted from the middle of the pond, shaking him out of his stupor. Someone was thrashing in the water, calling for help! Without a moment’s hesitation, Volodya plunged into the water and, with enormous effort, pulled a girl onto the shore. By then, she had stopped breathing. The boy frantically tried to recall the first aid skills he had once learned at school. Summoning all his courage, he began to act, even as hope seemed nearly lost. Finally, the girl started coughing and gradually came to. Volodya collapsed onto the grass in relief: “Thank God! You’re awake!”
The stranger slowly regained consciousness; she was shivering from chills despite the summer heat. Volodya lifted her, wrapped her in a towel, and asked:
“Tell me, where do you live, drowning woman?”
The girl barely moved her lips:
“Chairman’s house… I’m his daughter… My name is Tanya…” and then she closed her eyes again.
Without wasting a second, Vova ran through the village carrying Tanya in his arms, even though the house was a good distance away. With his last reserves of strength, he pounded on a window and the gate. The dog in the yard barked loudly, and within a minute the chairman himself appeared at the doorstep.
“My God, my daughter! Tanya! What happened?” the man cried out.
“Take back your drowning girl. I barely managed to pull her out—I thought I wouldn’t save her,” the boy exhaled as he handed the girl over to her father.
“Oh, my silly one! What were you thinking! It’s all my fault, I old fool! Thank you, young man, I shall never forget this. Come in, get some rest; you can hardly stand on your feet yourself,” commanded the chairman.
Tanya was laid on a bed. Her mother bustled about her bedside and an orderly was called. Fortunately, everything turned out fine—it was just a severe shock and hypothermia. After a sedative injection, the girl fell asleep.
In the kitchen, Volodya and the chairman drank cold kvass and talked. The man explained:
“You see, I had found a husband for Tanya—a wealthy one; the arrangements had even been made. But she was against it, crying and begging not to be married off. I insisted, and that’s what drove her to attempt drowning herself. Forgive me, you old fool! And who are you? I hardly recognize you—are you new to the village?”
Volodya did not evade the question and honestly told the chairman his story. It felt good to unburden himself at last and ask someone for advice on how to proceed.
“Oh, you’ve really stirred up trouble, kid!” the man said.
“You know what? You’re not so bad. You did something good by saving my daughter. I’ll help you out. Come work for me as a driver. I’ll issue you a pay stub—you’ll fix up the hut. See, you won’t go astray if you leave that bitter life behind,” suggested the chairman.
“Agreed!” Volodya rejoiced.
Life gradually improved. The young man proved to have golden hands: he moved the stove in the house, built a new fence, and repaired the bathhouse. He and Tanya became friends. Long evening walks and chats became a true pleasure for him. He admired her slender figure, her red curls, and her grace. Volodya marveled that he had once been attracted to those shallow city girls.
It turned out that life in the countryside was not nearly as bad as it had initially seemed. Especially in the evenings, when the fog would rise, the air filled with the fragrances of herbs, and the cicadas filled the silence with their trills. Gradually, the young people grew closer and fell in love. Tanya’s father was delighted—he saw his daughter was happy and that Volodya truly cared for her.
As winter approached, Volodya was chopping wood in the yard when the dog, Bim, began barking loudly. “Who could that be?” the boy wondered.
He froze when his grandpa stepped out of the car! Rushing over, Volodya embraced him so tightly that it seemed as if he might break him, barely holding back tears:
“Grandpa! My dear! You’re alive? I’m so glad!”
Semyon Markovich was astonished by the changes. The hut was in perfect condition, everything was in order. The grandson had matured, grown more handsome, and become a true man—there was no trace left of the once spoiled rich kid.
“Forgive me, grandson, for deceiving you. I’m alive! I just didn’t know any other way to set your mind straight. I couldn’t stand it—I missed you so much that I decided to come visit!” the businessman admitted, moved to tears.
“Come in, grandpa. I’ll get some tea. Are you hungry? I have delicious meat and excellent cabbage soup!”
“Well, well! You’ve even learned to cook?” marveled grandpa.
“You know, grandpa, thank you! I’ve learned so much here!”
“Well then, shall we go home? Now that the lesson has worked out, right?” suggested the millionaire.
“Honestly, grandpa, I don’t want to. I’ve fallen in love with a girl, Tanya, and I want to get married. I’m happy with my job. I like it here. The city isn’t for me—there’s hustle, malice, and everything feels so fake. Come visit us for the wedding, and anytime really. I’ll always be glad to see you! We can steam in the sauna, go fishing. And money… when you earn it yourself, you truly begin to value it.”
“Finally, I’m hearing the words of a real man. I’m proud of you, Volodya. And I respect your decision. Now even death isn’t frightening!”
Grandpa and grandson embraced and talked for a long time about everything in the world.