In the middle of the night the telephone rang sharply. Anna flinched and, fighting off anxiety, grabbed the receiver. She had always had a panicky fear of late‑night calls from unfamiliar numbers. It had happened to her only twice before—when her mother died and when her husband was killed in a car crash.
— Anna Sergeyevna? — an unfamiliar voice asked.
Her mind screamed, “Say they have the wrong number, hang up, go back to sleep,” but her lips, against her will, replied:
— Yes, I’m listening.
A chill ran down her back, and her palms instantly turned sweaty.
— Anna Sergeyevna, forgive the intrusion—I don’t know your full patronymic. Maria Petrovna Sokolova has been brought to our hospital, and she asked us to tell you.
A ringing filled Anna’s ears. Maria Petrovna was her mother‑in‑law, the only close person left after all her losses.
— What happened? Where is she? I’m coming right now! — Anna blurted.
— Please try to stay calm. She’s in cardiology; she had a heart attack. She’s in intensive care now—visitors aren’t allowed. The situation is under control, serious but stable. Come in the morning or call back in a couple of hours. Everything will be fine; don’t worry so much.
The line went dead, but Anna couldn’t pull herself together. How was this possible? Maria Petrovna had always seemed the embodiment of strength. It was she who had supported Anna after Pavel’s death, though logically it should have been the other way around. And now—a heart attack… She had never once complained about her health. What could have triggered it?
Anna wiped her tears and resolutely got out of bed. Sleep was out of the question now. There would be a duty doctor at the hospital who could give her details, and her mother‑in‑law might need something—water, clothes.
She packed feverishly, picturing Maria Petrovna’s country house where the older woman spent most of each year. Anna loved visiting her there: neat vegetable beds, immaculate flower borders, fruit you could pick straight from the branch that always tasted amazing.
At the admissions desk the duty nurse looked at Anna with disapproval.
— I was sure you’d come anyway. I told you clearly: the patient is in intensive care, and you won’t be let in.
— Then let me speak to the doctor, please, — Anna insisted.
— Doctors make rounds in the daytime.
Anna stubbornly dropped into a chair.
— I’m not leaving till I talk to a doctor. And she might need something.
The nurse shook her head.
— She doesn’t need anything now. Well, except… When they brought her in she kept mumbling, half‑delirious, that she hadn’t watered her tomatoes and they’d die. — After a pause she added, — Wait here. I’ll ask the doctor if he can speak with you.
The doctor came but offered little new information. The nurse had explained everything correctly: nothing was needed today or tomorrow. In a few days Anna could call the ward desk; they would advise her then.
Anna looked at him through tears.
— Doctor…
— Please don’t worry so much, — he soothed. — She’s a strong woman. I think she’ll pull through. Something must have shaken her badly, all at once, and her heart couldn’t stand it.
Leaving the hospital, Anna mulled over the nurse’s words. Her mother‑in‑law had been worried about her vegetable garden—so Anna would go to the dacha and set things right. She’d take a few days’ leave and look after the property.
“Should have thought of it earlier,” she scolded herself on the way home. “Was it really that hard to help an elderly woman?”
How could she have acted otherwise? Maria Petrovna wasn’t a stranger. Their relations had always been warm. She had loved her son dearly and welcomed Anna immediately, and Anna…
Pavel and his mother had been extraordinarily close, joking and laughing like friends. When Maria Petrovna once came down with pneumonia, Pavel dropped everything and kept vigil at her bedside till the doctors said the danger had passed. And his mother, for her part, panicked if he failed to answer the phone once—though, for all her love, she was never intrusive.
Morning traffic had already started by the time Anna finally packed a bag. She sighed with relief and reached for the phone—to call her boss, then head out. The drive to the settlement was about half an hour. She had a car—Pavel had bought it shortly before the accident—but after his death she hadn’t once managed to sit behind the wheel.
The country house greeted her silently, almost mournfully. Anna smiled at it as if it were alive: “Don’t worry, everything will be fine.” As always, everything was in perfect order. She walked the yard—no weeds, flowers blooming. She would water the potted plants now—they needed it twice a day—and do the rest toward evening when the sun was gentler. That was how her mother‑in‑law had taught her.
— Anya, is that you?
She turned. The next‑door neighbour was hurrying over.
— Yes, hello.
— Hi, Anya. What happened to Masha? I went to town for groceries that day, came back—and she’d already been taken away.
— A heart attack. She’s in intensive care. But the doctor says she’ll be fine—some sort of stress triggered it.
— What stress? It’s always quiet here.
— Who called the ambulance? — Anna asked.
— I don’t know. I thought you’d know. People scatter around this time—pension day was just before.
Anna sighed. Seemed she wouldn’t find out what had really happened. She unpacked—she meant to stay a week—and went out to water the flowers. When Maria Petrovna felt better, she would be pleased.
The house had once been very different. Maria Petrovna had been born there, lived there as a child. Later the family moved to town and the place stood empty for years. When Pavel grew up, they completely rebuilt it: small now, but modern and cosy.
Anna filled a bucket, remembering to draw warm water for the flowers. After watering she headed to the well to refill. She had barely bent over the bucket when she heard a man’s voice:
— Need a hand?
She straightened quickly. Turning, she felt the world go dark: Pavel was standing there.
— What’s wrong? Come on, wake up!
Anna opened her eyes. A stranger leaned over her, worry in his face.
— Odd folk round here, — he muttered. — I show up and people faint. Should I call a doctor?
Now she saw clearly: it wasn’t her husband. Different eyes, the crooked tooth Pavel had was missing. Minor details… A double—astonishingly alike.
— Who are you? Why do you look so much like Pavel?
— Like Pavel? — he echoed. — Interesting… Let me help you up.
Anna brushed herself off.
— Who are you? I’ve never seen you here. Did you make Maria Petrovna ill?
— I’m afraid so, — he nodded. — I didn’t even know her name. I never thought she’d react like that; I only wanted to learn something. Now I see I’ve come to the right place.
She pointed to the house.
— Come inside—if the neighbours spot you, they might collapse too.
— Do I really resemble someone that much? — he asked. — Probably the man I’m looking for. Why does everyone react like this?
— You look like my husband, Maria Petrovna’s son. He died two years ago.
He froze.
— Dead? That can’t be… I hoped to meet him.
Inside, Anna silently brewed tea for both of them and sat at the table.
— If you don’t explain right now, I’ll go mad.
He sighed.
— I found out only recently. I started digging, combing archives. I can tell you what I know. I’d hoped to clarify things here, but now… Your mother‑in‑law can’t be questioned yet.
— We’ll talk to her later. Tell me.
— When I turned twenty‑seven, my mother finally took to her bed. Everyone knew it was the end. Just before dying she confessed I wasn’t her biological son. Twenty‑seven years earlier she’d been taken to a maternity hospital along with another village woman, and a very young girl pregnant with twins. My mother and that woman were admitted together; both pregnancies were critical. No one counted on a happy outcome.
It went as feared: neither that woman nor my mother bore healthy children. My mother survived; the other woman barely did. Each had a boy, but both babies died. Then, a day later, a girl with twin boys entered their ward, weeping, begging them to take her sons—she was alone, the father had vanished, she had no family.
Somehow they arranged it: my mother and that woman left the hospital with babies, and no one suspected. The girl received certificates saying her twins had died. That’s it.
Mother remembered only the name of the woman’s village—there are three with that name in the region. Yours is the third. It seems I’ve finally found the right place.
Anna’s face had gone white.
— Did Maria Petrovna know?
He shrugged.
— Mother never got to say.
— I didn’t want to frighten her, just ask around, — he added.
— I see, — Anna nodded. — A lot makes sense now. But what next? My mother‑in‑law’s in serious condition. I don’t know how to bring this up.
— Then we wait. If she remembers me, we’ll see. If not, I’ll go. I only wanted to meet my brother.
— And your birth mother? Don’t you want to find her?
He shook his head.
— No.
— You’re wrong, — Anna said softly. — She must have had her reasons. She didn’t just abandon you; she made sure you’d have a normal life.
That night the phone rang again. Anna snatched it up. “Please, nothing else,” she thought.
— Hello?
— Anya dear, it’s Maria Petrovna. How are you?
— How do you feel?
— I’m not supposed to talk, but I begged the nurse. Anya, you need to go back to the dacha. Pavel’s brother is there—don’t let him leave. I’ll explain everything.
— We’ve already met. He’ll wait for you.
Her mother‑in‑law calmed immediately.
— Good, that’s right. I must tell him about his mother. Forgive me for my silence.
— Did Pavel know?
— No, he always believed we were his real parents. And so we were.
Two weeks later, Maria Petrovna was discharged. Mikhail—that was Pavel’s brother—came with Anna to meet her. She hugged him as if he were her own son. They went to the cemetery.
They halted at Pavel’s grave.
— I asked to have him buried here because next to him… — Maria Petrovna stepped aside. — Here lies your mother.
Mikhail crossed the railings.
— I helped her as best I could, — Maria Petrovna whispered. — Natasha fought for seven years, then gave up. She was good, just desperately unhappy; misfortunes hounded her. Don’t judge her. She truly couldn’t have managed. You three would have perished. She came to see me a few times when Pavlushka was little—said she’d seen you, but your adoptive mother asked her not to appear again. Natasha never found happiness; guilt ate her alive.
They stayed long at the cemetery while Maria Petrovna spoke and Anna and Mikhail listened.
That evening they returned to the dacha. Maria Petrovna studied her guest.
— Misha, please don’t disappear.
— What do you mean? — he smiled. — I’ve already been thinking of moving here for good.
A year later Maria Petrovna called Anna and eyed her seriously.
— Anya, do you think I don’t notice what’s going on?
Anna burst into tears.
— Forgive me… I never imagined this would happen.
— What is there to forgive? — her mother‑in‑law said gently. — On the contrary, it’s time to stop hiding. You two should make it official.
Anna looked at her in surprise.
— You don’t mind?
— No, I welcome it. I hope you’ll both stay near me. Forgive my old‑woman’s selfishness.
And another year later their little Veronica was born.