Gennady was born in a tiny village and had only visited a big city once in his life. It happened when their class was taken on a field trip to a museum. It was then that the noise of the streets, the endless flow of cars, and the majestic buildings struck a chord in his soul. From that day on, he was determined: one day, he would definitely live in this urban whirlwind.
Village life seemed boring and hopeless to him. There were no prospects, no way to earn decent money. Almost all the villagers commuted to work in the district center—some on old buses, some on bicycles, regardless of the weather. Gena often watched them and thought, “Anything but this kind of life for me.”
The dream of moving to the city had been with him since adolescence. He did average in school, knowing that university wasn’t for him. Sometimes laziness took over, and he wouldn’t do his homework, but he comforted himself: “It’s okay, you can make it without a degree.”
After graduation, most of his friends left: some went to university, others went to the army. Those who stayed in the village worked on local farms—there were no other options. Gennady wasn’t drafted into the army due to problems with his bones. He wasn’t particularly upset about it; in fact, he was glad: now he had more chances to break free from the cycle.
His father, Nikolai Vasilievich, worked as a tractor driver, and his mother treated animals in the village. Their salaries were tiny, but no one complained—it was considered that they were doing well. His father lived by a strict schedule: hard work all week, and on weekends—couch, TV, and cheap beer. His mother worked tirelessly: during the day on the farm, in the evenings making house calls to sick animals in the area. They never dreamed of moving to the city, and why should they? They were content with their life.
When Gennady spoke of moving, his parents couldn’t understand his ambition. They tried to persuade him:
“Listen, Genka, go to veterinary school, like your mother,” his father said. “You’ll be nearby, at home. Who’s waiting for you in the city?”
But the young man was adamant. Since the age of fourteen, he knew for sure: if he stayed there, he would lose his life.
With bitterness in their voices, his parents eventually gave in. They gathered some money to help him get started and sent him on his way.
“Take care, son,” his father advised. “Just don’t embarrass us there.”
“It’ll be fine, dad,” Gennady answered confidently, feeling hope pulse in his chest.
After moving to the city, Gena got a job at a leather factory. His salary was fine for a start, especially since he had no education or experience. He worked honestly, the shifts were tough, and often after work, he would fall asleep on the bus, even while it was moving. His friends would usually wake him up so he wouldn’t miss his stop.
But that evening, things went differently. Gena was held up with overtime, and he was on the bus home late, half-asleep. No one familiar was around. As the bus passed his stop, a girl who often rode the same route couldn’t help but notice. She approached and gently tapped him on the shoulder:
“Hey, you’re going to miss your stop!” she smiled.
Gena opened his eyes in surprise. The girl seemed familiar—she had noticed him before and knew where he usually got off.
They started talking. Her name was Svetlana. There seemed to be an instant spark between them. Gennady thought, “If only the bus never stopped, I’d ride with her all night…”
He decided not to get off immediately and continued riding with her to her stop. It wasn’t far, and along the way, they chatted about everything under the sun. Svetlana told him she grew up in an orphanage and now worked as a seamstress at a factory near the leather factory.
Gena listened, mesmerized. It felt like they had known each other forever. Svetlana was light-hearted, cheerful, and open—and that was what captivated him the most.
At parting, they agreed to meet again.
This meeting led to another, and then another—and soon they couldn’t imagine life without each other. They decided not to wait long to get married: six months after meeting, they were wed.
Their wedding was filled with warmth: friends rejoiced for the newlyweds, and Gennady’s parents, who had come from the village, proudly looked at their daughter-in-law.
“Well, well,” the guests whispered, “they really complement each other!”
A year and a half later, a daughter, little Marianna, was born. She was a lively and joyful child, just like her mother.
Svetlana adored the baby, but her health began to deteriorate. The stomach pains became more frequent, but she postponed going to the doctor.
“Svet, please, get checked out properly,” Gennady urged her. “This is serious!”
“It’s just ordinary gastritis, don’t worry,” she waved him off. “A couple of pills, and it’ll pass.”
But the medicine helped less and less. One morning, Svetlana felt unwell and dizzy. She attributed it to exhaustion and continued with her housework.
By noon, she was much worse. Concerned, Gennady called an ambulance. On the way to the hospital, Svetlana lost consciousness and fell into a coma. They immediately transferred her to intensive care.
The doctors tried to keep up hope:
“Everything will be fine, hang in there!” they said, but there was uncertainty in their voices.
The next morning, Gennady received the devastating news:
“We’re sorry… We did everything we could. Your wife passed away half an hour ago…”
Medicine was powerless.
Gennady couldn’t hold back his tears. He sat on the edge of the old couch, covering his face with his hands, wondering how to tell his little Marianna that she had lost her mother. It had been only half an hour since the loss. Gennady was devastated, barely sleeping at night, but he knew: for his daughter, he had to be strong.
Bringing his wife back was impossible, but raising his child became his main task. Gennady gathered all his will and began living for one person—Marianna. She became his reason for living. The young widower didn’t allow himself to sink into despair: he got a job at the factory and tried to take every possible overtime shift. Over time, he was noticed, and his name appeared on the list of the best employees.
Work became his salvation. By immersing himself in it, he tried to drown out the pain. Someone else might have given up by now, but Gennady couldn’t even tolerate the smell of alcohol. He channeled all his inner pain into the desire to be strong for his daughter.
One morning, in a crowded bus, on his way to work, a skinny boy about ten years old timidly approached him. The boy fidgeted, twisting the hem of his t-shirt, hesitant to speak. Finally, he gathered courage:
“Uncle, please… Can you give me 50 rubles? I’m ashamed to ask… But I’m really hungry… And there’s nothing at home—my parents drank everything away…”
Gennady looked sadly at the pale boy. Without hesitation, he took out almost all his money, then rummaged through his bag and handed the boy a bun left from lunch.
“Here, take it, little one. Eat,” he said softly.
The boy, trembling with emotion, whispered:
“Thank you… I promise I’ll return the money… I swear…”
Gennady smiled, waved his hand as if to say, “No need,” and got off at his stop. He had no idea that at that moment, in the boy’s heart, a strong vow was born: to find this kind man and repay him.
Ten years passed. Life continued its course: Gennady never remarried. All his energy went into raising Marianna. She grew into a beautiful girl—slim, with long hair and kind eyes. Her father was proud of her. At the factory, his hard work didn’t go unnoticed: his salary increased, and one day he bought Marianna a bicycle.
They spent their free time together. Gennady taught Marianna how to ride, they laughed, fell into the grass, and got up again. Everything was going well, until one day, while trying to catch up with her classmates, Marianna lost control and was hit by a car. The girl survived, but the serious spinal injuries left her unable to walk.
Gennady was devastated. The doctors gave a tiny bit of hope, mentioning clinics abroad where innovative treatments were being used, but the cost of the surgeries was enormous. Even with a good salary, Gennady didn’t have that kind of money.
He stayed strong for his daughter—stroking her hair, assuring her:
“Everything will be fine, my dear. I promise.”
A month later, Marianna was released from the hospital. She tried to adjust to her new reality, learning to use a wheelchair and relearning how to live in a world where everything familiar became inaccessible.
Years passed. Gennady worked tirelessly, desperately saving money for the surgery. Meanwhile, Marianna transformed into a young beauty: blonde hair, a gentle smile, deep eyes. Passersby would turn to look and sigh, “How could this happen? Such a beauty, and bound to a wheelchair…”
Gradually, despair began to erode Gennady. He smiled less and less, sinking into gloom. And then one day, when it seemed that no help was forthcoming, there was a knock at their door.
A young man, about thirty, dressed in fashionable clothes, stood on the doorstep. He smiled:
“Hello. You might not remember me…”
Gennady frowned, staring closely at the stranger’s face. No, he had definitely never seen this person before.
Then the young man took out several bills from his pocket and handed them to Gennady. Gennady counted the money mechanically—exactly 50 rubles. And then it hit him: this was the same boy! The one to whom he had once given his last money and a bun!
Gennady, startled, opened the door wider:
“Come in… Come on in…”
The young man stepped inside and immediately noticed Marianna in her wheelchair, trying to pour herself some tea. Seeing her clumsy movements, he quickly rushed to help her.
Their eyes met. Marianna’s pure, deep eyes touched him deeply. Artem—this was the guest’s name—felt as if the ground had been pulled from under his feet. He had come to return a debt… but found something much greater.
Over the years, Artem had achieved much: he became a successful businessman, having made it on his own without anyone’s help. And all this time, he had kept the memory of the man who had once simply extended a helping hand to him.
He tracked down Gennady through the factory management, found his address, and came. When he heard about Marianna’s tragedy, he didn’t hesitate for a second: he decided to help at any cost.
“You did more for me than anyone else,” Artem told Gennady. “Now it’s my turn.”
Artem paid for Marianna’s treatment and rehabilitation in full. The father couldn’t hold back his tears. He couldn’t have imagined that the kindness he had shown two decades ago would come back as such an incredible gift.
The surgery was a success. A month later, Marianna took her first steps on her own. Gennady stood nearby, crying like a child.
Artem visited them often. He helped Marianna with her studies, brought her medicine, and arranged outings. Slowly, the girl began to notice that her heart was drawn to this caring man. She fell in love. And Artem, it turned out, had carried this love within him since the very first day they met.
When Marianna regained her strength, Artem invited her on their first date—he arranged a cozy picnic under the open sky, with a blanket, flowers, and a heartfelt confession:
“I love you,” he said, taking her hand.
Marianna was taken aback, but her face lit up with a happy smile. They were made for each other.
Six months later, Artem proposed, and Marianna gladly accepted. Gennady couldn’t hide his happiness, playfully encouraging the young couple to think about grandchildren.
At the noisy, joyful wedding, the father of the bride met Artem’s cousin, Anastasia—a lively, cheerful woman who flirted with him all evening. It seemed that love was spinning heads in this house, not just for the young couple but also for those who had long forgotten how to dream.