Alyona, my dear, help me…” — Maria Nikitichna’s voice trembled as she crossed the threshold of the house, tightly holding two small bundles to her chest.
Alyona froze by the sink, the half-washed plate still in her hand.
Outside, the rain poured, and the dog hesitated to come inside, huddling by the wall and howling. All morning, Alyona had been haunted by a strange feeling — as if the air had turned dense, unreal.
“What happened?” she asked, stepping closer. Her mother-in-law’s face was wet with tears.
“Here,” Maria Nikitichna unfolded the first blanket, and Alyona saw the face of the baby, which scrunched up and let out a faint squeak. “There are two of them. A sister and a brother. They were found in an old well…”
Alyona felt the ground slip away from under her feet. She carefully took the child from her mother-in-law’s arms. The baby was dirty, cold, but alive. His eyes — huge, dark — stared straight into her soul.
“In the well? Where there’s nothing left but mold and moss?”
“Yes. We pulled them out with Petrovich. I was passing by, and Sharik started acting strangely — pulling towards the well, barking as if he had gone mad. I came closer — I heard crying. We barely managed to pull them out… Someone abandoned them and disappeared. No one in the village has lost their children, so they must be strangers.”
Alyona pressed the baby to her chest. His heartbeat echoed next to hers.
For five years, she and Stepan had hoped. Five years passed in attempts, tests, and disappointments. The nursery remained empty — toys, cribs, but no cries of a child.
“And the second one?” Alyona asked, still unable to tear her gaze from the first child.
“A girl. So tiny,” Maria Nikitichna carefully unfolded the second blanket. “It seems they were lost together — they must be twins.”
The front door creaked. Stepan stood on the threshold — tall, drenched to the bone.
“What’s going on?” he stopped, staring at his wife with the baby in her arms.
Maria Nikitichna quickly told her son about the discovery. He listened in silence, then walked up to Alyona, gently touching the baby’s cheek.
“How could anyone do this?” His voice was full of pain.
“The district officer will come tomorrow,” said his mother-in-law. “I’ve already reported it. I also called the medic. The babies need to be examined.”
Stepan carefully took the girl from his wife’s arms. She opened her eyes and looked at him so seriously that he froze for a moment.
“What will happen to them?” he asked, feeling something twist inside him.
Maria Nikitichna didn’t answer immediately:
“They’ll go to an orphanage if they can’t find the parents.”
Stepan looked at his wife, then at his mother. He placed his hand on Alyona’s shoulder and said one word:
“We’ll keep them.”
That word hung in the air — short, but full of meaning.
“We’ll keep them,” Alyona repeated, and for the first time in many years, something inside her warmed, as though old ice was beginning to melt.
The medic arrived an hour later. He examined both children: they were a year old, healthy, unharmed. They had miraculously survived in that abandoned well.
When the children fell asleep that night in their improvised bed, Stepan sat next to his wife.
“Do you really want this?” she asked softly.
“Yes,” he took her hand. “Tomorrow I’ll talk to the district officer. With the mother. With whoever is needed. We’ll arrange guardianship. This is our chance.”
“And what if the parents show up?”
“The ones who abandoned them in the dark? They won’t show up,” he replied confidently. “They’ve already lost them.”
Alyona rested her head on his shoulder. Outside, the rain had quieted down, leaving only a whisper. One of the babies stirred in her sleep, and she immediately got up to check.
They lay next to each other, pressed close — fragile, lost, now — hers. Something inside her seemed to awaken, something that hadn’t been there for many years. The warmth she had long been waiting for.
“What shall we name them?” Stepan whispered, looking at them.
Alyona smiled:
“Nadya and Kostya.”
Hope and Steadfastness. What fate had sent them at the most necessary moment.
Five years passed. Like spring — in a single breath. The farm had grown — new greenhouses, a cow shed, berry beds. And Nadya and Kostya had grown from tiny bundles into energetic, curious little ones.
“Mama, look!” Nadya ran into the kitchen, holding a drawing. “This is all of us — together!”
Alyona smiled as she looked at the colorful figures. Nadya — light-haired, with boundless energy, always moving. Kostya — thoughtful, always by his father’s side, loved watching him work in the workshop.
“Very beautiful,” Alyona kissed her daughter gently on the top of her head. “And where’s Kostya?”
“He’s gathering herbs with Grandma,” Nadya sat down at the table. “She says she knows every one by taste!”
Maria Nikitichna had become a true grandmother to the children — strict, but incredibly caring. When the children were sick, she stayed up all night. If they misbehaved, she scolded them, but always firmly, without shouting or tears.
The idyll was broken by a phone call. Alyona picked up the receiver and heard the voice of the neighbor:
“Alyona! Run to Maria Nikitichna! She’s feeling bad!”
Her heart froze. Alyona yelled for Nadya to stay at home and ran outside.
Maria was lying on the ground near the garden, with a frightened Kostya standing beside her.
“I called her, but she won’t answer… She’s not getting up…”
Alyona knelt beside her. Her mother-in-law’s face was pale, her lips were blue. A heart attack. It was clear right away. The ambulance was already on the way, but it was too late.
“Look after… them…” Maria whispered, squeezing her daughter-in-law’s hand. “They… they’ve always been yours…”
These words became her last.
The house darkened. Stepan became grim and silent. The children didn’t understand why Grandma was gone, but they felt the sorrow in the air. Nadya drew Grandma among the clouds, Kostya sat for hours with a book, saying nothing.
One day, Stepan sat at the kitchen table and said quietly:
“We’re leaving. We’ll sell everything. We’ll start over.”
“Have you thought about the children?” Alyona raised her voice for the first time in her life. “They need a home, order, stability now.”
“I need to leave here,” he didn’t finish, but his wife understood: the yard, where they had spent summers together, had become a reminder of what was no longer there.
He returned late, with the smell of cheap wine in his hair. Alyona barely recognized him — the kind, attentive husband who had once found the strength to accept someone else’s children. Now he seemed like a stranger.
When he yelled at night, the children hid. Alyona wondered for the first time: could the family survive this rift?
A knock at the door came early in the morning. Standing on the doorstep was a tall man with a suitcase in his hand — her father, whom she hadn’t seen for three years.
“Hello, daughter. The neighbor told me that you’re not doing well. I decided to come.”
Viktor Sergeevich, a former engineer, a widower, brought not only his suitcase but seemed to bring a new breath into the house. He moved into a small room, but his presence filled the house with warmth.
“Stepan, let’s redo the shed roof,” he suggested one morning, handing Stepan a cup of hot tea. “Can you help? My hands aren’t what they used to be.”
Stepan slowly nodded — even he was surprised at himself.
They worked side by side all day. His father told stories from his youth, and Stepan, like after a long winter, began to thaw a little. By evening, looking at the finished roof, he said:
“Thank you.”
“For what?” Viktor Sergeevich smiled. “For not pitying me.”
“Exactly for that,” Stepan replied, and something alive flickered in his eyes again.
With Alyona’s father, the house began to change too. Viktor helped the grandchildren with their studies, made toys, read to them before bed. A month passed — and Alyona noticed that her husband had started smiling again. One night, he hugged her and quietly said:
“Forgive me. I thought I had lost not only my mother but myself as well.”
Later, Viktor sold his apartment in the city and bought a plot nearby. “Not for me — for the grandchildren,” he simply said. Alyona got a goat, planted new trees, and began dreaming about expanding the farm.
September 1st. School bags, white bows, excitement in their eyes. Nadya squeezed her brother’s hand as if she wanted to share her joy. The teacher smiled:
“What wonderful twins! So alike.”
Alyona looked at the children, then at her husband and father, who were standing nearby. And suddenly, she understood: yes, they really were a family. Not perfect, but real.
“I’m not milking this goat anymore!” Kostya threw the bucket. “I’m fourteen, not forty!”
Alyona just sighed. Adolescence hit like a spring storm — sudden, unexpected. Her quiet, thoughtful son had turned into a sharp, rebellious teenager.
“Talk to me respectfully,” Stepan answered gently but firmly, coming out of the shed. “Take the bucket and continue working.”
“You take it!” Kostya snapped. “I don’t want to be a farmer all my life. I’m tired of it!”
He pointed at the farm — the well-kept beds, the new greenhouses, the apple orchard. What had once seemed to him a home, now felt like a burden.
“Nobody’s holding you here,” Alyona answered. “But this is where we live, and everyone has to contribute.”
“Can I build a moped?” he suddenly asked, pausing. “Petka Solovyov is already building his third.”
Stepan looked at his son — and remembered himself at that age.
“Talk to Grandpa. He’ll help.”
A few minutes later, Kostya’s voice came from the room:
— Grandpa, do you really think you can help me? I want to make my first engine!
— Of course, grandson, — answered Viktor Sergeevich, — we’ll start with something simple. But don’t say I didn’t warn you later.
Meanwhile, Nadya ran into the kitchen:
— Mom! Look what I’ve come up with! It’s a whole collection!
On the paper—bright sketches of dresses. Lines, colors, details. Alena smiled:
— Wonderful! Maybe we can make something for the holiday?
— I’ll make a whole collection! — Nadya was energized.
In the evening, the whole family gathered by the campfire. Viktor Sergeevich was grilling sausages on sticks he had carved himself. Stepan sat nearby, occasionally correcting his wife. Kostya was telling his grandfather about engines, while Nadya shared her new clothing ideas.
Silence, fire, night over the field. And in that moment, Alena suddenly realized: family is not blood, not place, and not the past. It’s the warmth they grew themselves. The warmth no one can take away.
— By the way, — Viktor added, biting into a sausage, — today I saw Kostya helping the Petrovs’ children cross the stream. He even carried the older one on his shoulders. He’s just like you, Stepan. Not in words, but in action.
Stepan smiled. His eyes were shining. Aloe had taken root in his heart.
Kostya, embarrassed, looked away:
— I just helped. They were scared, that’s all.
Stepan smiled and patted him on the shoulder:
— You’re a kind person. Just like your grandfather when he was young.
— Grandpa, tell us about your first motorcycle! — Nadya snuggled up to Viktor Sergeevich.
— Motorcycle? — The old man laughed. — It wasn’t a motorcycle, it was a pile of clanging metal! But I rode it so fast, even the wind was jealous…
He began telling the story, gesturing as if he were young again. Alena stared at the fire, thinking about how much their life had changed. The loss of Maria Nikitichna could have destroyed everything they had built together. But they had stood strong. They hadn’t broken.
Stepan sat down beside her and took her hand:
— What are you thinking about?
— About the kids, — she looked at the twins, who were laughing at another one of Grandpa’s jokes. — They don’t even know that they were found in a well.
— Maybe we’ll tell them one day? — he asked cautiously.
Alena shook her head:
— Why? So they think they were abandoned? So they search for people who never wanted to see them? No. They are ours. They were, they are, and they will be. They don’t need to know.
Kostya suddenly stood up and went into the house. A few minutes later, he came back with a wooden box in his hands.
— This is for you, — he said, a little embarrassed, handing the box to Stepan.
He turned the object in his hands:
— What is it?
— An automatic feeder for the chickens, — Kostya blushed slightly. — It turns on by itself in the morning. I made it with Grandpa so you wouldn’t have to get up at the crack of dawn.
Stepan was silent for a few seconds. Then he hugged his son:
— Thank you, son.
Nadya also jumped up:
— I have a gift too! — she handed a sheet of paper to her mother. — It’s a dress sketch for you. I’ll sew it for your birthday!
That night, while putting the children to bed, Alena felt, for the first time in a long while, the fullness of happiness. Her father peeked in through the door:
— Tomorrow I’ll bring a puppy. The Sidorovs are giving it away. Kostya asked for it for the farm, but I know — he just wants a dog.
— Thank you, Dad, — Alena hugged him. — For everything.
A week later, the twins were walking through the village, arguing lively about something. Nadya was gesturing, Kostya was shaking his head, but in his eyes was love. Anna Petrovna, their neighbor who had always fed them when they were children, watched them pass by:
— What a darling pair! They’re a perfect copy of their parents. Alenka was just as bright, and Kostya — all Stepan.
Alena heard these words from the porch and smiled. Everything really had fallen into place. What started on a cold night by an abandoned well had grown into a real family. Not related by blood, but related by heart.
Five years passed quickly. The twins were now nineteen.
— Mom, we’re home! — Nadya called out joyfully as the bus let them off at the familiar stop.
Kostya jumped down first, looking around the yard:
— Looks like Dad finally put together that drip irrigation system?
Nadya was already running toward the house, clutching a bag in her hands:
— Hurry up! They don’t know we came early!
Stepan stepped onto the porch, wiping his hands with a towel. When he saw the children, he paused for a moment, then opened his arms wide:
— Well, look at you! — he hugged Nadya, and then, to everyone’s surprise, firmly shook Kostya’s hand before pulling him into a strong embrace.
The sun cast golden light over the farm. A lot had changed in the past year: a new fence, a gazebo by the pond, solar panels on the barn. Life was moving forward.
— Where’s Grandpa? — Kostya asked, looking around.
Stepan’s face darkened. He exchanged a glance with his wife.
— Let’s go inside, — he said gently. — There’s news.
At the table, with cups of hot tea, the parents explained: Viktor Sergeevich had been in rehab for two months. After a stroke, he had gotten worse, but the doctors said he would recover. It would just take a long time.
— Why didn’t you say anything?! — Kostya exclaimed. — We would’ve come!
— You were busy with your studies, — Alena replied. — He asked us not to say anything. For him, your education was the most important thing.
— Tomorrow we’re going to see him, — Nadya decided.
— Tomorrow, we will, — Stepan nodded. — He’ll be happy to see you.
That evening, the twins settled on the roof of the barn — their favorite spot since childhood. Before them stretched the vast fields, bathed in the warm orange of the sunset.
— It feels strange to be home, — Nadya said. — Everything is like before, but it feels… different.
— Is it because of Grandpa? — Kostya asked.
— Partly because of him, — Nadya rested her head on his shoulder. — And also because now I understand how much I miss home when I’m in the city.
Kostya was silent. He felt the difference too. In the university, he was making plans, dreaming about technology, about a new life. But now, he sat there thinking only about how soon he could start helping Grandpa.
— You know, — he suddenly said, — in the dorm, my neighbor found out he was adopted when he was sixteen. It really shook him.
Nadya looked at him questioningly:
— What’s that got to do with this?
— I just thought… how would we feel about it if we’d known earlier?
— You mean… — Nadya froze. — Are you talking about that?
— Well, for example, have you ever noticed that there’s not a single picture where Mom’s pregnant with us? And our birth certificates were issued when we were almost a year and a half old…
Nadya lowered her eyes. She had never thought about it. But now, she noticed. And for the first time in her life, she felt something stir inside her.
Nadya was silent, her eyes wide, not taking them off her brother.
— I came across the documents by accident when I was helping Mom pack old papers before moving, — Kostya said. — But I didn’t ask her anything.
He simply understood: if they never talked about it, then it was for a reason.
— And how do you feel about it now? — Nadya asked softly.
— That we were very lucky, — he smiled gently. — Twice. First, that they found us. And second — that they turned out to be the right people. Could we ask for better parents?
Nadya leaned her shoulder against him:
— Maybe we should tell them we know?
— Why? — Kostya shook his head. — Some things are better left alone. Let them think we don’t suspect anything.
The next day, the whole family went to the hospital. Viktor Sergeevich was sitting by the window, thinner, more haggard, but still as alive inside. When he saw his grandchildren, he beamed:
— My inventors! You’ve come!
Kostya carefully shook his hand. Nadya hesitated at first, but then couldn’t resist and hugged Grandpa, burying her face on his shoulder. Trying to hide her tears, she blurted out:
— I won the faculty contest in my first year! They even gave me a certificate!
— That’s great news! — Grandpa looked at her proudly. — Keep it up!
— I’m studying programming, just like I planned, — Kostya added. — I even developed a prototype for a rehabilitation system. If you want, we can test it with you as the first user.
Grandpa laughed, though his voice was hoarse:
— Well, you two are still the jokers. Just like your mom when she was young.
When Alena and Stepan went out to discuss the discharge with the doctor, Kostya quietly said:
— Grandpa, did you know we’re not biological?
The old man looked at them for a long time — calm, penetrating.
— Of course, I knew. Are you just guessing or do you know for sure?
— We just want to understand… What should we do now? — Nadya replied.
Viktor Sergeevich took their hands:
— Do? Be grateful for your fate. And for the people who chose you. You may not be their blood, but you are their heart. That’s more important than anything.
The twins nodded. They felt lighter.
— Now tell me about city life, — Grandpa smiled. — I’m curious how young people live there these days.
A couple of weeks later, Viktor Sergeevich was discharged to go home. Kostya made him a training device with his own hands, and Nadya completely renovated his room: made it more accessible, chose soft furniture, and hung light curtains.
One evening, when the whole family had gathered on the veranda, Alena asked:
— Don’t you get bored here, after the city? Don’t you regret spending the summer on the farm?
Kostya and Nadya exchanged a look.
— Mom, I want to stay, — he said. — I can switch to remote learning. There’s a lot to do here: we need to automate the farm, and Grandpa needs care.
— And I’ll come every weekend, — Nadya added. — I have practice at the studio, but the bus takes two hours. I won’t be far.
Alena looked at the children in surprise:
— But you’re different now. City people. Why do you want this house?
Kostya slowly turned his gaze to the night sky, where the stars were shining, and said:
— Because here — are our roots. The real ones.
— And the deepest ones, — Nadya continued, looking at her mother. — Like water in an old well.
Alena involuntarily shivered. She heard something she hadn’t expected. But instead of fear, she felt warmth.
— Thank you, — she whispered, hugging both of them. — For everything.
That evening passed in silence. No one said anything else. They just sat together, united by something greater than familial bonds. Something that’s born not in blood, but in trust, care, and love.