Vanya woke up earlier than usual. The room was dark and cool, the cold draught coming from the window. He pulled the blanket up to his chin and closed his eyes for a moment, but sleep did not return.
Outside, it was November—gray and chilly. The streets of the village were deserted, and it seemed that nature itself was preparing for winter hibernation. The wind rustled dry leaves left from autumn along the road, and the sky hung low and heavy.
Vanya sighed and sat up in bed.
“It’s time to get up…”
The kitchen was quiet. Only the old floor clock ticked softly in the corner. Vanya glanced at the stove—the coals had died out overnight, and the house had grown cool.
He carefully peeked into his mother’s room. She lay in bed, covered with an old woolen blanket. Her face looked tired, and her cough did not stop even in sleep.
“Mom, how are you?” Vanya asked quietly so as not to wake his sister.
His mother opened her eyes and tried to smile.
“It’s okay, son… All is well.”
But Vanya saw that it was a lie. Her voice sounded weaker than usual, and sweat glistened on her forehead.
He sat on the edge of the bed and took her hand.
“Rest, mom. I’ll take care of everything.”
She sighed heavily and looked at her son.
“You’re in charge now.”
Vanya nodded. He had known for a long time that this would happen. When his mother fell ill, all the household chores fell on his shoulders.
“Don’t worry about yourself. The main thing is your sister and the house,” his mother added, stroking his head.
“I know,” Vanya replied quietly.
In the next room, Ksyusha slept. She was six years old and still believed in fairy tales. Her light hair scattered over the pillow, and she clutched an old plush bear in her hands.
Vanya quietly peeked into the room and smiled.
“Let her sleep some more…”
He returned to the kitchen and put on an old jacket that was already too small for him.
“I need to bring some firewood,” he thought.
Snow had not yet fallen, but the frost was already gripping the ground. Thin crusts of ice crunched underfoot, and his breath turned into white steam.
Vanya took an axe and headed to the woods behind the village. The cold penetrated to the bones, but he paid no attention to it.
“The main thing is not to get sick,” he whispered to himself.
The forest greeted him with silence.
There was almost no wind, only the old pines creaked under the light gusts. Vanya stopped and looked around. He knew this forest from childhood—every path, every tree.
He chose a small pine branch and began to chop it with the axe.
“This will be enough for a day or two,” he thought, gathering the branches into a bundle.
His fingers froze, and the axe seemed heavy. But Vanya continued to work. He knew that his mother and sister were waiting at home.
When the branches were gathered, he lifted the bundle and threw it over his shoulder.
“Now, home.”
On the way home, Vanya stopped for a moment and looked at the village. The houses stood in rows, each with a chimney from which gray smoke rose—a sign of life.
His house was the last on the street—small, wooden, with a leaning fence. But for Vanya, it was the dearest place in the world.
He approached the gate and paused for a moment to breathe in the frosty air.
“We will cope,” he whispered. “We must cope.”
Vanya opened the gate and entered the yard, feeling a bit older than yesterday.
The boy had even forgotten that today was his birthday.
In the morning, he got up earlier than usual. Wearing an old jacket and felt boots, he went out to the yard—to check if there was enough firewood in the shed. The air smelled of the first snow. The air was fresh, and everything around seemed quiet and calm.
“Oh, if only it would snow by the evening,” Vanya thought, wiping his nose with his sleeve.
There was little firewood left in the shed. He took the axe and went to the woods behind the village. There was much work to do, and no time to think about holidays.
When he returned home, his sister Ksyusha met him on the doorstep. She had already woken up and was trying to light the fire in the stove.
“Vanya, do you know what day it is today?” she asked with a smile.
“I know,” he replied shortly, stacking firewood near the stove.
Ksyusha came closer and looked into his face.
“Aren’t you happy?”
Vanya smiled at his sister, but the smile was sad.
“Happy, of course… Just a lot to do.”
He glanced at the stove, where the fire barely warmed, and felt his heart tighten. His mother was still sick, and there wasn’t even money for medicine, let alone a festive table.
Ksyusha frowned. She felt her brother was struggling but didn’t know how to help him.
“Maybe we’ll bake a cake after all?” she timidly suggested.
Vanya just shook his head:
“There’s no sugar. And only a little flour left.”
Ksyusha sighed and returned to the stove.
After breakfast, Vanya went out into the yard.
He walked around the shed, checked the fence, and looked into the chicken coop. Everything was in order. But anxiety did not leave him.
“We need to hold on,” he said quietly to himself, closing the shed door. “I’m in charge now.”
Returning to the house, he suddenly noticed something strange at the gate.
“A basket?”
Vanya approached. A large woven basket stood right on the snow. Inside were potatoes, flour, sugar. And on top—a neatly wrapped cake with cream roses.
The boy froze in place, not believing his eyes.
“Who brought this?” he murmured, looking around.
At that moment, he noticed the neighbor, grandma Lyuda, standing at the fence and waving to him.
“Happy birthday, Vanechka!”
Vanya froze, then stepped to the fence.
“Was it you?”
“We all in the village decided to help you,” grandma Lyuda smiled. “We know times are hard for you. So we thought: let’s make the birthday joyful.”
Vanya didn’t know what to say.
“But… I…”
“Don’t be shy, Vanechka,” grandma gently said. “You’re a good boy, taking care of your mom and sister. Now it’s time for us to take care of you.”
Tears pricked Vanya’s eyes. He quickly wiped them away with his sleeve, but his voice trembled traitorously:
“Thank you… I didn’t think anyone remembered.”
Grandma Lyuda stepped closer and placed her hand on his shoulder.
“Good deeds are not forgotten. We all know this.”
Vanya stood by the fence for a long time, looking at the basket. He felt the ice inside him melting, and he understood: even in the hardest times, there are always those ready to help.
Vanya carefully placed the basket on the kitchen table. From the outside, it seemed small, but inside there was so much needed: potatoes, cereals, flour, oil, and even a jar of honey.
But the main thing was the cake. A real, festive cake, with cream and cherries on top.
“Look, Ksyusha, a cake!” Vanya exclaimed joyfully, tearing open the package.
Ksyusha instantly appeared in the kitchen. Her eyes lit up.
“Wow! Is this for us?”
“Of course, for us!”
She clapped her hands, almost falling from excitement.
“Can we try it right away?” she asked, jumping in place.
Vanya laughed:
“Of course. Today is a holiday!”
He took a knife and carefully cut the cake into even pieces. The cream smelled pleasantly of vanilla, and the cherries shone as if they had just been picked from the tree.
“Shall we have tea?” Vanya asked, placing cups on the table.
Ksyusha nodded, eagerly watching as he brewed the tea.
“It’s been so long since we had something like this…” she said quietly, sitting down at the table.
Vanya felt it too. The house had not felt festive for a long time. All they ever thought about was making ends meet.
When everything was ready, Ksyusha bit into the first piece of cake and blissfully squinted her eyes.
“Delicious!”
At that moment, the door to the room opened slightly, and their mother appeared on the threshold. She was pale and wrapped in an old warm shawl.
“What’s all this noise?”
“Mom, look! They brought us a gift!”
Mom approached and saw the basket. Her eyes filled with tears.
“Who?”
“Grandma Lyuda and all the neighbors,” Vanya answered. “They decided to help us.”
Mom sat at the table and, like in childhood, folded her hands in front of her.
“Thank you, guys,” she said quietly, looking at her children. “You are the best.”
Vanya looked at his mom and suddenly realized how much she had changed recently. The illness had taken her strength, but her eyes still held kindness and love.
He took her hand.
“We will cope, mom. Really.”
Mom squeezed his hand in response.
“I have no doubt.”
The tea was hot and strong. The cake melted in the mouth.
“I wish every day was like this,” Ksyusha dreamily said, breaking off another piece.
“It will be,” Vanya confidently said.
He suddenly felt strong inside. As if the basket of food had brought not only products but also hope that everything would get better.
“We will cope,” he repeated to himself, looking at his sister and mom.
The next day, Vanya, as usual, went to the well for water. The bucket was heavy, his hands froze from the cold metal, but he walked confidently.
“The main thing is that everything at home is in order,” he thought, watching the thick steam rising from his breath.
At the well, he saw grandma Lyuda. She stood, holding a bucket, and looked a bit tired.
“Hello!” Vanya greeted, approaching.
“Oh, Vanechka, hello,” grandma smiled. “Why so serious?”
Vanya lowered his gaze and said quietly:
“I wanted to thank you again.”
Grandma Lyuda looked at him attentively and squinted.
“For what?”
“For not forgetting about me.”
“Ah, you,” grandma Lyuda shook her head. “We never forgot you. You’re a good boy. And kindness, Vanechka, always comes back.”
She patted his shoulder and added:
“Remember that.”
From then on, Vanya did not sit idle.
He carried water for grandma Lyuda and helped her light the stove. For lonely grandma Maria, he brought firewood and sometimes helped sweep the yard.
“Oh, Vanechka, I’d be lost without you,” grandma Maria thanked him.
“It’s nothing,” Vanya waved it off, but inside, it was nice to hear kind words.
Sometimes he looked after younger children while their parents worked in the field.
“You’re our real hero, Vanya,” neighbors joked, seeing how he carried two toddlers at once.
But Vanya didn’t think so.
“I just do what’s right,” he said, smiling.
One day, Ksyusha approached him.
“Vanya, will you always help people?”
“Of course, I will.”
“Why?”
Vanya thought for a moment.
“Because it’s necessary,” he answered. “People should care for each other.”
Ksyusha nodded and quietly added:
“Then I will help too.”
Vanya smiled and patted his sister on the head.
“That’s right. Good deeds are not forgotten.”
He remembered those words for a long time. Every time he returned home after another task, he repeated them to himself.
And every time he opened the gate, he felt warmer inside.
“The main thing is not to forget about kindness,” Vanya said quietly, looking at the winter sky. “Because kindness always comes back