Today Vasily was about to take an important step — he decided to propose marriage to Larisa. Behind them lay a year full of events, emotions, joy, and doubts. Larisa was 32, Vasily 37. It seemed like the perfect time to start a family. But inside him still lived a deeply buried anxiety. He had long worked toward this decision, as if overcoming an invisible barrier of pain and distrust.
His first relationship had left an unhealed wound in his soul. So deep that memories of the past gave him goosebumps. He used to dream of children. He imagined how, together with his wife, they would stroll through the park with a stroller, listen to the baby’s first babbles, help him take his first steps. He was ready to become a father — working tirelessly, squeezing everything out of himself for the future. By thirty, he already owned two companies — not large, but growing and stable. Money was enough, life was going well.
His ex-wife Marina was a woman of striking beauty — the kind who turned heads on the street. She loved to take care of herself: spa treatments, salons, trips to the sea. Vasily provided all this for her. He believed she loved him, that they had a shared future. He trusted her completely. However, during seven years of marriage, they never had children. That worried him. He suggested they get checked to find out why, but Marina flatly refused even to discuss the topic.
Then Vasily decided to get tested himself — without scandals or accusations. He wanted to be sure the problem wasn’t with him before insisting she get tested too. He had no idea this path would lead to the destruction of everything he believed in.
At the clinic, he met an old friend who now headed the facility. After the examination, they drank a little, and at some point the conversation took an unexpected turn.
“You’re married to that Marina who used to charm everyone at school? From the parallel class?”
“The very one,” Vasily smirked. “Had to work hard to win her.”
“Strange,” the friend mused. “I thought you were with someone else. Well, anyway. Doctor-patient confidentiality… but we’re pals. I just don’t get why you came here asking about infertility? Your wife has been here before. Not just once — she had two abortions. Only, I’m afraid, none of those kids were yours…”
Something inside Vasily snapped. He was stunned but listened till the end. His head was a mess. For years he dreamed of a child while Marina secretly got rid of the very children he was waiting for. Yet she reassured him, saying “there will be time,” “fate will surely give a chance”…
Right then, in the doctor’s office, a message came from Marina:
“At the bar with the girls. Staying late. Kisses.”
He felt crushed. Rage, pain, shock overwhelmed him. Without thinking, he blocked her bank card, then simply switched off his phone. He spent the night at a friend’s, drinking for the first time in ages. He returned home by taxi, completely broken inside.
Opening the door, he saw Marina furious:
“Where were you?! Why don’t you answer?! The card doesn’t work! Did you block it yourself?! Unlock it now, I’m waiting!”
He silently looked at her — at the expensive fur coat, the tantrums, the old confidence. Now it all seemed alien and disgusting. He once loved her. Truly. But now only disgust remained.
“Pack your things,” he said quietly but firmly.
“What? Are you serious? Unlock it!”
“I said: leave. On foot. I won’t even call a taxi. You don’t deserve it.”
She stood stunned, unable to believe her ears.
“You’ve gone crazy?!”
“Get out. I don’t need a woman who kills my children behind my back.”
Marina trembled. Her voice shook:
“Did that nurse tell you this? She’s just jealous! Wants you for herself! It’s all made up!”
“Out,” Vasily said shortly. “You can collect your things later. For now — go.”
Marina stormed out, slamming the door loudly, but before leaving she shouted:
“You’re just crazy! Wanted me to be a broodmare? I’m not a slave, I want to live!”
Vasily didn’t reply. He closed the door and remained alone in the empty house. Then he sank onto the couch. Everything became empty and quiet.
The divorce turned into a real war. Vasily barely controlled his emotions. Marina demanded money, blackmailed, threw tantrums. But soon it became clear she hadn’t worked a day, and proof of her infidelities surfaced easily. Lovers appeared one after another. He felt like the biggest fool. It took a long time to recover. He promised himself never to trust a woman as he had trusted Marina.
And then, when he was ready to move on, Larisa appeared in his life.
They had met before — briefly, at parties. Back then, Larisa was lively, open, bright. But when they met again a year and a half ago, he barely recognized her. Divorce, fatigue, worries had left their mark in her eyes. They had dimmed, but still held a spark of life.
He knew nothing about her past, and she was in no hurry to tell. He didn’t pry but often wondered: what if history repeats? What if Larisa turned out to be like Marina? There were days when he wanted to give up. To his questions, she either remained silent or answered with tears. Vasily was lost: maybe she just couldn’t trust? Or hiding something serious?
He even thought about talking to her ex-husband Sergey, but he disappeared right after bankruptcy.
But Larisa was different. He felt it. He just feared to be wrong again.
But today he decided: he would take out the ring and propose. Perhaps with her, he would find what he had been denied for so many years — faith, love, and a chance to be truly happy.
Larisa looked at Vasily closely. From his tense gaze, compressed lips, and how he nervously traced the cup without finishing his tea, she guessed: he wanted to say something important. Her heart clenched. She understood what he was about to talk about and was terribly afraid of it. Not because she didn’t care for him — quite the opposite. He was the most reliable person she knew. Neither before nor after had she met such a man. But to start a new relationship with a lie that could only be hidden for some time? That meant betraying his trust.
She knew: the truth would come out anyway. And the longer she stayed silent, the more it would hurt later. “I must tell him everything. I must, if I want something real between us,” she thought. But how to tell a man who treats children with such care that one day she… had given up her newborn daughter?
She remembered how Vasily once mentioned that he had never forgiven his ex-wife for the abortion. That had ended their relationship. But what would happen when he learned that Larisa… What then?
The image of the past flickered in her memory like a film impossible to look away from. From the very beginning of pregnancy, Sergey started to change. Care and tenderness disappeared, replaced by rudeness and irritation. He nitpicked her appearance, called her ugly, roughly dragged her to the mirror:
“Look at yourself. Fat, spotted… disgusting to look at. Everything about me must be perfect.”
Once he attacked her on the street, shoving her harshly into the car. She hit her belly on the seat edge, the pain lingered for days. Sergey apologized, but nothing changed. Then premature labor began.
He took her to the maternity hospital and said:
“I can’t watch this. Call when it’s over.”
The birth was hard. Long. When Larisa heard the baby’s first cry, her heart stopped. But the doctors exchanged glances, whispered among themselves. Something went wrong. She asked…
“What about my girl?”
“Don’t worry,” they replied vaguely. “The girl is alive. More later.”
A few hours later a doctor came in. Seriousness read in his eyes, but no cruelty:
“Listen carefully. Your daughter has congenital anomalies — a malformed arm and underdeveloped ear. But otherwise, she’s healthy, strong, viable. With surgeries and proper care, she can lead a full life. Modern medicine can do a lot, but it will take time, effort, and, of course, money.”
Larisa burst into tears. When they brought her the baby, she saw a small warm bundle — her daughter. She held her close, kissed the crown of her head. Then carefully unfolded the swaddle. A little deformed arm and an underdeveloped ear. Her heart clenched with pain. But she knew one thing — she already loved this little one unconditionally.
She didn’t hear Sergey enter. His words were sharp and harsh:
“What kind of monster is this?”
“What are you saying?! This is our child! She’s beautiful! We will fix everything!”
“I don’t want a cripple! Either you give her up, or take your freak and live somewhere alone!”
He slammed the door. Then the real hell began. Sergey’s parents came, begging: if Larisa signed the refusal, they would pay for treatment; if not, she would be alone, without help or money.
She resisted, cried, screamed. Sergey gave her a sedative, assuring her to make the decision calmly. She drank it. Her mind clouded. What happened next she remembered in fragments: some papers, his words: “You’re doing the right thing,” a kiss on the forehead and a promise that everything would be okay. He said she needed rest.
In the morning, he took her home. Without the baby.
“You signed the refusal yourself,” he said coldly.
“What refusal?..” fragments flashed in her mind: scream, signature, heaviness in the body…
She screamed and lost consciousness.
A week passed. As soon as Larisa recovered a bit, she went to the police. She was told: the girl died after a failed operation. She didn’t believe it. She vomited, her vision darkened. Then came a psychiatric clinic. Two months of treatment. And right after discharge — divorce.
“I don’t want anything — neither money nor property,” she said then. “Just leave me alone.”
She tried to learn something about the child, but no one told her anything. Maybe the girl didn’t die at all — maybe Sergey just hid everything.
After the divorce, no one hired her — he did everything possible to discredit her. She had to move to another city and start over. Over time she returned — when she learned Sergey was hiding from creditors. This man destroyed his own life. And Larisa… she survived.
Now she was with Vasily. They were walking in the park. She felt he wanted to propose. Everything could be wonderful. But inside, the memory of the past tormented her.
“Should I tell him? If he learns the truth… he will definitely leave.”
Larisa loved feeding pigeons — there was some inner peace in it, almost childlike joy. Vasily knew this and always bought bread. For him, it also became a ritual — to see how she crumbled it for the birds, making sure none were left hungry.
That day they were again in the park. Larisa sat by the pond, carefully tearing bread and throwing crumbs. The pigeons came right to her feet — trusting, as if sensing a kind soul. Vasily stood a little apart, admiring her. In moments like these, she seemed especially radiant.
“Can I have some bread?” a small voice sounded.
Larisa turned. Nearby stood a little girl of about six. Vasily was already offering her a whole loaf.
The little girl sat beside them. Skillfully bit pieces off and fed the ducks. She looked fragile, dressed poorly but cleanly.
“Hi, my name’s Olya. And yours?”
“Larisa. Where are your parents?”
“I don’t have them,” the girl replied. “I live in an orphanage. They often bully me there, so sometimes I run away. But they always find me.”
Vasily and Larisa exchanged glances. They noticed the girl did everything with one hand — the other was in her pocket. Maybe a prosthesis?
Olya turned to Vasily:
“Please, don’t call the police. At least stay with me for half an hour.”
“Alright, deal,” he smiled. “Thirsty?”
He pulled out a bottle of juice. Olya took it, hesitated a bit, then finally pulled out her other hand to help open the cap. They saw her fingers were fused.
“Is that why they call you names?”
“Because of the hand and the ear,” Olya whispered, tossing her hair — she really was missing one ear.
Larisa paled, trembled, and began to lose consciousness. Vasily caught her; a passerby called an ambulance. Meanwhile, the girl disappeared.
In the hospital ward, Larisa tried to get up.
“No, I have to go! I can’t lie here!” she cried, struggling.
“Where are you going? What’s wrong?” Vasily was confused.
“You’ll leave once you learn the truth!” she shouted. “I need to see my daughter!”
“What daughter?” he asked in astonishment. “You never said you had a child!”
“Because I thought she was gone… But now I know I was wrong…”
“Larisa, explain what’s going on!”
“Not now! I have to get to the orphanage!”
She ran out of the ward. Vasily stood stunned for a second, then rushed after her. Found her on the road — trying to stop a car.
He pulled up, opened the door:
“Get in. I’ll take you. We’ll talk later.”
Without a word, she got in. They drove silently until evening turned to deep darkness.
At the orphanage entrance, Larisa ran into the director’s office and, out of breath, said:
“Excuse me! I’m Olya’s mother! I have to take her. Urgently!”
The woman raised her eyebrows in surprise.
“Sit down. First, we have three girls named Olya. Second, we need guardianship or adoption papers.”
“I have nothing!” Larisa almost shouted in despair. “But she’s my daughter! I didn’t know she was alive! I can’t leave her here!”
She sobbed. The director gave her water.
“Calm down. Let’s figure it out. Which Olya do you mean?”
“She has a special hand and is missing one ear…”
“Alright,” the woman took a folder, flipped through, and stopped at one document. “Here. You signed the refusal of the child yourself.”
Hearing this, Vasily seemed to turn to stone. His face went pale.
“Impossible…” he whispered. “Larisa can’t do that. She couldn’t give up her own daughter because of a physical defect. It’s impossible…”
He looked at Larisa. She just looked away, unable to speak. But she whispered:
“Vasily… if you want… I’ll tell you everything. Just… not now. Not here.”
He sighed heavily, turned, and left without a word. Larisa lowered her head, as if under the weight of everything she had lived through. Then she looked up and began to speak. Her voice trembled, but she hid nothing.
She told everything — about the maternity hospital, Sergey, how she was forced to sign the refusal, assured the girl had died. Explained why she didn’t look for her — because she thought it was already too late. That her daughter was gone forever…
Outside the office, darkness fell quickly. The day was ending, and likely the director should have gone home long ago. But she didn’t rush. She sat silently, listening attentively without interruptions.
Larisa’s tears had dried — there was no time for them now. One thought tormented her: maybe she would never see Vasily again. But if she had to choose between love and her child, this time she would choose her daughter without hesitation.
The room was wrapped in long silence until the woman-director finally broke it:
“Your story is complicated… But if you really want to restore the connection with your child, the first thing is to confirm that Olya is your biological daughter. No one is applying for guardianship yet — everyone knows how it is: everyone wants ‘perfect’, beautiful children. And Olya… is special. She’s smart, clever, mature beyond her age. Her character is like fire! The caregivers barely keep up with her. But she’s lively, a real girl.”
“DNA test?” Larisa asked, hope slipping into her voice.
“Exactly. That will be the first step. Once we have the results, I’ll allow you to spend the first weekend together. Then we’ll decide how to move forward.”
The workday was ending. The woman gathered her things and stood up from the desk. They left the building together and said goodbye at the porch. Larisa thanked her for understanding and attention, and they parted ways.
Meanwhile, by the roadside stood a car. Vasily was watching from inside. After making sure Larisa had disappeared, he got out and caught up with the director, stopping her.
She turned, looking at him with a slight half-smile.
“Think I don’t know why you’re here? Want to give me a ride in exchange for information? Not dumb, but not original either.”
Vasily almost choked with surprise — that was exactly it. He didn’t even get to explain before she continued:
“Believe me, I’ve seen enough people’s lives. Sometimes one look is enough to understand a lot. So, are you a gentleman or not? Will you open the door?”
He immediately jumped out of the car, went around the hood, and opened the door for her. They got in and drove off.
On the way, the woman told him a lot. The conversation was short — time allowed only for the most important things. Just before parting, she looked at Vasily and said:
“You can help her. You are capable of this. Larisa… is not as guilty as it might seem. Every story has a hidden side.”
Meanwhile, Larisa was already walking down the clinic corridor where the test results should be ready. There was no fear in her heart, only confidence. She knew — the test would confirm what she already felt. Half an hour later, holding an envelope with documents, she entered the orphanage again.
“I brought it!” she said excitedly. “What now? Can I at least take Olya for a while?”
The director greeted her warmly:
“Everything has changed. Now you can be with your daughter sooner than we planned.”
“Is this… all because of the test?” Larisa asked in confusion.
“Not quite,” the woman shook her head. “It’s about something else. Someone — and I think I know who — found your ex-husband Sergey.”
She paused and continued:
“He’s not living well. I didn’t ask how they found him, but he confirmed everything: the refusal story, and the doctors involved who were paid to falsify the death certificate. The investigators have this information. The police called me today and said: while the investigation is ongoing, the child can stay with the mother. You were never officially deprived of parental rights. You were told the child died. This, as you understand, is a completely different matter…”
Larisa cried again, but these were different tears — not of grief and pain, but of gratitude. Whoever helped unravel this situation, she was thankful from the bottom of her heart.
The director gently took her hand, and together they walked toward a new stage of life.
Approaching the door, the woman spoke strictly and calmly:
“I promised her nothing. I said plainly: don’t expect too much.”
The door slowly opened, and several pairs of children’s eyes stared at the women. Among them stood out Olya — she jumped off the bed, timidly approached. Her gaze flickered between Larisa and the director, finally settling on the former.
“It’s you… the one…” the girl whispered, then scared, stepped back.
Larisa looked awkwardly at the woman, then back at Olya. The girl, without a word, invited them inside.
“Olya, Larisa wants you to stay with her. Do you agree?”
“Yes! Yes, I want to!” the girl answered joyfully, adding a bit sadly: “No one has ever invited me over. Everyone is taken somewhere, but me — never…”
Larisa crouched before her:
“You’re a very beautiful girl,” she said kindly. “And your little hand… everything can be fixed. We’ll find a good doctor, he’ll do the operation, and you’ll be just like the others. Even better — special!”
“And the ear too!” Olya exclaimed, laughed, and hugged Larisa tightly. She barely stood on her feet from the wave of emotion.
It was cool outside, so Larisa quickly called a taxi. They didn’t need to stop at the store — she had prepared everything in advance. The apartment was decorated, the room had a new small sofa, and on it — a big doll in a lace skirt and bows.
Olya cautiously stepped over the threshold, looking around with admiration:
“Your place is… like a fairy tale! So clean, so beautiful…”
“Come in, don’t be shy,” Larisa smiled and took the girl’s hand. “I bought you pajamas and slippers. Put them on, and tomorrow we’ll go to the store and pick out clothes — whatever you want.”
Olya clapped her hands, quickly changed, and saw the doll:
“Is this mine?”
“Of course, now she’s yours. You can play with her, brush her hair, dress her up — whatever you want.”
With a happy squeal, the girl rushed to the toy. Larisa wanted to go to the kitchen but changed her mind — didn’t want to spoil this magical moment.
About half an hour passed. When Larisa peeked into the room, Olya sat facing the doll, whispering something to her. Larisa called out:
“Time for dinner.”
Seeing the table set with dishes, the girl closed her eyes for a moment, as if not believing her eyes. She ate quickly, almost greedily, as if afraid the food would be taken away. Larisa wanted to stop her but changed her mind: when Olya realizes the food will always be there, she’ll stop rushing herself.
“Why did you choose me? There must be girls who are fine…”
Larisa froze, not expecting such a question. But she decided: if she starts dodging now, it will be even harder to explain the truth later. Taking a deep breath, she looked at the girl:
“You see, five years ago I had a daughter. They told me she died. I mourned for a long time, but I couldn’t change anything. Then… I met you. And it turned out I was deceived. My daughter is you.”
Olya stopped chewing. For a few seconds, she sat staring at Larisa with wide-open eyes:
“So… you’re my real mom?”
“Yes, dear, I’m your mom.”
The girl threw herself into her arms and, crying with joy, whispered:
“I knew it! I felt you would come for me!”
Late in the evening, when Olya fell asleep, Larisa carefully photographed her hand and ear, then opened her laptop and started searching for clinics. She sent messages to several medical centers. All that was left was to wait for responses.
The next day responses began arriving — many clinics agreed to take on the operation. However, the amounts quoted made Larisa grit her teeth. She understood: she didn’t have that kind of money. So she would have to take out a loan. But she firmly decided — no matter how hard it gets, she would manage. For Olya, she was ready for anything.
A few days later, the orphanage director called. In her voice was a polite but insistent request — asking Larisa to come to complete some documents.
Hearing this, Olya suddenly froze as if gripped by fear. She silently began to pack, taking worn-out clothes from the wardrobe.
Larisa noticed and gently asked:
“Sweetheart, why are you putting on the simplest clothes again? We bought you so many beautiful things. Put on something nice.”
The girl looked at her with anxiety and confusion.
“You’re… you’re not going to give me back, are you?” she whispered, hiding her gaze.
At first, Larisa didn’t immediately understand. Then it dawned on her — Olya thinks she’s being taken to the orphanage to be left there forever.
“Sunshine, what are you saying?” Larisa exclaimed and hugged the girl tightly. “Listen: I will never leave you again. We just need to sign some papers. And I don’t want to leave you home alone — that’s why I’m taking you with me.”
These words instantly transformed Olya — she lit up, spun around, and rushed to change into something pretty.
When they entered the director’s office, she exclaimed in surprise:
“Well, you’re a beauty! I hardly recognized you!”
Olya smiled proudly. Larisa gently added:
“Take off your coat, it’s warm here. Then you can run to your friends — chat, say goodbye. The director and I will talk a bit.”
Olya nodded, was about to leave but stopped at the door and turned back:
“You won’t forget me, right?”
“How could I forget you, silly?” Larisa laughed.
Olya ran off, and silence hung in the office.
“Did something happen?” the woman asked.
“No, nothing serious. Just formalities.”
“Then sign here — stating Olya temporarily lives with you until the court process ends. This is necessary to remove her from the orphanage list.”
Larisa carefully read the document and signed each line.
“By the way,” the director recalled, “you asked about the operation?”
“Yes,” Larisa nodded, “I even chose some good clinics. The prices are high… but I decided: I’ll take a loan, sell some jewelry. I still have some from my first husband — I’ll manage somehow.”
They talked a bit more, took Olya, and went home. The director, left alone, thoughtfully picked up the phone and dialed a number.
When Larisa and Olya returned, the house was filled with festive mood. They decided to bake pies together — for the first time in their lives.
“I’ve never tried,” Larisa honestly admitted, “but I think with you we’ll succeed!”
A nearly magical atmosphere arose: conspiratorial looks, kitchen fuss, laughter. Flour was everywhere — on the table, the floor, Olya’s nose and Larisa’s cheeks. They laughed so much they didn’t notice Olya accidentally cracked an egg right into the coffee cup Larisa wanted to drink.
“Oh!” was all they could say when the doorbell rang.
Wiping their hands on aprons, they went to open the door together. Vasily stood on the doorstep.
He looked at them covered in flour and smiled a little awkwardly. The girls exchanged glances — and laughed again.
“You’ve got a whole bakery here!” he said, entering the apartment.
He took off his jacket, rolled up his sleeves, and headed to the kitchen:
“Need help? My mom baked the best pies in the world, and I was always her helper.”
A couple of hours later, the kitchen sparkled with cleanliness, the pies were ready and almost eaten. Olya, full and content, fell fast asleep.
Larisa and Vasily sat at the table with cups of hot tea. He broke the silence first:
“Forgive me. I didn’t know anything then. They told me you gave up the child… My world turned upside down. Then outside, I started to guess little by little — you wouldn’t have done that. I wanted to wait for the director, figure things out. But…”
“I’m not mad, Vasily. Only now we can’t be together. Everything’s changed.”
He was surprised:
“Why? Because of the child?”
“You were with a woman without children. And now I have a daughter. Not just any, but with special needs. I don’t want to be a burden for you. You’ll find someone else — a good, free woman. I’ll manage on my own.”
He listened carefully without interrupting. Then gently said:
“Finished? Now listen to me. What ‘someone else’? I love you. I don’t understand why you’re pushing me away if I want to be near you.”
Larisa was silent, confused. Vasily continued:
“I recently talked to a friend. He’s a plastic surgeon. Ready to do Olya’s surgery. Seriously. She has great chances.”
She looked at him, unable to believe it. This man, whom she had known so little, was already calling Olya “our problem.” So different from anyone she’d known before. And suddenly she realized how much she missed him, though she used to think she was angry.
Vasily talked, convinced, joked. And Larisa sat, feeling: this was the moment she’d waited for her whole life. A real family. Not formal, not temporary. The one she’d dreamed of for so long.