Kirill was in a big hurry today. It was already eight in the evening, and he hadn’t yet chosen a gift, bought flowers, or even changed clothes. Today was the birthday of his mother, Svetlana Eduardovna Krasilnikova. Many guests had gathered for the occasion. The celebration would take place at the country house of the millionaire family. Only relatives were invited for dinner, while important people, business partners, and journalists would come on Saturday.
These “family gatherings” had long been driving Kirill crazy. His mother’s friends inevitably started asking tactless questions: when he would get married, when he would produce heirs to the Krasilnikov empire.
But what annoyed him most was how numerous aunts, friends, and matchmakers competed to place their nieces and acquaintances, praising the latest “perfect bride.”
Before, they used to pester his younger sister, twenty-year-old Kamilla, but since she began dating the son of publisher Yeremov, they left her alone, only admiring her choice. Now, all attention had shifted to Kirill.
He tried to avoid these intrusive ladies, but today that wouldn’t work. Missing his mother’s birthday meant earning her long-lasting resentment.
Lost in thought, Kirill arrived at a flower shop. A small store near the central market — not a place he usually visited. It was unlikely that Kenyan roses or Dutch tulips fresh with morning dew were delivered here every day, but he had no choice. He needed flowers urgently.
Inside, he saw the shop was empty. Looking around, Kirill noticed the flowers looked quite decent — now he just had to wait for the seller.
But there was no one.
“Good evening! Is anyone here?” he called toward the back room.
“Seller! Hey, who’s behind the counter? Can I wait for you or not?” His voice was louder than he intended, and Kirill even blushed from annoyance. He usually wouldn’t speak like that.
In boutiques and salons he usually visited, several consultants would immediately come running. “Apparently, today’s not my day,” thought the millionaire.
At that moment, a girl in a dark blue robe came out of the back room.
“Why are you yelling like at a bazaar? Couldn’t you wait?” she asked sharply.
“Why should I wait? Your job is to attract customers, sell goods, and provide service so clients come back,” Kirill retorted. “The flower market is overcrowded, competition is huge, and I could just go to another store.”
“Then go, why shout?” shrugged the girl. “Fine, if you don’t need anything, I’m leaving.”
She turned to leave.
“Wait! Okay, I’m in a hurry, no time to drive around the city. What do you have for a middle-aged woman? For a beautiful, chic, wealthy woman? It’s my mother’s birthday.”
“Well, since it’s your mother, how old is she? That matters for flower choice,” the girl said businesslike.
“I don’t know,” Kirill hesitated.
“See?” she grimaced.
“No, you don’t understand. Mom hides her age. I think she herself doesn’t remember how old she is.”
“Oh, I believe that,” the girl suddenly laughed sincerely. “Grandma Matrena didn’t remember her age either, and that made us laugh as kids. We said she was sixteen, but she was almost seventy.”
Kirill remained serious.
“What does your grandma have to do with this? My mother looks great and just doesn’t want to age. Let’s get the flowers.”
“Roses okay?” the girl pouted.
“Yes, roses,” he sighed. “Make a bouquet and I’ll go. I’m late.”
“I don’t know how to arrange bouquets,” she shrugged. “I’m a cleaner. Florist Antonina has been in the bathroom for two days — stomach cramps. So I’m watching the store.”
Kirill silently looked at her, speechless. He was shocked. Nothing more absurd had ever happened to him.
“Okay. Make it as you can. At least tie the flowers and wrap a ribbon. Can you manage?” He took out a handkerchief and wiped sweat from his forehead.
“I can manage,” the girl brightened and skillfully began gathering roses.
Kirill studied her. She had beautiful hair, well-defined facial features, flawless skin, and expressive eyes. Long fingers, thin wrists — like a pianist’s.
“She’s beautiful!” flashed through his mind. “Maybe invite her for the evening to play the role of my fiancée? With her looks, she’d easily pass for aristocracy. Posture, hair, natural beauty… Even her simple dress could be mistaken for couture. I wonder if our fashionable ladies would believe she’s from a rich family? Of course, they would.”
“What’s your name?” he asked unexpectedly.
“Liza. Liza Snezhnaya.”
“Beautiful name and surname.”
“Oh, that was given at the orphanage. They found me in the snow, so Snezhnaya,” she laughed.
“In the snow?” he was taken aback.
“Well, not literally in a snowdrift,” Liza clarified. “On a sled. Left at the orphanage doors. It was a snowy winter, hence the name.”
She fell silent, looking at his shocked face.
“Come on, what’s it to you? Don’t you know kids get abandoned sometimes?”
“I know,” he muttered confusedly.
“Here’s your bouquet,” Liza handed him a fairly decent arrangement.
“Listen, Liza, want to earn in one evening an amount equal to several of your salaries?” Kirill smiled.
“What?! You’re… a maniac! I’m calling the police!” she grabbed a bucket.
“No, wait! I don’t mean that. I’m offering money for a small favor. Tonight you’ll play the role of my wife. Just a couple of hours at my parents’ house, then I’ll take you home.”
“Why do you need that?” Liza lowered the bucket.
“The thing is, relatives will gather at dinner, and the aunts will start asking again why I’m still not married. I want to prank them: introduce you as my wife, and they’ll leave me alone.
“Later I’ll admit it was a joke, but it’ll teach them not to meddle in the future.”
“Really, why aren’t you married yet?” Liza asked curiously.
“Here we go again,” Kirill laughed. “Probably because I haven’t met true love yet. Isn’t that obvious?”
“Hm, I thought for the rich, love isn’t the main thing. Business, merging capitals, and all that matters more.”
“For me, love comes first, believe me,” he smiled.
“All right, I’ll help,” the girl agreed unexpectedly easily, surprising Krasilnikov again. “Just wait for the florist and I’ll change.”
“Liza, I’m already late and mom’s probably worried. Are you decently dressed now? Do you have clothes to change into besides the robe?”
“I’m always decently dressed,” she took offense.
“Don’t be mad, Elizaveta Snezhnaya. I’m sure you always look wonderful, just wanted to check. Here’s the money and address. Give me your phone number, I’ll call now — so you have my number.”
“Finish up, call a taxi, and I’ll meet you at the house, agreed? Oh, and at the table, we’ll use informal ‘you’, and try to look at me with loving eyes.”
“I’ll try, don’t worry. I was the drama club star at the orphanage,” Liza said.
“Seriously? Then I’m calm,” he laughed.
The whole way Kirill drove with a smile, recalling the conversation with the cleaner. He didn’t understand why thoughts of her lifted his spirits. There was something bright about her, as if he wanted to sing.
He turned on the radio and sang along: “You’re the only one, you’re the one, I know you… There aren’t others like you in the world…”
He barely made it to dinner on time. The bouquet was appreciated — Aunt Rita even noticed that an Italian billionaire in Palermo gave her the same one. Guests nodded admiringly, calling the composition “refined luxury,” and Kirill barely held back laughter.
Then the conversation smoothly shifted to Kamilla’s wedding and, of course, to the “unfortunate” bachelor Kirill.
“Kirill, when will we see the heir to the Krasilnikov empire?” sighed Aunt Zina. “While we’re still young, we want to cuddle a little prince.”
“Here we go,” he thought, but only smiled.
“Modern youth is hard to understand,” picked up Aunt Rita. “You can’t find a decent girl nowadays.”
“Leave the guy alone!” banged 79-year-old Grandpa Boris Petrovich, a retired general, on the table. “Fed up with your matchmaking! Soon you’ll be the ones needing babysitting, old bags!”
“You’re first in line, Boris Petrovich,” Aunt Rita shot back.
“Dad, enough of the barracks jokes!” Svetlana Eduardovna flared. “No tact!”
“And pestering the guy with questions — is that tactful?” growled Grandpa. “You, Rita, you, Zina, and you, Svetlana — you were villagers from Kukushkino and stayed that way. My adjutant Shura Alyabyev used to say: ‘You can take the girl out of the village, but never the village out of the girl.’”
Kirill and his father hurried to intervene:
“Dad, let’s not spoil the celebration. Today is Svetlana’s anniversary.”
“I’m all for it!” the grandpa spread his hands. “Talk about the birthday girl, not the grandson’s marriage. He’ll figure it out himself. By the way, how old are you, Sveta?”
“Forty-five,” she hissed through her teeth.
“Fourth year in a row?” laughed the general.
“Vitaly, calm your father,” Svetlana hissed.
“But still, when will we meet Kirill’s fiancée?” Aunt Rita loudly asked.
Grandpa frowned, but his grandson cut him off:
“No fiancée. But wife — please.”
Silence hung over the table. Even Kamilla looked up from her phone.
“Whoa. Kiryuha, did you get married?!” she gasped.
At that moment, a phone rang.
“Yes, dear ones, I’m married. And this is my wife. She just arrived.”
He got up from the table.
“Well, let’s see what kind of ‘frog in a box’ this is,” smirked Grandpa. “I’m sure my grandson chose the best girl.”
The ladies exchanged looks, and Svetlana rolled her eyes.
At the gate, Kirill saw a taxi and… froze.
“Liza, what’s with the battle makeup? And those ‘Indian beads’? Two hours ago you looked normal!”
“This is expensive costume jewelry! And the florist did my makeup.”
“Why are you limping? God, I can’t introduce you to the family like this!”
“The shoes are too big, that’s why I limp.”
Liza got upset. She had hoped to earn — tomorrow was her day off, and she wanted to take Sonechka to the zoo, buy her presents…
“I have my heels in my backpack; I can change.”
“Quickly! And take off those beads. Now we’ll go to the greenhouse — wash your face. You look better without that makeup.”
Ten minutes later, they entered the living room. The guests stared.
“Don’t be afraid, I’m with you,” Kirill whispered, leading her to the table.
He sat Liza next to him and subtly slipped a huge diamond ring on her finger (where it came from — a mystery).
“Fool, you should have at least asked the size,” Liza mentally cursed, trying not to drop the ring. “Now I have to watch that boulder too…”
“This is Liza. My wife.”
Everyone’s mouths dropped open. No one expected such a turn…
“Hello, dear. What a beauty you are!” Grandpa was happy and stepped to hug her. Liza stood confused, and the retired general immediately kissed her three times. “I’m your husband’s grandpa — Boris Petrovich Krasilnikov. You can just call me ‘grandpa.’”
“Liza, tell me, where did you meet my son?” Svetlana Eduardovna asked.
“At the store,” the girl answered simply, but Kirill immediately nudged her to keep quiet.
“Oh? Which one? I didn’t know my nephew shopped,” Aunt Rita laughed. Liza became completely confused. She didn’t know how to behave in this society or what was acceptable here. The “impostor” decided to talk about what she knew even a little:
“At the art store. I was buying canvases, and Kirill…”
“Art store?!” Aunt Zina widened her eyes and smacked her lips like a fish on the shore. “Kiryuha, what were you doing there?”
“Um… I went there with a friend. He was choosing a gift for his daughter, so we dropped in,” Kirill hurriedly improvised but unconvincingly. Liza decided to help — after all, she was paid for the role:
“I was walking by, got distracted, and we bumped into each other. The brushes scattered, and we started picking them up. Suddenly our hands touched, and we looked into each other’s eyes. At that moment, it felt like a flame ignited in my soul. Kirill felt the same. He immediately knew he couldn’t live a day without me.”
Krasilnikov kept tugging Liza’s hand, kicking her under the table, trying to make her shut up, but she was already carried away.
“He said: ‘Miss, if I could paint, I would paint your portraits every day. But I can’t. At least let me take a photo with you.’ And I said: ‘What? I’m no star to pose.’ And he said: ‘You are a star, just a very distant one, unknown to anyone, but the most beautiful in the universe.’”
Everyone listened with their mouths open, and the grandpa just smirked.
“Oh, how romantic!” exclaimed Aunt Rita, clutching her hands to her chest. “Liza, you know, one of my admirers also…”
“But Kirill is not ‘one of the admirers,’” interrupted the “wife impostor.” “He is my husband, my only and beloved. We don’t notice anyone else around. Sorry he didn’t introduce me earlier — I wasn’t ready. All this time I couldn’t believe the best man in the world loved me. Now I paint him every night: when he comes home tired from work, and when he sleeps curled up like a child.”
“Oh, how wonderful!” sighed Aunt Zina. “Liza, are you an artist? Do you have your own gallery? Where do you exhibit?”
“That’s enough,” Kirill couldn’t stand it. “Mom, happy birthday again. Liza and I have to go.” He took the girl by the elbow and pulled her toward the exit.
The aunts and Kirill’s mother jumped up, gathering to see off the “newlyweds.”
“No, Kirill, this is impossible!” his mother protested. “What will people say? The Krasilnikov heir got married, and there’s no wedding or announcement in the press!”
“Liza, will you come to the party on Saturday? Kirill, remember — seven o’clock, at the ‘Russian House’?” Aunt Zina hurried.
“Lizonka, who are your parents? We must meet them!” Aunt Rita called after.
Finally, they got into the car. Kirill sharply pulled away and stopped at the nearest turn to catch his breath:
“What was that, Liza?!” he was furious. “What store? What stars? I just asked you to be present, not to put on a show! Now what? Drag you to the reception on Saturday? There will be journalists!”
“No need to drag,” Liza shrugged. “You said you’d admit everything later. Just say it was a joke. Sorry, I just got carried away. I thought — money isn’t just given, it has to be earned.”
“Oh, yes,” he dug into his inner pocket and took out a wad of bills. “Here, you earned it.”
“That’s too much. I won’t take it,” Liza’s eyes opened wide.
“Only fools refuse money,” he snapped. “Are you a fool?”
“No, not a fool. I really need the money,” she took the bills and stuffed them into her bag. “Goodbye, Kirill. Or farewell.” She pulled the door handle, but it didn’t budge.
“Sit down. I’ll take you home,” he grumbled, and the car sped forward.
Stopping near a shabby five-story building on the outskirts, Kirill, showing good manners, got out to open the door for the girl.
Liza got out, leaning on his arm, but suddenly slipped and grabbed his shirt. It turned out he had parked next to a puddle.
A second later, he lay in the mud, and she was on top.
“Are you crazy?!” he shouted.
“You’re the one who stepped in the puddle!” she snapped.
“It’s dark here, I can’t see anything!”
They got up. His whole suit was dirty.
“Let’s go to my place,” Liza said. “The landlady will be upset, but once is okay. After all, you’re not just a man, but my ‘husband for one evening.’”
Kirill was not amused. He was ready to strangle her for all the troubles of this evening, but he followed.
In the apartment, a strict pensioner Anna Stepanovna met them:
“Liza, why so late? Who’s this? Dragging men around now?”
“Granny Anya, this is my ‘husband.’ Well, not really husband, we just introduced ourselves like that to his parents…”
The landlady was stunned:
“Are you in your right mind?”
“Anna Stepanovna, can he wash up and leave?”
The old woman waved her hand:
“Let him go to the bathroom. I’ll bring him the late Ivan Sergeyevich’s clothes.”
“No need!” Kirill was scared. “I’ll clean up and leave.”
An hour later his clothes were drying on the balcony, and they drank tea in Liza’s room. Kirill looked around at canvases, easels, and paints.
“Are you really an artist?” he asked. “Can I see your work?”
“Look.”
“I don’t know much about art, but I like it. Will you sell me one?”
“You already paid me well. No need.”
“But I really like this one,” he pointed to a canvas. “It would be perfect for my office.”
“Take it,” Liza answered indifferently.
Kirill reached for his wallet but remembered he was wearing someone else’s clothes.
“No money needed,” the girl shook her head.
“Liza, may I ask? Why do you work as a cleaner if you are an artist? And a very talented one, in my opinion.”
“Thanks,” she smiled faintly. “But who needs that? Yes, I sell paintings at the fountain market, sometimes take orders, but… It’s hit or miss. Not enough for a living. Materials are expensive, free time is scarce. At least the store pays a small but steady salary. Our landlady is kind, gives bonuses.”
She fell silent, then hesitantly added:
“There’s something else… I visit a girl in the orphanage. Sonechka. She’s six. Very lonely.”
“Is she your relative?” Kirill asked quietly.
“No. Just a friend. I teach her to paint. I want to adopt her, but it’s not working yet.”
“Why? If it’s money, I can help.”
“Not money. I have no housing or conditions for a child. I’m not married… Although now that’s not the main thing. But I’m working on it. For now, I just visit.”
Kirill looked at her intently:
“Are you a full orphan? No relatives at all?”
Liza silently nodded.
“But aren’t you entitled to government housing?”
“I had it,” she smiled bitterly. “Sold it to help someone with debts. And he… disappeared. So that’s how I live — everyone abandons me, starting with my mother.”
Her laugh sounded unnatural. Kirill silently watched the girl, feeling a strange mix of anger and pity.
Liza got up and went to the balcony:
“Your clothes are dry. Leave before the neighbors wake up. I don’t want gossip about late-night visits in a fancy car.”
“Yes, of course,” Kirill dressed, took the packed painting, and left. They shook hands silently at the door.
Sitting in the car, he sat for a long time at the wheel, looking at her window. Liza looked out and angrily waved for him to go.
At home, Kirill slept until evening. He woke up to calls from his sister:
“Kamilla, what’s wrong?”
“Where have you been?! Give me Liza’s number, I urgently need to talk to her!”
“Tell me, I’ll pass it on.”
“Are you kidding me? Why should I communicate with your wife through you?!” Kamilla exploded. “Where is she now?”
“With me! In the shower!” he lied confusedly. “She’ll call later.”
After hanging up, Kirill rushed to the store where Liza worked. He bought all the flowers and persuaded the landlady to let her off early.
“Are you crazy? What am I going to do with so many flowers?” Liza protested in the parking lot.
“My sister wants your number.”
“Well, then admit it’s a prank!”
“I… want to tease them a bit more,” he muttered uncertainly.
“Teasing people isn’t funny. You promised to tell the truth.”
“I will! But first, talk to Kamilla. She’s asking for advice.”
“Okay,” sighed Liza. “But in return — take me to the orphanage. Let the flowers be sent there too — for the staff.”
At the orphanage, Liza was greeted like family. Elder cloakroom attendant Matrena Ivanovna squinted at Kirill:
“Are you Liza’s fiancé?”
“You could say that,” he smiled.
“Don’t mess with her head! I’ve known her since she was a baby — I won’t let anyone hurt her.”
Kirill suddenly realized: this was the “Grandma Matrena” Liza had told him about when they met.
“I won’t hurt her. And you… tell me about her?”
“Why not?” the cloakroom lady got comfortable. “Listen…”
One winter, shortly before New Year 2004, a newborn girl was found on the orphanage porch. It was deep night — although the clock showed only six in the evening, darkness already enveloped everything.
Matrena Ivanovna hurried to work: that day, the institution was preparing a festive morning performance and a “Masquerade Ball” for New Year’s Day. The children needed special attention.
The gate to the yard was frozen shut, so the woman went through the main entrance. There she noticed a sled, and on it — a bundle. Running closer, Matrena realized it was a baby wrapped in a blanket. Panic seized her: was the child breathing? Without wasting a second, she left the sled outside, took the baby in her arms, and rushed inside.
It turned out the baby was healthy and strong — a cute girl, a few days old. There was no note or documents with her. No hint that someone would come back for her.
Orphanage staff immediately called an ambulance. While doctors prepared to take the baby, Matrena asked the director to give the girl a name.
The nurse recorded the child as Elizaveta Snezhnaya. Six years later fate brought Liza back to that very orphanage — the girl came to the same home where she had been found.
Liza’s life was not easy. Orphaned, she lived with foster parents until six years old. But after her father died, her new mother remarried, and the new husband didn’t want anything to do with other children. So Liza ended up back in the orphanage.
For the girl, it was a terrible blow. She considered herself a full-fledged daughter of the Yelkin family and barely remembered how she first ended up in the orphanage. No one dared remind her she had been abandoned as a newborn. Grandma Matrena waited for Liza to grow a bit.
At seven, the girl was again placed in a family department. However, four years later, all children were taken from that home, and the caretakers were arrested. Liza returned to the orphanage walls again.
After these events, she stopped talking but began to draw. Remarkably, she painted as if she had studied at an art school all her life. She was especially good at faces, able to convey any emotion.
Only when Elizaveta turned eighteen did Matrena Ivanovna decide to tell her the truth about her origin. Liza listened carefully but replied bitterly:
“I’ve been abandoned many times. What difference will one more case make?”
“You’re wrong,” the woman objected. “When I found you, you were wrapped in very expensive sheets. These aren’t just rags. Your mother is clearly from a well-off family. Maybe she had some reasons.”
Liza just smirked:
“If she didn’t look for me, it means I’m not needed.”
Matrena wanted to add something else but continued later:
“The next day, while clearing snow, I found a white silk scarf near the sled. Embroidered in lilac thread was written: ‘Lev Kudritsky.’ I still keep it. Maybe that’s the father or a relative?”
But Liza showed no interest. She didn’t want to know those who rejected her. Nevertheless, Grandma keeps the scarf, hoping one day the girl will want to find her past.
Once a young man who started dating Liza suggested she begin a search:
“Let me see the scarf. I’ll photograph it and try to find information.”
Matrena promised to show him the scarf the next day.
Meanwhile, Liza spent time with friends: they visited the zoo, went to the movies, rode around, and ate ice cream. In the evening, Kirill drove her home, and a touching conversation happened:
“Shall we date?” he asked.
“Billionaires don’t date cleaners,” Liza smiled.
“Then we’ll be the first. Break stereotypes?”
“All right, let’s.”
“Then shall we kiss?”
“Come tomorrow and see,” she winked and got out of the car.
Kirill left happy. He remembered every minute spent with Liza. It was a completely new experience of feelings for him. He had relationships before, but Liza was special. Like a musical melody that played only for him.
The next morning Kirill intended to visit Matrena Ivanovna. He didn’t promise to find Liza’s relatives just like that — the name “Lev Kudritsky” embroidered on the scarf caught his attention. Remembering there was an artist with that surname in the cottage settlement where his parents lived, he decided to check the match.
Lev Mikhailovich Kudritsky was a well-known art figure, recognized both in Russia and abroad. He lived quietly with his wife Ekaterina Nikolaevna, away from society. They had no children, although they once dreamed of a family. Neighbors rarely saw them — the couple preferred seclusion, and instead of people, they surrounded themselves with animals. The couple had a home kennel and a small shelter for homeless animals.
Kirill didn’t know how to start the conversation, so he decided to get straight to the point: show the scarf’s photo and ask if it looked familiar.
Ten minutes after the call, the young man was led inside the gates. The artist met the guest in his office. After a brief greeting, Krasilnikov showed the phone with the image of the scarf.
“This scarf is familiar to me,” Lev Mikhailovich admitted, barely hiding his excitement. “It’s a gift from an old friend from Italy. Such scarves were made specially for me, my wife, and our daughter. Now we only have two left. Where did you find this?”
Kirill asked for time and told the whole story — about the found newborn, the orphanage, Liza, and her life. The artist listened attentively, and as the story went on, his face paled. He got up, left the room, and returned with his wife and a portrait of a girl.
“This is our daughter Eva,” he said painfully. “She died three years ago. We lost her when she went to Turkey.”
Eva was a difficult child. Despite full financial support, she still sought something more. Constant search for thrills, drugs, running away from home, connection with bikers — all became part of her life. Pregnant at seventeen, she disappeared, and upon returning, claimed the child died. Later she vanished again, and a few years later, her parents were informed of her death in a hotel by the sea.
After Kirill told the birth year of Liza, the couple had no doubt: before them was their granddaughter.
“I’ll bring her to you,” promised the young man. “But first, we need to prepare Liza for this meeting.”
The talk with the girl was difficult. She cried a lot, not understanding why she was abandoned if a family could love and raise her. But Kirill convinced her the past can’t be changed, but the present can be the start of new happiness.
“They are kind people,” he reassured. “Grandma runs an animal shelter, grandpa is a famous artist. Maybe you inherited your talent for drawing from him.”
“Maybe,” Liza agreed. “But let them do a test, in case they don’t believe.”
“We will, don’t worry. But I’m sure they don’t doubt. You look very much like your mom and grandpa.”
The next day Liza, Kirill, and the happy Kudritskys gathered at one table. For the old couple, it was a day they had long hoped for. They didn’t let their granddaughter go from their embrace, ready to do anything to compensate for the lost years.
The girl introduced Kirill as her future husband and said she wanted to take custody of little Sonya. Liza’s parents blessed the plan.
“The guardianship authorities need to approve the house?” grandpa asked.
“Of course,” Liza answered.
“Then let’s do the paperwork, make a nursery. As many as you want!”
“Why so many?” grandma was surprised.
“Well, the young will have more kids,” grandpa laughed, winking at the lovers.
Kirill and Liza’s wedding became the event the whole town talked about. Krasilnikov’s parents were delighted with their daughter-in-law. All the family friends heard from the groom’s mother:
“Lizočka is from a good family. Intellectuals, aristocrats, unlike those born without roots.”
Thus, the story of a lonely girl found on New Year’s Eve had a happy ending. Fate brought her to those who always wanted to see her nearby — her real family, waiting for her for many years.