On Monday, the spacious, sunlit office of the agricultural company buzzed like an agitated beehive. The final meeting was taking place, but most people were already lost in their own thoughts. Suddenly, the director—a sturdy man in his fifties named Vitaly Semyonovich, always impeccably dressed in a neat plaid shirt—raised his hand, calling for silence.
His gaze swept across the rows of people and stopped on Maria Arkadyevna. She sat with her eyes lowered, a little to the side, as though trying to blend into the wall. She didn’t like attention, especially such attention.
“Maria Arkadyevna, please come forward,” his voice sounded unexpectedly gentle.
Masha, a short woman with kind but tired eyes, slowly stood up. A faint rustling of whispers ran through the room. She walked toward the podium, nervously fiddling with the edge of her work cardigan. The director smiled and handed her a thick, glossy envelope.
“This is for you, Maria Arkadyevna,” he said loud enough for everyone to hear. Then, lowering his voice, he added, “You’ve earned this. May there be a little magic in your life.”
Her hands trembled as she took the envelope. When she opened it, Masha couldn’t hold back an exclamation. Inside was not the cash bonus she had expected but a bright, shimmering ticket to an elite southern hotel. The picture of the sea and pristine white sand seemed like something from a foreign, unreachable world.
“Vitaly Semyonovich… I… I can’t…” she stammered, looking at him in confusion.
“You can and you must!” he replied firmly, now addressing all the employees. “This year, Maria Arkadyevna has done more for us than many have done in their entire careers. She’s turned the farm upside down—and only for the better!”
The room erupted with approving murmurs, mixed with friendly jibes.
“Look, it’s the new ‘Love and Pigeons’ version!” someone from the accounting department chuckled.
And Yakov Petrovich, the local tractor driver and Masha’s most persistent admirer, called out excitedly:
“Eh, wait for your knight on a white horse, Masha! For our Maria Arkadyevna!”
Someone nearby immediately chimed in:
“Just hope the horse doesn’t break down again like it did last time after the corporate party!”
The room burst into laughter again. Masha blushed deeply, but laughed along with everyone. The noise, those rough jokes, had long since become familiar to her—a symbol that she was accepted here.
She gratefully glanced at her boss.
“And that’s not all,” he winked. “After the meeting, stop by the accounting office. You’ve earned a good bonus. For your wardrobe!”
Masha slowly returned to her seat, clutching the precious envelope. She gazed at the picture of the sea, unable to believe that this was real. One thought spun in her head, almost forgotten, almost impossible: “God, could it be? Could a miracle really happen to me?”
In the evening, when the workday was over, Masha sat on the porch of her little house, provided by the company. A light breeze carried the scent of freshly cut grass and warm milk. How much had changed in the last year. Just recently, it had seemed that life had nothing left to offer.
Ten years ago, everything was different. She had been a graduate of the Faculty of Philology, full of hopes and dreams of a big city career. Busy streets, university lectures, friends, books, sleepless nights. And then came Pavel—charming, intelligent engineer, with whom she thought she had found her happiness.
But over time, the romance faded. First came soft hints: “Why do you need a job? I’ll provide for you.” Then demands, followed by hysterics. One time, he hit her—over some trivial thing, like an oversalted soup. She cried, he apologized, and she forgave him. That’s how the terrifying vicious circle began.
It all ended on a cold winter night. After another argument, Masha, in just her bathrobe and slippers, ran outside. She saw nothing around her—only snow, pain, and fear. It was only in the hospital, waking up from the pain, that she found a kind woman—Galina Andreevna, the wife of a deceased veteran. It was she who suggested that Masha go to Novoandreevka.
That was the start of her new life. Masha worked on the farm, learned, made mistakes, but never gave up. Over time, she became part of the village community. She was accepted, loved. Even Yashka, with his songs, became one of her own.
The hardest winter came when a snowstorm knocked out the electricity, and the calf barn became too cold. Masha made a decision that would determine the farm’s future: to save the animals at any cost. She opened her house to the newborn calves, spent the night among straw, milk, and the warmth of human hands.
It was after this incident that Vitaly Semyonovich decided that a simple bonus wasn’t enough—Masha deserved a real miracle.
Packing for the vacation seemed like a dream. She twirled in front of the mirror, trying on new clothes bought with her bonus. Could it really be her—smiling, alive, with a sparkle in her eyes?
Her friends advised her to take a taxi to the city, but Masha, accustomed to saving, refused.
“It’s okay, the bus will get me there. Cheaper and more familiar.”
But halfway there, the bus suddenly broke down in the middle of the forest. The cell signal disappeared. Masha stepped onto the road, suitcase in hand, feeling the familiar panic rise inside. “It’s all going to fall apart. Again,” she thought, holding back tears.
And just then, around the bend, appeared a strange convoy—two black cars, and in between, a shiny SUV. It stopped beside her. A tall man in a cashmere coat stepped out. His voice was soft but confident:
“Did something happen? Why are you crying?”
Masha looked at him in surprise. And didn’t know that this encounter would mark the beginning of something new.
Wiping her tears with a handkerchief, Masha nervously explained about the broken bus and the failed trip. The man, introducing himself as Alexander Viktorovich, listened attentively, and then unexpectedly said:
“I’m flying south on business—in a private plane. If you don’t mind, I can give you a lift.”
Maria froze. A private plane? It sounded like something out of a movie. She muttered, bewildered:
“I… I don’t even know how to thank you…”
“Get in,” he smiled, opening the car door.
An hour later, she was sitting in a comfortable chair in the cozy cabin, looking out the porthole at the snow-white clouds below. Could this really be happening? Could a real miracle be happening to her?
Alexander turned out to be incredibly simple and kind. He ordered them coffee, and the conversation flowed easily, without pauses.
“Sorry if this is too personal,” he said, looking at her intently. “But I’m just curious: you’re smart, educated. Why are you working as a milkmaid?”
And Masha, not knowing why, began to tell him. About the Faculty of Philology, the dreams of a big career, about Pavel, about how she lost herself. She spoke cautiously, not delving into the darkest details, but making it clear that she had been through hell.
Alexander listened carefully, not interrupting. There was no pity in his eyes—only sincere sympathy.
Then he spoke about himself:
“You know, I even envy you. In Novoandreevka, people live for real. And around me, there are only masks, fake friends who want my money. Twenty years ago, I lost my best friend. Or rather, I betrayed him. And I never found the strength to apologize. He disappeared, and I was left alone with the pain.”
He fell silent, looking out the window. Masha looked at him and felt everything inside her tighten with compassion. “I also had a real friend,” she thought of Galina Andreevna. “And now I’m looking for my place in life.”
“We have to meet on vacation,” Alexander said as the plane began to descend. “And talk some more.”
The first days at the resort felt like a dream. Masha, cautious, applied cream from head to toe, but still got sunburned—red as a lobster. Alexander noticed this, laughed, and, despite her protests, dragged her into the water, assuring her that sea water was the best remedy.
In the evening, they sat at a table in a quiet restaurant by the shore. Candles burned, music played, and the sea roared. Masha felt the years of tension and fear leave her body. Finally, she could relax.
“I avoid people because,” Alexander suddenly confessed, “I once betrayed the one who trusted me the most.”
He told a story of a student party, a careless mistake that destroyed a friendship. Nothing serious happened, but the fact remained—he had let his friend down. The friend never said anything, just left, cutting off all connections.
“Do you have a photo of him?” Masha asked quietly.
Alexander nodded and took an old photo from his wallet. In it, two young men were happily hugging in front of the university dorm. Masha looked closely at the face of the second one and froze. Her heart skipped. This person looked strikingly like young Vitaly Semyonovich.
“Is his name Vitaly?” she asked in a trembling voice.
Alexander raised an eyebrow in surprise:
“Yes… Vitaly. How do you know?”
“Vitaly Semyonovich,” she whispered. “He’s my boss.”
Masha returned home transformed. When Alexander’s SUV stopped at her house, Yashka was already waiting at the gate—with his accordion and determination in his eyes.
“Masha! Marry me!” he blurted out without preamble. “I’ll fix your roof and put up a new fence!”
Maria laughed and gently touched his shoulder.
“Yashka, dear, thank you. But I think it’s time to choose my own path. Don’t be mad at me.”
Alexander stepped out of the car. Yashka looked him up and down, muttered something about “city slickers,” and, sulking, walked away, sadly strumming his accordion.
Alexander was nervous before meeting Vitaly like a schoolboy. Masha took his hand:
“It’ll be fine. He’s kind. He’ll forgive.”
In the house, Vitaly Semyonovich was already bustling around the table, brewing tea, and occasionally going to the window. He knew who Masha would bring. When Alexander entered, both men froze, unable to look away from each other. Behind them, twenty years of pain, resentment, and separation.
Masha helped Alexander find the first words of apology. And then there was no need to speak. Alexander took a step forward, and they embraced. At first awkwardly, as if testing the taste of the past, and then tightly, truly. In this embrace were tears, forgiveness, and the joy of reunion. The wall that had stood between them for years collapsed without a trace.
A year passed.
The summer day was bathed in sunlight. The whole of Novoandreevka had gathered for a wedding. Masha, in a modest white dress, happy and glowing, stood next to Alexander, who looked at her as though she were a miracle. Among the guests was Vitaly Semyonovich, embracing his newly found friend. And under the birch tree, Yashka energetically stretched the bellows of his accordion, and the whole village danced, celebrating the birth of a new family—extraordinary, huge, and incredibly kind.