The autumn wind swirled over the cemetery, lifting yellow leaves from the ground. Anna Alekseevna adjusted the collar of her coat and crouched by the grave. The granite monument gleamed after the recent rain. Two faces looked at her from the photograph — a man about thirty-five years old with an open, kind gaze, and a boy who seemed like his miniature copy.
“Hello, my dears,” the woman said softly, pulling a small brush out of her bag. “Leaves have piled up again. I’ll clean it all now.”
She carefully cleaned the slab, speaking almost in a whisper, as if she knew they could hear her. She talked about the farm affairs — the very farm that she once built together with Vasya. About the old tractor acting up again, and Petrovich, their mechanic, who had long since sworn out of frustration. About greetings from their neighbor Marya Ivanovna.
Her phone vibrated in her bag. Anna Alekseevna sighed and took it out.
“Yes, Lenochka?”
“Anna Alekseevna, you asked me to remind you! The concert at the House of Culture starts in an hour!”
The woman flinched. Time… How quietly it slips away when you are here, among the past.
“Thank you, dear. I’ll be there soon.”
Lena was her secretary, but in fact, closer than a daughter. An orphan raised in a children’s home. They met a couple of years ago at a similar charity concert. Then the girl helped backstage — and managed to do so much! Comfort a distressed child, fix a dress, say the right word to everyone before going on stage.
After the deaths of Vasya and Kiryusha, the only meaning in Anna’s life became helping children. At first, she simply donated money to orphanages. But over time, she wondered — did the money really reach them? Then she came up with her own system: charity concerts. Transparent, honest, with the chance to give those who never had one before a platform.
Anna Alekseevna stood up, shook off the leaves clinging to her knees.
“Well, my dears… I must go. The children are waiting. I’ll be back soon, I promise.”
A lonely tear slid down her cheek. Five years. A whole five years without them.
The House of Culture buzzed like a disturbed beehive. As soon as Anna Alekseevna entered the foyer, children flocked around her — cheerful, dressed up, full of joy.
“Anna Alekseevna! I’ve memorized the whole poem!”
“And I put on a new dress, look!”
“Aunt Anya, are there really a lot of people there?”
She smiled, stroked each child’s head, finding a warm word for each. Nelli Sergeevna, a young teacher burning with excitement, hurried towards them.
“Children, come on! Let Anna Alekseevna take off her coat at least!”
“Everything’s fine, Nelli. How are you? Is everyone ready?”
“Oh, Anna Alekseevna! The place is packed! And all the important people came!”
“Good. Then we’ll raise enough. Has Andrey Ivanovich arrived yet?”
“In the first row, he saved a seat next to him for you.”
Andrey had come into her life a year ago. He offered help with advertising the concerts — and truly helped. Thanks to him, the hall was full today. A pleasant, reliable man. Only, for some reason, he tried to court her. As if he didn’t understand — her heart had gone with Vasya and Kiryusha.
The hall was indeed packed to the brim. Only one seat in the front row remained free — next to Andrey. Upon seeing her, the audience applauded. Anna Alekseevna nodded and sat down.
“You’re magnificent today,” he whispered.
“Thank you,” she replied dryly, averting her gaze to the stage.
The concert began. Little Vanechka danced cheerfully to “Kalinka-malinka,” the audience laughed and clapped. Girls from the senior group performed a waltz — a bit clumsy, but with such effort that many women’s eyes grew moist.
The host came on stage:
“And now a boy with an amazing voice will perform. His name is Kostya. He came to us from another city. He has a difficult fate — he was ill for a long time and underwent several operations. But that is why his songs touch the heart so much — about hope, about strength of spirit…”
Andrey leaned over:
“After the concert, may I invite you to dinner?”
“Andrey Ivanovich,” Anna sharply turned to him, “how many times? I…”
She didn’t finish.
A boy about nine years old came on stage. Thin, with big gray eyes. And Anna Alekseevna suddenly felt a blow to her chest.
It was Kirill.
No, he had grown up, but she would have recognized him out of a thousand. The same features, the same tilt of the head, the same posture…
“Kiryusha!” she blurted.
The boy flinched. The hall froze. And Anna Alekseevna saw nothing anymore — dark circles flickered before her eyes.
She came to in the dressing room. A doctor was checking her pulse, Andrey held her hand, the organizers crowded nearby, talking anxiously.
“Anna Alekseevna! Thank God! How do you feel?”
She sharply sat up, pushing the doctor away:
“Where is the boy? Where is he?!”
“What boy? Anna, you need to…”
“My son! Where is my son?!”
Everyone exchanged glances. Andrey cautiously said:
“Anna, you know that Kirill…”
“Give me my bag! Quickly!”
With trembling hands, she pulled out her wallet, took out a photo. Everyone gasped — the resemblance was striking.
“Can’t be… coincidence…” someone muttered.
But Anna Alekseevna was already walking down the corridor. Her intuition guided her confidently. In one of the rooms, she saw him — the boy sat on a chair, scared and curled up, looking at the adults.
“What’s your name?”
“Kostya…” he barely whispered.
Anna crouched before him, staring at his face. No, this was not Kirill. Now, up close, she saw differences: no birthmark above the eyebrow, a different chin, and no scar on the temple either. But hope, even if false, touched her heart again.
But the resemblance… God, what an astonishing resemblance!
“Kostya, what’s your last name?” Anna Alekseevna asked, trying to speak calmly.
“I don’t have a last name. I’m from an orphanage.”
The woman’s heart stopped.
“Do you have parents?”
The boy shrugged:
“I don’t know. Aunt Valya says I was taken straight to the hospital. Was sick a long time.”
Next to Kostya stood an unfamiliar woman — apparently, a caretaker.
“May I have a word with you?” Anna asked her.
In the corridor, she looked the woman in the eye:
“Tell me everything you know about this boy. Everything.”
The woman introduced herself as Valentina Petrovna and awkwardly adjusted her glasses:
“What is there to say… They brought him to us from the hospital four years ago. Before that, he lay there for more than a year — operations, intensive care… He was born with a serious heart defect, the doctors gave no chance. But some foreign professor took on the operation for free. A miracle, honestly! And he has no parents — he’s a ward of the state.”
“A ward? Are you sure?”
“The documents say so: the mother refused him right at the maternity hospital.”
Anna Alekseevna leaned against the wall. Thoughts fluttered like leaves in the wind. A difficult twin pregnancy. The doctor’s words: “One fetus develops at the expense of the other. The second will not survive.” Premature birth. And then Vasya, with tears: “We have a son. One son.”
“Give me the address of your orphanage. And I’ll need Kostya’s genetic material for testing.”
“You think he’s yours?..” Valentina Petrovna exhaled.
“I don’t know yet. But I have to check.”
Two weeks were a real trial. Anna Alekseevna rushed between cities, collecting documents, obtaining permissions. Andrey helped as much as he could — looking for the right people, arranging meetings.
And here was the result: genetic testing confirmed the incredible — Kostya was her son.
The prosecutor’s office only shrugged — the case was five years old, no doctors still worked at that maternity hospital. But the fact remained: the child was officially registered as stillborn, although he was alive. Why? Who decided to do this?
After long searches, an elderly nurse from the maternity hospital was found — now retired. She denied everything for a long time, but eventually gave in:
“It was a nightmare. The twins were born prematurely — one boy healthy, the other blue, without breath. They took him away, and after an hour it turned out — he was alive! But the documents had already been processed, the mother unconscious, the father in shock. The chief doctor said: ‘Don’t complicate things. The child is a lost cause anyway.’ So they sent him to the hospital as a homeless.”
“How could you?!” Anna almost screamed.
“What could we do?” the woman cried. “The chief doctor threatened to fire me. I have three children, where would I go without a job?”
Anna Alekseevna left the hospital as if in a fog. Five years. Five years her son was alive, and she thought he was dead. Five years he had grown up without family, without love, without a mother…
Documents for restoring maternity rights were processed urgently. The story received wide publicity, journalists besieged the orphanage.
Kostya watched everything suspiciously. He was used to being alone. Used to adults coming and going. And here this woman says — she is his mother.
“Kostya,” Anna Alekseevna said, sitting with him in the playroom. “I understand, it’s hard to accept. It’s hard for me, too. But you are my son. And I will take you home.”
“Why did you abandon me?”
Those words hurt painfully. The woman swallowed:
“I didn’t abandon you, dear. They told me you… didn’t survive birth. I thought you were in heaven, with dad and your brother.”
“I had a brother?”
“Yes. You were twins. His name was Kirill. He… died with dad five years ago.”
Kostya thought for a moment, then cautiously took her hand:
“You’re crying. Don’t.”
Then Anna couldn’t hold back — she burst into tears. And the little boy, whom she had mourned for so many years, gently stroked her head and repeated:
“Don’t cry, aunt… I mean, mom. Don’t cry, mom.”
On the day Kostya was officially handed over to his mother, Anna Alekseevna brought him to the cemetery.
“Here lie dad and Kiryusha,” she said quietly. “Do you want to say something to them?”
Kostya looked at the photographs for a long time. Then he placed a toy bear on the grave — his only toy from the orphanage.
“This is for Kiryusha. So he won’t be bored.”
Anna bit her lip to hold back new tears.
As they were leaving, Andrey, who came to drive them, lingered by the grave. Turning back, Anna heard him say:
“…I didn’t know you, Vasily Petrovich. But you were a good man if Anya loves you so much. I have fallen in love with your wife. And I will love your son as my own. I promise to protect them. Forgive me.”
Kostya tugged at his mom’s hand:
“Mom, will uncle Andrey live with us?”
“I don’t know, son. We’ll see.”
“That would be good. I like uncle Andrey.”
Anna looked at the man patiently waiting by the car. Maybe… maybe life really goes on even after the worst pain? Especially when a miracle happens.
“Let’s go home,” she said to Kostya. “Grandma Marya Ivanovna baked apple pies. Do you like them?”
“I don’t know. In the orphanage they only gave them on holidays.”
“Then you’ll eat them every day.”
They got into the car. Kostya suddenly asked:
“Mom, do dad and Kiryusha see us?”
“Of course, dear. They are happy for us.”
“That’s good. So now we’re all together. Only they’re in heaven, and we’re here.”
Anna Alekseevna hugged her son tightly. Now they really were all together — not the way she dreamed, but together. And that was enough.