Svetlana was sobbing, burying her face in a pillow. Her heartbreaking gasps tore through the silence of the room. Aleksey couldn’t find peace — he nervously paced from corner to corner, trying to understand how something like this could even happen.
“How can you lose a child?” he asked, trying to restrain his anger.
“I didn’t lose her!” Svetlana exclaimed. “We were sitting on a bench, Olya was playing in the sandbox. There were plenty of children around, you know that. Nobody can watch every child around the clock! Then everyone scattered… I immediately searched everywhere, checked every meter, then called you!”
Her voice trembled again, and she broke down crying even harder. Aleksey stopped, sat down beside her, gently placed a hand on her shoulder.
“Sorry,” he said more softly. “I understand. This is not just a loss. She was taken. I will find them. I will definitely find them.”
The search for the five-year-old girl began immediately. The police worked around the clock, combing through yards, basements, parks, wooded areas. All forces were thrown into the search, but there was no trace. It seemed the child had vanished without a trace, as if the ground had swallowed her.
Aleksey seemed to have aged ten years overnight. He remembered the vow he made to his sick wife: to make Olya the happiest girl in the world, to protect her more than life itself. Two years after his first wife’s death, he married Svetlana. She insisted, saying Olya needed a woman’s care. The relationship between the girl and her stepmother never developed, but Aleksey believed it was temporary.
For a whole year, he was barely himself. Sometimes he would drown his sorrow in alcohol, other times he would refuse even a drop. Meanwhile, the young wife managed the company, and Aleksey was fine with that. The only thing he did daily was call the police. Each time he received the same answer: “No new information.”
Exactly one year after the daughter’s disappearance, Aleksey came to the playground where it all started. Tears rolled down his cheeks.
“A year… a whole year without her…”
“That’s right, cry. Tears cleanse the soul,” a voice nearby said.
Aleksey flinched. Sitting nearby was Baba Dasha — the local janitor who had lived here as long as the elite settlement had existed. She seemed eternal — neither aging nor growing young, just part of the landscape.
“How do you live now?”
“Not like this. You haven’t looked like a man for a long time. And if Olya is found — how will you show yourself to her like this? And what are you doing to people anyway?”
“What do you mean? What do people have to do with this?”
“That your wife is selling off the company. People are left without jobs. You gave hope, and now you throw them out on the street like garbage.”
“That can’t be…”
“But it is. And she might even poison you, then there’ll be no one left for your daughter to come back to.”
Baba Dasha stood up and, without saying goodbye, walked away, the broom dragging indifferently across the asphalt.
Aleksey sat for a little while longer, then slowly went home. Within an hour, he pulled himself together. When he looked in the mirror, he shuddered — an old man stared back at him: thin, gaunt, a stranger.
He got into the car he hadn’t driven for a year and drove to the office. Everything inside him fluttered — he felt himself beginning to come back to life.
On the first floor, instead of the familiar face of the receptionist, sat a young woman engrossed in watching a video. She didn’t even glance at him. On the second floor, instead of his loyal secretary Lydia Sergeyevna, there was a newcomer — a brightly made-up woman. Seeing Aleksey, she tried to stop him:
“You can’t come in here!”
But he just pushed her aside and entered. In the office, a surprise awaited him: Svetlana was sitting on the lap of a young man. Seeing her husband, she jumped up, hurriedly fixing her clothes.
“Lyosha! I’ll explain everything now!”
“Get out. You have two hours to disappear from the city.”
Sveta fled, and her pale, sweaty companion slipped out after her. Aleksey coldly added:
“This applies to you too.”
A few minutes later, he summoned all department heads. He called Lydia Sergeyevna, who had left after Svetlana replaced all key staff.
“I called, but you didn’t answer,” she said.
“Come back. They’re waiting for you.”
Thus began the revival of the company. Aleksey didn’t leave the office for almost two days, sorting everything out, restoring connections, firing those who betrayed him. Returning home, he smirked — Sveta had managed to take all the valuables. But he didn’t feel sorry. He just hoped she wouldn’t overexert herself. By midday, he had already cut off her access to the bank accounts.
Acquaintances shook their heads: where did the kind, always ready to compromise man disappear to? Now in his place was a tough, decisive businessman who didn’t change his mind.
Five years later, the company thrived. Ten years later — it became the regional leader, having absorbed most competitors. He was not just respected — he was feared. But there were three people allowed to see the real him: Lydia Sergeyevna, the housekeeper Valentina Stepanovna, and Baba Dasha. They knew that behind the cold mask was deep pain he never overcame.
One evening, Valentina Stepanovna peeked into the office.
“Aleksey Mikhailovich, may I have a moment?”
“Come in, of course.”
Aleksey put down the documents, stretched, and smiled:
“What smells so good? Pancakes, right?”
The woman laughed:
“You guessed right. I think you baked them on purpose so I couldn’t refuse you.”
“Maybe. Do you need something?”
“Aleksey Mikhailovich, since we moved to the new house, I can’t manage alone. The house is big, the garden, the flowers… And I’m not getting any younger.”
Aleksey looked at her worriedly:
“You want to quit?”
“No, no, not at all! I just want to ask permission to hire an assistant — a helper.”
Aleksey frowned — he didn’t like changes, especially in his home. Over the years, he had almost completely shut himself off from the world, leaving only business communication. There had been no room for new faces in his life for a long time.
“Valentina Stepanovna, you understand…” he began, slightly frowning.
“I understand, Aleksey Mikhailovich,” the woman answered softly. “But forgive me — the old house was small and cozy. And here — a whole mansion, garden, winter garden, flowers… And I’m no longer the young bird I used to be.”
He thoughtfully nodded. Fair enough.
“All right,” he finally said. “But let it be quiet. No noise, no fuss.”
“Have I ever let you down in fifteen years?”
“Not once,” he smiled. “Now, are the pancakes ready?”
“Oh, you know my weak spot,” Valentina laughed.
The next day, Aleksey didn’t go to the office. As he had for sixteen years in a row, he went to the park where it all began. The place where on one ordinary day his daughter disappeared. He came here every year like to a memorial. Sat on the bench, watched the children, the sky, sometimes cried, but more often just stayed silent. Near evening, he returned home, locked himself in the office, and allowed himself some whiskey — the only day of the year when he let the pain out.
At home, he found a surprise.
“This is where the cleaning supplies are kept, here are the rags and gloves,” came Valentina’s voice.
Aleksey frowned. Why today of all days did she bring a helper? On this very day?
Before he could turn to leave, two figures appeared from the living room: Valentina and a fragile girl about nineteen. Noticing his gaze, she shyly tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear.
Aleksey’s heart clenched painfully. Something in that movement, in her eyes, in the expression on her face, touched him deeply inside.
“Aleksey Mikhailovich, this is Oksana, she will help me. Try not to bother him,” Valentina said sternly.
The girl nodded without saying a word.
“Does she even talk?” Aleksey asked.
“She does, but… doesn’t like it much. Doesn’t like it or can’t — I don’t know. But that’s fine too.”
Valentina led the girl away, and Aleksey slowly sank into a chair. Something troubled him, as if an invisible thread stretched from the past. He couldn’t understand what exactly. Shrugging, he went into his office, took a bottle of whiskey and a glass.
On the table, as always, lay a tray with snacks — Valentina’s care. Aleksey sat down, poured himself a drink, and opened the old family album. It was his annual ritual of pain — looking through photos of Olya, remembering how she laughed, took her first steps, said “papa”…
The page with the birthday — four years old. He was about to turn the page when suddenly he froze. He approached the table, took a magnifying glass, and sat down again. For a long time, he stared at one point on the photo.
Then his heart stopped.
He nearly broke down the door, running into the kitchen. Valentina stepped back frightened against the wall.
“What happened?”
“Where is she?! Where is your helper?!”
Valentina silently nodded toward the living room. Aleksey rushed there. Oksana stood in the corner, looking at him fearfully. Those eyes… he would recognize those eyes among thousands.
He grabbed her hand, tugging up her sleeve slightly. On her wrist was a child’s bracelet — worn, faded, but painfully familiar.
Aleksey’s voice trembled:
“Take a notebook. Quickly!”
Valentina immediately brought one. The girl hesitantly took a pen and wrote:
“I don’t know. He was always there. That’s all I have from childhood.”
“Don’t you remember anything from that time?” he asked, feeling a strange, wild fear rising inside.
She shook her head and wrote:
“No. I was sick. I only remember from age seven.”
Aleksey gritted his teeth, trying to hold back a growl.
“Who are your parents?”
Oksana wrote again:
“I don’t know. I lived with gypsies. Ran away when they decided to marry me off.”
Valentina sank into a chair, clutching her chest:
“That can’t be…”
Aleksey stood there, as if petrified. Could it be? Could this girl be his daughter? If yes — why hadn’t he found her earlier? If no — then who is she? And why this bracelet? Why those eyes?
“You’re going with me to the clinic,” he said, trying to sound firm.
The girl looked at Valentina, who nodded:
“Don’t be afraid. Nothing bad will happen. I will go with you.”
That week became the longest in his life. The only worse day was when Olya disappeared. Now it seemed that as soon as he stepped out of the house, all hope would disappear. What if it wasn’t her? What if he was wrong?
“Lydia Sergeyevna, call the head of security. Cancel all appointments. I won’t be available this week. Yes, let those deals wait — I will make new ones.”
When they gathered, the head of security asked to speak with Oksana alone. Lydia Sergeyevna, as always, intervened:
“Oh come on, son. Don’t scare her. She’s already worried enough.”
The man awkwardly cleared his throat, blushing like a schoolboy.
“I’ll handle it. If they know anything — they’ll tell me everything.”
Oksana silently wept all this time. She didn’t understand what was happening. Life had just begun to get better after the horrors of gypsy life, where she was beaten for reading, for asking questions, where she didn’t taste fresh air for months. And now — these people, their strange looks, the conversations, the tension around her.
When the doctor and security arrived simultaneously, Aleksey looked at them warily:
“Already arranged it, huh? Who first?”
“I’ll go first,” said the doctor. “This girl is your daughter.”
Suddenly the room darkened. Aleksey didn’t even understand how he ended up on the floor. It seemed the world disappeared for a second, then came back, and the doctor’s voice came from far away.
When the light returned to his eyes, he was sitting on the floor, breathing heavily. He looked up at the second man.
“The gypsies took her away. Took her by order. They had a plan. And money.”
“Who?” Aleksey’s voice was dry as paper.
“Svetlana.”
He closed his eyes. No wonder. He knew she was capable of a lot. Just not this.
“I will find her.”
“Don’t. We found her. She lives in poverty, lost everything. Doesn’t recognize anyone. Seems she doesn’t even know herself.”
They went into the living room. Valentina Stepanovna couldn’t take her eyes off Aleksey. He only looked at Olya. The girl trembled, her head splitting, her body aching from tension. She didn’t know what to do.
Aleksey dropped to his knees in front of her:
“Forgive me, my daughter. Forgive me for not finding you earlier. Those who hurt you will be punished. I promise. Forgive me, Olenka.”
The girl staggered, grabbed her head, then looked at the bracelet. Her lips trembled, and she whispered, like an echo from a distant childhood:
“Daddy… Daddy, you gave this to me for my birthday. I was four years old.”
A year later, on a university campus, a first-year student, cheerful and smiling, with books under her arm, hurried to a lecture. There was no fear in her eyes anymore. Only light. And few of those who knew her past would recognize in her that same girl who was once stolen from her father.