Nyurka, you little rascal! Where are you rushing on the wet floor?!” — rang out in the corridor of the orphanage. The voice of the cleaner, Valentina Egorovna, trembled with indignation. “If I catch you — I’ll tear your ears off!”
Anya dashed away, dodging the hem of the housekeeper’s dress and trying to get out of reach of her grasping hands.
“I’ll help you clean tomorrow!” she shouted as she ran.
“Your help is like milk to a goat — no use at all!” snorted Valentina Egorovna, but already without much anger.
“What’s going on here, Valentina Egorovna?” the caregiver Yana intervened.
“That young lady is running through the corridors as if there’s a fire. She’s going to twist her neck one day!”
The threat remained purely symbolic — Baba Valya just wagged her finger at the girl, and Anya giggled and stopped: she was waiting exactly for this adult.
“Hello, Yana Albertovna,” she said quietly. “May I talk with you?”
“Of course, dear. But let’s make an agreement — no more running on the wet floor. Come with me, tell me how you’re doing.”
Anya had come to the orphanage quite recently. Her parents had died in a car accident returning from a work shift. The grandmother who stayed with her couldn’t bear the grief and died a couple of months later.
But with Yana Albertovna, the girl quickly found a common language. When no one else was around, Anya called her simply Yana, and she didn’t mind.
Since early childhood, Anyuta showed a gift for languages. At kindergarten, her abilities were noticed and her parents were advised to nurture them. The girl was enrolled in a school with advanced English and French. From the first grades, she actively participated in competitions, olympiads, and quizzes — and always came back a winner.
Yana knew about her ward’s talent and supported it in every way.
“Well, show me your grades,” she took the diary. All marks were straight A’s. “Good job! I’m proud of you! But still, you shouldn’t run in the corridors.”
“May I go to town?” Anya asked. “I promise to come back on time, before the evening check!”
“Alright, but don’t be late,” warned Yana. “Otherwise, we’ll both be in trouble.”
Yana had been working at the orphanage for three years. She came here at twenty-five and grew attached to one of the wards more than anyone else. Colleagues noticed and shook their heads.
“Yana Albertovna, you shouldn’t single out one child from the others,” they advised.
She nodded, agreed, but couldn’t help herself.
Yana was the daughter of a famous businessman, owner of a hotel chain. All her childhood she dreamed of working with children. Her father saw a completely different future for her — he wanted her to continue the family business.
“I built my whole life’s business for you, and you want to throw it all away!” he angrily said when he found out she applied to a pedagogy program. “Your mother would turn over in her grave!”
“She would understand and support me,” Yana answered. “I don’t want to do hotels. I want to be a caregiver.”
“Only because your mother died giving birth to you?” her father bitterly added.
Yana never forgave him those words.
“If I’m guilty of anything, it’s only for staying alive,” she said then, holding back tears.
The next day she left home, leaving a note that she wouldn’t come back.
Her student years were difficult, but Yana studied well, got a scholarship, volunteered where no one cared about her origins. She rented a room, economized on everything. Teachers appreciated her diligence; someone even recommended a job at a children’s center. That’s how she got her first experience working with children.
Her father hoped she would change her mind, but Yana was stubborn — she pursued her goal alone.
“She’s all me,” he once told his partner Marat. “Still, I’m proud of her. If anything happens, watch over her. Though she’ll never ask for help.”
After working at the children’s center, Yana also took a dishwashing job in a restaurant — she needed money for a small apartment. The work was not hard, and the team was friendly. After graduating and joining the orphanage, she kept working there part-time.
“Yanka, you’re like rubber — how do you manage two jobs?” colleagues wondered.
“It’s not work, it’s a pleasant tiredness,” she answered.
It was at the restaurant their paths crossed again. Once, learning about Yana’s second job, Anya ran away from the orphanage and suddenly appeared at the restaurant door.
“Stop! Where are you going?” guard Valera stopped her.
“It hurts! I need to see Yana!” protested the girl.
“What Yana? The dishwashing?”
“That’s right,” nodded Anya, rubbing her hand.
“Alright, sorry, didn’t mean to hurt you. Come on, I’ll take you. Why didn’t you say right away it was Yanka?”
“Would you have let me?” grumbled the girl.
“Yanka! To you!” Valera shouted, cutting off the noise of running water. “Sister?”
Yana turned around. Surprise showed on her face, and a plate nearly slipped from her hands — but she caught it deftly.
“Anya! How did you get here?” she asked, hiding a smile.
“Came to check on you! Curious where else you work,” the girl replied, casting sideways glances at the guard. “And I wasn’t going to share that with him.”
Valera went back to his place, keeping the entrance under control. Yana seated Anya at a free chair.
“Do you realize what could happen if you get caught? And if they find out I’m helping you?”
“Don’t worry,” the girl slyly squinted. “I have a little spot — from there no window is visible. And it’s shift time — no one will notice me.”
“Well, I’m glad to see you too,” Yana hugged her. “Come on, I’ll feed you. Today Anvar’s in the kitchen — his desserts just melt in your mouth!”
They went to the staff canteen; Yana sat Anya at the table and strictly ordered her not to leave. A few minutes later she returned with two plates: one with fragrant pilaf, the other with a delicious dessert.
“Eat up! It’s so good you’ll lose your tongue!” she put the food in front of Anya.
Since then, the girl started dropping by sometimes to see Yana and treat herself to tasty restaurant food.
“It’s better here than at the orphanage,” she sighed, diligently cleaning the plate with bread. “When I grow up, I’ll work in a restaurant too!”
“You have to study well for that,” Yana gently reminded her. “And you’ll succeed easier than anyone.”
But one day Yana got terrible news — her father died in the mountains skiing. She had long wanted to reconcile but never dared. Now it was too late.
Many people came to the funeral. Marat, her father’s close friend, organized everything.
“Yanochka, my condolences,” he hugged her. Yana cried on his chest.
“Uncle Marat… why did this happen? I didn’t even get to talk to him!” she sobbed, soaking the man’s shirt with tears.
Marat and Albert had been army friends. They studied together, created a business that became their shared life. It was a rare friendship able to withstand any test.
When Yana was born, her mother died giving birth. Her father raised her alone, never took another partner. He wasn’t rich then but did everything possible for the child. Yana knew her father loved her, and she loved him very much — until their last quarrel.
And now he was gone.
Marat wanted to talk business but knew it would be painful now.
“I want to talk about your father’s business… our joint business.”
“Uncle Marat, I’m not up for that now,” Yana pulled away and left.
She didn’t go to the cemetery — couldn’t. Returning home, she cried all evening and fell asleep exhausted by grief.
Life went on. Yana tried to hide from pain in work. The parental home remained closed, and she continued living in a rented apartment.
Once, approaching the restaurant, Anya noticed two men — one older, one younger. They spoke English.
“Americans?” she thought, never having seen foreigners in real life. “What are they doing here?”
She pretended to read a notice on the board and listened carefully. Thanks to films without dubbing and school lessons, she understood spoken English well.
The older man spoke about needing money — his wife required an expensive operation abroad. The younger was a native speaker.
“But what about the other half?” asked the younger.
“It belongs to my late friend Albert. He left a daughter, Yana. At the funeral, she said I can handle it as I want. But I can’t do that.”
“Where can we find her?”
“I don’t know. She disappeared.”
Anya couldn’t hold back a surprised hiccup. The men glanced at her briefly but paid no special attention. No one guessed this girl understood every word.
“Then it’s settled,” the younger held out his hand. “Let’s go, Anthony.”
The elder shook hands and they entered the hall, where Valera let them in.
“Hi, Anyuta! Who are they?” the girl asked.
“I don’t know, but looks like they’re discussing a deal. One speaks Russian, the other obviously foreign.”
“Alright, I’m going to Yana.”
The girl slipped inside, and the guard laughed:
“More like Nyrok than Anyuta!”
Anya sneaked into the hall. At a table near the stage sat the men. Taking the microphone, the girl confidently stepped onto the stage.
“One-two,” echoed through the hall.
People started turning around. Anya, a bit embarrassed, continued in English:
“Hello! My name is Anya. But that doesn’t matter. Yana — owner of half the business — is here. She doesn’t know anything. Maybe it’s better she hears it herself?”
Everyone was stunned — not only by the meaning but by how correctly and fluently the teenager spoke.
Yana was called — someone heard Anya’s speech. She entered, saw Marat, and froze.
“Yana!” he didn’t expect to see her. “Finally found you!”
“What are you doing here, Uncle Marat?”
She approached the table, calling Anya over.
“Dad asked me to watch over you. Where have you been?”
“Why watch over me?” Yana shrugged.
Marat told about his share in the business, his wife’s illness, Anthony’s offer.
“What do you think, Uncle Marat?” Yana looked at Anya.
Then Anthony, somewhat awkwardly, began speaking broken Russian:
“Business — Russia! Love hotels! Want to continue if partners.”
“I’m not interested in the hotel,” Yana smiled. “Take my share, give the money to Uncle Marat — he needs it.”
Everyone fell silent. No one expected that.
Anthony came to Russia a few years ago, fell in love with a girl online. After the wedding, he moved here, invested in business but was soon betrayed. His wife left him for another, taking part of the property. But he didn’t give up: sold the rest, launched online hotel management courses, and became successful again.
Learning Yana’s decision, he was amazed. No one had ever refused an inheritance just like that.
After that, their relationship began to change. Six months later they married. And a month after that, they officially adopted Anya, giving her a real family warmth.
Yana remained a caregiver, then became the director of the orphanage. At the restaurant, she was always greeted with respect, like an old friend.
And a few months later, the whole family learned joyful news — Yana was expecting a child.
So the simple, modest life of one young woman and her ward turned into a real fairy tale — happy, full of love and hope.