Andrey carefully parked his car by the gate, turned off the ignition, and paused for a few seconds, listening to himself. The frosty air seeped into the cabin through the cracks, and snowflakes, caught by gusts of wind, danced in the streetlight glow as if foretelling something unusual. He looked around. Along the fence, cars of all kinds lined up — from solid Mercedes to modest Nissan models. The cars were parked tightly, as if pressed together by the cold. Andrey smiled wryly: he was almost the last one, as usual.
In the silence of the winter evening, a soft crunch sounded — someone was cautiously stepping along the snowy path. Andrey turned and saw a familiar figure.
“Good day, Andrey Nikolaevich,” came a cheerful, slightly hoarse voice.
“Hi, Vasily. How are you?” Andrey replied, opening the door and stepping outside.
Before him stood Vasily, the guard — a man who had become an inseparable part of this place. He was like a shadow, always nearby but almost unnoticed until needed. No one knew anything about his past — no birth date, no family status, not even where he was from. But everyone who frequented this place knew one thing: Vasily could be relied upon like a stone wall.
He kept secrets like a safe. No one had ever heard him let slip anything about what happened behind the closed doors of the bathhouse complex, where influential and less influential—but always very important to themselves—people came to relax. And he knew how to solve problems. Not just solve them, but do so quietly, carefully, without unnecessary noise or fuss. In critical situations, of which businessmen had plenty, Vasily always found a way out. He was not just a guard — he was the guarantor of order, calm, and, most surprisingly, respect.
“Everything’s fine, Andrey Nikolaevich,” Vasily answered, extending his hand. “May I have your keys?”
Andrey smiled. This was one of the unspoken rules no one discussed — after the bathhouse, no one should feel tempted to leave early when getting into their car. The keys were handed over to Vasily and could only be returned in the morning when the head was clear and the hands steady on the wheel.
Andrey entered the spacious room, already filled with the scent of steam, honey, and merriment. He was greeted by a joyful shout:
“Oh, Andryukha! You’re late as always. Well then, penalty round!”
Andrey grinned and threw his coat on a chair. He felt the tension of the workweek slowly releasing, like ice melting under the spring sun. What happened next was hard to recall. There was the steam room, where the skin burned from the heat, loud laughter, glasses that never emptied, and someone among the friends apparently even started singing to the guitar. Then the girls appeared—bright, laughing, with gleams in their eyes and wine in their glasses. Andrey drank with them, laughed, told jokes, but inside something was tormenting him. It wasn’t the girls — he was unmarried, and no one cared who he spent time with. But something prevented him from fully relaxing, as if deep inside there was an anxiety he couldn’t name.
Suddenly waking up sitting on the bed, he felt dizzy and heavy all over. A thought flashed in his mind: yesterday they had a bet — who could stay on their feet longer. Andrey, like a fool, agreed, knowing that Ignat was a master at drinking and not falling down. The bet was for a wish, like teenagers. And now Ignat was supposed to announce his condition.
Turning his head, he saw a girl stirring nearby and grimaced. He turned away and, to his surprise, smiled faintly. Vasily, as always, did not fail him: on the table stood a chilled jug with a drink he called “reviving.” No one knew the exact recipe — only that it contained berries, herbs, and something else that made it special. It helped one come back to life after wild parties and gave strength for the next day.
“You shouldn’t drink this often,” Vasily always said. “No harm, but it’s not a panacea. Just help.”
Half an hour later, Andrey, gathering his remaining strength, left the room. From the upper landing of the stairs, he looked down: the whole company had already gathered at the table, Vasily was pouring tea into large mugs like a father caring for his children.
“Andryukha, stubborn one, come downstairs, we’re getting sorted out here!” someone called.
Andrey went down and sat in a chair, hoping the bet from yesterday was forgotten. But as soon as he looked into his friends’ eyes, he realized — no, they remembered. And judging by their satisfied smiles, they were planning something special.
“So, Andryukha, ready?” Ignat began with a wide grin.
“Ready for what?” Andrey asked cautiously.
“To fulfill the wish you lost the bet on! We’ve all discussed it and came up with a task for you.”
Andrey sighed. He already understood — the joke would not be easy.
“Alright, lay it out,” he said, feeling annoyance boiling in his chest.
“As you know, we have all either been married or still are. But you have never tried what this ‘married life’ is.”
Andrey grimaced.
“Oh, no. Not this. I’m perfectly fine living alone.”
Ignat continued with a smirk:
“We decided you have to get married and live as a married man for at least one year. For real: live together, go on dates, to the movies, everything that married couples do.”
Andrey snorted. He expected something strange but not this.
“Fine. But to whom?” he asked, already thinking through possible ways to arrange a “fake” marriage with someone he knew. After all, everything could be solved with money.
“We decided you have to marry a simple girl, for example, a milkmaid,” Ignat said cheerfully.
Andrey almost choked on air.
“A milkmaid? Why suddenly?”
“Well, think about it: a village girl. You can’t buy her with money like city girls,” Ignat replied conspiratorially.
They exchanged glances, chuckling, and Andrey really wanted to throw a mug of tea at someone. Of course, they had often bet on strange things, but the terms were always fulfilled without exception. But now he was at a loss: a month to complete the task, and in thirty days he had to show them his “wife.” But where to find a milkmaid who would agree to marry him?
Going outside, Andrey sat on the car’s footboard and lit a cigarette, lost in thought.
“Well, damn…”
“What’s the matter, Andrey Nikolaevich?” came Vasily’s calm voice.
Andrey looked up.
“I need to find a milkmaid who will marry me. Do you happen to know any? I’d pay.”
Vasily looked at him seriously:
“I know one.”
Andrey got up in surprise.
“Really?”
Vasily nodded and sighed:
“Let me tell you. I have a niece. A good woman, but fate has not spared her. Her child is seriously ill, and her husband ran away as soon as he learned the treatment would be long and expensive. She moved to the village — the boy is better there, fresh air, milk. She works on a farm to somehow raise money for treatment. If not for medicine expenses, she would have long quit working two shifts. She’ll do anything for her son. Try talking to her.”
Andrey thought it over. This option seemed perfect.
“Alright, Vasily, give me her address. I’ll go tomorrow.”
But the trip had to be postponed by a day — Andrey felt unwell after the party. The next morning he bought candies for the child, a toy car, and set off. Soon he saw the house — old but well-kept. Andrey knocked on the door.
“Yes, come in,” came a female voice from inside.
The voice was unexpectedly young. Andrey entered and met eyes with large, bright cornflower-blue eyes. At first, he noticed only them, then the mistress of the house — she was young, slender, almost weightless, as if from another world. She looked about thirty but appeared younger.
Andrey, still trying to recover from the unexpected and strange turn of fate, entered the house, where the woman with eyes like the spring sky was already waiting. She stood by the window, slightly leaning on the windowsill, looking at him with the calm confidence born from long reflections and decisions made without hesitation.
“Am I correct in understanding that you are Andrey?” her voice was soft but had a clear businesslike note.
“Yes, hello,” he replied, nodding and glancing around the room somewhat embarrassed. Everything was happening too fast, and thoughts fluttered in his head like butterflies in a closed room.
“Please come in, I’ve already prepared everything. Uncle Vasily warned me,” she pointed to the table where neat stacks of documents and certificates lay.
Andrey stepped forward, feeling tension stiffening his movements. He hadn’t expected things to start so… officially.
“Here is all the information about Semyon’s treatment and costs. If you agree with the sum, I consent to your terms,” she continued, looking him straight in the eye.
Her gaze was direct, honest, and despite the situation, almost proud. Andrey looked closely at the woman: dark circles under her eyes, pale skin, but at the same time an inner strength that seemed to glow from within. He felt uneasy. This was not just a “milkmaid” for some stupid bet. This was a mother willing to give everything for her child.
At that moment, a thin boy with equally large, clear, cornflower-blue eyes like his mother approached. He looked at Andrey with shy curiosity and cautious hope.
“Hello,” he said quietly, hiding one hand behind his back.
Andrey smiled warmly:
“Hi, Semyon. I brought you something.”
He handed over a small box of candies and a toy car. The boy’s eyes lit up with joy, and inside Andrey felt warmth. But immediately guilt arose — he thought he should have brought more. Much more.
After finishing with the papers, Andrey went outside, took out his phone, and dialed a familiar number. After a minute, a confident male voice answered.
“Hi, it’s me. We need to examine the boy. I’ll dictate the diagnoses and test results now.”
He read the information, trying to speak clearly without stumbling. After a pause, the doctor said:
“Okay, if everything is fine, we can arrange a trip. Whenever it’s convenient.”
Andrey returned to the house with a determined expression.
“Well, if everything’s fine, we can leave,” he said.
Valentina looked at him surprised:
“What, right now?”
“Why wait? Besides, Semyon should already be examined in two days.”
She answered hesitantly:
“I need to quit my job and settle all matters here.”
Andrey thought for a moment and then suggested:
“Let’s do this: today I’ll stay with Semyon, we’ll get to know each other better, and you finish everything. Tomorrow morning we leave.”
It was a sudden decision even for Andrey himself. He didn’t understand why he so easily agreed to take on the role of father, friend, and savior. But something stirred inside — like a long-forgotten feeling he thought was unreachable for him.
When they arrived at Andrey’s house — a spacious, modern mansion filled with expensive things and emptiness, Valentina looked around uncertainly. Her gaze swept over the high ceilings, crystal chandeliers, leather furniture, and huge windows overlooking the garden.
“Do you live here alone?” she asked, frowning slightly.
“Yes. Only three times a week a woman comes to clean and cook. Why does it surprise you?” Andrey answered with a slight smile.
“Too much space,” Valentina said quietly, as if speaking to herself.
Andrey shrugged:
“Well, it’s the status that requires it. Here’s your room, the kitchen is there, and the bathroom here. You’ll figure it out. I have to go to work, I’ll be back soon.”
They signed the papers modestly, formally, almost without ceremony. But they couldn’t avoid a visit from businessman friends. That evening they came with flowers and gifts, clearly wanting to see the “new wife.”
“Well, thanks for the heads up, although that credit goes to Valya, not me,” Andrey said, helping the friends take off their coats.
Valentina calmly answered:
“No problem. Let them come in. I’ll prepare everything, besides, you have plenty of food.”
“I’ll help,” Andrey quickly offered. He was ready even to clean the toilet just to be near her, to see her move around his house as if she had always lived there.
“Valya, let’s use ‘you’ instead of ‘you formal’,” he suggested with a smile, and for the first time in their relationship, true trust sounded.
Ignat was the last to leave. Looking around the room, he thoughtfully said:
“Andryukha, I don’t know where you found her, but tell me if you decide to divorce. Such a woman deserves to live in comfort and be carried on hands.”
Six months passed since Valya and Semyon became part of Andrey’s life. It wasn’t that he immediately got used to it — no. At first, every day he reminded himself it was just a deal, a temporary necessity. But over time, even in his own thoughts, those words stopped sounding true.
Semyon unexpectedly began to recover quickly, and the doctor explained that this often happens when the body finally receives a sufficient amount of necessary drugs — the disease simply loses strength to resist.
When Semyon was allowed to spend the weekend at home, Andrey suggested a walk in the park.
“Mama, please! I won’t get tired! I really want to go outside!” Semyon clapped his hands joyfully, his laughter ringing like bells in the quiet winter day.
Valya smiled, and they went out into the fresh air. Spring was already in full swing: everything was buzzing and blooming around. Birds chirped, trees awoke from winter slumber, children ran along the alleys, and the air carried an invisible but palpable hope.
This day was special for Andrey — he saw happiness on the faces of those who had become family to him. Semyon was so delighted when Andrey won him a plush bear at the shooting gallery that Valentina looked at her son with concern.
“Don’t worry, joy and good emotions have never hurt anyone,” Andrey reassured her with a light smile.
Valya took a deep breath:
“It’s hard to get used to the thought that you no longer have to fear every breath your child takes.”
Andrey tensed, noticing Valya wanted to say something important. Inside, everything tightened. “No, not this… Not that it’s time to talk about divorce,” flashed through his mind.
“I don’t know what drove you, but you really helped us, you saved my boy. I don’t know how it will be after we part,” Valya began quietly, “but I have to tell you something. Your friend, Ignat, came to me. He said he loves me, that he will fight for me, and that you’re not needed. I don’t pay much attention to this, but I think you should know.”
Andrey gritted his teeth. His face hardened, his eyes narrowed.
“And what did you tell him?” he asked, unable to hide his tension.
Valya first looked at him, then away:
“It’s not that important.”
“Not important? Maybe for you it isn’t, but for me it is everything. I can’t imagine now how to live without you. You see, I never intended to marry, and if someone told me I’d almost cry at the thought of losing the woman I love, I would just laugh in their face. But now… Tell me what to do? Although… if you decide to leave for Ignat, I won’t hold you back. The main thing is that you and Semyon are well.”
He turned away to hide his emotions, but a moment later felt her warm hand on his shoulder.
“I told him I couldn’t be with him because I love you,” Valya said quietly.
The world stood still. Only the wind rustled the leaves on the trees, and Andrey’s heart beat somewhere in his throat like a bird that suddenly gained freedom.