— Kovrigin! Come out into the corridor! Immediately!”
The guard’s voice sounded like a hammer striking an anvil — loud, sharp, and absolute. Silence fell over the cell, broken only by the heavy breathing of the inmates. All eyes turned to Rodion Kovrigin, who slowly rose from the iron bunk, as if every inch of his body resisted the movement. His shadow, stretched by the dim light of the bulb on the ceiling, trembled on the wall, as if foreseeing the storm about to break in the next few minutes.
The cellmates exchanged glances, their eyes filled with mockery, malice, and disbelief. Who was this silent newcomer, placed with them without warning? Why hadn’t he become a victim on the very first day, as usually happens to those thrown into their world? They recalled how one of the guys had already raised his hand to strike but stopped in time — because Gena, the owner of this cell, a man with an iron grip and icy stare, said shortly: “Don’t touch him.” And everyone froze. Because in prison, there are laws — harsh, relentless laws — and the main one is: if Gena says it, then that’s how it is.
But the curiosity didn’t fade. On the contrary — it grew stronger. Who was this guy? Where was he from? Why was he imprisoned? And most importantly — why was he guarded by a thief-in-law himself?
The next day, Gena called Rodion over — to the iron bunk in the corner, where his personal cross hung on a string, and under the mattress were letters from his mother, whom he hadn’t seen in ten years. Gena sat, arms crossed, his eyes piercing Rodion’s face like two spotlights.
“Alright, tell me,” he began, without raising his voice but with such force in his tone that a chill ran down Rodion’s spine. “How and why did you end up in this hellish cauldron? Don’t waste my time with official articles. Tell me how it really was. The truth. Only the truth.”
Rodion smirked — not maliciously, not fearfully, but with bitter irony, like a man who had seen too much to fear words.
“Not much to tell,” he answered, lowering his eyes. “A whole life fits into one breath.”
“Well, brother, we’ve got all the time in the world,” Gena smirked. “Here days drag like eternity. So go ahead, open your soul. Or maybe you’re scared?”
Rodion sighed. He understood: silence was impossible. These walls, these eyes, this air — all demanded the truth. And he began to speak. He spoke quietly, but each word sounded like a heartbeat.
“When I was thirteen, my father went to work construction. My mother died when I was very young — I only remember her scent, like chamomile and warmth. And my father… after her death, he changed. As if life itself had faded from his eyes. I started first grade, and he kept staring out the window as if waiting for something. Or someone.
Then, when I was taking my medical entrance exams, he suddenly said: ‘Son, I will restore justice.’ I didn’t understand then what he meant. Later I found out. There were constant accidents at the construction site. People died. But no one investigated. No one asked questions. And my father… he started digging. And for that, they killed him.”
Rodion fell silent. The cell grew as quiet as a grave. Even Gena didn’t interrupt.
“The thugs attacked him at night. Lured him into an alley. Killed him like a dog. Then fled like rats. I was devastated. But my grandmother… she knelt before me and said: ‘You must become a doctor. You must save lives because your father couldn’t save his own.’ I enrolled. I studied like possessed. Then… I met Nastya.
Her name burst from his chest like a moan. He closed his eyes.
“She was… like light. Unworldly beauty. Smart, kind, laughed like the sun was singing. I fell in love at first sight. And she — with me. We vowed to be together. I promised to marry her as soon as I started working. She often went to the village to her grandmother — the very one who raised me. Then… she disappeared.
For several days. I went crazy. Called, wrote — silence. When she came back, she was different. Her eyes — empty, like bottomless wells. I asked: ‘What happened?’ And she said: ‘Rodion… we’ll never be together.’ I fell to my knees: ‘Why?’ Then she told me… that her father — Viktor Petrovich — ordered my father’s elimination. That he was behind it all. That he feared my father uncovering corruption at the construction site. And he ordered him taken out.
Rodion paused. A tear rolled down his cheek — one, but heavy as a stone.
“I couldn’t let her go. I loved her. But I couldn’t accept her father… Grandmother said: ‘If you want to be with Rodion — forget your father.’ Then he came. Viktor Petrovich. Cold as ice. I tried to talk. He listened. Then… he produced fake documents. Accused me of assault. Framed everything so I got locked up. Almost without trial. Documents disappeared, witnesses changed their minds. And here I am.”
Silence. Even the clock on the wall seemed frozen.
Gena looked at him for a long time, then nodded.
“Alright, we believe you. For now. But I’ll check. I have connections. If you lie — you’ll pay. If it’s true… then you’re not just sitting here. You’re fighting.”
Rodion nodded and lay down on the bunk. For the first time in a long time, no one touched him. He closed his eyes, feeling his heart beating — alive, strong, unbroken.
But fate was not asleep. A few days later, the guard called again:
“— Kovrigin! You’ve got a visitor. Urgent.”
Rodion went out. In the corridor stood an investigator.
“Your grandmother… died. You can go to the funeral. But only under guard.”
Hearing this, Gena approached.
“Alright,” he said. “We’ll arrange it. You must be there. It’s your last chance to say goodbye.”
Meanwhile, in the big city, in a luxurious office, Viktor Petrovich paced like a beast in a cage.
“— Nastya!” he shouted. “Where did you find that bastard? He’s in prison! He can give nothing! And now my granddaughter is missing!”
“Varenka!” Nastya cried. “She went to grandmother’s village. She was kidnapped there! I know who did it! It’s my father’s men! They want to break me!”
“Shut up!” roared Viktor. “We’ll find her! I’ll gather a group! We’ll find her, even if we have to turn the whole forest upside down!”
And in the forest, among wet leaves and autumn fog, two scoundrels trembled, looking at the sleeping girl.
“Why did you give her the sleeping pills?” hissed one.
“To keep her quiet!” shouted the other. “It’s all Tamarka’s fault! She said it would just scare Nastya! Now we’re screwed!”
“Let’s leave her here,” whispered the first. “Maybe she’ll survive. Or maybe not.”
They carefully laid Varenka under an old oak and disappeared into the darkness. The cold wind already burned the skin. Frost was beginning.
At that moment, Rodion, dressed in gray prison clothes, ran through the forest. He didn’t know why. His heart told him — there. Somewhere deep inside. About two kilometers to the village, but he felt — something was wrong. Sounds. Rustling. Crying?
He stopped. Listened. And saw her.
Small. Frozen. With half-closed eyes. She muttered: “Mom… Dad…”
“Lord…” Rodion whispered. He took off his jacket, wrapped the girl, and ran. Ran as if life itself depended on every step.
“Pavlovna!” he shouted, bursting into the medical station. “Quick! A child!”
“Rodion?!” the nurse gasped. “But you’re in prison!”
“Later!” he exhaled. “Save her!”
Half an hour later, the ambulance, police, and sirens arrived. Among them — Viktor Petrovich and Nastya.
“Varenka!” Nastya rushed to her daughter.
Rodion lifted his eyes. And saw her. His Nastya. After years, after pain, after betrayal.
“Nastya? Is that… you?”
“Yes, Rodion,” she whispered, crying. “This is our daughter. I couldn’t tell you. Father forbade it. He threatened to kill you if I told.”
Rodion looked at Viktor Petrovich. All the hatred, all the pain, all the rage — he put into one blow. Step. Swing. And — bam! — his fist struck the face of the man who killed his father.
The police rushed in. Handcuffed him. Took him away.
“That’s it,” whispered one of the cellmates. “Now he’s in for life.”
But fate turned again. Six months later — a new trial. Viktor Petrovich, broken and tired, realized he lost. He filed a petition. Admitted his guilt. Helped acquit Rodion.
“I leave part of the business to my daughter,” he said. “And I’m leaving. Forever.”
And here they are — together. Rodion, Nastya, Varenka — living in the village. Daisies bloom near the house. The girl laughs. The man works, heals, saves.
One day they came to three graves.
“Hello, Dad, Mom, Grandma,” said Rodion, holding his wife’s hand, and carrying his daughter on his shoulders. “I brought you to meet my family. You would be proud of me. I didn’t break. I won.”