“Kolya, I’m afraid…” Lera whispered, clutching the edge of her simple cotton dress with trembling fingers. Her voice trembled like an autumn leaf in the wind, and her tear-filled eyes looked at Nikolai with a plea, as if asking not just for an answer, but for salvation.
“What are you afraid of?” he answered softly, almost tenderly, taking her hands and pulling her close. “In a month we’ll have the wedding. It’s all decided. Our parents know everything. We will be a family.”
“But what if you change your mind?..” she whispered, and an icy sorrow rang in her voice. “If you leave… What will I do then? Alone… with a child…”
“My silly girl,” he smiled, kissing her on the forehead. “If it’s a boy — we’ll go fishing together. I’ll teach him honesty, strength, and patience. And if it’s a girl — she’ll be your helper, your joy, the light of the house.”
“And if she looks for her father?..”
“She will find him. I will become her father. Soon you will take my last name, become my wife. And you won’t be afraid anymore. I promise.”
He kissed her lips — gently, like the first time, as if trying to put all the power of his promises into that kiss. Then he lightly jumped over the wooden fence, leaving behind the quiet street where the last lights were already fading. Night hadn’t come yet, but in the village, as if on cue, everything quieted: no laughter, no songs, only the rare barking of dogs and the rustling of leaves in the wind. Village life was falling asleep like a tired traveler after a long day.
Nikolai walked with his hands in his pockets, a slight smile on his face. He worked in the sowing campaign and was paid well — not just enough for bread and butter, but for dreams. For a new roof, for a beautiful dress for Lera, for a stroller for the future baby. The chairman had given him a couple of days off — time to sleep, rest, and prepare for the wedding. Everything seemed bright, like the morning dawn.
But suddenly ahead, by the roadside, he noticed a silhouette. Not a local woman. No local woman would wear such tight pants, or stand with a cigarette in her hand as if she came off the cover of a fashion magazine. Her hair was cut short, her gaze was daring, provocative. The stranger stood as if challenging the silence of this village, as if she came here to turn everything upside down.
“Hi, beautiful!” he said, stopping a few steps away. “Where did you come from?”
“Oh wow, so friendly here!” she smirked, exhaling smoke. “Can you even introduce yourself, or were you never taught manners?”
“My name is Nikolai. And yours?”
“Marina,” she tossed, flicking the ash. “Listen, where can you have fun here? Is there anything interesting in this backwater?”
“There’s dancing at the club on Saturdays,” Kolya shrugged.
“Saturday? I don’t want to wait that long! I need it now!”
“Now?” He thought. “Well… if now, then to my place. It’s quiet, no one will disturb us.”
“Then come in. I rented a summer house near my grandmother’s. Not far.”
Fifteen minutes later they were sitting in a cool room, where quiet, languid music played on an old record player. On the table — a bottle of wine, fruit, candles. Marina looked at him challengingly, but in her eyes was not just lust — there was defiance, rebellion, thirst for something new, sharp, forbidden.
“Shall we dance?” she asked, standing up.
“Let’s dance,” he replied, hugging her, pulling her close.
And the music, and the dance, and the closeness — it was like a dream. Dangerous, sweet, deceptive.
In the morning Nikolai woke in a cold sweat. He jumped up, gathered his things, ran outside, looking around like a criminal. The sun was already rising, soon the women would go to milk the cows. He ran along the dusty road, his heart pounding. What had he done? How could he? Lera was waiting for him… waiting for their child…
But that evening he went to Marina again. She was leaving the next day. It was the last night. The last weakness. The last sin.
Meanwhile, at the farm, while Lera was pouring milk from a bucket, one of the milkmaids smirked and said:
“Lerka, Kolya didn’t spend the night at home. They saw him sneaking into the visitor’s house.”
“You’re lying!” Lera screamed, and the bucket clattered to the ground.
“No one’s lying. They say he’s going to the city with her. He’ll leave you, pregnant, like an old shoe.”
The words stabbed her heart like a knife. Lera rushed to Nikolai’s house. The door was locked. Only Kolya’s mother sat at the table, her eyes red from tears, looking out the window.
“He left…” she whispered. “With her. To the city.”
Lera sank to the floor, sliding down the wall. The world collapsed. Her ears rang. In her head — one thought: disgrace. She — pregnant, abandoned, humiliated. How could she now look people in the eye? How to live?
She dashed home, tearing off her robe as if trying to tear shame from herself. Pain throbbed in her temples. No. I know what to do.
In the village lived a healer, Valya — a woman whose eyes reflected both pain and ancient wisdom. People came to her when children were sick, when husbands drank, when hearts broke. And now Lera came to her — with a broken heart and a burden she didn’t know how to carry.
“Mom, Kolya left me… went to another woman… to the city…” she sobbed, bursting into the house.
“What about you? And the child?” her mother asked in horror.
“Why would he need me? I’m just a village girl… simple…”
Her father came out of the room, his face hard as stone.
“As soon as it’s born — I’ll shoot him!” he shouted, clenching his fists.
“Daughter, why this for you?..” her mother wept.
“Mom, I’m going to Valya. Tell work I’m not coming…” Lera packed her things.
“Go, daughter. I’ll tell them…”
An hour later she stood by the healer’s house.
“Come in, girl. Let’s have some tea and talk,” Valya invited, as if she already knew everything.
At the table, by the light of the lamp, they were silent. Then the old woman asked:
“Why did you come?”
And Lera laid out everything. All the pain, all the fear, all the shame.
The old woman poured her tea. It was bitter, with a taste of herbs, something unfamiliar. After minutes, Lera felt heaviness in her head, her eyelids weighed down like lead. She fell asleep.
And she dreamed a dream. A child — small, fragile — was drowning in a fast river. He cried, called: “Mama! Help!” But she could not move. Her feet were glued to the ground. She screamed, but no sound came. Then — a splash. And silence.
She woke up.
“Well, have you decided?” Valya asked. “Will you get rid of the child?”
Lera was silent. Then quietly said:
“No. This is life. My blood. My soul. I will not kill him.”
“Good,” nodded the healer. “Go home. And remember: you are not alone.”
She walked home on foot. Valya forbade her to ride a bicycle — pregnant women shouldn’t. But Lera walked with her head held high. She would give birth to this child. Raise him. Be strong. She had Valya. She had her parents. She had love.
Nine months later, on a clear spring day, a boy was born. Healthy, loud, with gripping little hands. From the maternity hospital, Lera was met by her mother and father. And the next day Nikolai’s mother came — with a bundle containing knitted socks, shirts, a baby blanket.
“Please… let me see my grandson… I am his grandmother…” she said, trembling.
Lera hesitated, then gently handed over the baby.
“Oh, my dear, my blood…” the woman whispered, holding the child close to her heart. “Grandma brought you something no one else has — love.”
Two months later, Nikolai returned. The city didn’t accept him. Marina left. He stood by the store, complaining to friends:
“You won’t believe it! She throws parties every day! Cooking isn’t her thing!”
“You should have stayed with Lera — then you wouldn’t have problems,” they answered him.
“Come on, Lera will forgive me…” he sighed.
“She won’t. She’s getting married. And the son — she’ll register under the new husband’s name. She has her own life now.”
At home, his mother waited for him. She gave him tea, then took a suitcase out to the porch.
“Go back to your city. You were fine there when you left a pregnant girl. You’re not welcome here.”
“But where am I to go?..”
“You’ll find out. Like you found the one who took you away from goodness.”
And a week later, the village celebrated a wedding. Lera walked down the aisle with a smile, in a white dress, holding her son. The new husband — kind, strong, reliable — hugged her shoulders. The little boy now had three grandmothers: his own, the healer Valya, and Nikolai’s mother, who, despite everything, came to the wedding and cried tears of happiness.
Life went on.
Strong. Bright. Real.
And that was its meaning.