— Want me to paint the fence and keep an eye on things? I’ll charge you a low price, but at least you’ll be calm—someone will be watching the place.
Alexander looked up and saw a young boy, about fifteen, wearing a quilted jacket clearly not his size but still sturdy, and a black hat pulled tightly down over his forehead. Spring had already arrived, and such clothing looked out of place—too warm for the season. Sasha stood up, put his hands in his pockets, and wondered if he hadn’t accidentally thrown away his old gray light jacket. It had become tight, but he kept it in the truck—just in case it might be useful as a mat during repairs. So far, it hadn’t been needed.
— Right, the paint is already peeling off, it’s time to freshen it up, — he nodded. — You’re right.
The boy looked carefully at the monument and asked directly:
— Is this your sister?
— First wife, — Sasha replied, and after a pause added, — Let’s go, I’ll give you something.
The road was long, but the boy silently walked alongside without asking any questions.
— Wow, is that your truck? — he asked with undisguised interest when he saw the vehicle.
— Not mine, but I’ve been working on it for five years now, so it’s almost like my own. What’s your name?
— Grisha.
The boy circled the huge iron beast, unable to hide his enthusiasm.
— Cool ride.
Sasha smiled:
— Want to climb inside?
— That’s a MAN? — Grisha was surprised, noticing the logo on the grill.
— What, you’ve never seen such trucks? — the driver laughed. — Wow, you really don’t know much!
— We didn’t have those in our village. We used to run to the highway and see the long-haul trucks, but a truck like this — never.
— Well, look, Grisha! You can touch it, — Sasha gave permission.
For another half hour, the boy climbed around the cab, looked under the hood, poked curiously at everything that seemed interesting. Then, realizing the driver had to get going, he politely said goodbye.
— I’ll be back in about five days, — Sasha said, — I’ll bring the money. Come here again.
— Deal! — Grisha held out his hand, and Alexander shook it firmly.
All the way to his destination, Alexander’s thoughts kept returning to this boy. He arrived on time, unloaded, got ready to head back—and then a delay: paperwork, a backhaul shipment, bureaucracy. He decided not to rush the night run after a stressful day and left early in the morning. And again, all the way, Grisha’s face was in his mind. He promised…
Approaching the city, the sky burst into rain. It grew dark, and the road shone under the headlights. Sasha slowed down and turned onto his usual parking spot near the cemetery. The rain poured without stopping, vertical streams falling as if someone had dumped a bucket of water.
After tossing a cigarette butt into the bin, Alexander shivered. He knew he was late and couldn’t blame the boy if he didn’t wait. There was no familiar face at the café or on the veranda.
The trucks were turning around about five hundred meters from the parking lot—where his truck had stood last time.
It was time to go. Sasha looked around once more. No sign of Grisha anywhere.
— Has a boy about fifteen come by in the last couple of days? — he asked the café clerk. The man just shrugged.
He began a slow turn on the soaked road—and suddenly, the headlights caught a figure on the roadside. Shivering in the rain stood Grisha.
— Grishka! — Sasha opened the door wide. — Are you crazy, standing out in the downpour? Get in!
He handed the boy a towel and a dry T-shirt.
— No need, you already gave me a jacket last time.
— Take it, it’s been too small for me for a long time. I always carry something with me—just in case. Well, it came in handy.
— I knew you’d come back. You promised.
— I promised, but… I got held up.
— I thought so. People like you don’t make promises they don’t keep.
— What do you mean “people like me”? — Sasha squinted in surprise.
— Well… honest ones, — Grisha simply answered.
Alexander took out a thermos, poured hot tea, and handed him a cup.
— Come on, I’ll give you a ride home. Where do you live?
— I’m here, at the cemetery.
— What do you mean—here? — gloomy images flashed through Sasha’s mind.
— There’s a watchman here, a worker. He has a little house—small but warm, with a stove. That’s where I live. I help out around the place.
— Ahhh, — Sasha exhaled, imagining a cozy little bed and smoke rising from a chimney.
— My father is buried there, down in the hollow. And my mother… she lost her rights. She’s drinking. I think she wants to be with my father. When they took my younger brothers away—I ran off. I’m almost sixteen. Two more years—and I’ll be free.
— So you’ll live like this for two years?
— Why wander? Who would look for a runaway at the cemetery? At the stations, in abandoned houses—yes. But here—quiet, peace. I earn a little money, the watchman won’t give me away.
— What about your brothers?
Grigory lowered his eyes.
— I miss them… a lot. But I don’t want to go to an orphanage. When I turn eighteen—I’ll take them to live with me.
— They won’t let you take them without a home and a job. At least in the orphanage, you get a room after graduation, but you’re alone.
Grisha fell silent. It was clear he hadn’t thought about that. He decided: I’m an adult, a brother—and everything will work out. His eyes dimmed.
— It’s okay, — he forced out. — I’ll find a job and earn a home in time.
The rain was still drizzling, but the boy was already ready to leave.
— Don’t rush, dry off. I still have to stand here for half an hour, — Sasha lied. — Tell me something. It’s boring to ride alone.
Grisha didn’t need persuading. Clearly craving conversation, he talked without stopping. He told stories about happenings at the cemetery, the watchman’s tales, local legends. He spoke vividly, expressively, gestured, changed intonations—as if performing a play.
Gradually the conversation shifted—to parents, to life, to how hard it had been. It was clear the boy was not spoiled, sometimes naive, still almost a child. And yet—he had gone through grief but hadn’t broken, hadn’t become bitter, hadn’t turned to the dark side. Sasha deeply admired that.
Grisha’s speech became calmer, quieter. The rain abated as well. It seemed they poured out both the rain and their accumulated pain together—the boy, wrapped in the towel, now sat quietly, emptied, but a little lighter.
—I’m going, — Grisha finally said, breaking the prolonged silence.
— Put the jacket in the bag, it needs to dry.
— Okay. Thank you very much, — Grisha carefully folded the wet quilted jacket into a nearby bag and slowly climbed out of the cab.
Sasha watched him go for a long time. His gaze drifted into the past—his own childhood, youth. He remembered how, in his days, he had no desire to work or study, how he was drawn to roam with friends, wander the yards, beg cigarettes from drunk men. A familiar burning surged in his chest again—shame for those careless years. And now, looking at Grisha, Alexander especially felt the emptiness that neither his first nor second wife had children with him. The years were passing, approaching fifty, and with each day, it became more noticeable.
At the next gas station, Sasha reached for his bag to pay for fuel but it was nowhere to be found. His heart clenched sharply. A picture flashed through his mind: he had put money for Grisha into the bag… and that very bag the boy had taken with him along with the jacket. Alexander slammed his fist on the steering wheel. “Well, well… Goodbye, money.” He understood no one would return such money just like that. Essentially, he had given it away.
All the way home Sasha replayed the situation in his head, scolding himself. The trip had not been very profitable, and now he’d lost a decent amount of money. At home, he couldn’t calm down for a long time, pacing the rooms. His wife noticed his state.
— Did something happen? You promised to come back earlier.
— Had to take a backhaul shipment, and the money for fuel disappeared somewhere. I paid out of my own pocket, — he answered reluctantly, as if making excuses.
— Well, it’s okay, we’re not starving. We’ll manage, — Anna sighed. — I’m worried about something else. Olga said her husband came back three days late. Tires were slashed at the parking lot. She says it was because he didn’t pay someone on the highway. These are scary times, Sasha. Maybe you should quit this job?
— No, I’m fine. My route is calm, they pay well. You know yourself, it’s not easy to find work now.
Anna silently went to the table and started setting lunch.
— Sit down, I’ll feed you. Then off to work. Don’t worry about money. We’ll manage.
A week passed. The unpleasant incident with money gradually faded from memory. Sasha went on a three-day run again, expected to return in the evening. Anna stopped by the hairdresser’s after work for a trim.
— Anna, listen, — the stylist started, — Yurka Pronkin said at the haircut that your husband’s son is looking for him. They met at the cemetery. Sasha left, and the boy hitchhiked here.
The woman in the chair turned pale.
— Anna? — the male stylist standing in the hall shrugged. — I thought you knew.
— I was keeping quiet, who asked you?.. Go work, — the hairdresser grumbled. — Anna, how shall I cut your hair? Maybe shorter?
— Zhenya, I’ll come back later, — Anna said and almost jumped out of the chair to go home.
Now everything fell into place. That’s why her husband returned so depressed. He has a son. A son, a son… — echoed in her temples.
She ran, noticing nothing around her. It seemed the whole city already knew, and she was the last to find out.
— Excuse me, which apartment are you from? Thirty-fifth? — a boy timidly shifting from foot to foot stopped her near the entrance. Anna was silent.
— Thirty-fifth? — he repeated.
— That’s Sasha’s wife, — a neighbor from the first floor stuck her head out of the window.
— Come in, — Anna said and opened the door.
— I just need to give you this bag, — Grisha held out a black bag.
— Come in, — she said firmly.
Silence hung in the apartment. Anna didn’t know where to start. Grisha also was silent, confused by the tense atmosphere.
— Hungry?
— Very, — he answered almost immediately. — I was hitchhiking.
— Wash your hands, sit down.
— I…
— Eat first, then we’ll talk, — she interrupted, delaying the moment she feared.
Grisha began eating quickly, as if afraid he might be asked to leave at any moment.
— When will Uncle Sasha come back? Just don’t think— I didn’t take a single kopek from the bag…
— Uncle? What bag? What money? — Anna bombarded him with questions, not able to think fast enough.
— Yes, Uncle Sasha. Alexander. The MAN driver. That’s what he said. Or…
Grisha suddenly jumped up:
— He doesn’t live here?
— He does. Calm down. He should arrive in the evening. Hopefully, you’ll wait. Eat up and tell everything.
But Grisha didn’t wait. He started talking again—fast, lively, with gestures, as if tearing off a long-standing burden from his soul. Anna sat opposite, listened, asked brief clarifying questions, but mostly was silent, absorbing every word.
— So you don’t go to school? Do you have a diploma?
— I didn’t go to tenth grade, though they offered. They said— you have potential. I went to the theater club.
— Ahhh, — Anna stretched, looking at his expressive movements and already imagining how, as deputy principal, she would talk to the principal about accepting Grisha to the upper classes.
— It’s just that if I’d gone— they’d take me to the orphanage immediately.
By this time, Anna already understood: Grisha is not Sasha’s son. And strangely, she felt a little hurt. Ten years of marriage, no children. At first, they tried desperately—doctors, herbs, holy places. Then they gave up. And now, looking at this boy, she suddenly imagined: the three of them at the table, having dinner together. A family. Her imagination ran wild, and the image became so warm she wanted to keep it.
The doorbell rang—a short, joyful ring. Reality slapped her face.
— Hi, — Sasha hugged his wife and kissed her.
— We have a guest, — she said quietly, nodding toward the kitchen.
In the doorway stood Grisha, smiling, finishing a piece of bread. He approached and firmly shook Sasha’s hand.
—I opened the bag… there’s money inside.
— Honest? — Alexander looked at him surprised. — Didn’t expect that.
— How could I not return it? It’s a big sum, and you were on the road. I just got up and left. Here— I gave it back. By the way, the food was very tasty. Now I can leave.
— Come on, don’t rush to say goodbye. We haven’t had tea yet. I brought some treats, sit down.
Time passed unnoticed during conversation. Sasha glanced several times at his wife, subtly nodding toward Grisha. She responded with a light blink.
— Stay with us for the night. Tomorrow we’ll see what comes next.
— I don’t know… I don’t want to bother.
— You’re not bothering. We have a free room. Stay.
At night, Anna couldn’t fall asleep for a long time. The clock hands showed it was already two. Sasha also lay awake staring at the ceiling.
— What are you thinking about? — she asked.
— Grisha… good guy. And his situation is hard.
— He told me everything. I thought—maybe call Lyubov Andreevna, get some advice. Maybe she could formally register him so he’s officially in the orphanage but doesn’t have to live there?
— Unlikely. Any check would show he’s not there, and she’d get a benefit. The elderly woman won’t go for that. Or maybe… we should take him in? Sounds crazy, of course. But we can register him as foster. Ask your acquaintance—what does she say?
Anna froze. She didn’t expect this from Sasha. She herself had long been afraid to suggest it—what if he reacted sharply.
— We need documents, any kind. Without them, it’s just talk.
— We’ll manage. Let’s sleep, — Alexander exhaled.
In the morning, everything seemed easier. Sasha woke in a great mood. Anna left for work, leaving breakfast for the men.
— Will you come with me to the parking? Need to buy and install a new radio, — he asked.
Grisha, of course, agreed without hesitation.
They spent a long time at the truck. Noticing how the boy examined every corner of the vehicle with interest, Sasha started explaining—showing how the cab was arranged, explaining what made this truck different, its features, how the brake system worked, where the spare tire was. Grisha listened, asked questions, his eyes shining—he soaked up every word like a sponge.
By four in the afternoon, both their stomachs rumbled—hunger made itself known. They began to get ready to go home. Sasha handed Grigory an empty jug:
— Run for water. There’s a tap behind that brick building to the left. Fill it, wash up—or Anna won’t let you in the house or feed you dinner. She hates when I come home covered in grease and soot, — he smiled.
Grisha nodded and left. When he returned, he froze.
By the truck stood three men. Two in identical leather jackets were holding Alexander, twisting his arms behind his back. The third—a skinny, restless man with brass knuckles in his hand—was saying something, waving them as if proving his strength.
Thoughts flashed but didn’t form. Grisha threw the jug on the ground, grabbed two scrap pieces of iron pipe lying nearby, and rushed forward.
— Let him go! — he shouted, trying to sound firm.
— Calm down, kid, calm down, — one of the men said, — we’ll talk and leave.
— Leave! Now! — Grigory shouted, waving the pipes, hiding his trembling hands behind his anger. — Let Sasha go!
Sasha tried to break free:
— I told you—the truck isn’t mine! Go to the owner! I don’t have money! Grisha, don’t get involved, it will settle itself!
— Lucky for you the truck isn’t yours, — spat the skinny one, kicked the ground and nodded to his men. — Let’s go.
They left, leaving a tense silence behind. Grisha still held the pipes, trembling from adrenaline and fear.
— Drop it, it’s over, — Sasha came up, took the pipes from him, and hugged the boy tightly. — I was scared too. But not a word to Anna, agreed?
Grisha nodded, unable to utter a sound.
— Good. Let’s go to the tap and wash up, — Sasha said, putting his hand on his shoulder. — By the way, do you have documents?
— I have a passport. I recently got a new one.
— That’s good! Very good! Tomorrow Anna will visit her acquaintance at the orphanage, we’ll start the paperwork. What do you think—will you come to us as a son?
He stopped by the tap, turned to Grisha, and looked him straight in the eyes. The boy froze in the middle of the road, not believing his ears.
— Well, why are you standing? Come on, wash up. Or you’ll be even hungrier.
In the evening at the table, Sasha was calm as usual, and Grisha thoughtful. Anna poured tea when he suddenly quietly said:
— Why do you need me? Maybe I should just leave?
— You can leave, of course, — she answered softly. — But if we take you under our care, doors will open for you. You won’t have to hide. You won’t be afraid. And we don’t need anything from you. Just… tell one more story. About the cemetery. The one Sasha liked.
Grigory smiled, took a sip of warm tea—and began to speak. His voice became lively, vivid again, just like in the truck cab.
The next day, Anna arranged a meeting with Lyubov Andreevna and asked Grisha for his passport.
— There’s something else… I have two brothers. They’re in some orphanage. I don’t know where, was afraid to look for them.
— I’ll find out everything, — Anna said. — Don’t worry.
Lyubov Andreevna stood by the window in her office, watching the children playing in the yard. The woman was elderly but held herself upright, gray hair tied in a tight bun. Her face was stern but kind.
— Anna, you don’t have children of your own, nor does your husband. Why do you want three boys from a family where the mother lost her rights? — she turned around. — This is not just guardianship—it’s fate, responsibility for life.
—I know, — Anna replied. — But Grigory is wandering now, living at the cemetery. He’s talented—he was in the theater club, memorizes poems by heart. If we don’t help—he might go astray. And since we started—why not try to find the brothers?
— Okay, Grigory is understandable. But you haven’t even seen those two.
— We’ll find them, love them, raise them. I have experience working with children! — Anna didn’t give up.
— Oh, Anna… You’re so sure now, but when difficulties come, when there are screams, riots, illnesses—you don’t know what awaits ahead.
— Help us, please. That’s the most important thing now.
Lyubov Andreevna sighed:
— You and Sasha have so much love unspent… You seemed to have been waiting for a chance to give it away. I see it—your enthusiasm, your passion. But I’ll think about it. If we decide about Grigory—he must live with us first, go through adaptation. No way without that.
— Thank you, Lyubov Andreevna, — Anna whispered.
— Don’t thank me. I haven’t decided anything yet. Come back in three days.
Lyubov Andreevna was a grateful person. Once Anna helped her daughter in a difficult situation—and now the woman returned kindness with kindness.
Gradually, everything started to fall into place with Grigory. But the brothers, as it turned out, were already placed with a foster family. However, visitation rights remained. And during the January holidays, Grisha, Sasha, and Anna went to visit them. The boys ran to their brother, hugged and cried. Anna couldn’t hold back tears either.
A year later, in autumn, on the day Alexander came to his first wife’s grave, he stood by the monument for a long time holding a bouquet. The wind rustled the leaves, and he quietly said:
— Thank you. For maybe not directly, but still giving me a son. Maybe not in childhood, but in adulthood—I finally felt what it means to be a father. What I lacked all my life.