Alexey stopped the car. So many times he had planned, intended to come, but never found the time. While his mother was alive, he wasn’t there. After she was gone—still, he wasn’t there.
The memory filled him with disgust toward himself. It would have taken so little—just one jolt to make him realize that the world he had built around himself was nothing but a mirage. Not a single word, not a single act had real meaning. In a way, he even felt grateful to Irina, his ex-wife, for opening his eyes.
Everything had collapsed in an instant. The family life that had seemed exemplary to others, his friendships—they were all fake. It turned out his wife and best friend had been betraying him, and the friends who knew about it had stayed silent. It was a complete downfall. Everyone around him had betrayed him. After the divorce, Alexey went back to his hometown. It had been eight years since his mother’s funeral, and in all that time he had never once found a moment to visit her grave. Only now did it hit him—his mother had been the one person who would never have betrayed him.
Alexey had married late. He was thirty-three, and his chosen one twenty-five. Oh, how proud he had been to see Irina beside him—elegant, refined. Later, when she screamed in his face that she had hated him their entire short marriage, that intimacy with him had been torture, he realized just how blind he’d been. Her rage-twisted face was like a grotesque mask—repulsive and frightening. And yet, he had almost fallen for her act. Irina had wept so convincingly, begged for forgiveness, said he was always busy and she was always alone.
But when he firmly announced the divorce, Irina showed her true face. Alexey got out of the car, took a huge bouquet of flowers, and slowly walked down the cemetery path. After so many years, the grave must be overgrown. He hadn’t even come when the headstone was installed. Everything had been arranged online, remotely. Life could pass the same way—remotely.
To his surprise, the fence and monument were well-kept, not a weed in sight. Someone had been caring for it. Who? Perhaps one of his mother’s friends—likely still alive. After all, her son hadn’t found the time to come. He unlatched the gate.
“Well, hello, Mom,” he whispered. His throat tightened, his eyes stung, and tears rolled down his cheeks.
He was a successful businessman, a stern man who never cried or brooded. Now he wept like a child—and he didn’t want to stop. It felt as though his soul was being cleansed, that everything connected to Irina and other failures was being washed away. As if his mother were stroking his head and whispering: “There, there… It’ll be alright, you’ll see.”
He sat for a long time, silently conversing with her in his mind. Remembered scraping his knees and crying, his mother dabbing the wounds with antiseptic, blowing on them, soothing him: “It’s nothing, all my boys have scraped knees. They’ll heal and leave no trace.” And they did heal. And each time, the pain became easier to bear.
“You get used to everything, to anything. But you must never get used to betrayal,” she used to say. Now he understood the depth of her words. Back then, they had seemed ordinary, but now he saw how wise she had been. She had raised him without a father, never coddled him, and yet brought him up to be a decent man.
He didn’t know how much time had passed, and didn’t want to check. Peace had settled over him. He decided to stay in town for a few days. He needed to figure out what to do with his mother’s house. He could easily keep paying the neighbor to watch over it, but how much longer would it stand empty?
He smiled, remembering how he’d met her daughter. When arranging the house care, he’d met Katya. Back then he’d been miserable, full of bitterness. Katya had been kind. They’d met in the evening, talked, and things just happened. By morning, he was gone, leaving a note about where to leave the key.
In Katya’s eyes, perhaps it hadn’t looked great. But he had promised nothing, and it had been mutual. Katya had come to her mother’s after divorcing an abusive husband. She had told him so. It had been hard for her, hard for him—and then it just happened.
“Excuse me, sir, could you help me?” A child’s voice pulled him back. He turned sharply to see a girl of about seven or eight holding an empty bucket.
“I need some water to water the flowers. My mom and I just planted them, but today she’s sick. It’s so hot, they’ll wilt. The water is nearby, but I can’t carry the bucket alone. And I don’t want Mom to know I came here by myself. If I take it in small amounts, it’ll take too long and she’ll find out.”
Alexey smiled. “Of course. Show me where.”
The girl walked ahead, chattering non-stop. In five minutes, he knew everything—how she had warned her mother not to drink cold water in the heat, how now her mother was sick, how she was visiting her grandmother’s grave, and how she dreamed of graduating with a gold medal.
Alexey felt lighter. How pure-hearted children were! He realized he would have been happy with a loving wife and child waiting for him at home. Irina had been like an expensive doll, never wanting to hear about children—she’d said only a fool would ruin her beauty for a squalling little creature. They’d been married for five years, and he now realized he had not a single warm memory from that life.
He set the bucket inside the fence, and Liza carefully watered the flowers. Alexey glanced at the headstone—and froze. The photo was of the neighbor he’d arranged with to watch the house—Katya’s mother. He looked at the girl.
“Galina Petrovna was your grandmother?”
“Yes. Did you know her? Oh, of course—you were at Grandma Galya’s grave. Mom and I always take care of it.”
“You and your mom?” he asked, confused.
“Yes, with Mom. I told you, she doesn’t let me come alone.”
The girl picked up her bucket. “Well, I’d better run—she’ll worry and ask questions, and I can’t lie.”
“Wait, I’ll drive you.”
She shook her head. “I can’t get in a car with strangers, and I don’t want to upset Mom—she’s sick.”
Liza ran off. Alexey returned to his mother’s grave, deep in thought. Katya hadn’t lived here—she’d only visited. Now it turned out she was living here and had a daughter. He hadn’t known she had a child. Could it be hers from later?
He drove to his mother’s house. It looked unchanged, as though she might step out at any moment. The garden was blooming, neat—Katya’s doing. Inside, everything was spotless, fresh, lived-in. He decided to visit the neighbor and settle matters first.
The door opened—and there was Liza. “Oh, it’s you! Just don’t tell Mom we saw each other at the cemetery.”
From inside: “Come in. I’m feeling a bit better, but don’t get too close—you might catch it.”
Katya appeared, startled. “You?”
“Hi.”
“Where’s your husband?”
“There isn’t one,” she said simply, then added, “I didn’t tell you about your mother’s death… I’ve been taking care of the house myself.”
“Thank you. Coming back felt like she’d only stepped out for a minute. Are you here for long?”
“No, just a few days.”
“What about selling the house?”
“Haven’t decided yet.” He took out an envelope. “For taking such good care of it.”
“Aleksey, you don’t have to—”
“Thanks, Uncle Alexey!” Liza chirped. “Mom wants a new dress, and I want a bike!”
That evening he realized he was sick—probably caught it from Katya. He texted her, and ten minutes later she and Liza were there with medicine and tea. Watching them, something clicked.
“Katya… when was Liza born?”
She deflected, sending Liza to the store, then said, “Aleksey, let’s agree—Liza has nothing to do with you. We need nothing. Forget it.”
“So it’s true?” He jumped up. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I decided to keep the child myself. I didn’t think you’d ever come back, let alone care.”
He was stunned. All these years, real life had been here—in the form of Katya and Liza.
“What will you do?” she asked. “Don’t tell Liza—you’ll leave, she’ll wait.”
“No, Katya. I don’t know what I’ll do, but I won’t disappear.”
That night he dreamed of his mother, smiling, saying she had always wanted a granddaughter like Liza.
Three days later he left, promising to return in a week or so—not just to visit, but to win Katya back.
It took three weeks. He arrived at Katya’s with bags of gifts. She looked up from her sewing and smiled faintly. Liza came out of the room.
“I’ve thought about what you said,” Katya told him. “Liza, I want you to meet your father.”
Aleksey dropped the bags. “Thank you,” he whispered.
A week later, both houses were up for sale. They decided to start over. Liza was still shy, sometimes calling him “Dad,” sometimes “Uncle Alexey.” He laughed, hugging her and Katya, believing that finally, life was as it should have been all along.