Boris Sergeyevich, on his way to his business partner’s country house with his fiancée for a barbecue in honor of the holiday, stopped by the supermarket. Initially, he had planned to celebrate March 8th in a restaurant, but Anzhela, having learned about the invitation, persuaded him that a trip to the country house would not only be pleasant but also useful. Influential people would be there—people she had long dreamed of meeting, after all, she was the fiancée of the head of a major holding company.
He had ordered a gift for Anzhela in advance—an elegant necklace, neatly packed and lying on the back seat of the car. In the supermarket, he decided to buy a bottle of cognac, and also to add to the gift a bouquet of flowers and a bar of chocolate—he knew Anzhela adored sweets, despite always looking impeccable.
Approaching the shelf with chocolate, Boris was surprised—the shelves were almost empty. Of course, it was March 8th, Women’s Day—no wonder everything had been snapped up. Only cheap bars remained, the kind Anzhela wouldn’t even notice. But in the far corner, on the top shelf, he spotted the last package of premium chocolate—just the kind she would like. As he reached for it, he suddenly felt someone grab his sleeve. Turning around, he saw a boy of about eight, with a red nose and a trembling voice.
“Uncle, please, give me that chocolate! I want to give it to my mom for the holiday!”
“Why don’t you take another one?” Boris was surprised. “Look, there are plenty of options here.”
“Mom saw this one in an advertisement,” the boy answered quietly. “I saw how she looked at it. She’s never tried it.”
Boris thought for a moment, then shrugged and handed over the chocolate. Anzhela already lacked nothing—she was used to the best. But for this boy, this gift clearly meant a lot.
“Here you go,” he said. “Happy holiday!”
The boy’s face lit up with happiness, he grabbed the chocolate and ran to the checkout, not forgetting to thank him.
Boris followed. At the checkout, he saw the child pour out coins onto the belt—one-ruble and five-ruble coins, kopecks, a few ten-ruble coins. He timidly asked the cashier:
“Auntie, please count if I have enough?”
She looked disdainfully at the handful of coins.
“Not even a third is enough. Put your money away and leave the chocolate.”
“But I really need it…” the boy’s voice trembled, he was holding back tears. “Please, count it!”
“I said—no! Don’t bother me, or I’ll call security!” the cashier snapped irritably.
“Wait!” Boris intervened. “Happy holiday!” he politely nodded to the woman, and she reluctantly stretched her lips into a smile. “The child wants to buy chocolate. Sell it to him.”
He pulled out his card, paid for the purchase, and, winking at the boy, said:
“Gather your money. You’ll need it later.”
The boy looked confused, but obediently gathered his coins and, stuffing the chocolate into his pocket, held them out to Boris:
“Take it… I have to pay you.”
“You don’t owe me anything,” Boris replied gently, patting him on the shoulder. “It’s a gift.”
Having paid for his own purchases, Boris took the bag and headed for the exit. But the boy did not lag behind.
“Uncle, please… It’s me who wanted to give it to my mom! And now it turns out that it’s you?”
Boris stopped and looked at him intently.
“What’s your name?”
“Igoryok,” the boy replied, adding, “At first I was saving for my mom’s medicine. I picked up coins, and the neighbor grandmas sometimes gave me some when they asked me to buy bread. But Grandma Vera said: you’ll never save enough for medicine, they’re for life. Then I decided—let there at least be a holiday. I’ll earn money later for the medicine myself. I’ll find a job and buy everything she needs.”
Boris nodded, touched.
“Well done. And my name is Uncle Borya. Tell me, Igoryok, what medicine does your mom need?”
“I don’t know,” the boy shrugged. “The doctors say it’s very expensive, and nothing else helps. Mom says if she hadn’t been fired, she wouldn’t have gotten sick. Now she cries all the time. I thought chocolate would cheer her up.”
“Why was she fired?”
“She says she ‘got in someone’s way.’ Then she couldn’t find a normal job—only sold vegetables at the market. One day she stood in the rain all day, caught a cold, and now… she’s sick.”
“Listen, Igoryok,” Boris said. “How about I congratulate your mom myself? Find out what she needs and maybe I can help.”
“Really?” the boy’s eyes sparkled. “We live nearby, just around the corner.”
Boris put the bag in the trunk, took the flowers meant for Anzhela, and followed Igoryok.
The apartment smelled of silence and fatigue. It was clean, cozy, but lacked the warmth that exists in a home where a happy person lives.
“Son, where have you been so long?” a woman’s voice rang out. Boris froze for a moment. That voice… it was familiar.
“I came with an uncle,” Igoryok replied. “He’s kind. Wants to help.”
“With what uncle?” the woman asked anxiously. “Wait…”
A minute later she allowed them to enter. Boris stepped into the room uncertainly, holding the bouquet.
“Happy holiday,” he said, but suddenly froze. “You?!”
“Boris Sergeyevich?” the woman sitting on the couch tried to stand, but couldn’t. “I’m tired… I can’t walk long, it’s hard to breathe.”
“Irina Alexandrovna? What happened to you?”
He pulled up a chair, sat down next to her.
“I didn’t think it would come to this. I caught a bad cold, now I have lung problems. And you, how are you here?”
“By chance,” he replied, but immediately asked: “But how did you end up without a job? I was told you quit voluntarily, without even working your notice, for a more profitable offer?”
Irina Alexandrovna gave a bitter smile.
“Is that what Anzhela Vyacheslavovna told you? She’s the one who fired me. Without notice. And also sent a negative reference to all the databases—now no one will hire me.”
Boris stood, sat back down, rubbed his temples.
“For what? Why didn’t you tell me?”
“What could I say?” she sighed, closing her eyes. “Would you have believed your fiancée? And she threatened: if I said a single word to you—she’d frame me for an embezzlement so big I couldn’t repay it, and I’d go to jail.”
“Is… this true about Anzhela?” Boris couldn’t believe it.
“You see? You don’t even believe it.”
“No, I just… can’t grasp it. She said you asked to leave yourself… I had no idea… But that’s not important now,” he straightened up. “Tell me, what medicine do you need? Can it be bought at a regular pharmacy?”
“No, only in the city. And they cost huge money—amounts I couldn’t even dream of.”
“Give me the names,” Boris demanded in a tone that brooked no objection.
“There, on the table,” the former employee nodded weakly. “The prescription.”
Boris Sergeyevich went over, took the paper, quickly scanned it, and immediately dialed a number. He urgently ordered the medicines with courier delivery.
“By evening you’ll have everything you need, Irina Alexandrovna. I sincerely hope you’ll feel better. If you need anything else—I’m always available.” He took a pen and notebook, wrote down his number, and handed the paper to Igoryok, who had been silently sitting all this time as if frozen: “Igoryok, if anything—call me yourself, okay?”
The boy nodded, and Irina Alexandrovna, deeply moved, began to thank her former boss.
“There’s no need to thank me,” he gently interrupted. “I sincerely hope that as soon as you recover, you’ll return to work. And as of today, Anzhela will no longer be in my company. Don’t worry.”
“But I don’t want you to have problems with your fiancée because of me,” the woman timidly objected.
“Don’t worry about that,” he cut her off. “I need to leave now. I’ll stop by in the evening, if you don’t mind.”
He was about to leave when his gaze fell on a framed photograph on the dresser. He froze, walked over, picked it up, and, peering closely, asked quietly:
“Where did you get my photograph, Irina Alexandrovna?”
“It’s my photograph too,” she replied calmly.
“I don’t understand…” Boris frowned, not taking his eyes off her. “Could it be… Is it…”
“Yes, it’s me,” Irina tried to smile. “And our meeting… it’s not so accidental.”
For a moment Boris seemed to fall into the past—to that year when he had a business trip to Sochi. There he met a young girl who had just graduated. Her parents gave her a trip to the sea, and he gave her three days and three nights filled with tenderness and sincerity. It had been a brief romance, but later he often remembered her—naive, bright, genuine.
“Where’s your braid, Irishka?” he asked softly. “You had a long, fair braid…”
He remembered her on the seashore, in a dark blue swimsuit, with a braid over her shoulder. And suddenly—years later—the same girl in a strict business suit, with short dark hair, coming to an interview. He hadn’t recognized her then.
“I cut off the braid along with my dreams,” Irina replied simply. “And don’t think, I didn’t know I was going to work for you. When I realized you didn’t recognize me… I decided to stay silent.”
“Irishka…” Boris shook his head. “Alright, we’ll talk in the evening.”
He left, and Igoryok immediately rushed to his mother, handing her the chocolate:
“Happy holiday, Mommy! Uncle Borya bought it so I could give it to you! He’s kind! And the chocolate is really tasty!”
“Uncle Borya… kind…” Irina brushed away a tear, kissed her son on the crown. “Come on, son, put the kettle on—we’ll drink tea together and eat this delicious chocolate!”
Igoryok darted off, and Irina once again took the photograph into her hands, lost in memories.
She would never forget those three days on the Black Sea shore. For the first time in her life she had fallen in love—recklessly, truly. He had left suddenly, without saying goodbye, without leaving contacts. And she—couldn’t forget him. When after maternity leave she came to get a job, she saw him at the director’s desk—her heart stopped. But he didn’t recognize her. So she decided—it would be enough just to be near, hear his voice, see him walking around the office…
“Mom, the tea is ready!” Igoryok rolled a little table into the room: on it stood the vase with flowers from Boris, tea, and neatly broken pieces of chocolate.
“How grown-up you are,” Irina smiled. After meeting Boris, it seemed easier for her to breathe. She missed him so much…
And Boris, leaving the house, immediately called his partner: the barbecue was canceled. Then he went to Anzhela.
She was waiting for him—in a new dress, with perfect styling and manicure, glowing with anticipation of the celebration.
“I’m ready!” she smiled broadly, puckering her lips for a kiss.
But Boris pulled back.
“Anzhela, why did you lie? Why did you fire Irina Solovyova without my knowledge?”
“So she told you everything,” she hissed. “That vile witch! And you believed her? Boryusik, what if that’s not your child? What if she had him from someone else? Why do you blindly believe some…”
“What did you say?” Boris sharply grabbed her wrists. “Who had a child? What are you talking about?”
And at that moment it flashed in his mind—like lightning. Sochi. Nine years ago. Igoryok—eight. Too many coincidences.
“Speak!” he ordered, seating her in a chair.
“Speak about what?” Anzhela realized it was useless to deny. “I accidentally saw a photo of the boy on her phone. He looks exactly like you in your childhood photos. I hired a detective—he found out that you once were with her in Sochi. And she gave birth. I knew how much you dreamed of a son… and decided to get her out of the way.”
“You’re a fool, Anzhela!” Boris said sharply. “You didn’t think about anyone but yourself. You can’t build happiness on lies—don’t you understand that?”
“But you promised to marry me!” she screamed, realizing she was losing everything.
“I promised,” he nodded. “But I always said—it was a business alliance, by your father’s will. There was no love. If you had been honest, we could have remained partners. But now—you’re out of my life. Out of the company. And with your father, I will break all agreements. And don’t be offended—because of you my son could have been left without a mother. If not for chance…”
“First make sure he’s your son!” Anzhela shouted. “Maybe the detective was wrong? He didn’t do a DNA test!”
“You yourself said—he’s my copy in childhood photos. And how did I not notice?!”
Boris abruptly turned and left. He walked through the city, overwhelmed by the incredible news. In the evening, learning that the medicine had already arrived in the city, he picked it up himself and drove to the same address.
“Why didn’t you tell me about my son?” he asked, sitting next to the woman he had carried in his heart for so long.
“What could I do? You left, and I knew nothing. When I came to work—everyone whispered that Anzhela would destroy anyone who came near you. I kept my distance… but she destroyed me anyway.”
“At that time I had urgent matters,” Boris admitted. “I thought it was just a fleeting fling. But leaving, I realized—you left a mark in my heart. I came back a couple of days later… but you were already gone. I wanted to propose. I bought a ring…”
He took a velvet box out of his pocket, opened it—a ring lay inside.
“I kept it all these years. Tried to find you—found the address, came… but you were no longer there. The neighbors said they didn’t know you.”
“I was registered at my grandmother’s, and the apartment was rented out. Later my parents kicked me out when they found out I was pregnant. I had to grow up in one day. I worked, rented a room, then Igoryok was born. It was hard. When Grandma died, she left me a share of the apartment. We sold it—I bought this place. Small, but with my son—it’s home. And I haven’t spoken to my parents since…”
“That’s hard,” Boris said quietly. “But now everything will change. I promise.”
From behind the door Igoryok peeked, eavesdropping on the conversation. As soon as his mother called him, he rushed to Boris and hugged him.
That very night Boris took Irina and Igoryok to his home. The woman quickly recovered, and when she was fully healthy, they officially registered their relationship.
Igoryok became the happiest boy in the world. They had a new tradition: every year on March 8th they would buy that very same chocolate for Mom—because it was that chocolate that became the beginning of a miracle that gave them a family.