Klavdiya stood by the fresh grave, unable to believe what was happening.
“Lyoshenka, how did it come to this? You said we’d always be together. How am I supposed to cope on my own now?”
She dropped her head into her hands and burst into tears. She had held herself together all this time—when Alyosha was taken to the hospital, while the doctors fought for his life, and during the funeral preparations. But now the emotions finally overwhelmed her.
Memories flashed before her eyes one after another: their meeting, their wedding, that unimaginable happiness that had seemed eternal. And then their little girl was born—a true princess they were so proud of. They were afraid to even breathe too close to her, argued over who would put her to bed, and fell silent from an excess of joy that felt almost unreal.
But everything changed in an instant. Their daughter, Karina, was an incredibly active child. The preschool teachers often complained that the moment you looked away, she’d be gone—always turning up in the most unexpected places. She was bright and full of life, and her parents couldn’t help but be proud.
Karina was three years old when their world turned upside down.
At two and a half she had been admitted to the hospital. The doctors had noticed heart murmurs that required diagnostic work, and their explanations were scant. Klavdiya stayed with her daughter, never leaving her side, while Aleksey rushed from office to office in search of answers. It seemed to Klavdiya that her husband knew more than he was saying.
On Karina’s birthday they decided to go to the park. In a week they were supposed to take her back to the hospital. Aleksey looked dejected, but the little girl quickly cheered him up, and Klavdiya hoped to discuss everything with him that evening. “We need the doctors to give clear explanations or refer us to other specialists if these can’t figure it out,” she thought.
The park was crowded: the first fine day had lured everyone out—from toddlers to the elderly. Aleksey and Karina rode the ponies and then the daisy-shaped carousel. The girl laughed happily as she flew past over Klavdiya’s head. “Our daughter is so brave!” she thought with pride, remembering how she herself had been afraid of rides as a child.
After the attractions they went to a café. Settling on the terrace, they ordered ice cream, cake, and a few other treats. There was a playground nearby, which was convenient for parents who wanted to enjoy their food in peace. Of course, Karina couldn’t sit still with so many children to play with right next door.
“Karina, just for a little while,” Aleksey warned, shifting his gaze from their playing daughter to his wife. “She’s practically all grown up now.”
Klavdiya looked at him closely.
“Are you in pain?” she asked.
“No, why do you think that?” he replied.
“Your eyes look like a sick man’s.”
“I just slept badly,” he explained.
They turned their eyes back to the playground and realized Karina was gone. Klavdiya jumped to her feet.
“I’m going to give her a spanking for playing hide-and-seek like that,” she fumed.
They hurried down the few steps to search the entire playground, but they didn’t find the girl. In horror, Klavdiya cried out:
“Call the police!”
The long search for the child dragged on for many days. Klavdiya and Aleksey hardly slept that entire week. With each passing day their hope faded. Karina was never found. Two weeks later, Lyosha was hospitalized after his first heart attack.
It was as if everything bright had been removed from their lives. Both moved on autopilot, working, talking, doing things. But an immense sorrow hung over them, not letting them take a free breath.
In those 15 years there were four heart attacks, and Lyosha didn’t survive the last one.
“Klav, it’s time to go—people are starting to arrive for the wake,” said Katya, a friend and neighbor, touching her shoulder. She had always been there in the darkest times.
“Yes, Katyush, I’m coming,” Klavdiya replied, going back into the apartment.
The neighbors helped set the table for those coming to the memorial meal. Money had always been tight, and the last few years were no exception. Lyosha had hardly worked because of frequent bouts of illness and hospital stays.
Klavdiya stopped at the pantry door and said thoughtfully:
“You know, Katya, what’s the first thing I’m going to do once everyone leaves?”
Katya looked at her anxiously.
“Klav, maybe don’t mess with it yourself? Lyosha always said it wasn’t safe if you don’t know what you’re doing.”
“To hell with that! I need to find out what my husband was hiding all these years!”
“What could he possibly have been hiding? You know chemistry was his lifelong hobby. What if you run into something dangerous?”
Klavdiya shook her head stubbornly.
“So be it. Maybe I’ll learn something that explains his death.”
“Klav, the doctors said it was a stress-induced heart attack.”
Aleksey had indeed been interested in chemistry since his youth, but circumstances hadn’t allowed him to study it formally. After finishing trade school, he worked at a factory. After their daughter disappeared, he returned to his chemistry studies, bringing his old books back into the light.
Klavdiya understood that it brought him relief and didn’t interfere. When he asked her not to go into the pantry, she simply nodded in silence, aware it could be dangerous. Over time, Lyosha even hung a lock on the door. Klavdiya asked then:
“Why? I promised I wouldn’t go in.”
“Don’t be offended. I know how you love to tidy up—you could easily pop in to dust without even noticing,” he joked.
As soon as the guests left and she and Katya were alone, Klavdiya stood up decisively.
“If you’re scared, you can stay in the kitchen.”
Katya stood up with her.
“Of course I’m scared. Who knows what Lyosha got up to in there? Remember how old Grandpa Semyon wiped out the cockroaches for his grandkids? He gave them a little bottle—no roaches for five years now. And only later did they find out it was a deadly poison. If it had gotten into the food… No, I’m not leaving you alone. I’m going with you.”
They headed to the pantry door.
Klavdiya froze in hesitation.
“Where am I supposed to find the keys? Lyoshka always carried them with him,” she said nervously.
Katya let out a breath of relief.
“You see? It won’t work today. When you find the keys, then we’ll see what’s in there.”
But Klavdiya headed stubbornly to the kitchen.
“No, I have to find out today!”
She pulled from a drawer an object that resembled a small crowbar.
Katya asked in surprise:
“What is that?”
“No idea. I found it in the stairwell once when the lights were out. I was afraid to go up the stairs, and Lyoshka was working the night shift then. So I took it with me,” Klavdiya explained.
With some effort, Katya helped her pry the door open. Klavdiya reached in and found the switch. Light flooded the small room.
Inside there was nothing remarkable: jars and boxes stood on a small table, and nearby there was an armchair—no one knew how or when it had ended up there. A slightly tilted lampshade hung over the table, and there was some large object lying there—either an album or a notebook.
On top lay an envelope with Klavdiya’s name. She glanced at Katya, who encouraged her with a nod.
“Go on, open it, or you’ll never find anything out.”
With slightly trembling hands, Klavdiya opened the envelope. Inside were old medical records and a letter. She began to read:
“If you’re reading this letter, it means I’m gone. I want to ask your forgiveness. For all these 15 years I wanted to tell you everything, but I didn’t have the courage.”
Klavdiya sobbed, and Katya took the letter to continue:
“When Karina fell ill, the doctor said there was no hope. There was only one option—a very expensive operation abroad. Even if we sold everything we owned and took out loans, we wouldn’t be able to raise that amount. We would be condemning her to die.
At the factory there was a delegation of foreigners exchanging experience. Among them was a Russian couple who had lived abroad for a long time. The woman accidentally learned about our misfortune, and I couldn’t hold it in—I told her everything. But I couldn’t bring myself to tell you.
Before they left, they came to me. They had no children, though both were over forty, but they had money and connections. They offered me a deal: we give them Karina, they provide the operation and raise her as their own daughter. Yes, we would suffer, but our daughter would live and be happy.
They gave me only twenty-four hours to decide. I rushed to the doctor and begged him to find another way to save Karina, but his answer was harsh: from six months to a year of life, at best.
Our daughter now lives in Germany. She’s smart, top of her class, speaks Russian beautifully, and I believe that you will meet one day. Forgive me, my love.
Our future and our daughter’s life were on the line. I know how you suffered—I suffered just as much. In the end, I was a coward and couldn’t tell you everything.”
Katya lowered the letter.
Klavdiya took the records and carefully studied Karina’s diagnosis and test results. Silently, she opened the album.
The photo had obviously been printed from a computer: it showed a girl with a brilliant smile, her features very much like Klavdiya’s. Turning the page, she saw another photo: graduation, university admission—and all of it not with her family, but with the people who had taken her daughter.
“Katya, Katyusha, what now? What do I do?” Klavdiya looked at her friend, who was just as stunned.
“Klav, I’ve never seen anything like this, not even in movies,” Katya replied. “I don’t know what to do.”
“I’m going there, to them, and I’ll bring my daughter back,” Klavdiya declared firmly.
Katya gently placed her hand over hers.
“Are you sure? Karina is used to that life. She probably loves her new parents. And they’ve probably come to love her too. But I can’t advise you. I truly don’t know what you should do.
“Let’s do this: you’ll take a sedative and go to bed, and in the morning, with a clear head, we’ll think it through again,” Katya suggested.
A couple of days later, Klavdiya struggled to open her eyes to the insistent ringing of the doorbell. Looking at the clock, she saw it was 5 a.m. A sharp thought pierced her—maybe something serious had happened. Her head ached, and as she pushed herself up from the couch, her gaze lingered on the album.
The events of the previous evening began to stir in her memory, and the doorbell rang again. She clicked the lock, opened the door, and saw a man of about sixty and a young woman.
“Karina?” Klavdiya whispered, and losing her balance, sank to the floor.
“It’s all right, Klavdiya, please try to relax,” an unfamiliar voice said.
They helped her up, but as soon as she saw Karina and the man, she sank down again.
“Lie still, I’m not going anywhere,” Karina said, not letting her get up.
The man began to speak:
“My name is Viktor. I want to explain why we’re here. I see that you already know everything.” He nodded toward the album. “Three days before his death, Aleksey called me. He was crying and begged to see his daughter, if only from afar. At first I was shocked, but then I realized the gravity of what had been done. My wife has been gone for over five years, and I called my daughter so I could tell her everything. The more I explained to her, the more deeply I felt your grief. I love her and can’t live without her, but if she decides to stay here after all this, I will support her decision and help in every way. We hoped to make the flight in time, but sadly, Aleksey passed away before we could arrive…”
A year passed. Viktor, Karina, and Klavdiya came to Aleksey’s grave to honor his memory.
“Our girl is getting married,” Klavdiya shared. “It’s such a pity you can’t see it…”
Viktor now lived in the house next to Klavdiya’s.
“Aleksey,” he said, “you have extraordinary girls. And if you permit it, I would like to…”
Klavdiya blushed, and Karina clapped her hands.
“At last! Dad would be happy to know that Mom could be happy again. He always wanted everyone to be happy, and now his dream will come true!”