She learned what happened later—through posts and articles shared in local паблики.
In the photos there was the mangled car she’d ridden in so many times, and a blurred, shapeless mass on the roadside. The girl who’d been sitting next to Alex had been thrown through the windshield. She hadn’t been wearing a seatbelt. Then there was another photo—pulled from the girl’s social media—where she was smiling, holding a fishing rod. Pretty. Very young. Anya felt sorry for her.
The articles said they were both drunk—Alex especially. None of that was mentioned by his boss, who simply texted: “Alex died in a car crash. My condolences.”
It was a strange message to send, knowing Alex hadn’t been alone in the car—he’d been with someone else.
That night, when Anya read it, guilt wouldn’t let go of her: Alex never found out he was going to be a father. And now… would he ever be?
Anya had no doubts the moment she saw two lines on the test. She understood at once—she was going to have the baby. Out of spite toward the woman who had left her in the maternity ward. Anya would be a good mother—she knew it. And then came that text message, Alex’s phone switched off (she clung to hope until the last second that it was all a mistake), Mike asleep in the bed next to hers, her mother in the hospital, and Grandma—already working on bad legs just to keep them afloat.
Where would they fit one more mouth to feed? And how was Anya supposed to keep studying? Her mother had wanted so badly for her to become a doctor…
Of course she went to the funeral.
People avoided her eyes—apparently they knew how Alex had died. Only his mother didn’t look away. She rushed to Anya, hugged her tight, and broke down in tears.
“Forgive him, sweetheart,” she sobbed. “Don’t hold it against him.”
“I already have,” Anya replied—and realized she wasn’t lying.
“How is your mom?”
“No changes. But she’ll wake up.”
“Of course, dear. I pray for her every day.”
Anya thought that if she kept the baby, she would have to tell this kind woman that her son would live on—in the genes of his child. A son. Or a daughter. But she hadn’t decided yet. Or rather, she almost had… and it wasn’t in the baby’s favor.
There was no one to ask for advice. She could predict Grandma’s reaction: more complaints, more doom. Mike wouldn’t understand anything. And if she did understand, she’d probably get jealous. And Mom… Mom couldn’t hear her. Still, Anya told her anyway. Thank God they let her in, so she could sit beside her and hold her hand. Her mother’s hand felt lifeless. And Anya’s hope was almost gone.
She signed up for an abortion at a regular public clinic—there was no money for anything else. The doctor went through the motions of trying to talk her out of it, but didn’t push hard. She handed Anya the referral to gynecology: no food, no water—you know the drill. And use protection. You’re not a kid anymore.
That morning, Mike seemed to sense something. Maybe she really did—she always caught the smallest shift in Anya’s mood. She screamed, refused to eat breakfast. Grandma fussed and wailed nearby. Anya wanted to scream too, to slam her head against the floor. But she coaxed her sister into calming down and eating a cookie with butter, made Grandma chamomile tea to soothe her, and ran off to the appointment. She didn’t eat, of course.
Getting off the trolleybus, she bumped into Alex’s mother.
Dressed head to toe in black, eyes red and swollen from crying. When she saw Anya, she managed a smile and hugged her.
“Sweetheart… how are you?”
“Fine.”
“And your mother?”
“No changes.”
“You’re so pale… how are you all coping? Do you need help with anything?”
Anya shook her head. Tears slid off her lashes on their own.
“What is it, dear? Don’t cry. Everything will get better, you’ll see! Your mom will wake up, and you’ll meet another boy—you’re so young…”
“I’m pregnant,” Anya blurted out. “And I don’t know what to do.”
Alex’s mother gasped and threw her hands up.
“How… how is that possible? When did you find out? Anya, that’s wonderful! Don’t worry—we’ll help you! So, where are you going now, to class? Come with me to our place. I can’t—news like this, I feel like my heart might stop! Anya, miracles really do happen. What joy! Come on, you need to eat. And we’ll talk everything through. You won’t have to quit school. If you need, I’ll sit with him. Or with her. But you know, we only have boys in the family, so I’m not even hoping for a girl anymore… though if it’s a granddaughter—Pavel will lose his mind from happiness, you’ll see!”
Anya didn’t even understand how she let herself be led away. She barely spoke—she just listened. And the words of this simple, kind woman filled her with a strange steadiness.
They were drinking tea and eating homemade sweet buns when Anya’s phone rang. Seeing the hospital number—where her mother lay—she went cold with fear. She lifted the phone with stiff fingers.
“Anna Viktorovna? We have good news for you! Your mother has woken up…”