Vera walked up to the fourth floor, trying not to spill the herbal tincture Grandma Gulfiya had prepared in a small glass jar. In her sports bag were massage oil, towels, and a notebook where she recorded every change in Stepan Gennadyevich’s condition. She had started the treatment course three days earlier and was already seeing the first results.
“Verochka!” Antonina Anatolyevna opened the door before the girl even had a chance to ring the bell. “Come in, come in. Stepan is already waiting for you. He’s been asking all morning when you would arrive.”
Anton’s father was sitting on the sofa in the living room. Usually by this time of day he had already started limping, grimacing in pain, and constantly rubbing his leg.
Now, however, Stepan Gennadyevich looked noticeably better: his back was straight, and his face was not nearly as tense.
“Vera, my dear girl!” the man rose to greet her, and she immediately noticed that the movement came much more easily to him than usual. “You won’t believe it, yesterday for the first time in half a year I slept through the whole night without waking up from pain. And this morning I got up, and there was no heaviness in my leg at all. It’s a miracle! Nothing else! You and your grandmother work wonders!”
“That’s wonderful,” Vera said, setting her bag on the floor and handing the jar to the patient. “But this is only the beginning, Stepan Gennadyevich. So far we’ve relieved the acute pain and relaxed the muscles. Full recovery requires a long course. At least two to three months. Otherwise all the progress will fade away.”
“Half a year if necessary!” the man waved his hand. “As long as that pain never comes back. They’re already looking at me sideways at work, saying they can’t keep disabled people around. I’ve become useless, you see!”
Antonina Anatolyevna snorted disapprovingly.
“He bent his back for thirty years on their construction sites, and now suddenly he’s a cripple. Thank God Verochka and her grandmother are helping, because those doctors only know how to prescribe pills.”
Vera began preparing for the procedure, spreading a towel on the sofa and opening the massage oil. She liked working with Anton’s father: he was a grateful patient, followed all recommendations, and never complained. The man was nothing like most of the clients at the massage salon where she worked part-time.
“Lie on your stomach, we’ll start with a warm-up,” Vera said, but immediately felt the room spin before her eyes.
She grabbed the back of the sofa, trying to keep her balance. The dizziness hit suddenly and hard.
“Vera!” Stepan Gennadyevich quickly caught her by the arm. “What’s wrong with you?”
“Verochka, sit down, sit down! Quickly!” Antonina Anatolyevna brought over a chair. “Stepan, water! Or should we call an ambulance?”
“No,” Vera shook her head and slowly sat down. “No ambulance. It’s not dangerous.”
“How is that not dangerous?” Antonina Anatolyevna cried. “Your face is white as chalk!”
The girl took a deep breath. Yesterday she had gone to the gynecologist. The test results had confirmed what she had already suspected for the last two weeks.
“I was at the doctor’s yesterday. I had tests done. And it turns out that…” She looked up at Stepan Gennadyevich and Antonina Anatolyevna. “I’m pregnant. Anton and I are going to have a baby.”
Silence fell. Stepan Gennadyevich remained standing with a glass of water in his hand, while Antonina Anatolyevna slowly lowered herself into the armchair opposite.
“A grandson?” he finally exhaled. “Or a granddaughter?”
“I don’t know yet, the pregnancy is still very early,” Vera tried to smile. “About five or six weeks.”
“My God,” whispered Antonina Anatolyevna. “Does Anton know?”
“Not yet. I wanted to tell him today when he comes back from work.”
Anton came home two hours later. Vera was sitting in the kitchen with his parents, drinking mint tea and finishing a butter sandwich. Antonina Anatolyevna had insisted that a pregnant woman needed to eat well.
The massage session was postponed until the next day; they all decided there were too many emotions for one day already.
“Mom, I’m home!” Anton shouted from the hallway.
“We’re in the kitchen!” Antonina Anatolyevna called back, giving Vera a meaningful glance.
The young man immediately appeared in the doorway, still dressed in his courier uniform. Seeing Vera, he smiled.
“Hi, beautiful. How’s Dad doing? Feeling better?”
“Much better, son,” Stepan Gennadyevich got up from the table. “Your fiancée works miracles. But that’s not what this is about. She has news for you.”
Anton sat down on the empty chair and took Vera’s hand.
“What news? Something serious? I can tell from your faces it’s something important.”
“Tosha,” the girl squeezed his fingers, “I’m pregnant. We’re going to be parents.”
The young man froze. For several seconds he stared at her without blinking, then slowly turned to his parents.
“Really?” was all he managed to say.
“Really. The tests confirmed it.”
Anton jumped up so abruptly he nearly overturned the chair. Grabbing Vera in his arms, he spun her around the kitchen.
“Hooray, Verka! This is… unbelievable! We’re going to be parents!”
“Careful!” Antonina Anatolyevna said anxiously. “She’s already getting morning sickness, she feels dizzy.”
But in the woman’s eyes Vera caught something wary. There was joy there, but it seemed strained, insincere.
“Mom, Dad, can you imagine?” Anton was glowing with happiness. “You’re going to have a grandson! Or a granddaughter! In any case, it’s time to think about the wedding. I don’t want the child to be born out of wedlock.”
At that, Stepan Gennadyevich and Antonina Anatolyevna exchanged a look. Something passed between them that Vera didn’t understand, but she felt something bad in it.
“Of course, son,” the woman said after a pause. “Everything should be done properly. Only… it’s all so sudden. We need to think it through, prepare ourselves.”
“What’s there to think about?” the young man sat back down, still holding Vera’s hand. “In a few days we’ll file the paperwork, and in a month we’ll get married. Modest but beautiful. Right, Verochka?”
Vera nodded, although something in his parents’ behavior unsettled her. They were reacting far too cautiously to such news.
“Antosha,” Stepan Gennadyevich interrupted, “why don’t you go change, and we’ll talk with Vera in the meantime? About women’s matters, about what she needs for her health now.”
“Of course, Dad!” Anton stood up and kissed Vera on the top of her head. “I’ll be quick.”
When he left, an awkward silence followed. Antonina Anatolyevna was pouring tea for everyone, but her hands were trembling so much the tea spilled beside the cup.
“Verochka,” she began carefully, “do you understand what a responsibility this is? A child is very serious. You need a bigger apartment, a stroller, a crib, clothes. And then kindergarten, school, clubs…”
“I understand,” the girl replied. “We’ll manage. I work, Anton works, we’ll save up.”
“You work…” Stepan Gennadyevich shook his head. “Verochka, don’t be offended, but being a massage therapist at a salon… that’s not a very stable income. And maternity leave? The allowance is next to nothing.”
“I have private clients. And I’m studying osteopathy, that pays well.”
“Of course, of course,” Antonina Anatolyevna agreed hastily. “We have no doubt. It’s just… you see, we ourselves are having difficulties now. Stepan may lose his job, my salary is small. We can’t really help.”
“And I’m not asking for help,” Vera retorted sharply. “We’ll raise our own children ourselves.”
“Don’t get upset,” Stepan Gennadyevich raised his hand. “We just want you to understand… life is going to change. Radically. And Anton needs time too, to realize all this.”
Something in his tone made Vera tense up. She felt the conversation was going in the wrong direction, but she couldn’t understand what they were getting at.
“Time for what?” she asked.
Anton’s parents exchanged glances again.
For the next few days the girl floated on happiness. The morning sickness wasn’t bothering her much yet, and work at the massage salon was going well: the clients were satisfied, and the administrator was constantly praising her.
Vera was already mentally planning how she would tell management about the pregnancy, how she would combine maternity leave with her private practice.
She and Anton barely saw each other: he was working extra shifts for the courier service. On the phone the young man said he wanted to save money for the baby’s birth.
That touched Vera deeply. At last her beloved man had matured and become responsible.
There was only one thing that troubled her.
Anton’s parents had suddenly started postponing the treatments. Sometimes Stepan Gennadyevich was supposedly held up at work, other times Antonina Anatolyevna had urgent matters. Each time Vera offered another time, but they answered evasively that they were very busy for now and would contact her themselves.
Strange.
Just a few days earlier Stepan Gennadyevich had been rejoicing that for the first time in half a year he was sleeping without pain. And now suddenly treatment was no longer a priority for him.
“Maybe they feel awkward because you’re pregnant?” her friend Lenka suggested when Vera shared her doubts. “It’s one thing to have a massage therapist come to the house, another to have your pregnant daughter-in-law doing it.”
“But I’m helping them!” the girl protested while massaging another client’s neck. “My status doesn’t change the quality of the procedures.”
“Sure, but psychologically… You know, when I treated my father-in-law’s back, he resisted at first too. Said he felt awkward being in his underwear in front of his daughter-in-law.”
Vera decided not to dwell on it, understanding that Stepan Gennadyevich would ask to continue the course himself when the pain returned. She knew that three days of treatment was only a drop in the bucket. Without supportive therapy the problem would definitely come back.
On Saturday she and Anton met at a café near her home. It was a small cozy place with wooden tables and blankets draped over the chairs. Vera ordered herbal tea and strudel, Anton coffee and a sandwich.
“Tosha, I’ve already started making a shopping list for the baby!” Vera pulled a notebook from her bag. “Look, we need a universal stroller, one that works as a bassinet and for walks later. We’ll definitely need to buy a crib with an orthopedic mattress. And a car seat is essential too, even though we don’t have a car yet…”
She spoke quickly, breathlessly, her eyes shining with happiness. Plans, dreams, calculations… everything mixed together in a joyful stream.
“And we’ll need to set up a nursery. I think in my one-room apartment we can zone the space. Put up a partition or a screen. And when the child grows older, we’ll move into a two-room apartment…”
Anton was silent, crumbling his sandwich and not lifting his eyes.
“Are you even listening to me?” Vera finally noticed something was wrong with her fiancé.
“I’m listening,” he answered quietly.
“Did something happen? You seem… upset.”
Anton set down his half-eaten sandwich and looked at her.
“Verka, we need to talk.”
Her heart skipped a beat. Vera set down her cup and instinctively pressed her palm to her stomach.
“About what?”
“About the wedding. About our plans.”
“Yes, let’s talk,” the girl tried to smile. “I actually wanted to discuss the date. I think the sooner the better, before my belly becomes too noticeable…”
“Verochka, forgive me, but I can’t marry you.”
Vera froze. Somewhere soft music was playing, a couple at the next table was laughing, the barista was making coffee. Life was going on, and Vera’s world had collapsed.
“What did you say?” she whispered.
“My parents are категорically against such a poor bride,” Anton said without lifting his eyes. “They think we’re not suitable for each other. I’m not rich, you have no money… we need to look for more advantageous matches in life.”
Vera stared at him and could not believe what she was hearing. This man, whom she had dated for three years, to whom she had given so much care and strength, was now repeating his parents’ words like a memorized lesson.
“And you agree with them?”
“I…” he finally looked up. “Try to understand, it’s a difficult situation. I’ll acknowledge the child, I’ll pay child support. But marriage…”
“I understand,” Vera said quietly and stood up from the table.
That same day the phone kept ringing, but Vera decided not to answer. She read a book about pregnancy, made plans for the week, cooked dinner… ordinary things that helped her not think about what had happened.
Inside, some kind of emptiness settled. Not anger, not hurt. Just indifference, as though she were watching everything from the outside.
The calls stopped by midnight, but the next day they started again. First it was Stepan Gennadyevich:
“Verochka, my dear, why are you behaving like this? Personal matters shouldn’t be mixed with business. Especially when health is involved. My leg has started hurting again, I can’t walk properly. Let’s continue the course as agreed, shall we?”
“No,” Vera answered calmly. “I’m sorry, Stepan Gennadyevich, but I won’t be working with you anymore.”
“But why? You saw the result yourself! For the first time in half a year I felt better!”
“There was a result. But that doesn’t matter now. Our cooperation is over.”
“Listen, if it’s about money…”
“It’s not about money!” Vera interrupted him. “It’s a matter of principle. Contact specialists at a clinic. Goodbye!”
Half an hour later the phone rang again. This time it was Antonina Anatolyevna. From her voice it was obvious the woman was outraged beyond measure.
“Vera, stop being childish! You’re behaving like a brat! If you’re putting on this performance because of the baby, let me remind you that we didn’t reject it. We told you Anton would pay child support. How can you not understand that Stepa is suffering? He needs qualified help. He could lose his job! Is that what you want?”
“I’m not being childish and I don’t want anything. I simply don’t want to work with you.”
“Who do you think you are?” Antonina Anatolyevna screamed into the phone. “You think we’ll die without your procedures?”
“Of course not. Find another specialist.”
“And if we pay? As much as you want?”
“I don’t need any money. I don’t want to have anything to do with you. Period.”
“Oh, so that’s how it is!” Antonina Anatolyevna was openly shouting now. “So the little fraudster has decided to play games with our health! To blackmail a sick man! You think we’ll be lost without you?”
Vera listened silently to the stream of insults.
“We’ll find real doctors! At proper clinics! And we’ll get results far better than yours! And you… your little amateur tricks aren’t worth a penny!”
“Then what’s the problem?” Vera asked calmly. “Go to a clinic and get well.”
“The problem is that you’re a scoundrel!” Antonina Anatolyevna yelled. “You’re playing with a man’s illness! Blackmailing us! You know you can help, but out of spite you won’t! God punishes people for things like that! We’ll see how your pregnancy goes!”
Vera felt something tighten inside her. But her voice remained calm.
“Goodbye, Antonina Anatolyevna.”
After hanging up, the girl immediately blocked the number of the almost-mother-in-law. Then she blacklisted Stepan Gennadyevich and Anton as well.
To calm herself at least a little, she called Grandma Gulfiya and told her about the conversation with Antonina Anatolyevna.
“Ah, those parasites!” the old woman burst out. “First they call you poor, and now they call you a fraud! And they even say nasty things about the child! Granddaughter, you did the right thing by cutting them off. People like that shouldn’t be allowed anywhere near you.”
“Grandma, what if she’s right?” Vera asked quietly. “Maybe I really acted badly? The man is sick…”
“Nonsense! You volunteered to help them. For free! Out of kindness. And they judged you for the very same thing. Said you weren’t good enough for them. So why the devil are they demanding help now?”
“But his pain is real…”
“Let him get treatment for money, like all normal people do. Does he have legs to walk to a doctor? He does. Does he have money to pay? He does too. So what’s the problem?”
Vera sighed.
“Anton called yesterday too. Said I was cruel.”
“And what did you answer?”
“Nothing. I hung up.”
“Good! And forget about them altogether, granddaughter. Focus on yourself and the baby. The birth is seven months away, you need to prepare. Come live with me, the air is cleaner here and there’s more room.”
“Thank you, Grandma. But I want to keep working for now. I need money for the delivery and baby things.”
“Of course, work. And when your maternity leave comes, come straight to me. It’s better to give birth here too, in the district hospital. The doctors are good, proven.”
After talking to her grandmother, Vera felt calmer. Gulfiya was a wise woman, had lived a long life, and believed that Vera was doing the right thing.
So that must be the truth.
Seven months later Vera held her daughter in her arms: tiny, beautiful, with fluffy dark little hairs. All like her.
The birth had gone easily. The doctors at the district hospital really were good, just as Grandma Gulfiya had said.
“What shall we name this beauty?” the old woman asked, gently stroking her great-granddaughter’s cheek.
“Yasmina,” Vera answered, without taking her eyes off her daughter. “After the jasmine flower. Remember, the one growing in your garden? So resilient, so beautiful.”
“Our little Yasmina,” Grandma said, touched. “My great-granddaughter.”
Vera had been living with her grandmother since the sixth month of pregnancy. She switched to remote work, consulting people on massage and therapeutic exercise. It turned out she could earn quite well without leaving home. On top of that, she began studying infant massage: after maternity leave she planned to open a private practice.
Anton regularly transferred child support to her bank card. They had not spoken since Vera blocked his number.
Sometimes she allowed herself to wonder… what if everything had turned out differently? What if they had married, lived together, and raised their daughter?
But every time she quickly pushed those thoughts away. A person who puts his parents’ opinion above family values is not capable of a serious relationship.
… Yasmina was a month and a half old.
Vera was feeding her daughter on the veranda, enjoying the June morning and the birdsong, when she heard the gate creak. Grandma was working in the garden.
A minute later Anton appeared on the porch.
He had changed a lot in those months. He had lost weight, looked older, and dark circles had settled under his eyes. In his hands he held a bouquet of flowers and a box wrapped in baby-themed paper.
“Hi, Verochka,” he said uncertainly. “May I come in?”
Vera covered her breast with a cloth and called out:
“Grandma!”
The old woman appeared a minute later, wiping her hands on her apron. When she saw Anton, her face turned to stone.
“What did you come here for?”
“Gulfiya Rafikovna, hello,” Anton tried to smile. “I… wanted to meet my daughter. And talk to Vera.”
“You sending child support?”
“Of course, every month…”
“Good. Then you’ve got nothing else to do here.”
“But I’m the child’s father! I have a right…”
“You had that right a year ago, when you could have married and created a proper family,” Grandma Gulfiya cut him off. “Now your right is child support until she turns eighteen. That’s all!”
Vera silently watched what was happening. Yasmina was snuffling in her arms, completely uninterested in the visitor’s appearance.
“Verochka,” Anton tried to step around the grandmother, “let’s talk. I understand I was wrong. I want to fix everything.”
“Too late,” Vera answered calmly. “Much too late.”
“But we can start over! I’m ready to marry you, I’ll be a good father to the girl…”
“And are your parents ready to accept a poor bride?” Vera smirked.
Anton faltered.
“My parents… they realized their mistake. Dad is still suffering with his leg. They couldn’t find anyone who helped as much as you did.”
“There it is!” the old woman drawled. “So the cripple started limping again, and right away you remembered my granddaughter.”
“Not only because of that!” Anton protested quickly. “I miss her. I love her.”
“Your love is a strange one! A year ago you loved her, but couldn’t marry her. You left her. Now you love her again. And what will happen tomorrow?”
“Verochka, I’ve changed…”
“Maybe you have,” Vera nodded. “But I don’t care. I’ve changed too. I’ve become smarter. And happier.”
She looked at her daughter, then at her grandmother, then at the garden around the house. This was her life. Calm, steady, full of plans and prospects.
“Anton, thank you for the child support. Keep sending it. But we don’t need anything else from you.”
“But my daughter…”
“My daughter is growing up in love and care. She has a mother and a great-grandmother. That’s enough.”
The young man stood there with the bouquet in his hands, not knowing what to say.
“Now get out,” Gulfiya hissed. “And don’t come back. I’m tired of talking to you!”
The old woman stepped between Anton and Vera like a guard dog.
“Leave while I’m still asking nicely!”
Anton stood there a little longer, then set the flowers and the box down on the porch and walked toward the gate.
“Vera, if you change your mind…”
“I won’t,” she answered, and gently kissed her daughter on the forehead.
The car drove away. Gulfiya picked up the flowers and the gift box and carried them inside.
“I’ll put the flowers in a vase. And I’ll check the box. If the toy is decent, we’ll keep it. If it’s nonsense… we’ll give it to the neighbor’s girl.”
Vera laughed. In that laughter there was relief, joy, and confidence in tomorrow.
“Grandma, you know… Yasmina takes after you. In character.”
“Thank God for that!” the old woman replied with satisfaction. “Let her grow up with a backbone. There are already plenty of spineless men in this world!”
That evening Vera sat on the veranda working on a new online course in infant massage. Yasmina slept peacefully in her stroller, and Grandma was reading.
Silence, peace, the feeling that everything was exactly as it should be.
Life was only just beginning. And it would be whatever Vera made it. Without looking back at other people’s opinions, without compromising with her conscience. Honest. Fair. Happy.
And that was the real victory.