Svetlana realized she wouldn’t be able to carry all her purchases by herself. The market day had been so successful that she hadn’t restrained herself and had bought a huge amount of fruit. The shopping was done—but how to get it all home? She’d have to take a taxi.
Pushing through the crowd, she searched for a spot to set down her bags and pull out her phone. Just as she found a suitable place, a young man suddenly burst out of the shop, nearly knocking her over. The bags flew open, some tearing, and Svetlana let out a cry.
Pavel lunged to help, gathering the scattered fruit. He’d left in such a hurry after his latest quarrel with his father that he hadn’t paid attention to where he was going. Despite knowing how crowded the market was that day, his emotions had taken over.
“Please forgive me—I wasn’t paying attention. But how are we to carry all this to the exit and load it into a taxi?”
“Let me help. My car’s nearby; maybe I can at least partly make amends.” Pavel looked at the girl, wanting to shout, “Say yes!” She was surprisingly attractive—simple jeans and a T‑shirt, no makeup, yet her gentle air enchanted him.
There were other girls around him, but he didn’t even want to compare them. Noticing her hesitation, he hurried to add, “My name’s Pavel, and I promise I’m harmless.”
She laughed. “You’re reading my mind. By the way, I’m Svetlana.”
When they reached his car, they packed away the groceries and climbed in.
“Where to?” he asked. She gave him the address, and they set off.
Usually a fast driver, Pavel deliberately slowed down now, wanting to prolong the ride. “Would you think me too forward if I asked you to the movies?”
“I don’t mind—Saturday works for me.”
“Great, I’ll be looking forward to it.”
Pulling up at the mansion, Pavel whistled. “Impressive. You live here?”
“Yes—my parents just bought this house.”
“They must be well off.”
“I’d rather not discuss it. It’s not important.”
And that was true.
“I’ll come by at five on Saturday—does that suit you?”
“Yes. I’ll be waiting.”
“It was nice meeting you,” he said as she slipped behind the gate.
He drove home, thinking of the argument he’d had with his father just an hour before over his refusal to finance a seaside trip with friends.
“Pasha, what sea? You know I have four shops to worry about. At least help out during season—you’re 26.”
“Dad, do you want me cooped up in your shops in this weather?”
“That’s exactly what I want. Maybe you’ll finally learn to earn your own living.”
Pavel snapped, “It’s always money, money, money. I don’t want that.”
“If you don’t want work, I guess you don’t want money, either?”
“So you won’t give it? If I don’t need the job, I don’t need the funds?”
He stormed out—right into Svetlana. He’d dashed into the street without looking and bumped straight into her. When he got home, his father’s transfer notification pinged on his phone. His dad had sent the money—but Pavel decided to stay and help. That evening, his father was surprised to find him still at home.
“Why didn’t you leave? I sent the money.”
“I changed my mind, Dad—and I can help you until Saturday.”
“Seriously? That’s good to hear.”
“It’s hard for me to manage alone,” Pavel reasoned. Time would drag until Saturday; helping his father would make it pass more quickly. Working together for several days brought them closer. Since his mother had left, his relationship with his father had been purely business—and only beneficial to Pavel. He’d never cared about his father’s feelings.
When he told his dad about meeting Svetlana, he said, “They have a huge house—must be millionaires.”
“What if her parents forbid her to see you?”
“First, a million is still a million, even if it’s small. Second, why would they? Maybe they’re reasonable people.”
“You see, Pasha, it’s odd—a house like that, yet their daughter goes to the market and carries groceries home.”
“True, it doesn’t add up. We’ll see how it goes.”
On Saturday, Svetlana arrived right on time, wearing a light dress that made her look even more beautiful.
“Sveta, you look amazing!”
“Thank you.”
The evening was perfect—movies, dinner, everything so wonderful that he decided then and there never to let her go. He told his father he intended to propose soon but thought it wise to date a bit longer and learn more about her family.
“Yes, Dad, but even if her parents turn out to be recluses, I’ll marry her.”
Two months passed, and Pasha couldn’t wait any longer. He proposed, and Svetlana threw her arms around him.
“We need to meet your parents,” he said. She froze.
“Pasha, let’s wait—they’re away, and we don’t know when they’ll return. It doesn’t feel right.”
“It’s okay, really.”
They even planned to register their marriage soon. That evening, Pasha dropped her at her gate and drove home. Something nagged at him, though he couldn’t say what. Just before home he braked hard. He’d noticed Svetlana’s surname didn’t match the owners’—and now he was intrigued.
“Why won’t she introduce me to her parents?” he wondered aloud that night. His father suggested: “Borrow a courier’s uniform and sneak in to see for yourself.”
“Okay, but what if it’s dangerous?”
“It’s not like they’re criminals.”
Three days later, Pasha donned a courier outfit—complete with a wig, glasses, a fake mole, and a mustache—and headed to Svetlana’s house with concert tickets in an envelope. He was trembling, as if sensing he was about to uncover something big. After a few routine questions, the guard let him in. Inside, he paused at the threshold and saw Svetlana in a maid’s apron dusting shelves.
A frail woman approached, signed the delivery papers, and looked at him.
“Anything else?” she asked.
“No, thank you,” he stammered—and bolted from the house.
Now it made sense: Svetlana was deceiving him. But why?
He wandered the streets before returning home. His father pressed him:
“Well?”
“She isn’t their daughter—she works there as a maid.”
His father whistled.
“Well, maybe she was afraid you’d reject her. Or maybe she has problems.”
“I would’ve noticed. We need to talk to her.”
That evening, Svetlana called.
“Where did you go?”
“Svetlana, when will your parents be home?”
“What’s wrong?”
“Isn’t it strange—we’re getting married soon, yet I’ve never met them?”
She hesitated. He pressed on: “I was at your place today. I know your parents are there…though they’re not really your parents. You work for them.”
“So you recognized me? All right—tomorrow at five, you and your father can come by.”
She hung up before he could object, and now everything was a tangled mess. “Guests? Me? When she’s the maid?”
“Dad says we’re going,” Pasha told him. “I’m his son—I want answers.”
At the gate they met a surprised guard, but Svetlana appeared and waved them in. In the main room sat the homeowners. The man looked furious.
“Svetlana, explain yourself—or you’re fired,” he barked.
“Don’t worry, Karl Andreyevich; I wasn’t going to work here tomorrow anyway.” The hostess watched in stunned silence.
“Everyone’s here, so I’ll start from the beginning. Twenty‑three years ago, an unwanted child was born into this family. Karl Andreyevich married an heiress for her money. His young wife, Olga, was ill, and he wanted to seize control of her fortune. While she lay recovering after childbirth, he put the baby in a sack and dumped her by a dumpster, telling his wife the child had died. Olga, in her grief, fell into depression—helped along by the sedatives he gave her. But an old man found the sack and took the baby in.
“For a year they kept silent, then formally adopted her. I spent years researching the case and got this job to take revenge. But when I saw my mother—Olga—I realized she didn’t deserve vengeance. Then I met Pasha, and falling in love wasn’t in my plans, but it happened.”
“I didn’t tell him to impress him, but to force myself to confess. Forgive me, Pasha, if you can.” She paused. Olga rose, approached Svetlana, and handed her a folder.
“These are all the documents: certificates, test results, everything the clinic provided.”
Olga turned to her husband.
“What are you staring at? I’m your death! You thought I’d die every day, yet here I am. You’ll prove nothing!”
Olga collapsed. Pasha’s father rushed to help her, while Karl tried to flee—but Pasha chased him down. “We can’t let the man who ruined so many lives just walk away.” Karl ended up in jail, overwhelmed by the weight of the evidence.
Two months later, Svetlana and Pasha had a grand wedding. She was the only bride with two mothers and a father who wasn’t really her father. During the reception, she whispered to Pasha, “Look at my mother and your dad—notice anything?”
He smiled. “Not only do I notice—I was consulting with your mom this morning.”
“Son, remember when you asked me for advice? Now it’s my turn. Should I propose to Olga? Wouldn’t it be old‑fashioned?”
“Dad, I’m happy for you! Let’s do it right now—make it a beautiful moment at this wedding.”
His father hesitated. Pasha reassured him: “Are you sure?”
“Darling, just five more minutes.” The slow dance had just ended, and the crowd parted, leaving Olga and Pasha’s father on the dance floor. Someone handed him a bouquet; he knelt, placed the flowers at her feet, and pulled out a ring.
“Olga, will you marry me?” Silence fell.
“Yes—of course, yes!” she cried, and the hall erupted in applause.
