— Let me see my son… kiss him… — the man rasped, as though he had just surfaced from water. — Where is Leshenka? Show me my boy! I’ve missed him… I’m home…
His voice trembled with weakness and pain.
— Open the door, Galya! I’m cold, I’m frozen to the bone… Don’t make me stand outside. Let me in… or you’ll regret it later…
Vadim was sitting by his grandmother’s bed, holding her emaciated hand in his palms. Anastasia Viktorovna was breathing heavily, each word coming with great effort. He knew: these were her last days. And he tried to be with her as much as possible — for she had been the one to replace his mother when she wasn’t ready for motherhood herself.
She slightly opened her eyes, as though gathering her last strength:
— Vadimushka… come closer… listen to me carefully.
— I’m here, Granny. I’m listening, — he squeezed her hand, hiding the tremor in his voice.
— When I’m gone… go to a woman named Galya. Find her. Visit her. She’s been living alone… for a long time. Tell her I remembered her. That I thought of her. That I didn’t forget…
Vadim thought for a moment. The name had sounded familiar before — in conversations, in old stories. A distant relative, almost a legend. She lived somewhere remote, a place even the neighbors whispered about.
— Galya? Who is she to you?
— To you, she’s just an acquaintance, — whispered his grandmother. — But for me… much more. Do it for me, Vadimushka.
He nodded. How could he refuse a dying person?
Days later, after the funeral, Vadim sat in the car, following his grandmother’s note. He crossed one field after another, avoiding muddy potholes, until he reached the village of Zabolotye — the name spoke for itself.
Small, crooked houses, overgrown with grass, windows with shattered panes, roofs with holes. It seemed as if time had stopped here, and the people were left all alone.
At the edge of the village, he found the house — the most neglected, overgrown with weeds. The windows were boarded up, and the door barely hung on its rusty hinges.
— Is anyone here? — he called, knocking on the frame.
There was no answer. Only the creaking of the gate and the wind rustling through the bushes.
He knocked again — louder.
The door creaked. A wrinkled face appeared from the crack, sunken cheeks, deep-set, watchful eyes.
— Who are you? What do you want? — rasped the old voice.
— My name is Vadim. I’m the grandson of Anastasia Viktorovna. She asked me to come… to give you something.
The woman’s face relaxed slightly. A flicker of surprise flashed in her eyes, as though she had heard a voice from the past.
— So Nastya is still alive? — she opened the door wider. — Come in, if it’s from her.
The house was dark, filled with the stale smell of decay. Dust covered the furniture like snow. In the corner, there was an old iron bed, covered with a worn homemade quilt.
— Sit down, — Galya pointed to a stool. — Tell me why you’re here. I’m surprised anyone even remembers me…
— Granny… passed away, — Vadim said carefully. — Before she died, she asked me to find you. She said she remembered you all her life. That she would like to forgive you.
Galya was silent for a long time. Her gaze wandered inward, to herself. It seemed she wasn’t even surprised.
— So Nastya too… — she whispered. — Well, she lived her time. And why did you come?
Vadim hesitated a little:
— She asked me to visit. And if needed, to help. Don’t be shy, say it plainly.
— You won’t help with anything, boy, — sighed Galya. — But there’s good news. Tell me, how did Nastya live? You’re her grandson, right?
Vadim nodded.
He was proud of his grandmother. She was his entire world. He had never known his parents — from as far back as he could remember, he had lived only with her. And Anastasia Viktorovna had never hidden the truth about them. When Vadim turned twelve, she told him everything honestly.
— Your mother fell in love with Gena when she was sixteen. I was against it right away. I wanted her to finish school, go to university, build her life. But who listened to me? I even locked her up at home — useless. Every day, she ran away to him. He was older, unemployed, with a criminal record… Only money for vodka left. But Ninka loved him, like a cat — her first cat. Thank God, they didn’t get married. Although… maybe not, thank God.
Then Ninka suddenly announced she was getting married. The application was already submitted.
I… what could I say? I had no choice but to agree.
They lived with me. Gena still couldn’t find a job — he didn’t work, just kept disappearing somewhere. Ninka tried to pull everything herself. I helped as much as I could. I talked to my son-in-law many times, urged him to get his act together, start living like a decent person. But he just grunted:
— I was born for crime, not work.
A year and a half after the wedding, you were born. And almost immediately, Gena went to prison — this time for three years. Ninka ran to the colony, bringing packages, while I raised you. All that time, she promised to come back, find a job, send money. Then, when the sentence was over, they said they were leaving together, trying again.
I let them go. What else was there to do? I thought maybe now they would come to their senses, and my daughter would become a real mother. But it didn’t work out.
For the first six months, I got a couple of transfers. And then… silence. And one day, a phone call. Ninka said:
— Gena and I are no longer together. I have a new husband, a new family. I can’t take my son. We’re having our own child soon.
So I was left with my grandson. That’s how you became my boy.
Vadim didn’t hide his resentment. He searched for his mother, wrote to her through social media. He introduced himself as an «old acquaintance» and asked how she was. Ninka replied coldly. Now she was a good wife and a caring mother of three children — apparently deciding that the past should remain where it belonged.
He just wanted to understand: why was he abandoned? Why even have him?
Ninka replied quickly and without extra words:
«Now what do you want? Money? There’s none. I have children, they need every penny. Sorry, but you’re no longer my person. I don’t even remember what you look like. Better stay where you are. Don’t ruin my life.»
These words etched into his heart with pain. He hadn’t asked for help, hadn’t asked for love. He only needed one thing — to know that he mattered to someone. But the answer was different.
Later, when Anastasia Viktorovna was already in her coffin, Vadim organized the funeral himself. He gathered everyone who remained by her side. Ninka didn’t even come. Didn’t call. Didn’t ask how he was.
— Ninka was always like that, — Galya shook her head when Vadim finished his story. — Proud, like a devil, and her heart — stone. Don’t worry, son. Everything that’s not done with kindness, sooner or later, turns into debt. For people like her — a special hell.
Vadim was about to leave, but couldn’t hold back his question:
— Why are you alone? Why is there no one from your family? Granny asked me to visit you, but never explained anything. She just whispered that you were a beauty in your youth. Didn’t anyone come to you?
Galya smiled bitterly:
— There was one. One, and for life. We loved each other the way no one loves anymore. He loved me too… until he died. After him, I didn’t want another relationship. Not a single meeting. It was like I went with him.
— I’m truly sorry, — Vadim said quietly.
— I don’t need your pity, — she snapped. — Go away. And forget that I ever existed.
He stood up, adjusted his coat, took the doorknob. But he stopped in the doorway:
— I won’t forget. And I won’t leave just like that. If you need help — I’m here. Even once a week, even just to chat. You’re family to me too.
Galya was silent. She only looked out the window, where it was beginning to get dark.
The next day, Vadim returned. He brought food, firewood, tools. He decided that the house could be fixed. She wasn’t happy — at least it would be warmer.
— I told you… — Galya started, but didn’t finish.
He had already rolled up his sleeves and began fixing the roof. Then — he would fix the stove. Later — he would plant potatoes. Maybe even build a fence. Because now he knew: if a person is lonely, it means they’re part of someone’s story. And that story shouldn’t be left unfinished.
— I just wanted to help, — Vadim interrupted her irritated monologue. — If you don’t need it, I’ll take everything back.
Galya remained silent, watching him carefully stack the firewood by the porch. Then she sighed quietly.
— Fine… let it stay.
From that day on, Vadim started coming to Zabolotye every weekend. He fixed the house, brought firewood, repaired the roof, carried food. He was just there. He didn’t ask for thanks, didn’t expect care in return. And over time, Galya began to open up.
She told him about her youth, about the love lost too soon, about the pain she could never let go of. She shared her memories, as if trying to gather the fragments of the past.
One evening, they were sitting in the kitchen — no longer as neglected as before. The stove was crackling, and snow was falling outside. Galya looked at Vadim for the first time, not with suspicion, but with gratitude.
— Thank you, Vadimushka, — she said quietly. — You’ve brought me back to life. I think I can breathe again.
Vadim smiled. He felt he had found more here than just family — he found purpose. The ability to be needed. The ability to give warmth to those who had long been without it.
And then, unexpectedly, Galya asked:
— Do you want me to tell you the truth? Why I’m alone?
Vadim nodded. She wrapped herself in a scarf, as if preparing for the cold, and began…
Galya had once been completely different — alive, open, full of hope. She married young, as was the custom in villages. She loved her husband Boris madly. They grew up together, made plans, raised their son Leshenka — long-awaited, beloved, fragile.
But one autumn day, Boris went fishing. Galya didn’t want him to leave. Something inside troubled her. But he just hugged her and said:
— I’ll be back in the evening. I’ll kiss both of you. Wait for me.
The door slammed. Then — the gate. And then — silence.
Days passed, but he didn’t return. On the fifth day, the fishermen brought a terrifying find: pieces of a boat, scraps of clothing, and traces of blood on board. Lake Baikal had taken Boris without a trace.
Galya was left with a child. Without her husband, without peace, without sleep. On a frosty night, when the New Year was almost knocking at the window, someone knocked on the glass. Her heart froze.
She approached. Looked out. There was no one outside. Just the wind and snow.
— It’s just my imagination, — she whispered to herself, hiding her son under the blanket.
Only a few hours later, she managed to fall asleep. But in the middle of the night, she woke up suddenly — the feeling of another presence became unbearable. The window knocked again.
She looked cautiously — and almost screamed. There he was, standing outside.
Not a person, not a shadow — something between life and death. His face was twisted, skin hanging in tatters, empty eye sockets, movement in his mouth. He spoke, but his voice wasn’t his:
— Open the door, Galya. I want to kiss my son. Let me in.
She screamed:
— Go away! Get out of here!
The baby woke up, crying. Galya held him tightly, blocking the window with her body.
— Give me Lesha! — the voice from outside insisted. — I will return. I will always return. Until I see him.
Then — silence. He disappeared. But left behind an icy chill.
The next morning, Galya ran to the old Agafya — the local healer who could hear not only the living, but also those who had passed.
She listened to the woman, grew serious:
— He hasn’t left. He hasn’t finished. You need to find his body. Bury him properly. Otherwise, he’ll keep coming back. And not alone.
Galya returned home in confusion. The fishermen just shrugged:
— How can we find him in winter? Wait until spring when the ice melts.
And in spring, Lake Baikal gave up part of its secret. One day, in March, Galya heard the knock again.
She looked out — and saw him. Almost naked, half-decayed body. Eye sockets where his eyes once were. And a voice now ringing like metal:
— Give me Lesha… There’s still time… Give him back, before it’s too late…
She closed the windows, crossed herself, and began praying. The deceased didn’t leave — he whispered, threatened, called. And then he disappeared, leaving only fear behind.
In the morning, Galya went to all the fishermen in the village. She gathered them by her house, her voice trembling with fear and pain, but she still told her story. The men were silent for a long time, looking down, but eventually nodded: we’ll help.
— Bab Galya doesn’t ask for nothing, — said the eldest among them, Makar, looking at little Lesha, who was playing nearby. — She has a little child. It’s not his fault what’s happening here.
And they went. They spent the whole day by the shore, scouring the water, diving into the icy waves, hoping to find Boris’s remains and calm his soul.
Galya couldn’t sit still. She kept running to the window, listening to every rustle. By evening, when her son was already asleep, she went out to the dock to meet the fishermen. The cold wind tore at her scarf, biting her face, as if reminding her that the dead were nearby.
And then — the cry of a child. Her scream. She turned and rushed home, like a flood. She ran into the house — and froze. Her little son, her beloved Leshenka, was hanging from the ceiling on an old fishing net, half-rotted, with drops of water running down the ropes.
She fell unconscious. Meanwhile, someone — or something — slid into the darkness behind the door, leaving only the smell of dampness and fear.
Galya woke up in the hospital. She was unconscious for three days. During this time, the men found Boris — right across from her house, by the shore, as if he was waiting for something. His body was wedged between some branches, holding a piece of net, covered in mold.
And Leshenka… they had already buried him.
— So he took him… — she whispered, — took my baby… So many years have passed, and I still can’t get over it. It’s my fault. If I had opened the door then, maybe nothing would have happened…
Vadim listened, holding his breath. He had never encountered anything like this before — not in books, not in movies, not in real-life stories. But now he understood: sometimes the truth is scarier than any nightmare.
— Bab Galya, — he started cautiously, — come with me. Move to the city. I have a spacious apartment, three rooms. My fiancée Lyusya — she’s a kind, warm-hearted person. We’ll take you in like family. You don’t have to be alone anymore. You’ve been through too much…
Galya sighed, then sighed again.
— Where would I go, Vadimushka? What would I do at your place? Just another mouth to feed, another burden. No, I’ll stay here. My time will come soon. And I’ll be able to meet Lesha. Just don’t stop visiting me. I’m afraid I’ll die alone, and there won’t even be anyone to put flowers on my grave.
But Vadim didn’t give up. He spent three whole days persuading her. And Galya, remembering how long it had been since anyone had spoken kindly to her, suddenly agreed. She packed her things — a few rags, a framed photo, a kettle, and a few holy icons — and got in the car.
At that time, she didn’t know that she would live another fourteen years. That she would become a great-grandmother to three grandchildren — Kostik, Lesha, and Marinka. That for them, she wouldn’t just be an old woman, but a living source of warmth, wisdom, and love.
And if it weren’t for Anastasia Viktorovna’s note, if Vadim hadn’t come, if it weren’t for his persistence — perhaps there would still be emptiness in that house overgrown with weeds. And cold. And fear.
But now everything was different. Galya became part of the family she had lost. And Vadim — slowly built a new life, where everyone knew what it meant to be needed. To love. And to be loved.»
