The car’s engine stubbornly refused to start. No matter how much Dmitry tried to bring it back to life, it only coughed weakly before dying again. The man had no desire to figure out the cause of the sudden breakdown—today he simply had neither the energy nor the time. Leaving the car until tomorrow right in the parking lot by the office seemed like the only sensible solution.
The day had been anything but easy. First, there were two difficult patients by appointment, and then there were exhausting negotiations about the premises. He managed to stand his ground, but an unpleasant aftertaste remained from dealing with those slippery characters—whether businessmen or gangsters—for whom every person had a price and there was always plenty of money. Their behavior was predictable: cynical and calculating.
Their special interest was the office building. This nineteenth‑century architectural masterpiece had miraculously survived in the center of the city, squeezed on all sides by more modern constructions. The small two‑story mansion with columns once belonged to a renowned professor of medicine, and that was especially dear to Dmitry. After all, he was a psychotherapist himself, one who revered traditions and felt deep respect for the medical community.
A few years ago, he managed to buy the building. While preserving its external appearance, the new owner only restored the façade. The interior work required significant investment, but Dmitry refused to change the style and atmosphere of the place.
Visitors were drawn to the old mansion to see the doctor with the noble surname Morozov. The soothing energy of the place invited confessions. It seemed as if time slowed down here or even stopped altogether. And Dmitry Sergeyevich, being a professional in his field, quickly gained popularity in the city.
At that time, the young psychotherapist managed his affairs with just one secretary. Yet he had a grand idea—to create his own school, nurture students, and open an entire center for psychotherapy.
All around, multi‑story office buildings made of glass and concrete were gradually rising. The small building from the past and a few nondescript four‑story houses became an eyesore for the developers. The last owners of the neighboring houses had given in under the pressure of businessmen, but Dmitry categorically refused to sell his spot. Everything suited him here.
Over time he managed to pay off the loans taken for the project. Three years later, Dmitry built his own house on the outskirts of the city. He put his heart and soul into it and planned three children’s rooms, but his wife Varya had postponed having children for many years. First, she was finishing her studies at the institute. Although she never worked a single day in her field afterward, explaining that she had realized too late that the profession wasn’t for her.
Then she spent a long time searching for herself, taking various courses and trainings, the certificates of which only added to her already impressive collection. Varya would swing from one extreme to the other—one moment art, then business, then religion. Periodically she flew off with her friends to Tibet, to islands, and other exotic places. Dmitry didn’t object; he pitied his wife who simply couldn’t find her calling. He was luckier—he was engaged in the work he loved.
However, over time Varya began to drift further away from him. In the past, sitting by the fireplace, they could talk for hours about life, about the future of their family, about the universe. Now those topics irritated her. Her eyes no longer shone with love but merely glanced past her husband indifferently. Often she would come home just to sleep. She was as cold as stone, and when asked where she had been or what she was doing, she would answer irritably that Dmitry limited her and did not let her develop.
The man understood that their marriage was fading, but any attempts to revive the relationship were met with outright rejection. Everything he did was either untimely or not enough…
“A shoemaker without shoes,” he bitterly joked about himself while anxiously wondering if he even had the right to give advice on strengthening family bonds to others…
Who knows how long it would have continued if not for the tragedy that occurred six months ago with his college friends—the family he had long been close to. They perished in a car accident. Their three‑year‑old son Ilyusha was left completely alone. The child protective services took him away, but the boy’s fate would not let Dmitry rest. He often visited the boy. The man’s heart ached as Ilyusha, upon spotting him from afar, ran eagerly to him and then froze, clinging to his knees. Without a second thought, Dmitry took him in and adopted him. He simply could not have acted otherwise—after all, he was the boy’s godfather.
Secretly, he hoped that this turn of events would shake up their family relations and bring him closer to Varya. His wife received the adoption without enthusiasm, but she did not object either. The restless little boy irritated her and upset her balance. The new parents could barely keep up with him. A month later, Varya declared that she had no time to take care of the child. She had other things to do, and the boy interfered and threw her off track. Thus, the care of the boy fell entirely on Dmitry’s shoulders. He did not complain, but it pained him to see his wife’s complete inability to sacrifice herself and her unwillingness to be a mother. That became the turning point in their marriage—there was nothing left to save. Everything had burned out, leaving only a handful of ashes…
Soon Dmitry accidentally found out what had distracted his wife. While passing by a hotel, he noticed her entering inside, arm in arm with some man. Caught red‑handed, so to speak. Varya didn’t even try to deny it and immediately agreed to a divorce. It even seemed that she felt a sense of relief. In a calm voice she explained that they had long been living separate lives and that she did not need a man burdened with someone else’s problems.
It pained and angered Dmitry to hear this. From the very first day of their acquaintance, he had literally brushed dust off her. Was it his fault that, even after all these years, he remained the same as before? Perhaps it wasn’t so bad—to think of others, not just oneself?
Thus, Dmitry and Ilyusha remained alone. Sometimes an elderly neighbor would help with the boy, but it was too difficult for her to manage an overactive child. They simply couldn’t do without a nanny. Enter Lyuba—a plump, rosy-cheeked woman who immediately commanded respect. One couldn’t take her lightly. Dmitry even caught himself thinking that he was a little afraid of her. The woman immediately took Ilya under her wing, and, to his surprise, the boy obeyed her.
After the divorce, an acute feeling of loneliness and melancholy seized the man. Memories tormented his soul and wouldn’t let go. Only his beloved work and his son saved him from depression. In an attempt to rid himself of regret over his ruined marriage, he began to pay attention to other women.
That’s how Yana entered Dmitry’s life. A tall, striking blonde whom he met by chance in a supermarket. For a while, he felt that this girl was exactly what he needed. She readily responded to his requests, always willing to help, yet invariably demanded something in return. For sitting with Ilyusha on weekends—a ring, for preparing a meal—lipstick.
“I did try! Don’t you think I deserve at least something small?” she would whisper sweetly and insistently in his ear, demanding yet another gift.
Dmitry began to feel as if he had merely hired her. Such piece‑rate, bonus‑based relationships did not suit him…
The bright star named Yana faded from his life as quickly as it had ignited.
The man observed young women from afar and did not see in them the sincerity and selflessness that were so important to him. In youth, opposites are drawn together out of curiosity for the new and unknown, but with age one seeks someone with whom life is simply pleasant and comfortable…
Dmitry locked his car and decided to walk through the park to the bus stop.
The daytime heat was beginning to subside, and weary city dwellers started moving into the recreation area. Near the fountain, children on scooters zipped by, a noisy group played a modern hit at full volume, and couples cozily sat on the benches. Only at the very end of the alley did an older woman sit alone, bent over with her face covered by her hands. It was hard to tell whether she was crying or feeling unwell. She was dressed modestly but neatly. Dmitry couldn’t just walk by—what if she needed help? Approaching her, he leaned in and asked with concern:
“Are you alright? Do you feel unwell?”
The woman raised tearful eyes toward him. Her face seemed painfully familiar, although many years had passed since they last met. The kind, bright eyes that once looked at him with gentle sternness were now lined with fine wrinkles.
Suddenly, childhood memories surged from the depths of his memory like a warm wave racing through his chest, evoking a poignant sense of nostalgia.
“Valentina Nikiforovna, hello!” Dmitry exclaimed with genuine delight.
The woman froze, looking at the stranger in confusion and slightly shrugging.
“It’s me—Dima Morozov. Don’t you recognize me?”
Her old teacher gasped and broke into a smile, trying to discreetly wipe away her tears with a handkerchief so as not to lose dignity in the eyes of her former student.
“Oh my, Dimochka, is that really you? You’ve grown so much!” she marveled, shaking her head in admiration. “How are you? Did you finish institute? Where do you work now?” she bombarded him with questions.
The young man laughed, sat down beside her, and began to talk about himself.
He was infinitely grateful to Valentina Nikiforovna for everything she had done for him at school. As his homeroom teacher, she had a huge influence on his still not fully formed personality. As a teenager, driven by youthful idealism, he had fiercely resisted the strict teacher’s pressure, but in the end he still recognized that she was right.
She had literally pulled the smart but wayward boy out of a bad crowd, preventing him from sliding down a slippery slope. Later, almost by chance, she nudged him toward the idea of entering medical school and stayed after classes to help him catch up in her subject—chemistry. Only years later did Dmitry fully understand and appreciate all the help she had given him.
They sat together, laughing and reminiscing about amusing incidents from school life.
Then Dmitry finally remembered why he had approached her and asked seriously:
“Valentina Nikiforovna, what happened to you? You’re not just sitting here for no reason, are you?”
The woman sighed heavily, recalling the reason for her tears, but then she decided to tell everything:
“Oh, Dimochka! Everything fell apart at once. First, the new school principal forced me into retirement. Then, the doctors gave me a terminal diagnosis… But what worries me most is my daughter… Her husband—rich and influential—recently left her and took Katya, my granddaughter… Kristina is suffering terribly from this separation; she’s fallen into depression, doesn’t want to live, and spends all day staring at the ceiling…”
Without a moment’s hesitation, Dmitry offered:
“Valentina Nikiforovna, I know many doctors. Let me arrange for you to be examined. Two heads are better than one. And as for your daughter—I can help with that; it’s right up my alley. Here’s my business card.”
The woman shook her head:
“Thank you, my dear, but there’s nothing anyone can do for me now, though I would gladly bring Kristina to you… But she refuses to see doctors… absolutely refuses. She trusts no one—neither doctors nor psychologists…”
The former teacher pondered for a moment, then, touching his hand, said:
“Dima, perhaps we can come up with some cunning plan… Otherwise, she’ll simply perish… For example… maybe you could take her on as a maid or housekeeper. I’ll persuade her, even if just for a while—she’s a responsible girl. You easily command trust. In conversation, you could subtly help her return to life…”
The woman looked into his eyes hopefully. Although the plan seemed complicated, Dmitry couldn’t refuse her…
The next day, a petite, attractive girl with a graceful figure appeared at the door. Her dark‑blond hair framed her pale face. In her large gray eyes, there was a trace of sorrow.
“Hello,” she said in a soft, pleasant voice. “I’m Kristina. My mother said you urgently need a housemaid.”
Lyuba stepped out of the children’s room, looked at the newcomer disapprovingly, and said to Dmitry:
“Why didn’t you say you needed help around the house? I could easily do both…”
“Oh, come now, Lyuba. You already have plenty of work with the child, and I doubt you could handle the cleaning,” he hurriedly reassured the nanny.
Yet Ilyusha showed genuine interest in the guest. He circled around her, peering at her face. At the sight of the little boy, the young woman suddenly brightened; her face lit up with a smile, and she sat down to be at his level:
“Hi, my name is Kristina! And what’s your name?”
The boy unexpectedly became shy—something he hadn’t shown before—and, looking down, answered softly:
“Ilyusha…”
Lyuba, almost in a jealous tone, scolded him sharply:
“Ilya, come on, let’s go to the room. Dad and aunt need to talk…”
The boy regretfully glanced at his new acquaintance but obediently followed the nanny to the children’s room.
Kristina turned out to be neat and diligent. She quickly figured things out and got into the work mood. Although she agreed to help the familiar mother only for a short time, the change of scenery came at just the right moment. At home, she was already starting to lose her mind, constantly replaying the events of recent months in her head…
She had met her ex‑husband, Volodya, when she was still at school. The seventeen‑year‑old girl with sparkling eyes charmed the young businessman with her freshness and ease of manner. He was almost fourteen years older than her. A solid black foreign car, huge bouquets of flowers, and handsome courtships dazzled the inexperienced daughter of a humble schoolteacher. Her friends envied her and all advised:
“Don’t miss your chance, Kristinka! Where else will you find someone like him? With a man like that—it’s like having a stone wall.”
Her mother was somewhat uneasy about the wealthy suitor with the large age difference, but seeing the happy sparkle in her daughter’s eyes, she did not oppose their relationship. Especially since he, as was proper, came to ask for her hand. That old‑fashioned gesture had won the heart of the traditional guardian.
After getting married, Kristina was happy for the first few years. She enjoyed managing a large house and taking care of her husband. When Katya was born, the young woman fully immersed herself in raising the child. Every first tooth, every first step—everything filled her with delight and seemed miraculous. Amidst all the household chores, Kristina never acquired a profession. Her husband kept saying, “What do you need it for? You don’t really require it.”
Her only passion for the soul was cooking. Since childhood, her mother had taught her a few recipes, and over time Kristina began creating true masterpieces. If she baked a cake, it always came with an unusual filling and exquisite decoration. If she prepared meat, it always included a secret that made it incredibly tender and juicy. Guests marveled at her skills and always asked for seconds.
The cozy home, delicious food, and a well‑mannered daughter eventually seemed to bore Volodya. Now, after work, he no longer hurried home. He explained to Kristina that in modern business it was customary to hold negotiations in restaurants or clubs in the evening. He hardly communicated with Katya, even though she was already attending school. The girl had grown used to her father always being busy, so she didn’t disturb him. Her whole world revolved around her beloved mother.
Sometimes Kristina detected a faint whiff of women’s perfume on her husband’s shirt, but he quickly found an excuse: “I danced with my partner’s wife at the meeting.” Deep inside her, a doubt settled, but she strenuously tried to silence it. She even pitied her husband—after all, he worked so hard for the family.
But Volodya became entirely different. He grew irritated over any little thing—either the food wasn’t right or Kristina started talking when he just wanted to relax…
Her friends consoled her:
“Well, what did you expect? It’s a mid‑life crisis. He’ll get over it and calm down. Just be patient.”
But the patience did not last long…
One day he came home earlier than usual, sat opposite her, and in a cold voice declared:
“I want a divorce.”
Kristina looked at him in shock, unable to utter a word.
“Divorce?…” she finally managed to choke out.
“Yes. I’ve fallen in love with someone else. Pack your things—I’ll take you to my mother.”
Startled, Kristina exclaimed:
“Right now? It’s already evening, Katya has so many things and books. We won’t have time to gather everything!”
“Katya is staying with me, period!” Volodya said coldly. His gaze was empty and ruthless.
Kristina’s head began to spin, and her legs gave out. She realized her husband was not joking. She remembered times when he had ruthlessly dealt with competitors. Back then, she wondered how her loving husband could be so cruel. Now she found herself in his path…
Hot tears streamed down her cheeks from helplessness, yet she still pleaded:
“Volodya, I’ll leave—I just want to take my daughter.”
“My daughter stays with me!” he declared firmly. His tone brooked no argument.
Kristina was on the verge of a nervous breakdown. She understood that his money could open any door and solve any problem. He always achieved his goals by any means:
“I’m not going anywhere without her!” she cried between sobs, throwing herself at his feet. “Please don’t take her from me!” she begged.
But he only brusquely pushed her aside and left the room.
A wild thought flashed through Kristina’s mind. She knew that not a minute could be wasted. Jumping up, she dashed to the second floor, to the children’s room. But the door was locked, and next to the key, in hand, stood Volodya.
“Let’s not make a scene,” he said coldly.
From behind the door came Katya’s cries:
“Open up! Mom! Mom!” she screamed.
It seemed to Kristina that her heart would soon be torn to pieces.
“Do you want her to throw a tantrum? Or will you leave gracefully? You know everything will go exactly as I decide,” Volodya said calmly but with an icy firmness.
Kristina knew…
Drooping her shoulders in dejection, she silently gathered a small bag and left that house forever, leaving behind on the second floor the greater part of her soul. The farewell cry of her beloved daughter echoed in her ears for a long time. The world had lost its color, turning into a gray haze with blurred outlines. Her lungs refused to inhale the suddenly thickened air, and her heart seemed on the verge of stopping, for there was no longer any meaning in its beating…
During the divorce, it turned out that Volodya had wisely arranged all the documents so that there was nothing to divide. But Kristina was concerned not with his millions, but with something entirely different. The unfortunate woman, left virtually penniless, almost homeless, without a profession or work, had her claim for choosing the child’s residence dismissed by the court. Kristina was convinced that her ex‑husband had engineered that decision. Overwhelmed by fatigue, her legs felt like lead. She didn’t even have the strength to stand up and leave…
The lawyer merely shrugged indifferently and said as a farewell:
“I warned you this outcome was possible… I’m sorry…”
In the courtroom, Kristina saw for the first time her ex‑husband’s new lover. Very young—about twenty years old, no more. Long legs, a short skirt, ample bosom, and a pretty face. She clung to Volodya almost all the time, admiring every word he said.
For some reason, Kristina did not feel hatred toward her. In fact, she even pitied her a little. In about ten years, the solid, successful businessman would be in the prime of his life, and she, most likely, would end up discarded—replaced by a new model, just like Kristina…
But what hurt her the most was that Volodya wouldn’t even let her see her daughter. The separation seemed endless. She hadn’t seen her girl for so long, didn’t know how she was, couldn’t breathe in the familiar scent of her hair, or hear her melodious voice. It felt as if she had been thrown off a cliff and was falling into an abyss. The hopelessness tormented her and scorched the remnants of her soul…
So the unexpected opportunity to distract herself delighted Kristina. The work was not difficult for her. In essence, it was what she had been doing every day throughout many years of married life.
In the morning she got up early to get to her new job in time and bake her signature pancakes with sweet sauce for the homeowner and his son. They devoured the pastry with gusto and showered her with praise.
Dmitry was a terrible sweet tooth, but while married to Varya he had to put up with the healthy but tasteless food his wife was fond of. To avoid arguments, he would swallow broccoli mash or rice with sprouts and dash off to work. Sometimes he would secretly buy a pie or a calorie‑laden pastry at the bakery and happily eat it right in his office. So such an unexpectedly delicious breakfast seemed like a real celebration to him.
The housemaid was touched by such a reaction to her efforts. In the past, she had often prepared a similar breakfast for her own family. The husband would chew indifferently, and Katya, just like Ilya now, would first nibble the edges of the pancake and then eat the middle. The young woman lovingly patted the boy’s head.
In this house, Kristina liked everything. There was something uniquely cozy and warm about it. Even the mischievous little boy with his pranks did not disturb the atmosphere but, on the contrary, filled it with liveliness and energy.
Then Lyuba arrived, and suddenly a chill swept over the place, even though outside it was a sunny summer day.
“Ugh, what a mess!” she grumbled disapprovingly. “Look at the instant oats on the shelf—just pour boiling water, and it’s ready. But no, you have to show off…” she continued to grumble.
Dmitry went to work while Kristina stayed behind to clean the kitchen.
“Would you like me to make some for you too?” she offered, trying to find common ground with the quarrelsome nanny.
That woman suddenly came alive with renewed force—she planted her hands on her hips and, with a spiteful smirk, stood in the doorway. Her prickly glance seemed to pierce to the very soul. Now that the master was gone, she could let out everything that had built up:
“Listen, girl! What are you doing here, huh? Do you think you’ll feed the man, put on airs in front of him, and then waltz straight to the registry office? There have been plenty like you before… but only for a short time… So don’t even hope!”
Such rudeness hurt Kristina deeply. But she wasn’t going to take offense at this plump lady with the manner of a market vendor. Perhaps Lyuba judged others by herself? Or maybe she herself hoped to attract Dmitry’s attention… Well, then, God be the judge… Let her grumble all she wants… Kristina had plenty of work even without her. The pots and pans hadn’t seen a woman’s hand in ages.
And the young woman threw herself wholeheartedly into her work…
In the evening, the master was met with yet another reason for delight—a rich borscht, a schnitzel with a spiced vegetable garnish, and for dessert—small chocolate pastries with a liquid filling. The kitchen sparkled with cleanliness. Ilyusha roamed around; he was determined and wouldn’t leave Kristina’s side for a moment, no matter how much the nanny pleaded for him to return to the room.
Recovering from his culinary ecstasy, Dmitry approached, playfully knelt, and kissed the artisan’s hand:
“Kristina! I have no words! You are a talent!”
His eyes shone with genuine admiration. But then he immediately came to his senses, furrowed his brow theatrically, and with a mischievous squint said:
“But we’ll soon be running out of doorways! Be careful with such delicious treats—resisting them is impossible!”
The girl laughed merrily.
“How beautiful you are when you smile,” Dmitry thought.
“And how handsome he is when he jokes,” Kristina caught herself thinking.
Meeting his gaze, she shyly looked away. Dmitry snapped back—after all, he had promised Valentina Nikiforovna professional help, yet he himself was only stuffing his face with treats. Not wanting to waste time, he started a conversation about life, told her about his ex‑wife and adopted Ilyusha, and asked Kristina to tell him about herself, all the while trying to subtly get to the heart of her problem.
His kind, compassionate look and frankness inspired trust in her. She even found herself wanting to rest her head on his shoulder and pour out her heart in tears. With a trembling voice, unable to hide her emotions, Kristina candidly confessed what troubled and broke her heart.
The kind, caring woman had won Dmitry’s heart. He already regarded her problems as his own. He felt an urge to jump up and immediately go confront her ex‑husband—to free her and take the daughter away. But the methods of the nineties no longer worked. After listening to her, he dialed the number of a lawyer he knew. The lawyer thoroughly advised them and promised help with filing a claim.
Kristina was infinitely grateful to Dmitry. He managed to convince her that her situation wasn’t a death sentence. They’d just have to fight, but nothing was impossible in this world. The evening ended with a joint tea session and an animated discussion about reuniting with her daughter.
Kristina visibly perked up. She enjoyed talking to her new acquaintance, who now, as it turned out, was her savior. Early in the morning, buoyed by newfound energy, she rushed off to work. All traces of her previous despair and exhaustion had vanished. Dmitry wished he could move mountains in gratitude for the hope she had given him. She managed everything—cleaning, washing, ironing, cooking, and even keeping a watchful eye on her new helper—Ilyusha. Lyuba grumbled disapprovingly, but it seemed she had resigned herself to the presence of a new person in the house.
Valentina Nikiforovna couldn’t have been happier and didn’t know how to express her gratitude to her former student. Her daughter was now saved. Overwhelmed by emotion, the woman alternated between crying into the phone and promising to pray for Dmitry for the rest of her life.
But he only waved it off and continued insisting that the ailing woman see his doctor acquaintance:
“Let me take you to my acquaintance doctor. He’s saved so many lives!”
The flood of emotions overwhelmed Valentina Nikiforovna so much that she was ready for anything.
“If you think it’s necessary, I’ll come… Thank you, Dimochka, for everything!”
A longtime friend of Dmitry’s—Mikhail Konstantinovich, an excellent specialist but a pedant and overcautious man—after a thorough examination, cautiously explained:
“Yes, there is a neoplasm in the intestine, but I can only determine its nature more precisely after surgery. By the way, the tests did not reveal any metastases. I don’t know who told you that the tumor was inoperable…”
Valentina Nikiforovna looked at the doctor with suspicion. She had long resigned herself to an early death and saw no other outcome for her illness.
Kristina and Dmitry barely managed to persuade the woman, who had borne the cross for so long, to go to the hospital. The surgery was scheduled for the following week…
The day after work, Dmitry decided to open up to Kristina and confessed that he had deceived Valentina Nikiforovna a little for her sake. The girl didn’t even get angry when she learned that her new friend was, in fact, a certified psychotherapist. The young man sighed with relief. Now he was completely honest with her and could hope for mutual affection.
But the woman, who had spent the whole evening in a pensive state, suddenly asked:
“Dmitry, have you known Lyuba for long?”
He was taken aback by the unexpected question that disrupted his romantic mood.
“No, only about five months. What happened?”
The young woman hesitated, but then eventually shared her suspicions.
“Today I caught Lyuba in your office—she was rifling through documents. Maybe you forgot to lock the safe.”
“That’s very strange…” Dmitry said, deep in thought. An indistinct worry settled in his soul. He recalled every detail of his meeting with the nanny and her being hired.
It was necessary to check everything immediately…
Dmitry’s fears were confirmed—everything was in place except the documents for the office building. Hoping that the misunderstanding would clear up on its own, that perhaps he had moved the documents and forgotten about them, the man didn’t take any further action.
The next day, as expected, Lyuba did not come to work, and her phone did not answer calls. Instead, Dmitry’s secretary called and said that some people had broken into his office and were not letting anyone in.
The man understood everything by then, although he did not want to admit it to himself. This was a classic hostile takeover. Dmitry had seen many such plots on TV, but he had never heard of a case where the seized property was returned.
Of course, he immediately drove to the scene, tried to argue with the security at the entrance, but it was all in vain. None of the higher-ups came out to meet him. Standing before the locked door of the building that legally belonged to him and being unable to enter, Dmitry struggled with a helpless rage that overtook him at that moment. He felt like grabbing an axe and forcing his way in. He had to take several deep breaths to hold back from acting impulsively.
In despair, he went to the police and filed a report. They received it indifferently and promised to get back to him. Leaving there, the man no longer held any hope…
Kristina anxiously waited in the kitchen for the master of the house to return. Ilyusha quietly and intently fiddled at the edge of the table with his construction toys. The previous day’s incident, its morning continuation, and the complete uncertainty had worried her all day. She felt sorry for the young man. She understood how hard it was to lose something one had built, nurtured, and cherished for years—one’s beloved vocation that brought in income and held so much value…
The front door opened. Dmitry’s face told everything without words. Exhausted, he collapsed into a chair, leaning back and closing his eyes wearily. He felt lost and helpless. It was as if someone had knocked the very support point out from under him. Suddenly, his inner guide had disappeared…
Kristina sensed that the man needed a short pause, so she brewed his favorite coffee and silently set the cup before him. The pleasant aroma and her kind, sympathetic look quickly brought him back to his senses. New, somber thoughts began to invade his mind. How would he manage now without Kristina? He couldn’t even imagine it… But he had to be completely honest with this wonderful girl.
“Kristina! Thank you so much—you’ve helped me so much. I am very grateful… But from now on, my life will be too complicated and unpredictable. I guess my son and I will have to continue handling everything on our own…”
The young woman looked deep into his eyes with her beautiful gray ones, took his hand, and squeezed it tightly.
“Don’t make it up! I won’t leave you in such a difficult situation, Dima…” she said seriously.
At those words—which every man would love to hear in challenging circumstances—something sweetly tightened in his chest. Dmitry jumped up and simply gathered the girl into his tender embrace. They just stood there, pressed against each other, forming a solid structure into which all their troubles seemed to vanish without a trace. Words were unnecessary. From now on, everything was understood—they would overcome everything… together… Meanwhile, Ilyusha happily bounced over and joined in the hug.
Valentina Nikiforovna was already waiting for the future in-laws with a beaming smile and a mountain of sumptuous pies. Dmitry laughed upon seeing the freshly baked, rosy-cheeked couple.
“Oh, it’s so very homely here!” he exclaimed, hugging his future mother‑in‑law.
Kristina smiled, holding the groom’s hand. Yet, the thought of her daughter still kept her from attaining complete happiness.
They had come to retrieve the girl’s documents. Despite Dmitry’s misfortunes, they were determined not to give up the fight to recover Katya. While Kristina sorted through the papers, Valentina Nikiforovna quietly led her future son‑in‑law into the kitchen.
“Dimochka, I must tell you something,” she said in an agitated voice, seating him on a chair.
“What happened?” he asked nervously, bracing himself for more bad news.
“Tomorrow I’m having surgery… I don’t know, perhaps I won’t come back home…” Dmitry rushed to comfort her, but she interrupted him resolutely and continued, “Don’t argue, Dima, anything can happen… Before that, I want to tell you something. I never had the courage to tell my daughter the truth, but you must know. Kristinchka is not my biological daughter…”
Dmitry’s eyes widened in astonishment, and Valentina Nikiforovna told him a very strange story that had happened to her many years ago…
Late one evening, when the teacher was still young, someone knocked at the door. On the threshold stood a man with a one‑year‑old child in his arms. A fresh wound was visible near his temple, with drops of blood streaming down his cheek, and the sleeve of his jacket was already a deep burgundy. In a gasping, anxious voice, he explained that gangsters were chasing him and begged her to take in his daughter and a bag of belongings until morning. The woman was terribly frightened, but she couldn’t refuse the child that the stranger, pleading with his eyes, handed to her. No matter what, the child must not suffer…
The little girl was remarkably calm; her huge eyes studied the new acquaintance and the unfamiliar surroundings with interest. But neither that morning nor the next day did anyone come for the girl. And through the news, Valentina Nikiforovna learned that under unexplained circumstances, a famous businessman and his wife had perished that very night. Adding two and two together was not difficult.
She looked at the little girl with pity, watching her peacefully play with spoons and pots, as the lonely, childless woman had no other toys. Her heart fluttered at the surge of tenderness. In just two days, she had grown extremely fond of this calm child—a little angel in human form who had managed to awaken in her feelings she had never known before.
But there was nothing she could do; she had to call the police. In the bag they found the child’s birth certificate and a few other items. The little girl was sent to an orphanage, but the young teacher made sure not to lose sight of her, frequently visiting. Strangely enough, the child recognized her and, smiling, would stretch out her tiny hands toward her.
The orphan had no relatives, and Valentina Nikiforovna had to go through a long, arduous process before she finally managed to adopt her. The girl became the sole joy in the teacher’s life, aside from her work. After a brief hesitation, the woman made a decision that, at the time, seemed right—to not tell the girl the full truth. Who knew what might happen… perhaps some dark criminal history related to her parents would resurface…
Suddenly, Valentina Nikiforovna fell silent, as if sensing something with a sixth sense, and turned around—there, standing behind her, was Kristina, pale as death. It was obvious that she had heard everything. Her face expressed shock and disarray. It was clear that the girl was trying to comprehend everything. Her thoughts were tangled and chaotically interwoven.
The woman also lost her speech; her eyes filled with tears. After a few hiccups, she finally decided to break the prolonged silence:
“Forgive me, Kristinchka, for not having told you all of this long ago. I only wanted to spare you from trouble, but it turns out I deceived you… The one truth is—I love you, my dear, you have always been and will always be my own daughter…”
Her heart was breaking from the weight of secrets and guilt. How would Kristina react to her confessions? Would she understand the long‑standing deception done for her benefit?
Dmitry also froze, not daring to interrupt.
But the unexpected revelation that fell upon Kristina did not change her attitude toward her mother. How could it? She had seen this woman, with her kind smile, bending over her bed every day since childhood. Her loving, sparkling gaze had accompanied her to school and rejoiced in her successes. Her gentle embraces had protected and soothed her during every hardship… How could she now feel differently about her?
“Mommy!” the girl cried, throwing herself at the woman’s feet and hugging her knees. “My dear! If it weren’t for you, I don’t know what my fate would have been… Thank you, my dearest! You are the best mom in the world!”
Those golden words were the most precious and desired in any mother’s life. Overwhelmed with emotion, Valentina Nikiforovna embraced her daughter.
“You, my dear… my little darling…”
Dmitry’s emotions soared. He tried to gently calm everyone, or rather to calm himself. Everything unfolding before his eyes resembled a scene from a movie. At times his breath was taken away by tension, at others a tear welled up from tenderness. They say in life such moments rarely happen… You never know what may occur—fate is unpredictable, and the number of possible outcomes is endless.
Now, on the tear‑streaked face of Valentina Nikiforovna, her eyes shone with happiness. The woman had finally cast off the heavy burden that had tormented her for half a lifetime. Nothing could bind her any longer, and from now on she could breathe freely.
In a small bag left by Kristina’s father and long kept on a loft, there were children’s belongings and an elongated postal envelope. Valentina Nikiforovna handed it to Dmitry.
“Here,” she said with a shrug. “I don’t know what it is—maybe you can figure it out.”
Inside the envelope lay a tiny key and a slip of paper with some numbers and symbols. To the uninitiated, it looked like gibberish, but Dmitry recognized those markings.
“That’s the number and code for a bank safe deposit box,” he immediately explained.
The women were surprised:
“Could there still be something stored in there?”
“Possibly,” he answered. “If the rental had been paid for years in advance.”
The bizarre twists of fate continued to amaze him. “A romantic melodrama with elements of Indian cinema has turned into a detective story,” he thought, and aloud he said:
“This is easy to check. Tomorrow we’ll go straight to the bank and find out…”
Indeed, the bank had such a deposit box. Kristina looked noticeably nervous. She hardly remembered her biological parents, and details from her past might emerge. The unknown tormented and pained her. What would it be? Bad or good?
They were let into the vault, while Dmitry remained waiting for his bride in the lobby. After a while, Kristina returned. A slight disappointment was visible on her face.
“The deposit box was empty,” she reported to the groom. “There was only one sheet of paper.”
The man took the paper from her hands and smirked.
“Well, that sheet might turn out to be worth more than many deposit boxes,” he said.
It was a bank statement from a Swiss bank in Kristina’s name… The account held several million francs.
Valentina Nikiforovna’s operation went well. The young couple visited her in the hospital and shared the latest news about the unexpected inheritance for Kristina and that a court date for their lawsuit had already been set. The woman was overjoyed for her daughter and her future son‑in‑law. She could hardly wait to see and hold her beloved granddaughter—perhaps for the last time.
Dr. Mikhail Konstantinovich, a longtime friend of Dmitry’s and an impeccable specialist (albeit a pedant and overly cautious), added another reason for joy—the neoplasm turned out to be benign. Now it had been removed, and the woman would soon be able to lead a full life.
Valentina Nikiforovna could only spread her arms in delight while sitting on the hospital bed. Her soul was filled with gratitude to the Lord who had sent her salvation through these people. So many sleepless nights she had spent praying for others, with no hope of a chance for herself—and then such a miracle happened!
Kristina clung to Dr. Mikhail Konstantinovich with ecstatic fervor. The usually serious doctor couldn’t help but smile. Dmitry, too, showed his genuine joy. As the saying goes, life is like a pendulum—after the bad always comes the good…
The day of the court session arrived. Kristina was so nervous that she couldn’t sleep the entire night before. Dmitry did his best to support her, but he understood that she wouldn’t be completely calmed yet.
In the courtroom, Katya’s mother entered in a near‑faint state. She recalled the previous session—the stifling air of the room, the bored judge who had apparently prepared his verdict in advance, and the piercing gaze of her ex‑husband, embracing his new partner by the waist.
And then suddenly Kristina’s eyes sparkled like two enormous precious stones. She gasped and, as if awakened from a long coma, bolted forward—there, in one of the chairs, sat Katya. The little girl, upon seeing her mother, smiled and jumped to her feet.
“She’s grown so grown‑up,” Kristina thought tenderly. Unabashed by onlookers, the two dashed toward each other and seemed to merge in a long embrace. Mother and daughter, who had been forcibly separated for many months, clung to each other for several minutes without letting go…
The judge, an experienced older woman, allowed the little girl to speak.
“I have always wanted and still want to live with my mom. I feel bad with my dad and his new wife—she’s mean and doesn’t love me…” the girl declared firmly for all to hear.
After hearing her words, Volodya frowned disapprovingly but remained silent. Perhaps he had come to understand that one cannot hold a child against her will, or maybe his new love had insisted that he give the child up. Surprisingly, the ex‑husband did not strongly oppose Kristina’s claim. Throughout the session, Dmitry held his bride’s hand, fully aware of how momentous this was for her. In gratitude, she would squeeze his hand and cast him loving glances.
The grey‑haired judge delivered her verdict—the decision was that Katya would henceforth live with her mother.
A loud sigh of relief escaped Kristina’s lips. In her euphoria, she rushed to embrace Dmitry and then dashed straight to her daughter. She no longer wished to be separated from her even for a moment…
By the second time that morning, Kristina was playfully tugging at her son. He stubbornly refused to get up for kindergarten.
“Ilyusha, if you don’t get up right now, I’ll give you a big smooch,” she threatened in a mock scary voice, playfully wrapping him in an embrace. The boy laughed, wriggling free from her loving hold, and ran off to the bathroom.
In the kitchen, Katya and Dmitry were already having breakfast. They were joking around, secretly snatching pancakes from one another and laughing loudly. The woman enjoyed this morning hustle—it charged her with positive energy for the entire day. And her days were now full. Today, for example, she had an appointment with the doctor in the morning. Though she already knew that everything was fine—the second trimester of her pregnancy was progressing normally.
Then she had to go to work. A few months ago, she and her mother had opened a bakery‑confectionery. The business turned out to be profitable, albeit quite demanding. All the city’s sweet lovers flocked to that establishment, where everyone could find a treat that suited their budget.
When Kristina learned that she was expecting a child, her mother and husband couldn’t have been happier, and the children bounced around her in delight. Valentina Nikiforovna and Dmitry insisted that she not overexert herself now and focus only on developing and launching a new product line—her lifelong passion. When her husband left for work, having picked up the children to take them to school and kindergarten, Kristina would lock herself in her creative workshop—the kitchen—and meticulously perfect the recipes for her elaborate cakes, buns, and pastries. It was almost like the art of a sculptor, only here it was essential that the creation provided not only aesthetic but also gastronomic pleasure…
After seeing the children off, Dmitry briefly stopped by the bank on some business before heading straight to work. Passing by the location where his office once stood, he looked noticeably dejected. The old, authentic architectural monument he loved so much was gone. And the shopping center hadn’t materialized either. Everything that the new owners built had unexpectedly burned down—twice. In place of the building where Dmitry had once given people hope for a bright future, there now stood only an ugly, charred skeleton of a structure. Perhaps someone like Dmitry, who had suffered losses, had resorted to arson. Or maybe it was the vengeful ghosts of the demolished buildings taking revenge on those who valued profit and money over human life. Whatever the case, those who sought to profit from others suffered enormous losses and deeply regretted their scheme…
Lost in thoughts about karma and the universe’s balance, Dmitry drove out of town. There were noticeably fewer cars. On both sides of the road, huge pines rose like majestic walls. All the unpleasant memories vanished without a trace. Dmitry loved this area very much; here one could even breathe more freely and easily, and the barely perceptible swaying of the trees brought serenity and peace.
And then came the much‑needed turn. At the entrance to the territory, the guards opened the gate and greeted the arriving chief. A huge digital billboard read: “Dmitry Sergeyevich Morozov Psychological Help Center.”
Although the center had been open for only a month, there were already plenty of patients. Former clients had given him excellent publicity.
When designing the building, Dmitry had managed to bring all his wildest dreams to life. Now he could apply his own methods, which proved to be very effective in practice. The essence was that the treatment was not confined within four walls—it extended outdoors, closer to nature, where idyll and harmony reigned.
In the doctor’s office, a person was freed from all the anxieties that disturbed their peace of mind, and they received a push toward recovery. Stepping out into the magnificent pine forest and inhaling the soothing scent of the needles, one could continue to restore one’s inner balance naturally. In the future, this would serve as a kind of anchor. If ever one felt on the verge of a nervous breakdown, a walk among the trees would be enough to recharge with the energy of the earth and regain a sense of support.
After all, inner equilibrium holds global importance for a person. For some, achieving it requires consulting a specialist, while for others, a family breakfast and going to work to help others is enough…
