Vera couldn’t take her eyes off the “Operatsionnaya” sign. The letters blurred before her eyes from the long hours of waiting, and her heart pounded wildly. Vera continuously fidgeted with her beloved toy car—a red plastic tractor with a bucket, the cherished toy of her four-year-old younger son, Vanechka. Of course, Vanechka had originally wanted a blue tractor like the one in the cartoon, but over time, he had grown to love this gift from his dear father with all his imperfect, nature-scarred little heart.
Finally, a male silhouette appeared behind the foggy glass, the doors burst open, and a tired doctor emerged in the corridor. Vera leaped up and rushed to him: “Doctor, well? How did it all go? How is Vanechka?” The doctor lowered his head guiltily, removing the mask from his face: “Vera Pavlovna, I’m sorry… We did everything we could…”
Vera lay on her son’s bed, curled up in a ball. The pillow still held Vanechka’s scent. On the mirror across the room, the imprint of his cookie-stained little hand was still visible. How wonderful it was that she hadn’t wiped the mirror! For he would never again smudge it. And he would never again rest his tired little head on a pillow. A salty tear rolled down Vera’s weathered cheek. Grief had burned her heart from the inside out—a healthy heart. That was something Vanechka, her younger child, did not have. The elder one, Matvey, was healthy and relatively independent—he was 18 years old and studying at the university. But Vanechka… Her unintended late joy had turned into immense sorrow. All the prenatal examinations had shown everything was fine, and it was only by complete accident before the birth that they discovered a complex heart defect… It was during a radical corrective surgery that something went wrong, and now, her Vanechka was no more…
Vera closed her eyes, drifting into a troubled, restless sleep. And then again, as in all the recent days, she found herself on a sunlit glade, scattered with colorful, fragrant flowers of all shapes and sizes. In the distance stood her Vanechka, smiling with his unchanging smile, wearing his favorite shirt adorned with little cars. In Vanechka’s hands was a large bouquet of daisies. “Vanechka! Son!” Vera exclaimed, but Vanechka seemed not to hear her, thoughtfully plucking the petals from the daisies. Vera ran across the blooming field, arms outstretched for an embrace. But no matter how much she ran, Vanechka did not come any closer. On the contrary, he kept drifting further and further away from her. Vera cried out in despair, stretching out her hands, yet she could not reach him. Suddenly, Vanechka lifted his eyes to her, smiled, and dissolved into the air. And only a cloud of daisy petals slowly descended to the ground… Vera ran to the spot where the petals had fallen and looked down at her feet. Some address had been laid out in neat, even letters made from white petals on the green grass.
Vera woke from a telephone call. She looked at the smartphone screen: Matvey. “Yes, my son,” Vera answered hoarsely. “Mom, I’m coming today, make something for me!” Vera managed a tight smile. That was enough. It had been almost three months since Vanechka was gone, but she still had her older son! It was time at least to try to pull herself together and go on with life. “Of course, my son, what would you like? Pancakes?” “That’d be awesome, mom! Wait, I’m already on the bus, I’ll be there soon!” Matvey tried to visit every weekend to distract his mother and father. He understood what they were going through, for even he felt pain inside at the thought of his little brother. But life went on, and they all had to endure their grief together. That’s what family was for. Vera forced herself to stand and shuffled to the kitchen. She opened the refrigerator, rummaged through the shelves, and discovered that there was no milk at home. Her husband Vitaly was sitting at the kitchen table, soldering some microchip onto his laptop. He looked up at Vera and asked: “Did you need something? Should I go to the store?” “Matvey called. He’s coming, and he asked for pancakes,” Vera said calmly, “The milk is finished. But I’d better go myself to get some fresh air.” Vitaly raised his glasses from his nose in surprise. “He’s coming back to life!” he thought. Vera slowly got dressed and left the house. A light spring breeze pleasantly caressed her face. The birds sang, and the branches of the trees had taken on a light green tint, soon to be covered in fresh, succulent leaves. Nature was awakening after its winter slumber. Vera sighed, “Ah, Vanechka never saw his fifth spring!” She shook her head, chasing away the gloomy thoughts, and headed toward the store.
Grabbing some milk, Matvey’s favorite candies, bread, and chicken from the shelves, Vera headed for the checkout. Suddenly, from a parallel aisle behind the shelves, a familiar laugh echoed. Vera’s chest tightened with sorrow: that was exactly how her Vanechka used to laugh. She dashed in that direction, but managed only to glimpse a child’s figure disappearing behind the shelves. Fully aware that it couldn’t be, Vera still followed the little figure, knocking a cardboard sign advertising some promotional product off its stand along the way. She bent down to pick up the sign and was stunned: on the sign, against a white background in red letters, was the very address from her dream. “Vanechka, what do you want to tell me?” Vera whispered. Vera returned home with the thought that all this was not accidental. Vanechka wanted to convey something to her, but what? She needed to look up that address on the internet. But not today. Today, her only remaining son was coming, and she needed to greet him properly and try to keep herself together.
The evening passed surprisingly warm and pleasantly. Vera even found herself smiling as she listened to her son’s college stories. Matvey devoured the homemade meal with gusto, and Vera and Vitaly looked at him with tender affection—after all, he was their miracle, now their only child. Eventually, everyone dispersed to their rooms, and the night fully took hold. Weary from the busy day, Vera fell asleep very quickly. She woke in the middle of the night after distinctly hearing soft singing coming from the bathroom. Her heart raced, her breath caught: she would never mistake that voice for anything other than Vanechka’s. He was humming his favorite song from the cartoon about the blue tractor… Vera swallowed hard, got out of bed, and shuffled toward the bathroom, trying to move as quietly as possible so as not to startle “Vanechka.” As quietly as she could, she opened the door, but, as expected, no one was in the bathroom. Tears streamed down her face. “What was I waiting for? That Vanechka would appear in the bathroom? Vanechka is no more! It’s all just my sick imagination!” Vera scolded herself. She approached the sink and turned on the water to wash her face and collect herself. No, she thought, it was time to stop tormenting herself! For Vitaly, for Matvey! Vera washed up and looked at herself in the mirror: there she saw her drawn, pale face with dark circles under her eyes. In a fit of anger, Vera soaped up her hand and swiped the soapy foam across the mirror, not really knowing why. Vera watched as the streams of foam trickled down, mysteriously taking on the shapes of letters forming the address… A chill breeze brushed her back. Vera clearly heard a thin, childlike voice: “I’m waiting for you, Mom…”
“Why aren’t you sleeping?” Vitaly asked as he sat up in bed, awakened by the glow from his laptop screen. Vera sat in an armchair, holding the laptop on her lap and staring at the screen. “Vitalik, come here… If you feel what I feel, then everything that has been happening to me these last few days isn’t just a dream…” Vitaly, creaking, got out of bed and approached his wife. His heart pounded as an incredible warmth spread through him when his gaze fell upon a photograph of a little boy of about four years old. “Zinoviev Egor, 4 years,” read the inscription above the photograph. Egor’s parents had died in a car accident three years ago, and he had been raised by his grandmother. For the past six months, he had been in an orphanage since his grandmother passed away. “This address has been haunting me these last days,” Vera explained, “it’s being conveyed to me by our Vanechka…” Vera told her husband about today’s dream, the incident in the store, and the bathroom. After a brief moment of thought, Vitaly firmly said: “Vera, we’re going…”
Ekaterina Alekseevna, the director of the orphanage, led Vera and Vitaly down the long, bright corridor of the facility, constantly looking back and trying, without pause, to explain the situation: “When Egor came to us, we thought it would be temporary. He’s a sociable, well-developed boy, raised in a decent family, albeit by his grandmother. They tried to adopt him three times, but whenever he saw potential adopters, he would withdraw and not engage. I don’t know about other orphanages, but my conscience doesn’t allow me to force a child into a situation where he doesn’t want to be. He says that his mom and dad will come for him and that he will recognize them. And for the past three months, he has had an imaginary friend—Egor calls him Vanechka. And it was as if this Vanechka recently told him that his mom and dad would come for him soon.” Vera and Vitaly exchanged glances. Could it be that their deceased son had decided to help this unfortunate orphan? “In any case, I don’t know. Look, get to know him. Maybe you’ll warm his little heart,” concluded Ekaterina Alekseevna as she swung open the door to the playroom. Vera immediately recognized him. Small and thin, he was sitting on someone’s lap surrounded by other children, building a tower from blocks and humming Vanechka’s favorite song… Egor turned around, tossed his blocks aside, jumped to his feet, and ran toward Vera and Vitaly shouting: “Mom, Dad!!! I knew you would come!!!”
The process of adoption was accelerated by none other than Ekaterina Alekseevna herself. She was genuinely happy that Egor had finally opened up to Vera and Vitaly’s family. Moreover, when she learned of the death of their son, she was even more moved. Within a month, Vera, Vitaly, and Matvey came to take Egor with them permanently. Before leaving, Egor suddenly pulled his little hand from Vera’s grasp and said: “Mom, wait!”—the boy glanced off into the distance, to the far end of the corridor—“There’s Vanechka, he wants to say goodbye to us!” Once again, Vera’s heart tightened with sorrow. But now it was a gentle sorrow, filled with the understanding that nothing could be changed, and that life had to go on. Especially now, the fate of little Egor, who had let them into his fragile, tender heart, depended on her. She would never forget her Vanechka; she would always love him—but now she had another little one for whom she must be strong. Egor ran to the end of the corridor, to the window, stood there for a moment, then turned and ran back to his mom, dad, and older brother. And outside the window, where Egor had been standing, a beautiful white dove suddenly appeared from nowhere with a wide galvanized shimmer. It circled the building, hovered over the heads of Egor, Vera, Vitaly, and Matvey, and then soared high into the sky, dissolving into the clouds.
