Well, that’s it, guys, I’m off!” Roman shouted, jumping onto the step of the already moving train. His friends waved to him from the platform, someone tried to shout something as a farewell. He was smiling. Three years had passed since he returned from the army. During that time, he had managed to get a job and enrolled in university for part-time studies. But just like that — to pack up and leave for another city — it was his first time.
His friends shared a common past — the orphanage. In childhood, they were children without parents, and now they had become adults with their own goals, dreams, and plans. Anya and Petya got married, took a mortgage on an apartment, and were expecting a child. Roman was genuinely happy for them, a little jealous — in a good way, because he wanted the same. But his life path was turning out differently.
From the very first years in the boarding school, he tried to understand: who am I? Where did I come from? Why am I here? The memories were vague, like drifting fragments of a dream, but deep down there was a warm feeling of something good in the past. The only thing he managed to find out — he was brought here by a man. Young, well-dressed, about thirty years old.
He learned about him from Baba Nyura — the head cleaner, who hadn’t retired yet back then.
“I was younger then, eyes sharp as a hawk,” she told him. “I looked out the window, and there he stood under the lamp post, holding the kid’s hand. The boy was about three, no more. He spoke to him seriously, like an adult. Then the doorbell rang — and he was gone. I chased after him, but he was quick, like he’d never been there. If I knew now — I’d recognize him immediately. His nose was special — long, sharp, like Casanova’s. Didn’t see a car nearby — so he must have been local. And the kid didn’t even wear mittens.”
Roman, of course, remembered nothing. But thinking it over for years, he came to the conclusion that most likely this was his father. What happened to his mother remained a mystery. However, he was brought to the orphanage neatly dressed, well-groomed. Only one thing made the caregivers wary — a large whitish spot on his chest, stretching to his neck. At first, they thought it was a burn, but later doctors identified it as a rare type of birthmark. Baba Nyura said such marks often pass down through generations.
“Oh, come on, Baba Nyura, you want me to walk around beaches checking everyone for spots now?” Roman laughed.
But the woman just sighed. She became the closest person to him, almost like family. After graduation, she took him in at her home:
“Until you get your own place — live with me. You don’t belong wandering around rented rooms.”
Roman held back tears then — he was already a man. But how could he forget those moments when after yet another “fair” fight he’d come to her in the storeroom and cried on her lap? He always tried to protect, even when standing up to older kids. And she stroked his head and said:
“It’s good that you are kind and honest, Romka. But life with your nature will be tough. Very tough.”
He didn’t understand those words then. Only years later did he realize their depth.
Anya had been in the orphanage since birth. Petya appeared later, when Roman was eleven. He was skinny and tall, and Petya was withdrawn, sensitive. He was brought after a terrible tragedy: his parents died from poisoning by fake alcohol. At first, Petya kept to himself. But an event happened that forever linked the three of them into one family — not by blood, but true kin.
Anya was not loved. Red-haired, small, quiet — the perfect target for bullying. Some teased her, others pinched her braids, some just kicked her. That day the older kids went especially far. Roman couldn’t stand by — he rushed to defend her. But the odds were too uneven. After ten minutes, he was lying on the ground, covering his face from blows. Anya screamed, swinging her schoolbag like a sword.
And suddenly everything stopped. The shouting, kicking, mockery — as if someone flipped a switch. Someone’s hands lifted Roman. Petya stood before him.
“What did you get involved for? You don’t know how to fight!”
“Should I just watch her get beaten?”
Petya thought, then held out his hand:
“You’re alright. Deal?”
From that moment, friendship blossomed between them.
Anya looked at her rescuer with such admiration that Roman couldn’t stand it and covered her mouth with his palm:
“Shut up, or you’ll swallow a fly.”
Petya laughed:
“Hey, little one, if anything — come straight to me. Tell everyone you’re under my protection.”
From that day, Petya took Roman’s physical training seriously. At first, it was boring — he would have preferred to read a book — but Petya knew how to motivate. Over time, Roman got into it. Instead of C’s in PE, he got an A, muscles got stronger, and girls began to look back at him more often.
Petya was the first to leave the orphanage. Anya cried, and he hugged her and said:
“Don’t cry, little one. I will definitely come back. I’ve never lied to you.”
He really did come back — but only once, then went to the army. And when he returned again, Anya was already packing her bags. He entered the room in military uniform, holding a bouquet:
“I’m here for you. Without you, it became unbearably lonely.”
By that time, Anya had grown into a beautiful, bright young woman. When she turned around, Petya even dropped the flowers in surprise:
“Wow! You’re stunning! Maybe you don’t want to be my wife anymore?”
She smiled:
“I want to. And you’re not bad yourself.”
After the army, Petya was assigned to serve in the very city where Roman was now going. And Roman decided: he would definitely visit them. Especially when their child was born — he would be the godfather.
Roman settled into a compartment, this time not sparing money and choosing a first-class sleeping compartment. He needed to get a good rest before work — he worked as a high-rise construction worker. A job he loved, a decent salary, no excessive overtime — enough time for studies and friends.
Just as he was about to lie down, he heard shouting in the corridor. A man was yelling, demanding someone immediately vacate a compartment. Roman wanted to ignore the noise, but soon a trembling, crying woman’s voice joined the harsh shouting — so familiar that his heart clenched. Like Baba Nyura. Roman looked out into the corridor.
Next to the compartment, a young conductor stood trembling with fear.
“What happened there?”
“There’s some ‘important’ guy,” she whispered. “An old woman accidentally touched his glass of tea — spilled it on his shirt. And now he’s shouting like she should be tried on the spot.”
Meanwhile, the man continued to yell:
“Get out of here, old witch! You only pollute the air!”
Roman stepped forward:
“Friend, you should yell less. There’s an elderly person in front of you. She’s not guilty, and by the way, she paid for her ticket too.”
“Do you know who I am? One call — and you won’t be on this train anymore!”
“I don’t care who you are. Everyone’s jaws break the same — ‘important’ ones and ordinary ones.”
The man abruptly fell silent. Roman bent to the old woman:
“Come with me. Change compartments — mine is at your disposal.”
The old woman couldn’t hold back tears — tears of gratitude. The conductor looked at Roman with respect. He returned to his compartment, threw his bag on the bed, unbuttoned his shirt. The man paled.
“What’s that on your chest?”
Roman calmly looked at him:
“Don’t be afraid, it’s not contagious. Since birth.”
“Oh my God…”
The man slowly lowered himself onto the bunk. Roman frowned:
“What’s wrong?”
With trembling hands, the man began unbuttoning his shirt. Underneath was the exact same birthmark.
“I’m coming to you… to apologize. I can’t sleep at night, I hear your child’s cries…”
“Were you the one who left me at the orphanage door?”
“Yes. I was a coward. Forgive me. I was married then. And your mother, Marina… She came to me, said she was sick with cancer, might die soon. Asked me to take you in. But in a couple of hours, my wife was supposed to come back. I got scared… Took you to the orphanage and we moved away. Years later, Marina found me. Treatment helped — she survived and was looking for you. And I… said you were dead.”
“Where is she now?”
“After a stroke, she was placed in a nursing home for the disabled. That happened about ten years ago. Also in your city.”
Roman said nothing, left the compartment, and approached the conductor.
“I heard everything,” she said quietly. “If you want, you can rest a bit at my place.”
“Thank you. And I think I know which nursing home you meant.”
He didn’t go to work, but called and explained everything. The conductor’s name was Katya — she went with him. He was grateful — it would have been too scary to go alone.
“Marina… stroke treatment about ten years ago…”
“Yes, there is such a woman. Maria Pavlovna. A wonderful lady. But she said she has no one — her son died. And you?”
Roman shrugged:
“Maybe the son. If that’s really her.”
“Come in.”
The woman in the wheelchair looked up from her knitting. Smiled. The nurse gasped:
“You two are like two peas in a pod!”
Marina dropped her knitting ball:
“I always knew you were alive. I felt it.”
Two years passed. Marina completed a rehabilitation course paid for by Roman. She read fairy tales to her grandson, and Katya, his wife, prepared a festive dinner. Today she found out she was pregnant again.
