Katya arrived in the capital with a single suitcase in her hand and a huge dream in her heart. Behind her lay a provincial town where every day was like the one before, where everyone had known each other since childhood, and the future seemed like a closed circle. But she was not going to accept such a life. Her goal was clear — to become a lawyer. Not for prestige or a trendy diploma, but because she wanted justice. She wanted to break free from the poverty in which she and her mother had been stuck for a long time, and where else could they escape from if not through education?
She had planned everything: long nights with textbooks, morning runs as a way to strengthen her will, iron discipline. Katya was one of those who don’t give up. Or at least tried to seem that way.
But life had other plans. She lacked just a few points to get admitted.
“It’s okay,” she told herself in the mirror after her last exam. “I’ll pass better next year. The main thing is not to give up.”
Paid tuition? That was an amount unreachable for a girl whose mother barely made ends meet, working as a hospital orderly and doing evening shifts at a bakery. Katya remembered how her mother took off her rubber gloves after a shift, sighed quietly, and said:
“Just get in… Then my whole life won’t be in vain.”
Katya didn’t let herself break down. She didn’t cry. She had grown up too early. Too stubborn to ask for help. Too proud to impose herself. She knew her mother would agree to anything — sell belongings, take out a loan, get another job. But Katya could not allow that. She had no right.
Instead of university — a job at a modest café near the subway. A small place with a peeling sign and a simple menu. A waitress — not exactly a dream, but close to the rented room she shared in a dim house with noisy neighbors.
Life became cyclical: wake up — shift — home — sleep. She barely had the strength to dream anymore. Only sometimes at night would she lie in the dark, staring at the ceiling, whispering:
“I’ll manage. I will definitely get in. For sure.”
And then came that very evening. At first glance — an ordinary one. Katya was standing by the bar, serving the remaining customers. At one of the tables were two clearly drunk men. They ordered beer, then more, then again. At first, they were quiet, then louder and more confident.
“Hey, beautiful, come here!” one voice called out. “Why are you standing there like a wooden statue?”
Katya tried to leave, but one of them stood up and blocked her way.
“Why so serious? This isn’t a courtroom, you know?” he laughed, pleased with his joke.
“I need to go to the kitchen,” she said firmly.
“Why don’t you sit with us? Let’s chat a bit. Don’t be shy.”
He grabbed her hand. Not hard, but overly familiar. Something inside snapped. She pulled her hand away and stepped back. Fear flashed in her eyes.
“Please… don’t,” she whispered.
“Come on, you’re not a kid anymore,” the man stepped forward.
“Hey, guys,” a calm but firm voice came from behind. “Maybe it’s time to leave?”
Katya turned around. At the entrance stood a tall man in a leather jacket, with a short haircut and a look that made you think twice immediately. He didn’t raise his voice, but his tone left no room for argument. The men exchanged glances, hesitated a bit, then headed for the exit.
When the door slammed shut, Katya exhaled.
“Thank you…” she said, her voice trembling.
“No problem,” he smiled. “People like that shouldn’t be let in at all.”
He stepped closer but not too much. Just enough to be near but not to scare her.
“Let me walk you out. After something like that, it’s not safe to be alone.”
Katya hesitated a little but nodded. They went out together. The air was filled with summer — the scent of dust, leaves, hot asphalt. He walked beside her without asking unnecessary questions.
“My name is Oleg,” he introduced himself first.
“Katya,” she answered.
“How long have you been working here?”
“Almost six months.”
“Must be tough, huh?”
She nodded.
“I came to study law. Didn’t work out.”
He understood and didn’t ask more. Just changed the subject.
“I’m local. Served in the army, then came back. My father died recently. My mother left when I was ten. Now I work as a mechanic at a service station by the bridge. You know it?”
“I saw the sign,” she smiled.
At that moment, something changed between them. As if the air softened. They both smiled — without pretense, just because it felt easy. Simple and warm.
“You have a nice voice,” he said.
“And you have… reliable eyes,” Katya replied.
“Reliable?”
“Yes. You can take shelter in them.”
He laughed, a little embarrassed.
“That’s the best compliment I’ve gotten. Didn’t expect it.”
They reached her building quickly. Katya stopped and looked at him.
“Thanks for walking me. And for stepping in back then.”
“No problem. But if you want — I can come by sometime. Just to check you’re okay.”
She nodded.
“I’d be glad.”
The next day he really came. With apples. No flowers, no fuss. Just apples. “Healthier this way,” he said.
Then came more visits. A week later, Katya already knew: she felt safe with him. Two weeks later — she packed her things and moved in with him.
It was impulsive. Almost. But there was something in him that inspired trust. He wasn’t talkative but did everything. Katya sensed it intuitively — he wasn’t the kind to leave or lie.
Living together turned out surprisingly easy. Oleg was caring, practical, always found time. Mornings started with breakfast, evenings with a cup of tea. He could even fix a broken hairdryer, and Katya for the first time felt she wasn’t alone.
“With him, I can achieve anything,” she thought, watching him carefully slice bread.
They began saving money. Small amounts, but regularly. One day Katya talked again about enrolling in university. Oleg nodded:
“It will happen. Step by step. First, the wedding.”
Wedding… They dreamed of it like a distant but real light. A simple dress, two rings, a cake — to be warm, bright, genuine. So that years later, they would remember it with a smile.
But one day everything changed. A summons arrived unexpectedly. Oleg opened the mailbox and froze. A white envelope, a name, a date. A shadow flickered in his eyes.
Katya had just stepped out of the shower, holding a towel. She saw his face and understood: something terrible had happened.
“What is it?” she asked.
He silently handed her the paper.
Katya read it and felt cold inside. As if someone switched off the light in her chest.
Oleg hugged her, holding her close.
“Don’t worry, Katy… I’ll come back quickly. We’ll have our wedding. Everything as we wanted.”
“Come back alive… please…” she whispered, struggling to hold back tears.
He tried to smile. But worry was in his eyes — the kind you can’t hide. The one that lives deep inside and always shows itself.
Three days later, he left. At the bus station, he hugged her tightly, kissed her temple, and said…
“You promised to wait.”
“I will wait,” she answered without hesitation.
He nodded, looked at her long and as if wanting to memorize every feature, every breath, then got on the bus. The vehicle moved. He was gone.
From that moment, waiting began for Katya. Every day was the same — as if someone pressed repeat. Every call was an event that made her heart beat faster. She lived on her phone: waking up — checking signal, going to bed — holding it as if it could protect her.
Then strange feelings began: morning nausea, dizziness, sudden weakness. At first, she blamed nerves, then fatigue. She went to the doctor. Tests showed normal results, but the doctor thoughtfully said:
“Maybe you should see a gynecologist? Just to rule out anything.”
Katya agreed without much interest — just formality. Ultrasound, cold gel on her belly, white walls of the office.
“Congratulations,” said the doctor, turning off the machine. “Five to six weeks pregnant.”
Katya froze.
“What? But I was taking pills…”
“Anything’s possible,” the woman shrugged. “Stress, routine, diet… Many factors.”
Katya left the office, leaning against the wall. The world seemed different — as if someone had rearranged the furniture in the room where you’ve lived all your life. She put her hand on her belly and felt warmth inside. Life. Small, fragile, but real.
“I’ll manage,” she thought. “For you, baby. For us.”
She decided to tell no one until he returned. She would wait. Either she would say it herself or write — when the time was right.
But her heart clenched with anxiety. Where was he now? Why was he silent?
Katya waited. Prayed. Lived and believed.
She sat on the edge of the bed, holding the phone to her chest like a talisman. Seven days had passed — no call, no message. “Subscriber out of coverage” — these words became unbearable pain. The first day she made excuses: drills, bad signal, surgery. By the second day — she started to worry. On the third — panic set in. Now, on the seventh, she felt as if hot metal was pressed between her ribs.
She barely ate. Tea, sometimes a sandwich. She stared at one spot, seeing nothing around.
And then — a call. Sharp, unexpected. Katya jumped, dropped the phone, grabbed it back. Her heart was pounding in her throat, fingers trembling, screen blurred by tears.
On the screen: Oleg.
“Hello?!” she almost shouted, choking on sobs.
“Katy… my dear, can you hear me? Sorry… Everything’s fine. I’m alive. How are you?”
His voice — familiar, warm, a little tired — pierced her to the core. She sank to the floor, barefoot on the cold linoleum.
“Oleg… I thought… I already…” words stuck in her throat. Couldn’t continue.
“I know, I know… Sorry, dear. No connection. I’m in control. Alive.” He paused. “And you? Katy? You promised to take care of yourself.”
She gathered strength. This was the moment. She had to say it.
“We’re going to have a baby,” she whispered, and something turned inside her chest. Not fear. Not doubt. Awareness — she was no longer alone. And never would be.
Silence. Long seconds. Then laughter. Light, joyful, a little unbelievable.
“You have no idea how happy you’ve made me! Katya… my love… This is the best thing I’ve heard in months. Really!”
“Are you happy?” she asked faintly.
“Of course! Don’t doubt it. Baby… ours. Doesn’t matter if it’s a boy or a girl. The main thing is you. Take care of yourself. I’ll come back for sure. We’ll be a family. Everything will be.”
Katya closed her eyes. Tears streamed down her cheeks.
“I don’t need a wedding, dress, rings… Just come back alive. That’s all I need.”
“I will, Katya. I promise. Take care of yourself. And our baby too.”
Half a year passed like that. They talked about once a week, dreamed, made plans. But one day the connection broke off. At first, Katya waited in the evenings. Then at nights. Fell asleep with the phone in her hand. Until she realized — she had to find out the truth.
She went to the military enlistment office.
It smelled of old papers, dust, and time frozen there. Behind the counter, a girl silently gestured down the hall — as if she knew why Katya came. There, in the office, fates were decided.
The commissioner was an elderly man with a face marked by years and worries. He looked at Katya and immediately understood: she had come for what was better left unknown.
“Officially, there’s nothing yet,” he began cautiously, flipping through documents. “But there is information that your Oleg might be in captivity.”
Her head spun. The world tilted. Katya barely stayed in her chair.
“What do you mean? In captivity?”
“The information is preliminary… we can’t confirm for sure. But there are grounds to believe so.”
He paused, then noticing her belly, added softly:
“You’re expecting?”
“Yes,” she nodded.
“Then it’s especially important to stay calm. You must not worry.”
“Why didn’t anyone tell me?! I waited… hoped…” her voice trembled, breaking.
“We have no right until we get confirmation. His mother has already been informed.”
“His mother?..” Katya stood up sharply.
“She was here. Recently. Decided to show some interest.”
Katya stood slowly. Her heart clenched. She felt a burning heat, then cold.
“Understood,” she said quietly. “Thank you.”
She walked home like in a fog. The wind hit her face, her hat slipped down, her hands trembled. Words echoed in her head: “possibly in captivity,” “decided to show interest,” “already informed the mother”…
At the entrance, a woman waited for her. Tall, neatly dressed, with an expensive bag and confidence in every movement.
“Are you Katya?”
“Yes. And you?”
“I’m Tatyana Stepanovna. Oleg’s mother.”
Katya froze. Now she understood who was in front of her. The one he hadn’t counted as his mother for many years. The one who disappeared from his life when he was only ten. The one who suddenly remembered her son only now.
“What do you want?”
“Simple,” the woman answered coldly. “This apartment belonged to my mother. By will, it was to go to Oleg, but the paperwork wasn’t completed — grandmother died a week ago. By law, it’s now my property. You must vacate immediately.”
Katya paled.
“How would Oleg react?” she asked, not lowering her eyes.
“That’s none of his business anymore,” the woman answered coldly. “He won’t return. And you are nobody to me. Neither his wife nor the mother of his child. As for the baby…” she glanced at Katya’s belly, “that’s not an argument.”
“You have no right to say that!” Katya’s voice trembled. “You aren’t even his mother!”
“Vacate the apartment tomorrow,” Tatyana Stepanovna paused. “Or I’ll have to help in another way. I have connections. Don’t hope that your pregnancy will protect you.”
Katya turned away, but the night brought heavy dreams: outside the window stood Oleg, pounding on it with his fists, calling her. And nearby, that woman laughed, holding a bunch of keys.
In the morning, there was a loud knock on the door. She was back. Entered without warning, pushing the door with her shoulder.
“Pack up. That’s it. You no longer live here. You’re homeless.”
Katya didn’t argue, didn’t scream, didn’t beg. She just started packing. Silently.
The only option was staying at her friend Olya’s place.
“You can stay with me for a couple of weeks,” Olya said immediately upon hearing Katya’s voice on the phone.
“Thanks. Then I’ll move to my mother’s.”
That evening Katya stood by the window. Behind her — a stranger’s room, before her eyes — an empty yard where not long ago she dreamed of walking with a stroller.
“Oleg…” she whispered, pressing her hand to her belly. “I’m waiting. Can you hear me?”
And even in that silence, it seemed to her — he hears her.
Olya’s house was quiet. Katya sat on the edge of the sofa, listening to the rustling wallpaper, creaking floorboards, the smells of coffee and fresh laundry. Her friend brought two cups of hot tea.
“Drink. You need to pull yourself together,” she said softly, sitting nearby. “And don’t look like that. You’re not a burden. Just tell me — what’s next?”
Katya clenched her hands. She was tired of answering that question. Tired of thinking about a future she couldn’t see.
“I’ll go to my mom. It’s quieter there. She’s waiting. There’s a small room… and peace. Here everything reminds me of Oleg. And I don’t know where he is. If he’s alive. And how long I can keep waiting.”
Olya nodded:
“Then you’ll go. That’s right.”
The train started moving slowly. Outside the window — gray buildings, flickering station lights. Katya settled by the window, her legs covered with a blanket. Her heart pounded in her chest. The phone lay on her lap — like a talisman, a link to the one who wasn’t near. She checked it every few minutes.
“Does your mother know you’re traveling?” asked a fellow passenger — an elderly woman with a kind face.
“Yes. She’s waiting. Promised to bake a pie and prepare a bath.”
Something inside contracted with a strange premonition. And not without reason.
At the transfer station, Katya got off to stretch her legs. She breathed in the frosty air, looked at the glowing shop windows. Remembered childhood when she and her mother bought poppy buns. The line was short. She stood at the end, holding her belly with one hand.
And in one moment everything changed. A sharp jerk — her bag disappeared from under her arm. Someone in the crowd — and the trail was lost. Katya screamed:
“Robbery! Return the bag!”
People turned. Someone ran after, but in vain. Katya stood trembling. The bag contained documents, money, a train ticket.
“Oh God…” she whispered, clutching her head.
Later, at the police station, she filled out a report with shaking hands. The officer grumbled:
“This happens often. Especially to people like you — pregnant and careless.”
She was silent. The train left. The next one — in two days. No money. No documents.
Then pain stabbed her belly. First pulling. Then sharp. The first contraction. The second.
“Help…” Katya grabbed the edge of the table. “I think labor has started.”
The police called an ambulance. At the maternity ward reception, a doctor with a tired face and cold eyes met her.
“Do you have documents?”
“Stolen. Just now. I’m pregnant…”
“No card? No registration?” The woman frowned. “This isn’t a train station. Want to give birth? Go outside or to your district.”
She shoved Katya out of the office. The door closed.
Katya was left alone. She sat on the floor, knees drawn up. The pain grew. Each contraction drained her strength. It was scary. It was painful. And humiliating.
The phone vibrated. She struggled to pull it out of her pocket. Unknown number.
“Hello?”
“Katyusha… It’s me…”
The voice. His voice. Alive. Real.
“Oleg?!” she gasped, tears streaming down her cheeks. “You’re alive…”
“I’m alive. We were released. I’m coming home. Where are you? What happened?”
“Oleg… Your mother kicked me out… I was going to my mom… But my bag was stolen at the station… Labor started… They kicked me out of the hospital…”
“What?!” he roared. “WHO KICKED YOU OUT?! Where are you now, Katya?!”
She barely managed to say the address. Words tangled. The pain was unbearable. Station. Thief. Hospital. Cold.
“Please come…”
She lost consciousness.
Oleg jumped up like stung. Rushed to the officer:
“Katya is giving birth. They kicked her out. She’s alone. Help me, for God’s sake!”
The officer clenched his teeth silently.
But a general came over. He heard everything.
“We’ll take care of it now,” he said calmly, putting his hand on Oleg’s shoulder. “Now she’s our responsibility.”
He took out his phone. His voice was steady, but it carried authority:
“This is General Orlov. Connect me to the Minister of Health.”
The minister answered after the second ring. The general briefly reported the name, city, and situation.
“I will personally take control,” said the minister.
The chain worked fast. Ministry — regional administration — head doctor of the maternity hospital.
The head doctor, a man about sixty, sat at home in slippers, reading a newspaper. When he got the call, he turned pale. But understood everything immediately.
“I’m coming.”
Fifteen minutes later he was entering the maternity hospital. He saw Katya — curled up, pale, curled into a ball.
“Girl…” he gently lifted her in his arms. “Hold on. We’ll help you.”
He carried her inside, ignoring protests from security and displeased staff. At reception, he demanded the duty midwife. When the woman in the coat appeared, he barked:
“She’s a person, not a sack! What do you think you’re doing?! Pray that the mother and child survive!”
The midwife recoiled, pale. She wanted to say something, but the head doctor was already gone — no time for excuses.
Katya was rushed to the operating room. Chaos reigned — doctors ran, whispered, gave quick commands. She heard almost nothing. Only the dull thump of her own heart. Pain tore through her body, fear twisted her mind. The main thing she feared was not knowing if her son was alive… or even seeing him.
Intensive care. White walls. IV. Silence. Darkness.
…
When Katya opened her eyes, the world was blurry. First — just spots of light and shadow. Then a woman’s face in a medical mask appeared.
“Where… is the baby?” she whispered faintly.
“Shh, they’ll tell you everything later,” the nurse replied softly.
Later a doctor came. His voice sounded calm, but every word resonated in her chest:
“You have a boy. He was born weak but alive. Now in an incubator. Breathing on his own. The prognosis is good.”
“He’s… alive?” Katya cried. “I don’t remember anything…”
“The main thing is he’s here. And you’re a real heroine.”
She slipped back into darkness.
…
The phone vibrated. Through pain and fatigue, Katya opened her eyes. On the screen: “Oleg.”
“Oleg…” she exhaled, tears flowing again.
“We have a son, Katya! Do you understand? He’s alive! We did it! Everything will be fine!”
“I didn’t see anything… Didn’t make it…”
“That doesn’t matter. You’re a mother. And you’re a hero. I want to ask you…” his voice trembled. “Will you marry me?”
Katya laughed through tears:
“Of course! Right now!”
“I’ll be there in a month. I promise.”
She slowly sat up, carefully got out of bed, walked to the window, and opened it wide. Cold air filled the room. On the snow right under her window stood a woman in a coat. Shivering from the cold, she carefully laid out huge words from scarlet roses:
“THANK YOU FOR THE SON”
It was the same midwife. The one who wanted to kick her out, didn’t help when it was most painful. Now she stood here — alone, without witnesses, without cameras — asking for forgiveness not with words but with deeds.
Passersby stopped, some filmed on their phones, others just watched silently. But everyone felt: this was important.
Katya pressed her hand to the glass.
…
That same morning, the midwife was called to the head doctor.
“You buy the roses. At your own expense. Bring them to the ward. Lay out the words so she sees them.”
“Maybe I’ll just bring a bouquet?” she timidly tried to object.
“You’re setting conditions?! I got a call from Moscow last night! Was it you who messed up or someone else?! I would have fired you long ago, but my sister is here, forgive me.”
She silently nodded. Went to the florist. Bought the reddest roses. Never bought so many before. Going outside, she started laying out letters on the snow. The frost tickled her skin, hands trembled. The face of that girl stood before her — curled up in pain, lonely, pregnant, rejected.
It wasn’t just an apology. It was shame. Burning, real.
…
A month later Oleg returned. Katya waited for him with little Yegor in her arms. They moved to her mother — Valentina Petrovna’s — house in the countryside, in a quiet provincial village. It was peaceful there. Nature, calm, few people. The house was old but warm. Simple, but their own.
There was no wedding. No white dress, no celebration. Just the three of them — husband, wife, and son. Yegor slept in a cradle while the parents looked at him holding hands.
Oleg got a job at a local auto repair shop. Katya helped her mother, occasionally flipping through law textbooks, dreaming of part-time studies. But now she needed nothing more. Just to be near her son.
And that was enough.
Because now they had everything. The most important — love, family, that had endured through trials. They had been through hell. And came out together.
Now they were home.
