Varvara sat at the head of her husband’s bed, not daring to move. Anton Mikhailovich was asleep — a heavy, disease-weakened man. For him to rest even a little, Varvara patiently waited for him to wake. Half an hour ago, the nurse had given him an injection, and now sleep brought brief relief.
She knew it wouldn’t last long. The pain returned quickly, too often. Glinskaya decided to wait — she was used to this routine.
Anton was 56 years old and was gradually fading away. He urgently needed a liver transplant, but his chances were growing slimmer. They had been on the waiting list for a long time, but the queue moved slowly. And the man had no relatives left.
Varvara looked out the window beside the bed and thought about the past. Life with Anton had never been easy, but she tried to be a faithful wife. She had once promised to be with him through all times — in sorrow and joy, in poverty and wealth. And she tried to keep that promise.
Varvara Prichepina’s journey to the big city began in 1985. After finishing eight grades at the village school, she decided to leave her native countryside. Nothing kept her at the collective farm — especially after seeing her mother’s example, who had worked her whole life as a milkmaid.
Valentina Egorovna woke up at four in the morning, stoked the stove, cooked porridge for the animals, milked the cows, fed the chickens and the goat Mashka. At home, chores awaited her too. This went on every day without days off, until she fell exhausted onto the bed in the evening.
Her daughter grew up alone, raised by a mother who did everything possible to ensure the girl lacked nothing. But Varvara didn’t want to repeat her mother’s fate.
“I’m not going to work on a farm all my life,” she said before leaving. “I want to live in the city, be well-off, wear heels, go to concerts — not to the milking.”
“Do you think the city’s waiting for you?” her mother answered bitterly. “There are plenty like you there! Stay, finish school, then we’ll see. Maybe you’ll become an agronomist or a livestock specialist.”
“Never!” Varvara retorted. “If I study, it’s to live in the city. I won’t come back. And you, Mom, don’t worry. I’ll come home for holidays and then bring you with me.”
Valentina Egorovna only waved her hand. She wasn’t going to leave home. And she didn’t believe her daughter would succeed in the city. “She’ll come back,” she thought. “And she’ll need a home.”
The mother knew her daughter well. Varvara was lazy, a poor student. While her mother worked from dawn, the daughter woke up around noon. Valentina understood she should have taught her to work from childhood, but pity always won out. So the girl grew spoiled.
Varvara went to the city with her school friends — Tatyana Grushina and Nina Uvarova. They enrolled in a trade school and got a dorm room as out-of-towners.
Within a month, Varvara realized how good her home with her mother was. The city was harsher than she thought. But she had no intention of going back: “If others can succeed, so can I,” she told herself.
At first, Varvara was afraid even to go out alone at night, but over time she adjusted. In the evenings, she and her friends went to dances and concerts by local performers. Most performances were outdoors, and to get inside tickets weren’t required — you could just stand behind the fence.
One day, walking near the stadium, the girls met a group of young men. They were clearly not village boys — stylish, in expensive clothes, holding guitars. The young men noticed the girls and offered to take them inside.
It turned out they were members of a student band, set to perform as the opening act for the main group.
That’s how Varvara met her first man — Alexander Timofeev. It was with him that she became pregnant and made a quick decision that affected her entire future. The abortion caused infertility. The thought still pained her.
When she was 20, she couldn’t imagine she would ever regret it. But years passed, and Varvara never experienced the joy of motherhood.
Anton never blamed her for that. He didn’t want children and was generally not inclined toward love. Varvara always understood: he was indifferent to her. It was simply convenient for him to be with her. Only recently did she begin to doubt that.
Varvara Glinskaya met Anton when she was already an adult woman. After trade school, she got a job as a salesperson in a large supermarket — in those years when shortages were everywhere, and real goods were “under the counter.”
Gradually, Varvara built connections, made useful contacts, and her phonebook literally swelled with numbers. By the early ’90s, she moved to a food warehouse — the place where her new life began.
The first day at work shocked her: warehouses overflowed with goods, while store shelves were empty. Varvara immediately realized — here was a place to build a career. And she was right.
She liked the job very much. She never imagined so many opportunities. In a few years, Varvara bought a two-room apartment and a “Zhiguli” car. It was the job of her dreams.
Of course, the warehouse manager took risks and often broke laws, but in those difficult years when the country was in crisis and on the brink of collapse, people like Varvara were almost unnoticed.
“Varvara, when will you finally stop? You bring home all kinds of junk — trinkets, rags… Is that happiness?” complained her mother, Valentina Egorovna, whom Varvara had nevertheless brought from the village to the city, against all odds and as promised.
“Oh, Mom, enough. What else is happiness if not having enough? I can afford anything I want. And what I can’t — I’ll definitely get! Think about it: if not for this apartment, where would I bring you from the village — to my dorm? And you’d have to walk three versts to the clinic. Now I can drive you like a real queen,” Varvara smiled, and her mother just sighed.
“For a woman, happiness is family, children, a beloved man. And what do you have? Soon you’ll be thirty, but no family, no children. I’m afraid I won’t have grandchildren…”
Every time the subject of children came up, Varvara fell silent. Her mother didn’t know that her daughter had had an abortion in youth, which left her infertile. She simply thought Varvara had not yet met her destined one — the very person from whom children would be born and real family life would begin.
Valentina Egorovna, naive and believing in her daughter’s chastity, did not even suspect that Varvara had long been involved with a married director of a shoe factory. Naum Yakovlevich was the man who helped Varvarinka buy the apartment, gave her the car, and literally carried her on his hands.
Varvara’s closets were bursting with fashionable clothes, and the shoes — exclusive, from Italy, France, and even England — took up whole shelves. Her mother thought her daughter achieved everything herself, but in fact, most of the money came from her fifty-year-old lover.
It all ended suddenly when Naum left with his family to Israel. This news was a blow to Varvara. He had been preparing to emigrate for a long time but gave no hint to his beloved, fearing she would leave him for someone more reliable. Varvara was used to a well-off life, and Naum understood perfectly well — she was connected to him more for material comfort than love. Had he told the truth, Varvara would have immediately disappeared from his life.
After Naum’s departure, all of Varvara Semyonovna’s former life collapsed. She was fired and left without income. The apartment and car remained, but without money they were almost useless. She had to start over.
This cruel life twist made the woman reflect. Varvara decided to give up her frivolous lifestyle. The shock of her lover’s sudden departure became a turning point. She vowed never to get involved in relationships without a future again.
Now Varvara wanted to marry. But not just anyone — she needed a rich, caring man who could provide a comfortable life and not demand children. The best would be one who didn’t want offspring at all. Finding such a man was not easy.
But fate seemed to have mercy on Varvara Prichepina. Soon after parting with Naum, she met thirty-year-old Anton Mikhailovich Glinsky.
Varvara didn’t know exactly what Anton did, but one thing was clear — he had money. After their wedding, when Varvara complained about being unfairly fired, her husband simply bought her a shop. The woman was even taken aback — she didn’t expect anything like that and didn’t intend to work much.
However, that very shop soon became the target of local racketeers, and the business was simply taken away. Varvara was shocked. Anton just shrugged and showed no sign of distress. Gradually, Varvara began to understand that her husband’s money was not earned. He neither knew how to earn it nor how to manage it wisely.
Most likely, the funds were inherited or obtained by chance, or maybe even illegally. Varvara had no other explanation. Anton had no relatives, no friends either — at the wedding, only the neighbor Igor attended from the groom’s side, since no others were found.
After the wedding, the newlyweds moved into Anton’s three-room apartment. Varvara brought her mother, Valentina Egorovna, and her husband didn’t object. Varvara rented out her old apartment, and sold her mother’s house in the village. She understood she couldn’t count on her husband — he was clearly no new Count of Monte Cristo. As soon as the money ran out, she’d have to start over again.
It was then that Varvara got down to business. Having sold the house in the village, she opened a small bakery. The bread sold quickly; demand was high. Then she launched a bread stall at the market, and later mastered making French baguettes and croissants.
Varvara didn’t become rich, but she didn’t know want either. She wasn’t interested in large-scale business — it was enough to have a calm life. At least, in case of a divorce, she could live comfortably with her mother.
The couple lived strangely — each seemingly alone. Anton was silent, thoughtful, sometimes even sullen. Money apparently did not bring him joy. He spent it easily, not thinking about tomorrow. They hardly ever had heartfelt conversations.
How many times Varvara asked where he got such funds — Anton either dodged the answer or got angry. Varvara felt some heavy burden lay on her husband’s soul but could not understand what tormented him. Only once, ten years after their wedding, Anton opened up a little.
It happened during a vacation at a country house by a lake. They were celebrating their dating anniversary. September was warm, the Indian summer had come. At dinner by the campfire, after a few glasses of wine, her husband began to tell:
“My native village is also by water, but not a lake, a river. Around — forests… And what mushrooms in autumn — caps the size of two palms. Berries — everywhere, as if someone scattered them specially. In childhood, Andrey and I ran into the forest every morning, picked berries, and sold them to the state farm.”
Varvara was afraid to move, afraid her husband would stop talking. But he continued:
“Andrey and I also loved fishing. Sometimes we took Masha with us, but rarely. She mostly helped mother at home. Our mother went to the market early in the morning, and the household was on Masha.”
“Who are Andrey and Maria?” Varvara thought. “Brothers? Neighbor kids? Whose mother went to the market — Anton’s or those mysterious children’s?” But she kept silent, listening on.
“When the salmon spawned — pink, chum, sockeye — it was beautiful. We carefully gutted the fish, took out the roe, rinsed it, and put it back inside, sprinkled with salt. In the morning, we ate fresh roe.
Once, Andrey and I were riding our bikes on a bridge, and a bear came toward us. The bridge was narrow, no way to turn around. We stood, watching it, it watched us. I was scared to death and shielded Andrey. I thought it was the end. But the bear backed off, left the bridge, and went into the forest. Only then did we breathe a sigh of relief.”
“Who are Andrey and Maria?” Varvara quietly asked. “Are they your brother and sister?”
Not knowing what he was saying or realizing what he was revealing, Anton continued his path to confession…
Anton suddenly seemed to come to his senses. As if a sober awakening hit him on the head — he sharply came out of his memories, frowned, and said sharply:
“Go to sleep, Varvara. I have no relatives. How many times must I say it? Leave! I’ll stay a bit longer,” he said, refilling his glass with wine.
Varvara Semyonovna got angry. Why did her husband keep her in the dark? After all, she was not a stranger, but his wife!
“But how? You had parents, you didn’t just come from nowhere. You weren’t found in a cabbage patch, were you?” Varvara raised her voice.
“Maybe I was found in a cabbage patch. What’s it to you?” Anton shrugged.
In fact, Varvara was not very concerned about her husband’s relatives. Sometimes, curiosity overwhelmed her: what was Anton hiding? Why did he get angry when asked about his past? Sometimes this secret troubled her, and she even tried to find traces of the Glinsky family.
From documents, Varvara knew Anton’s parents’ names, learned that he was born on Sakhalin, studied there, served in the Navy in the Far East — and then everything stopped. She tried to find the Glinskys but soon gave up: “Why do I need this? My husband doesn’t want it, so neither do I. I have enough worries myself: mother is ill, her blood pressure fluctuates, and the business needs attention.”
Life doesn’t stand still — it moves forward rapidly, especially in the second half of life. And Varvara began to think about the value of time, about what’s important and what’s not. It became increasingly painful for her to hear children’s laughter, to see mothers with children on the playground. Her heart ached with the desire to be one of them.
Over the years, Varvara learned to appreciate her silent and sullen husband, especially after her mother, Valentina Egorovna, passed away. People say a person feels like a child as long as their parents are alive. After they’re gone, life changes, becomes different.
Now Anton was Varvara’s only close person. With him, there was no such terrible loneliness. This eternal grumbler and gloomy husband suddenly became her kindred soul. And the woman often regretted that they never became parents.
In today’s world, there are many opportunities to become parents. All chances had to be used. “Why didn’t we do it?” thought the fifty-year-old Varvara. One day she asked her husband:
“Anton, why have we never talked about a child? About our child?”
“I don’t need children. Neither before nor now. What’s the point? Only worries and pain,” he shrugged indifferently.
“What are you saying! Children are happiness! When I see happy mothers on the playground, I feel jealous. I really regret that we have no children.”
“That’s only one side of the coin, dear. Children are not only joy. Sleepless nights, fear for them, illnesses, disappointments. They can be ungrateful, leave you, forget… And you’ll be alone with your tears. I saw it with my own eyes. I know what I’m talking about.”
“Where did you see that?” Varvara tensed. Intuition told her — here it comes, the moment of truth.
“My real brother and sister are Andrey and Maria. They abandoned our mother, threw her out of the house, forgot her. And I was away… Listen,” Anton Glinsky began his story.
Tamara Nikolaevna and Mikhail Fyodorovich Glinsky loved children immensely, although for many years they couldn’t have any themselves. Still, they didn’t feel lonely — they worked as math teachers in a school in a small village. Children always surrounded them: came home, helped with chores, spent time.
Tamara Nikolaevna had a goat named Zoika that gave milk, vegetables grew in the garden. The couple accepted that they wouldn’t have their own children and lived for each other. But suddenly, when Tamara turned forty, a miracle happened — she became pregnant.
— Misha, what should we do? Everyone will laugh. They’ll say: soon to retire, and she’s gone and decided to have a baby, — the woman said embarrassedly, covering her cheeks with her palms.
— Of course, have the baby! Let them laugh — we don’t care. This is happiness — we’re going to have a child! — her husband replied.
It was 1965. In 1966, their son was born, named Anton — after Tamara Nikolaevna’s favorite writer, Anton Pavlovich Chekhov.
In those years, maternity leave was short — one and a half months before the birth and the same after. Another three months could be spent at home without pay. So after four and a half months, Tamara returned to teaching, and little Tosha was sent to the nursery.
Even more surprising was that four years later, the 44-year-old woman became pregnant again. Twins — Andrey and Maria — were born. Was it hard for a 45-year-old woman to raise three children? Of course, it was hard. But Tamara Nikolaevna managed.
Two schoolteachers couldn’t give the children everything, but they provided what was necessary — love, care, education. When the children turned eleven, Tamara became a pensioner but continued working at school.
The Glinki household grew: besides a goat, there were chickens, pigs, sheep, and geese. The vegetable harvest allowed them to sell surpluses at the market, bringing additional income.
The younger children helped reluctantly, but the eldest — Anton — was always a reliable support for his parents. Things became harder when he was drafted into the army’s naval fleet. He returned when his parents were over sixty, and the twins had finished school and enrolled in the pedagogical institute.
Anton supported their decision to study, stayed living with his parents, and got a job. He didn’t think about his personal life until his brother and sister graduated.
Two years after the young specialists graduated, their father died. Tamara Nikolaevna grieved heavily and her health declined. Then Anton decided to go to work elsewhere — money was needed to build his own house.
He reasoned: let the family home go to Masha — sooner or later she would marry, and the house would be her dowry. And he, as a man, had to start anew.
From letters from his sister, Anton learned news. He regularly sent money to make things easier for Maria and ensure their mother lacked nothing. He knew Andrey had moved to Moscow — he got a position in the capital after winning the «Teacher of the Year» competition and later joined the education department.
Anton was proud of his brother and thought how happy their mother must be. Though she could barely see and couldn’t write to her son herself, Masha read the letters aloud to her and sent mother’s greetings.
But one day, the letters stopped. Maria ceased contact. Anton did not wait and urgently returned home. What he found shook him to the core…
It turned out that one and a half months earlier, Maria had placed their mother in a nursing home and had gone to live with Andrey in Moscow. Anton couldn’t believe his ears — until he saw it with his own eyes. Tamara Nikolaevna lived in a room with three other women. Seeing her son, she started crying. Anton immediately took his mother home and stayed by her side until her very last day. And he never thought again about his brother and sister — he erased them from his life.
He took his mother for examinations in Moscow, hoping doctors could help restore her sight, but everywhere they just shrugged. Surgery gave no results. But Tamara Nikolaevna remained busy: she helped neighborhood children with math.
Former students brought their children or grandchildren with words:
— Only you, Tamara Nikolaevna, can manage this! Help my restless one — he’s been getting nothing but bad grades!
Tamara Nikolaevna never refused, and soon even the most incorrigible troublemaker proudly showed solid B’s or even A’s. She rejoiced in their success like a child, feeling needed and important.
She never spoke about Maria and Andrey, but Anton sometimes caught her in tears or noticed how she sifted through old children’s things in the closet, hugging them to her chest and breathing in familiar smells. This caused him unbearable pain.
Sometimes his mother asked:
— Son, why don’t you introduce me to a girl?
— What girl, Mom?
— Well, you should have married long ago. I want grandchildren to hold, hug little ones close to my heart, — sighed Tamara Nikolaevna.
—I don’t have a girlfriend, Mom. Apparently, no one likes me, — the son replied, hiding the real reasons. He had no intention of marrying. Neither now nor ever. He didn’t want children either — he’d had enough example from Andrey and Masha. Above all, he didn’t want to repeat his parents’ fate.
Anton had women — he was tall, strong, good-looking. But he didn’t form serious relationships with them, promised nothing, and didn’t bind himself with obligations.
—I don’t believe you, son. The Glinki men were always handsome. When I met your father, I was simply stunned — what a handsome man! And your grandfather, Fyodor, stayed healthy and handsome until old age. If he hadn’t been crushed by a tree at the lumberyard, he would have lived to be a hundred, — his mother insisted.
— A hundred’s a stretch, — Anton smirked.
— Don’t try to fool me, Antosha. Tell the truth: why don’t you marry?
But he didn’t want to upset his mother and confidently answered:
—I’m nobody. No education, no profession. I work wherever I can — here and there. Modern girls want rich, educated men.
Anton was about to leave the room, thinking the conversation was over, when his mother said:
— You’re not poor at all, son. I have my grandmother’s jewels — hidden since her death. Our family were exiles. I’m from a merchant family, a very wealthy one. We were from the Oryol province. Kochugurova is my maiden name. But your father was from poor folk. His family came to Sakhalin after the war from the Penza region.
Misha and I met here. My family arrived from the Far East, his — from Penza. We came during the mass settlement of Sakhalin freed from the Japanese. We were young specialists, working at school. That’s how we met and married. My father didn’t return from the war — missing in action. And Misha was alone — lost all relatives in the war. Life was good with your father. I still long for him. So, son, everything I have is inheritance for you and your brother and sister.
Tamara Nikolaevna fell silent and looked at her son.
— Mom, I don’t know where they are. They know where we are but never came, never wrote. They didn’t want to see you.
Anton lowered his head and covered his face with his hands.
— Son, let’s try to find them. We’ll file a search, find them by any means. There has to be a way, — his mother pleaded.
— Mom, aren’t you angry at them? They abandoned you. Especially Masha… — Anton waved his hand and turned away. He was crying.
—I have no anger. I’d just like to hug them once more in life…
Anton promised his mother he would look for his brother and sister. And he really did. He even found them. But he didn’t dare tell his mother.
Andrey refused to come:
— Lots of work, brother. Huge responsibility. You have no idea how many people I supervise! Maybe next year… Or spring. I don’t know, — he sighed.
Anton expected this answer but still hoped: “Maybe circumstances got in the way?” But what he heard broke his last illusions — and he stopped considering Andrey his brother.
Only Maria remained. But she didn’t even want to talk:
— Will you pay for my ticket to Sakhalin? Bright light! Did you even ask how I live? Do I have money for bread? — she shouted into the phone.
Anton held back:
— I’ll pay for the ticket. Come, Mom is waiting for you. Please.
With these words, he blushed — it was incredibly hard to say. He was ready to curse, pound his fist on the table, but for his mother’s sake he endured.
— Please? Did you ever ask me to come home sooner? But you’re always off working. Maybe because of you, I lost my first love, and now I’m alone with a child! — his sister burst into tears, clearly drunk.
Anton silently hung up. Several times more he tried to negotiate, but Maria alternated between crying, demanding money, and refusing to come. Of course, if he had told them about the jewels and inheritance, they would have come. But Anton didn’t want to be a tool of greed.
He dreamed his brother and sister would come because they missed home, because they loved their mother. But it didn’t happen.
Tamara Nikolaevna passed away quietly — at night, in her sleep.
Six months later Anton inherited, sold the house, and moved south. He bought a modest apartment, got a job, and lived without excessive ambitions. Part of the money went to the apartment purchase; the rest he saved — not used to handling large sums.
He didn’t intend to marry, and especially didn’t want children. He decided to live alone. But fate had other plans — he met Varvara.
Anton was thirty-five, Varvara about thirty. She was free, bold, determined, loved money, and dreamed of a wealthy life.
Why exactly she attracted him — he didn’t understand. Of course, looks mattered, but not only that. He had plenty of beauties before. Varvara was special — she simultaneously repelled and attracted, irritated and excited. Anton realized he couldn’t breathe without this woman.
Varvara set conditions clearly: either they become husband and wife, or part ways immediately. Anton agreed. And never regretted it. Hundreds of times he was sure Varvara was his fate. She was made for him, and he for her.
He supported her ambitions, indulged all her whims. Once even bought a shop, but it quickly disappeared from their lives, as if it never existed. However, Glinki regretted nothing. Only as he approached his 55th birthday did he wonder: “Could I have lived my life differently?”
Only now did Varvara begin showing interest in his past — asking about relatives, about children. Sometimes she looked at him as if she wanted something but didn’t dare say it aloud.
Before it seemed she didn’t need children. Now Anton caught himself thinking: “Maybe we really should have had a child? Then Varvara wouldn’t look at me like a stray dog.”
When he was diagnosed, his thoughts returned to children. “If I’m gone, who will Varvara have? Who will she tell about her days, who will drink morning coffee with her? She doesn’t even have anyone to call. Maybe she’ll get a pet? At least someone living nearby…”
Despite his illness, Glinki worried more about his wife. He hardly thought about himself. But his heart ached every time he saw her thoughtful gaze. What she thought about — he didn’t know.
And Varvara thought about how to save her husband. She was ready to be a donor herself but wasn’t suitable. They were on a waiting list, but the queue moved slowly. They could try related transplantation, but Anton had no relatives. Or rather, he did, but long ago severed all ties. Would they agree to help?
Varvara Semenovna wandered in thoughts like a closed circle. Didn’t know what to do, whom to trust, where to look for a way out.
Anton Mikhailovich Glinki died in November. November was cold and snowy. But Varvara, saying goodbye to her husband, felt nothing — neither the cold nor that her coat was unbuttoned and snow was already creeping under her dress and scarf.
She couldn’t pull herself together for a long time after the loss. Didn’t even manage to properly mourn him on the fortieth day. She met the New Year alone, cried a lot, remembered the past.
Everything at the French bakery went on as usual — manager Boris Ivanovich Feldman managed perfectly without the hostess. He was an old family friend, a reliable person, and Varvara trusted him.
Boris was also alone — his wife Rita left him for another man several years ago. Maybe their shared loneliness brought them closer, or maybe something else. In any case, lately they started talking a lot. Now Varvara consulted him on every issue. And she hadn’t realized how wise he was before.
— Borya, I want to sell the apartment. It’s scary there. Everything reminds me of Anton…
— I agree. Sell it. It will help you. You’ll be busy with repairs, moving — time will pass, it will get easier.
— Really?
— I’m sure. I’d sell my apartment and buy a house myself. Somewhere outside the city.
— By the lake? With forest around?
— Could be by the lake, — Feldman pondered. — I’ll help anyway: with moving and repairs. And I also have something for you. I met a girl and I think…
Varvara laughed:
— Old goat, Borya. Back to your old tricks? Haven’t you had enough of Margarita who robbed and left you?
— Eh, Varenka, so what? What should I do with money if not with women? They love my money, I love them — why not make each other happy?
Feldman hugged his friend and ran off laughing. And Varvara thought: “How lonely he is. Like me.”
Varvara firmly decided to sell the apartment and buy a house. On Sunday she woke up with that intention. Decided to do a thorough cleaning to show the place to a realtor: let him evaluate, set the price, start selling, and immediately look for a house.
She cleaned carefully — moved furniture, washed floors and baseboards. In the room with the old sofa Anton used as part of his personal space, she barely moved it and froze.
Behind the sofa, low near the baseboard, was a built-in safe. Anton never let anyone clean in that room — he always did it himself. Before this, Varvara hadn’t paid attention to her husband’s oddness. “Let him dust his sanctuary himself.”
Now she bent down and saw the key sticking right in the lock. “Maybe he left it on purpose? Or just forgot?” — she thought and confidently opened the door.
Inside lay a letter and an antique women’s reticule stuffed with jewelry in cases. Varvara immediately realized — these were valuable things. Her first thought: “Did he steal them?”
With trembling hands, Varvara took out the letter. It was addressed to her. Written in small handwriting on several pages. In it, Anton wrote about his childhood, family, how he came to possess these jewels belonging to his great-grandmother.
The woman got angry: “Hundreds of thousands of dollars! That would have been enough for surgery abroad, for treatment… He knew he had this and just left? Left me alone? Damn you, Anton!” — and she cried.
In the letter, her husband asked her to give part of the jewelry to Andrey and Maria. He explained that he couldn’t forgive his relatives but also couldn’t use what didn’t belong to him. Addresses where his brother and sister lived were also indicated. It turns out he knew all his life where they were, watched them, but didn’t go to them.
—I won’t take anything! Won’t give anything to anyone! — Varvara said loudly. — All the money will go to me! I’ll buy a big house, a dog, a car, and go traveling! You deal with your family, Anton! I won’t run around the country for you!
But then she cried again and sat on the floor for a long time rereading the letter.
That night Varvara couldn’t fall asleep for a long time. Tossed and turned, sighed, got up, walked around the room. Only before dawn did she decide: she had to go to Moscow and meet her husband’s relatives — his brother and sister.
— Borya, hi. Are you sleeping? — Varvara dialed when the clock showed six in the morning.
— Hi. No, not sleeping. I’ve been waiting for your call all night, — Feldman replied grumpily. — What happened?
— Come with me to Moscow. I really need it. I’m afraid to go alone.
— Varya, let me at least have some coffee, take a shower… Why do you need to go to Moscow?
— Borya, I can’t explain everything over the phone. I don’t know where to start or what to do, — Varvara whispered.
Feldman immediately sat on the bed:
— Okay. Coffee’s brewing. I’m coming out now.
Boris and Varvara stood by a three-meter fence — so high they had never seen before. After a couple of minutes, a guard came to the gate and said:
— Mr. Glinki is currently at the city hall. When he’ll return is unknown.
— Can we contact him somehow? Or is his wife home? We came on very important business. I’m the wife of Andrey Mikhailovich’s older brother, — Varvara said quietly.
— Wait here, — the guard said and disappeared inside.
After a while, Boris and Varvara were already in a spacious hall. The hostess wasn’t in a hurry to meet guests. Varvara fidgeted on the couch:
— Borya, maybe we should leave? We sit like supplicants.
— Quiet, Varya, let’s wait. Since we came — we have to listen.
Another ten minutes passed and finally Mrs. Irina Vasilievna — Andrey’s wife — came down. Her face clearly showed irritation:
— Who are you? Hurry up, I’m busy. And anyway, my husband’s affairs don’t concern me.
—I am Varvara Semenovna Glinka, wife of Anton Mikhailovich — your husband’s older brother.
— Andryusha has a brother? — Irina asked sincerely surprised. — Wait a minute.
She immediately called her husband:
— Andrey, there’s a woman here saying she’s your mother-in-law or some unknown person — wife of your brother Anton. Is there such a person?
— Irisha, I have a meeting! Don’t disturb me! Ask what they want and show them out. I have no time for this.
Varvara heard this conversation, suddenly jumped up, snatched the phone from Irina’s hands:
— Andrey Mikhailovich! You bastard! Forgot how Anton saved you from a bear on the bridge?
She returned the phone to the stunned woman and sharply stood up:
— Let’s go, Boris Ivanovich. It smells like betrayal here.
Only once in a taxi did Varvara burst into tears:
— My poor Antoshka… Better to be an orphan than have a brother like Andrey.
Boris hugged her, and the car headed in a new direction — to the address where Anton’s deceased sister, Maria Glinka, was registered.
The house where Maria lived was sharply different from Andrey’s mansion. It was a two-story barrack beyond the bypass road. It seemed about to be demolished, but was still considered habitable.
— Borya, why did I come here? Why didn’t I spend that money on myself, like a normal person? Why do I need all this? — Varvara climbed the shaky stairs, reproaching herself for the foolish idea.
— Yeah, exactly. And you dragged me here. What if there are bedbugs? Let’s go home, — Feldman grumbled.
— Well, since we came — let’s see what’s here. We need to meet Maria, if only for peace of mind.
The door opened and a young woman, upon seeing the guests, started cursing and slammed the door right in Varvara’s face. She didn’t even manage to introduce herself.
At that moment, the neighboring door opened, and a curious old lady peeked out:
— Who are you looking for, children?
— We’re looking for Maria Glinka, — Varvara replied, confused.
— Oh, Mashka? She’s been gone for almost three years. Her lover beat her to death in a fight.
— What do you mean? — Varvara didn’t understand.
— Exactly that! You live like in another world. That’s — the old lady nodded toward the apartment — Mashka’s granddaughter, Ninka. Just as fiery as her mother was. Only Mashka raised her daughter somehow, but Ninka lost her girl. Social services took Varenka, — the neighbor wiped away a tear.
— Sorry, who’s Varenka?
The old lady pursed her lips:
— And Mashka still owes me three thousand. Now no one to demand it.
Varvara hurriedly took out her wallet, handed over the money:
—I’ll pay. Tell me everything you know about Varenka.
The pensioner immediately brightened and gestured them inside:
— Come in, dear guests. I’ll tell you everything down to the last detail. Almost from the day Mashka moved here.
It turned out that Nina, Maria’s daughter, was recently deprived of parental rights. The father was unknown — the girl was born when Nina was eighteen. Both women lived antisocial lives; social services long warned Nina that the child might be taken away. But only at eight years old did the girl first go to school — before that she wasn’t taken there. One day the child was taken away, then parental rights were finally revoked.
An hour later, Boris and Varvara were already leaving the yard. In the woman’s hands was a paper with the address of an orphanage, which she dictated immediately to the taxi driver.
— Varya, why do you need all this? — Boris asked tiredly.
—I’ll take Varenka. I’ll arrange guardianship and bring her to me. I’ll make her happy. I can do it.
— You never wanted children, — Feldman protested.
— Borya, don’t make me angry. I always loved them, just had no chance.
— Okay-okay, I’m quiet. Let’s go, — he sighed. — You know, near the fountain on Chernyshevsky there’s a good school. My second cousin works there…
Feldman talked non-stop, and Varvara looked out the window and smiled. The first ray of sun crawled out from the gray clouds, then the second. The gloomy day began to brighten. “That’s my life,” thought Varvara. Now there was sunlight in it again. The sun named Varya.
