In a small but picturesque town, where every passerby knew each other by name, lived a young woman named Anna. This town was quiet and cozy, as if frozen in time — with narrow streets, old lanterns, and houses surrounded by blooming flowerbeds. There was always a sense of peace and mutual support here. People had known each other for many years, were friends with whole families, and helped one another in difficult times. Among all the residents, Anna stood out especially for her kindness. She didn’t just smile at passersby — she felt a sincere desire to make someone else’s life a little brighter. She was considered a person with a big heart, ready to help even a stranger.

For Anna, being kind and compassionate was not an obligation, but a way of life. She believed that every small act could become the beginning of something greater. Helping an elderly neighbor by bringing groceries, supporting a friend in a hard moment, participating in charity events — all of this was part of her daily routine. And although sometimes she wanted to rest herself, she always found the strength for others. That’s why no one was surprised when one day she said she had helped someone again — even if it cost her something important.

But this time, everything was a little different. One morning, waking up with the first rays of the sun, Anna felt a special excitement. She had been waiting for this day for several months. Ahead lay a long-awaited journey — a meeting with an old friend whom she hadn’t seen for a whole five years. The friend had gone abroad to study, and the years flew by so quickly that they had almost lost touch. But recently, they had accidentally found each other on social media and arranged to meet. For Anna, this was truly a gift of fate.

Getting ready for the trip, she double-checked every item in her suitcase as if afraid to forget something. Every possession seemed important to her: a favorite sweater, a photo album with childhood pictures, a notebook to jot down everything they would discuss. She imagined how they would walk through the unfamiliar city streets, drink coffee in cozy cafes, laugh until their stomachs hurt, and share stories they had kept to themselves all those years. This thought warmed her from within, and she happily walked toward the bus stop that would take her to the train station, and then to the airport.

The morning was cool but clear. Leaves on the trees were beginning to take on autumn shades, the air was fresh and full of hope. Anna walked, breathing deeply the morning freshness, thinking about everything at once — how much her friend had changed, how her voice would sound after so many years, and how their meeting would turn out. Time, as is known, changes people, but Anna hoped that their friendship would remain the same.

Just then, when her thoughts were occupied with pleasant memories, her attention was drawn to a man standing at the edge of the sidewalk. He looked confused and was clearly in pain. His movements were slow; he was leaning against the wall of a building, trying to stay on his feet. Anna involuntarily slowed her pace. She understood she needed to hurry — the flight wouldn’t wait — but something inside would not let her pass by. Perhaps it was intuition, or that very sense of duty that always guided her.

Approaching him gently, she asked,
“Excuse me, are you feeling unwell? Can I help you?”

The man turned to her. A faint but grateful smile appeared on his face.
“My name is Viktor,” he replied, slightly out of breath. “I twisted my ankle a couple of days ago… And today I have to catch a flight. I’m already late, and the airport is too far.”

Anna paused for a moment. There were only a few minutes left before the bus arrived, and if she spent time helping, she risked missing her own flight. But risking a trip was one thing — leaving a person alone in such a state was another.

“Let’s call a taxi,” she suggested. “I’ll see you there.”

Viktor initially refused, not wanting to cause trouble, but Anna insisted. Within minutes, they were sitting in a car heading toward the airport. During that time, a slow conversation began between them. Viktor turned out to be an interesting person with a rich life story. He told how he started in the simplest positions at an airline and now headed one of the largest companies in the country. His success was the result of enormous work, but he hadn’t lost his humanity, which could be felt in his words.

Anna listened attentively but had no idea who he really was. To her, he was simply someone in need of help. They talked about many things — travel, dreams, the importance of human connections. She shared her plans, spoke about her friend, about her aspirations to see the world. Viktor listened with lively interest, occasionally adding his thoughts or jokes, which helped ease his pain.

When they arrived at the airport, the situation became complicated. Time was literally slipping through their fingers. Check-in was closing in ten minutes. Viktor limped, moved slowly, and Anna realized that without help he wouldn’t make it. Without wasting a second, she took his arm, and together they hurried to the check-in counter.

The line was long, but Anna, without hesitation, approached the staff member and explained the situation. Viktor, a little embarrassed, gave his name. The airport employee, upon hearing it, instantly changed her expression. Several phone calls later, they were allowed to skip the line.

When all formalities were completed, Viktor turned to Anna. His eyes expressed sincere gratitude.
“I don’t know how to thank you,” he said. “You could have just walked by. But you stopped. That means a lot.”

Then he paused and added,
“If you agree, I want to give you a gift. Let me arrange your trip so you don’t have to worry about anything. First-class tickets, personal service — everything you deserve for your kindness.”

Anna did not expect such a turn. She only wanted to help, not thinking about a reward. But now, standing next to a person who could make her dreams come true, she felt warmth spread through her chest — from realizing that kindness truly has a price, even if invisible.

They exchanged contacts, said goodbye, and each went to their gate. But this meeting stayed with her forever. It was not only the reason for her delay but the beginning of a new chapter in her life.

A couple of days later, Anna received a message from Viktor. He kept his word. First-class tickets were issued, a detailed itinerary was prepared, even a window seat was chosen — exactly what she loved most. The trip became truly unforgettable. Instead of a regular journey, she had a real adventure. Her friend was thrilled; Anna was in heaven. Clouds outside the window, the taste of coffee in a tall glass, a soft seat, and stewardesses’ smiles — all this became possible thanks to one simple decision.

After returning home, Anna wrote to Viktor, thanked him, and told how the trip went. She didn’t expect their connection to continue, but Viktor replied. He invited her to a private event for VIP guests of the airline, and there they met again. Over a cup of hot tea, they talked for a long time, like old friends. They were united not only by this story but by a shared understanding of the importance of human relationships.

Thus, thanks to a chance encounter on the street, a new, bright chapter began in the lives of two completely different people. What could have seemed a small coincidence became the beginning of an extraordinary friendship. Anna not only helped Viktor but also received more than she could have imagined. And Viktor, in turn, remembered that the true value of success lies in the ability to share it with others.

This story became a reminder for both of them: never underestimate the power of kindness. Sometimes the simplest gesture can change someone’s life — and your own too.

Polina scrutinized the new curtains. Light blue, with a small floral pattern—exactly what she wanted for the living room. She carefully adjusted the pleats, stepped back a couple of paces, and smiled.

— Sergey, how do you like it? — Polina turned to her husband, who was sitting in an armchair, absorbed in his phone.

— It’s fine, — Sergey mumbled without looking up.

— Maybe we should have gotten ones with a larger pattern? — Polina hesitated.

Her husband looked up from his phone, cast a brief glance at the window, and shrugged.

— What’s the difference? Curtains are just curtains.

Polina sighed. Recently, Sergey had become distant, as if something was weighing on him. She sat down on the edge of the sofa and touched his hand.

— Did something happen? You’ve been acting different lately.

Sergey hesitated, put down his phone, and rubbed his nose.

— Polina, we need to talk, — his voice sounded unusually serious. — Mom is retiring next week.

— And? — Polina raised an eyebrow.

— And she’s going to have a hard time being alone. She’s used to socializing, having people around. Sitting in four walls isn’t for her.

Polina tensed, understanding where the conversation was heading.

— I was thinking, — Sergey continued, — maybe she could stay with us for a while? Until she gets used to the new pace of life.

Polina clenched her fingers into a fist. Larisa Arkadyevna, Sergey’s mother, had always been cool toward her. Every time they met, her mother-in-law found something to criticize: Polina was too thin, her clothes were inappropriate, or she wasn’t keeping the apartment right.

— For how long? — Polina asked carefully.

— Well, for a month or two, — Sergey spread his hands. — At most, until autumn.

— Fine, — Polina agreed after a pause. — But only temporarily.

— You’re the best! — Sergey hugged his wife impulsively. — Mom will appreciate your care.

A week later, Larisa Arkadyevna stepped through the door with two large suitcases.

— I hope you’ve prepared a room for me, — her mother-in-law stated, looking around the hallway with a critical eye.

— Of course, Mom. The guest room is all yours, — Sergey took the suitcases and carried them to the room.

Polina smiled tightly.

— Come in, Larisa Arkadyevna. Would you like some tea?

— Yes. But no sugar, — her mother-in-law snapped as she walked past Polina. — And take down these awful flowery rags from the window. They make my eyes hurt.

Polina bit her lip but said nothing. Just a couple of months, she reminded herself.

But the couple of months quietly turned into six. Larisa Arkadyevna had settled in, filled kitchen shelves with her jars of jam and pickles, and moved the paintings in the living room. She threw away Polina’s favorite decorative pillows, claiming they just “gather dust.”

— Sergey, I can’t do this anymore, — Polina whispered to her husband late one evening in their bedroom. — Your mom is acting like this is her apartment.

— She’s just used to being the housekeeper, — Sergey sighed. — You know she’s having a hard time right now. It’s a transitional age, a crisis.

— What crisis at sixty? — Polina threw up her hands. — She threw away my collection of porcelain figurines yesterday!

— She didn’t throw them away, she packed them in a box. They were taking up too much space.

— In my apartment!

— In our apartment, — Sergey corrected.

— The apartment I bought before we got married with the money from selling my grandmother’s apartment, — Polina reminded him.

Sergey grimaced.

— Let’s not start this conversation. Just be patient a little longer.

Polina turned toward the wall and closed her eyes. Such conversations had been happening more and more.

Soon, her mother-in-law’s open criticism began as well.

— You’ve over-salted it again, — Larisa Arkadyevna huffed, pushing away her plate of stewed potatoes. — In my time, girls were taught to cook by their mothers.

— In your backward time, women were also married off without asking, — Polina snapped, immediately regretting what she had said.

— Sergey! Did you hear how she’s talking to me? — Larisa Arkadyevna turned to her son. — I’m an elderly person; I deserve respect!

— Polina, don’t start, — Sergey said tiredly. — Mom is right, we need to respect our elders.

Polina silently stood up from the table and went to the bedroom. A lump of resentment grew inside her. Not only her mother-in-law, but even her husband was turning her into a guest in her own home.

In the morning, while getting ready for work, Polina discovered that her favorite blouse was missing from her closet.

— Larisa Arkadyevna, have you seen my white blouse? — she asked, peeking into the kitchen.

— That tasteless thing? I washed it. You’re washing it wrong, that’s why it looks like a rag.

— But I was going to wear it today! — Polina clenched her fists.

— Buy something decent for yourself, — her mother-in-law cut in. — And in general, it’s time for you to learn how to dress properly. At your age, you should look like a woman, not like a teenager.

Polina wanted to respond, but at that moment Sergey walked into the kitchen.

— What’s going on?

— Your mom took my things without asking! — Polina exclaimed.

— I’m just helping her look presentable, — Larisa Arkadyevna countered. — Sergey, tell her it’s inappropriate for a married woman to wear such revealing things.

— A white blouse is revealing? — Polina looked at her mother-in-law in disbelief.

Sergey raised his hands in a conciliatory gesture.

— Let’s not argue over a blouse. Polina, wear something else. And you, Mom, next time ask for permission before taking someone else’s things.

Polina was late for work and felt exhausted all day. She didn’t want to go home. In recent weeks, the apartment had turned into a foreign territory, where every step she took was met with comments and criticism.
In the evening, she met her friend Natasha at a café not far from home.

“I can’t do this anymore,” Polina confessed, stirring the now-cold tea with a spoon. “She’s turned my life into hell.”

“And Sergey?” Natasha asked.

“Always on his mother’s side,” Polina smiled bitterly. “Do you know what he said yesterday? That I should respect his mother because without her, there would be no him and no our marriage.”

“Maybe you should live separately for a while?” Natasha suggested. “I have a spare room.”

Polina shook her head.

“This is my apartment, Natasha. Why should I leave?”

“Then talk to Sergey seriously. Without hysteria or accusations. Explain that you’re uncomfortable.”

Polina thought for a moment. Maybe it was really worth talking to her husband? One more time, calmly and rationally.

When she returned home, she found Larisa Arkadyevna in her bedroom.

“What are you doing here?” Polina was taken aback.

“Making space in the closet,” her mother-in-law replied matter-of-factly, rummaging through things. “I have too many clothes for the guest room. Sergey said I could take some of your closet space.”

That was the last straw.

Polina froze in the doorway, watching as Larisa Arkadyevna moved her things around.

“Stop,” she said quietly but firmly.

Her mother-in-law didn’t even look up.

“Are you bothered by making space for your husband’s mother?” she asked, continuing to rummage through the closet. “What a selfish woman you are.”

“This is my bedroom and my closet,” Polina stepped closer. “Please, get out of here.”

“Don’t tell me what to do, girl,” Larisa Arkadyevna straightened up and looked down at Polina. “You may be my son’s wife, but you don’t deserve any respect.”

“What’s going on here?” Sergey appeared in the doorway, drawn by the raised voices.

“Your mother is going through my things!” Polina pointed to the scattered clothes on the bed.

“I just wanted to hang my things, but your wife had a fit,” Larisa Arkadyevna pursed her lips. “I always knew she didn’t respect family values.”

Sergey sighed tiredly.

“Polina, what’s all the noise about? Mom just asked for a little space.”

“A little space?” Polina clutched her head. “Sergey, she’s already taken over the entire guest room, half of the kitchen, thrown out my things, rearranged the furniture! Now she’s in our bedroom!”

“Don’t exaggerate,” Sergey waved his hand. “Mom just wants…”

“I don’t care what your mother wants!” Polina interrupted him. “This is my apartment! I bought it with my own money, before we got married!”

“Starting again?” Sergey frowned. “How much longer are you going to keep bringing this up?”

“I’m not bringing it up!” Polina raised her voice. “But I won’t allow anyone to treat me like a guest in my own home!”

“See, Sergey?” Larisa Arkadyevna interjected. “She doesn’t respect either me or you. A real woman would never shout at her husband.”

Polina took a deep breath, trying to calm down.

“Sergey, let’s talk alone.”

“So you can turn him against his mother?” Larisa Arkadyevna scoffed. “No, I’m not going anywhere. I have the right to know what’s going on in my son’s family.”

“You have no right to tell me what to do in my house!” Polina exclaimed. “You were a guest. A temporary guest. Now you’ve become a warden!”

“How are you speaking to my mother?” Sergey was outraged. “Apologize immediately!”

“Apologize?” Polina couldn’t believe her ears. “For defending my space? My life? She was supposed to stay for a couple of months, and now she’s been living with us for half a year!”

“So what?” Sergey crossed his arms over his chest. “She’s my mother, and I’m not going to throw her out into the street.”

“Into the street?” Polina smiled bitterly. “She has her own apartment! A three-bedroom, by the way!”

“In which she doesn’t want to live alone,” Sergey cut her off. “You have no heart, Polina?”

“No heart?” Polina glanced at the clothes scattered across the bed, the open closet, and her mother-in-law’s disgusted expression. “I’ve been putting up with your mother turning my life into a nightmare for six months! Six months of hearing how bad a wife, housekeeper, and daughter-in-law I am!”

“Don’t dramatize,” Sergey grimaced.

“I’m not dramatizing! I can’t and don’t want to do this anymore. Either your mother goes back to her place, or…”

“Or what?” Sergey asked challengingly.

Polina fell silent, not knowing what to say. She had never thought their marriage could fall apart because of a trivial household conflict.

“See, Sergey?” Larisa Arkadyevna triumphantly said. “She doesn’t even know how to threaten properly. A weak, spineless girl. She dares to show character in our house? You need to put her in her place!”

And then something snapped inside Polina. The humiliations she had endured, the silent agreement, the fear of conflict, and the desire to please everyone — it all came crashing down in an instant.

She straightened up and looked directly into her mother-in-law’s eyes.

“No, dear mother-in-law, I bought this apartment before our marriage, so pack your things. Today. I won’t let you torment me in my own home anymore.”

“What did you say?” her mother-in-law was stunned.

“You heard me perfectly. Pack your things and leave.”

“You have no right to throw my mother out!” Sergey shouted.

Polina turned to her husband.

“I do. And I’m doing it. The apartment belongs to me. And I decide who lives in it.”

“I’m your husband!”

“Who never once stood by my side,” Polina said bitterly. “Who watched his mother mistreat his wife and stayed silent.”

“You’re just petty and mean,” Larisa Arkadyevna chimed in. “Poor my boy, he didn’t get lucky with a wife.”

“Yes, he didn’t get lucky,” Polina agreed. “But a real man wouldn’t let his mother treat his beloved woman like this.” She took a deep breath and walked to the door. “You have two hours to pack. Both of you.”

“What?” Sergey was stunned. “Are you kicking me out too?”

“Do you want to stay?” Polina raised an eyebrow. “After all of this?”

Sergey was silent, looking from his mother to his wife.

“Don’t worry, son,” Larisa Arkadyevna interrupted. “We’ll go to my place. You’ll find a normal girl who will respect your mother.”

Polina shook her head and left the room. Surprisingly, there was no pain. Only relief. Like a heavy stone had been lifted from her soul.

Two days later, there was a knock on the door. Sergey stood in the doorway.

“Polina, let’s talk,” he started.

“About what?” Polina crossed her arms. “About how you let your mother humiliate me? Or about how you never once stood up for me?”

“I tried to reconcile everyone,” Sergey said. “But I didn’t succeed.”

“You didn’t even try,” Polina shook her head. “You just went the path of least resistance. Mom shouts — so she has to be accommodated. I stay quiet — so everything’s fine with me.”

“I love you, Polina.”

“Love is not just words,” Polina smiled sadly. “It’s also actions. And you chose your mother, not your wife. I respect your choice, but now respect mine.”

She closed the door and leaned against it. Tears ran down her cheeks, but strength surged through her veins. Polina had taken back her life, her apartment, her dignity.

A week later, she repainted the bedroom walls her favorite lavender color, put the light blue curtains with a small floral pattern back up, and bought new decorative pillows. The apartment was once again her home, her fortress, her corner.

And a month later, Natasha introduced her to Andrei — a calm, self-confident man who listened to her stories about work with interest, valued her opinion, and never interrupted. And most importantly — he had his own apartment, where his mother didn’t live.

Sometimes losses turn out to be the beginning of something new, something better. And Polina was grateful to fate for this lesson. She would never again allow anyone to cross her boundaries. Even for love.

Anna wiped her hands with a towel, admiring the bouquet of white roses she had just arranged for a regular client. Outside, an October drizzle fell, while inside the shop it smelled of freshness and life — that’s how she always described the complex scent of flowers. Three years ago, she couldn’t have imagined she would know so much about varieties, which flowers last longer, and which are fussy about water and temperature.

The chime over the door announced a customer, but it was Mikhail, her husband. He usually came by rarely, preferring to handle things over the phone.

“Hi, how are you?” He kissed her on the cheek, but she sensed a tension in his voice.

“Good, I’ve already sold the fifth bouquet today. By the way, Mrs. Kovalyova ordered another arrangement for her table — she says only our flowers last more than a week.”

Mikhail nodded absentmindedly, as if not really listening. Anna recognized that look — something was bothering him. Over twelve years of marriage, she had learned to read his moods from the smallest details: how he furrows his brow, presses his lips, avoids eye contact when preparing for an unpleasant conversation.

“Anya, we need to have a serious talk,” he said, sitting down on a chair near the counter. “About the shop.”

Anna’s heart skipped a beat. She put down the scissors and turned to him fully.

“What about the shop?”

“You know it’s… well, not exactly unprofitable, but it doesn’t really make much profit either. We’ve been supporting it for three years, but it still hasn’t broken even.”

“Misha, what are you trying to say?” Her voice trembled.

Mikhail sighed and looked toward the display window.

“Katya has problems. She divorced Igor; the apartment stays with him, and she has nowhere to go. She’s staying with a friend now, but only temporarily.” He paused, gathering courage. “We’ll sell your shop and buy her an apartment.”

Anna felt the ground slip beneath her feet. Those words sounded so ordinary, as if he had just suggested buying bread on the way home.

“What?!” She couldn’t believe her ears. “How can you say we’ll sell my shop?”

“Anya, be reasonable. We’ve been investing money for three years with no return. Katya needs help; she’s my sister.”

“And what about me?” Anna’s voice broke. “Am I not your wife? This is my business, my work, my life!”

“But it doesn’t bring in money!”

“It didn’t! But now it does!” She gestured toward the cash register. “You can see, there are more customers, more orders. I’m just starting to really understand this business!”

Mikhail stood up, his resolve clear and frightening.

“Anna, I’m not asking for your permission. I’m just informing you. The shop needs to be sold.”

“No!” She slammed her fist on the counter; a few petals fell from the rose. “I won’t allow it! It’s my shop!”

“The one I helped you open! With my money!”

Those words hit harder than a slap. Anna felt everything inside tighten with hurt and anger.

“So what? I’m just an employee you can fire any time?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. But family is more important than your flowers. Katya needs our help.”

“And what about me? Don’t I need help?” Her voice quivered with tears she was holding back. “Don’t I need my husband to believe in me?”

Mikhail shrugged.

“I believed for three years. Isn’t that enough?”

Anna turned away to the window, unable to look at him. The rain intensified, droplets sliding down the glass like her invisible tears.

“Leave,” she whispered. “Just leave.”

“Anya…”

“Leave!” she shouted, her voice full of such resolve that Mikhail flinched.

He stood for a few seconds, then silently left. The bell chimed mournfully.

Anna sank into a chair and let the tears flow freely. Each drop was soaked in pain and confusion. How could he? How could he so easily wipe away three years of her life, her efforts, her dreams?

She remembered how the shop began. Mikhail really had supported her idea back then, though with doubts. “Try,” he said, “but if it doesn’t work out, don’t be upset.” And she tried. She studied the flower business, visited suppliers, learned to make bouquets, worked fourteen-hour days.

The first year was a nightmare. Flowers spoiled, customers didn’t come, she didn’t know how to properly store different varieties. But she didn’t give up. Gradually, things improved. Regular customers appeared; she learned to feel the flowers, understand their needs.

And now, when things were finally taking off, he wanted to destroy it all. For Katya.

Anna had never liked her husband’s sister. Not openly hostile, but always sensing some dislike. Katya was beautiful, bright, knew how to draw attention. She often said things like, “Oh, Annushka, you’re so lucky! Such a caring husband, a beautiful home, and now your own business!” But Anna always heard falseness and envy in those words.

That evening at home, the conversation continued. Mikhail came back from work gloomier than a thundercloud.

“Have you thought about what I said?” he asked without greeting.

“I have. The answer is still no.”

“Anna, you’re acting selfish.”

“Selfish?” She turned from the stove where she was cooking dinner. “I’ve put my soul into this shop for three years, and you call me selfish for not wanting to sell it?”

“Katya has nowhere to go!”

“Why is that my problem? Let her work, rent an apartment, like everyone else!”

“She’s my sister!”

“And I’m your wife!” Anna shouted. “Or was…”

Mikhail fell silent. Only the frying pan’s sizzle was heard.

“What do you mean by that?”

“I mean a husband should support his wife, not destroy her dreams for his sister’s whims.”

“This isn’t whimsy! She has real problems!”

“I have real problems too!” Anna turned off the stove and faced him. “My husband wants to take away the work of my life!”

“The work of your life?” Mikhail smirked. “You’ve been selling flowers for three years, don’t exaggerate.”

That was the last straw. Anna felt something break inside.

“Get out of the kitchen,” she said quietly but firmly enough to make him understand it was best not to argue.

The following days passed in a cold war. They spoke only when necessary, slept in separate rooms, avoided eye contact. Anna felt their twelve-year marriage cracking but didn’t know what to do.

At the shop, she tried to immerse herself in work. Flowers don’t lie, betray, or destroy your life for someone else. They just live and give beauty while they can.

On Thursday, Marina, the owner of the neighboring beauty salon, stopped by. They often drank coffee together and discussed business.

“Anya, you seem kind of sad,” Marina noticed, sitting on a chair by the counter.

“Family problems,” Anna sighed.

“Want to talk?”

Anna hesitated but then decided: why not? Maybe an outside perspective would help.

“Misha wants to sell the shop.”

“What?! Why?”

“To help his sister. She’s divorced and needs an apartment.”

Marina shook her head.

“Strange. Can’t she earn for an apartment herself?”

“Maybe. But why bother when you can live off your brother?”

“Anya, haven’t you thought something’s off here?” Marina leaned closer. “Remember I told you I saw your husband with some woman in a cafe?”

Anna tensed.

“You did? And?”

“What if it was his sister? Are they planning something together?”

“What do you mean?”

“Maybe she doesn’t just want an apartment. Maybe they’re dividing property in advance. In case of a divorce?”

Anna’s heart beat faster.

“Marin, don’t say nonsense.”

“But think about it. Why sell your shop if you could sell something else? You have a dacha, a car, other things?”

“We do…”

“Exactly. Why your business?”

Anna pondered. Indeed, why? They had a dacha near Moscow they rarely used, a second car sitting in the garage. Why did Mikhail pick the shop?

“Maybe his sister said something to him?” Marina continued. “Maybe she thinks you don’t appreciate him or something?”

“Why would she think that?”

“Who knows? Envy is a terrible thing. Maybe she envies that you have everything good?”

That night Anna couldn’t sleep. Marina’s words swirled in her mind. What if something was really wrong? What if Katya was deliberately turning Mikhail against her?

The next day she called a mutual friend, Lena, who was friends with both her and Katya.

“Lena, hi! How are you?”

“Oh, Anya! Hi! All good, working. How about you?”

“Well, family problems… Lena, have you heard Katya say anything about me recently?”

There was a pause on the other end.

“Did something happen?”

“Just curious.”

“Anya, better ask her yourself…”

“Lena, please. It’s important for me to know.”

Another pause, then a sigh.

“Okay, but don’t get too upset. She said you don’t appreciate your husband. That you spend too much time in the shop and don’t take care of the family.”

“Anything else?”

“She also said…” Lena hesitated. “She suspects you have someone on the side.”

“What?!”

“Some man. She says you’ve been staying late, going somewhere in the evenings…”

Anna felt blood pounding in her temples.

“Lena, that’s complete nonsense! I don’t go anywhere, just the shop and home!”

“I know, Anya. I told her that. But she insisted. Said she wanted to open Misha’s eyes.”

“Open his eyes?”

“Yes. That you’re lying to him, cheating. And that he should divorce you before you take everything.”

Anna slumped in her chair. Everything fell into place. Katya was deliberately turning Mikhail against her! Spreading rumors, convincing him she was a bad wife.

“Lena, thanks for telling me.”

“Anya, just don’t do anything stupid. Maybe it’s not true…”

“No, now it’s clear.”

Anna hung up and sat for a long time, digesting what she heard. So that’s it. Katya decided to kill two birds with one stone: get rid of her and get the apartment. Clever plan.

That evening she waited for Mikhail and said,

“We need to talk.”

“About the shop? Did you change your mind?”

“No. About your sister.”

Mikhail frowned.

“What about her?”

“What she told you about me is not true.”

“What do you mean?”

“That I supposedly have an affair. That I don’t appreciate you. That I’m a bad wife.”

Mikhail’s face changed.

“How do you know what we talked about?”

“Doesn’t matter. What matters is it’s all lies. And you need to understand that.”

“Katya wouldn’t lie…”

“Katya is jealous of me,” Anna looked him straight in the eyes. “She sees I have a loving husband, my own business, and can’t stand it. So she decided to destroy everything.”

“You’re talking nonsense!”

“Then tell me: why sell my shop? We have a dacha, a second car, your investments. Why my business?”

Mikhail opened his mouth to answer but found no words.

“Because she wants me to have nothing,” Anna continued. “To become nobody. And then, when you divorce me, the apartment will be hers.”

“That’s nonsense…”

“It’s true. And you know it. Deep down you know I’m right.”

Mikhail was silent for a long time. Anna saw doubt fighting in his eyes.

“Even if that’s true,” he finally said, “Katya still needs help.”

“Then help her another way. Sell the dacha, lend her money, whatever. But don’t touch my shop.”

“But it doesn’t make profit…”

“It does!” Anna pulled a notebook with calculations from her bag. “Look. In the last three months, net profit was two hundred thousand. And it’s growing every month.”

Mikhail took the notebook and flipped through it.

“Where did these numbers come from?”

“From finally learning to run the business. I have regular clients, corporate orders. I’m thinking about opening another shop.”

“Another one?”

“Yes. There’s a good space opening on Sovetskaya Street. More foot traffic, can increase profits.”

Mikhail slowly closed the notebook.

“Why didn’t you show me these numbers before?”

“Because you weren’t interested. You’d already decided the shop was unprofitable and didn’t want to listen.”

He sighed.

“Maybe you’re right…”

“Not maybe. Definitely. And you know it.”

The next day Mikhail went to see his sister. Anna didn’t know what they talked about, but when he returned, his face was gloomy.

“You were right,” he said sitting opposite her. “Katya really told me all sorts of nonsense about you.”

“And?”

“And I told her I won’t give her money anymore. She’ll have to solve her problems herself.”

Anna felt relieved, but her anger hadn’t gone.

“And the shop?”

“The shop stays yours. Sorry.”

“Sorry’s not enough,” she said. “You almost ruined my life.”

“I know. And I’ll make it right.”

“How?”

Mikhail thought.

“I’ll help you with the new shop. If you really want to open it.”

Anna smiled for the first time in many days.

“I want to. Very much.”

A month later, the shop on Sovetskaya Street opened. Anna worked there mornings and returned to her original shop afternoons. Business was better than she expected. Mikhail really helped — bringing clients from his business, advising on finances.

Katya stopped calling and coming around. Anna heard she found a job and rented an apartment. Maybe it was for the best — everyone gets what they deserve.

In the evening, closing the shop, Anna admired the display window. White chrysanthemums mixed with yellow roses, creating a sunny mood even on a gloomy day.

Three years ago, she couldn’t tell a chrysanthemum from an aster. Now she dreamed of opening a chain of shops.

Mikhail came up behind her, as promised.

“How are things?” he asked, kissing her cheek.

“Great. Today I sold more arrangements than all last week.”

“Awesome. I found a place for a third shop.”

“A third?” Anna was surprised. “I haven’t even thought about the second properly!”

“I’m already thinking about franchising,” he smiled.

She laughed. For the first time in a long while, she laughed genuinely.

“Let’s learn to manage two first, then we’ll see.”

“As you say, boss.”

They stepped outside. The rain stopped, the sun came out. And Anna thought that life, like flowers, requires patience and faith. You just have to keep going, even when it seems all is lost. Sometimes the most beautiful buds bloom after the fiercest storms.

— You are expected at Viktor Nikolaevich’s estate on Saturday at ten in the morning, — I nodded automatically. The words sounded so ordinary, as if I had just scheduled a business meeting or a doctor’s appointment. But inside, a quiet race of thoughts had already begun.

So… an old estate outside the city. A modern-style mansion surrounded by tall fir trees. An abandoned garden, a library with cracked bindings, oil paintings, a porcelain collection that my uncle had been gathering for half his life… And, if the rumors were true, an antique grand piano worth no less than half a million dollars. All of this could now be mine. Or not?

By blood, I really was his only relative. Viktor Nikolaevich never had children; he lived a long life alone, away from social noise. A writer, a music lover, a connoisseur of good wine, and a man with quirks, he was always a mystery to me. When my mother spoke about him, she often added: “a little strange,” but he was the one I had fun with as a child. He told stories, played the piano, bought me ice cream even when mom forbade it. We were close — until I grew up, until he withdrew into himself, and I began to see him only as a name in family conversations and rare birthday postcards.

In recent years, almost nothing remained between us. Just a couple of calls a year and short letters written in neat handwriting, as if he still wrote for publication. And now — a will. And an invitation to the mansion, like a ticket to the past that might bring real wealth.

I arrived in the Moscow region with a suitcase full of dreams and an empty heart. I wore a dress I put on more because of the cold than out of a desire to look impressive. The car stopped in front of the gates. I approached the house, feeling how every step echoed in my chest with anticipation. And there — the porch. Old stone slabs covered with moss. A doorbell above the door. And on the threshold — him.

— Hi. I’m Artyom, — said the man, smiling slightly. His voice was calm, confident, without extra intonation.

— Sorry… who? — I asked again, not understanding immediately.

— Viktor Nikolaevich’s son.

— Whose?

He stood leaning one hand on the doorframe, holding a cup of cold tea in the other. Tall, about thirty-something. Neither a youth nor an elder. In a simple jacket, without pretense, without trying to look important. No security, no ostentatious dignity. Just a person who, it seemed, had nothing to prove.

— Unofficial, — he added after a pause. — We never publicized our relationship. He helped my mother when I was born but never formally recognized paternity.

I froze. My head spun. Inside rose a storm, a mix of anger, disbelief, and some foolish resentment — why me? Why didn’t I know this?

— But you… are you sure? — my voice trembled.

— We have DNA, the will, documents. Everything is legal.

I felt suffocated. It seemed the air around me tightened. I expected to hear that the house was mine, that the books and paintings were mine, that I could sell everything and start a new life. Instead — a son. Unknown, sudden, like a blow out of nowhere.

— Why did no one know? Why didn’t I know?

Artyom answered again with the same calmness:

— Maybe because he knew: for some, money is more important than a person.

Those words hit harder than I could have imagined. They cut inside like a reminder that I came here not for him. Not for my uncle. Not for the truth. But for the inheritance.

At the will reading ceremony, there was silence. The lawyer cleared his throat, flipping through papers, and finally said:

— The main part of the inheritance, including the mansion, collections, and real estate, goes to Artyom. However, Viktor Nikolaevich left a special note…

He took an envelope — old, thick, with a seal that had long lost its color but kept its shape.

— “To my niece Maria, I leave what is most important: letters. And books. Everything I wrote — about me, about you, about our family. So you know who I really was.”

Cold gripped my chest. Not paintings, not the piano, not collectible wines — letters. Ordinary, handwritten pages that can’t be sold, hung on a wall, or put in a bank.

I wanted to scream. To protest. To say it was unfair. That I came not for notes. That I deserved more. I wanted to leave. To go back to Moscow and forget this mansion forever. But somehow, I stayed.

And you know what I did? I started reading those letters.

And in them, I found not just the uncle I remembered from childhood. There was a person — alive, anxious, lonely. Who feared being misunderstood. Who loved silently but deeply. Who once met a young woman with a child, gave her shelter, work, a chance to start a new life. And though he didn’t become a legal father, he was one in essence.

Artyom was not lying. He was his son. By blood — maybe. But definitely — by spirit.

A month later, I came back to the mansion. In my hands — a pie baked from my mother’s recipe. In my head — new thoughts. In my heart — a strange feeling, similar to reconciliation.

— Can I take the letters to the veranda? It’s cozy there, — I said as I entered.

Artyom smiled:

— Of course. And also… in the basement, we found an old suitcase. It has your childhood drawings. He kept them. All of them.

I froze. Drawings. The very ones where I drew him holding a book, with a cat on his lap, with a piano behind him. He kept them. At least that.

And at that moment, I understood one simple truth:
wealth is not porcelain or pianos.
Wealth is knowing you are not forgotten.
That in someone’s heart, you remain.
Even if you yourself have forgotten about yourself.

For a long time, I was deceiving myself. Pretending that everything in my life was as usual — the same routine, no changes, that it was all just a bad dream. I couldn’t believe that Sergey really cheated on me. And not just casually, on the side, but seriously — he was seeing her! That very woman who had now become his assistant at work. They saw each other every day…

All the signs were obvious: late returns home, a strange perfume on his shirt, whispered conversations behind closed doors, frequent business trips… But I convinced myself it was just my fears. That everything could be explained logically and without unnecessary drama.

But one day I couldn’t take it anymore and asked him directly:

— Tell me, is it true that you’re seeing her?

He didn’t even deny it. Just coldly said:

— You already know everything. It’s good that we talked about it. I want a divorce.

That was it. One blow. No regret, not a drop of warmth. Just “that’s all.”

Then came the words of consolation.

— He’s not worthy of you, Olga, — said Marina, my best friend. — Forget him like a bad dream. Maybe it’s for the best. He would only ruin your life.

— I knew from the start that guy was a bastard! — my mother was outraged. — Let him go to hell. You’ll find someone else, a real man.

— That’s life, baby, — sighed my mother-in-law when I called her to tell about the divorce. — No kids, you’re young and beautiful. You have everything ahead of you.

Their words sounded kind but didn’t touch my soul. Especially because inside, I still hoped. Hoped that Sergey would come to his senses, realize his mistake, and come back. Silly? Maybe. But then I was ready to cling even to the slightest chance.

I called him again and again, dreaming that he would change his mind. But he didn’t even answer. Just disappeared. As if he erased me from his life the moment he stepped out of our apartment.

To distract myself, I started spending a lot of time with Marina and her brother Kirill. We had known each other for a long time but before, we interacted more like friends than close people. When we were teenagers, I admired him a little but never admitted it to anyone — especially not Marina. After all, he was her brother.

Now he had returned to our town after his own divorce, a little lost, a little sad. And strangely, it was next to him that I felt alive.

Kirill didn’t pity me, didn’t repeat clichés like “you deserve better,” didn’t ask about my feelings. He just was there. We took walks in the evenings, went to the movies, sometimes just sat in the park eating ice cream we bought at the nearby store. Next to him, the pain gradually quieted down. And thoughts of Sergey became faint and insignificant.

That’s why, when the official divorce was finalized, I agreed to a relationship with Kirill. I didn’t expect it to turn out that way. But Marina — she was the most surprised of all.

— Finally! — she exclaimed joyfully, hugging me. — I always knew it would be this way. I’m so happy!

I blinked in confusion:

— You… knew?

— Of course, I was just sure of it, — Marina smiled. — Who else could be the best match for my dear brother if not you? I told you: your divorce is a blessing. The best thing that ever happened to you!

A few months ago I would have cried or been offended by that statement. But now I understood she was right. Because next to Kirill, I really felt different — needed, desired, loved. He was nothing like Sergey. Tender, attentive, caring… He even spoiled me, which I had never known before.

I hadn’t thought about the past for a long time when suddenly my phone rang. The screen showed my ex-husband’s name. Unexpected and unpleasant.

— It’s Sergey, — I murmured, looking at the phone. — Didn’t expect that.

Kirill nodded:

— Answer. Listen to what he has to say.

Summoning my courage, I pressed “accept.”

— Olga? — his voice sounded — sharp, almost businesslike. — We need to meet. Urgently.

— What do you want to talk about? — I asked, feeling a slight confusion.

— Not on the phone, — he cut me off. — Can you come to the park near your house tomorrow? By the lake. Choose the time.

A little confused, I agreed. He said he would come and hung up.

— So, did you understand anything? — I asked Kirill.

— No, — he shook his head. — But if you want, I can be there.

— No, — I answered firmly. — I need to close this chapter once and for all. Let there be a meeting. Just me.

Exactly at the appointed time, I stood by the small pond in the park. I came alone, as planned. Sergey was not there yet, and I began to doubt: would he even come? After all, we had nothing connecting us anymore. Maybe he changed his mind? Or wants to ask me to come back?

At that moment, he appeared in the distance — walking quickly as if in a hurry. Approaching, he immediately started:

— Glad you came. We need to talk… about the ring.

— What ring? — I was surprised.

— Your wedding ring, — he explained. — You kept it, right? I want you to give it back to me.

My eyebrows shot up.

— So you want me to just give you the ring? Why?

He shrugged and frowned slightly:

— I’m getting married. Karina and I need wedding rings. I paid for them, so I think I have the right to take back mine. Especially the one that belonged to you. That’s fair.

For a moment I froze. In front of me stood the man I once loved, and now he was asking me to return a gift given many years ago just to save money on a new wedding. The thought made me laugh so hard I nearly doubled over. Tears ran down my cheeks — but not from sorrow, from the absurdity of the situation.

Wiping my face, I looked him in the eyes and said:

— You know, lucky for you I didn’t throw it away. I even carry it with me.

From my pocket, I pulled out the ring — yes, it was there, along with old memories.

— Here, — I said mockingly. — Since you need it so badly — take it! I won’t get in the way of your happiness.

With a sharp motion, I threw the ring into the water. It disappeared into the depths of the pond, leaving only ripples on the surface.

I didn’t wait for his reaction. No shouts, no excuses — I didn’t care anymore. Let him curse, let him blame his fate. I turned and walked away, leaving him alone — where apparently he belonged.

Later, telling Kirill everything, we laughed for a long time. He found it funny too.

— You’re great, — he said, smiling. — Sometimes it’s better just to let go — people and things that remind you of them.

We’re not planning a wedding yet. Although I feel Kirill is already thinking about it. Maybe soon he will propose. And why not? We both went through divorce, through pain, and now we deserve the right to true happiness. My parents, especially my mother, are very happy about our union — she’s already dreaming about grandchildren.

And me? I’m content with what I have. Happy, no matter how banal that phrase sounds. And I’m not afraid to say it: I found someone who truly loves me.

Marina ran her hand over the freshly painted fence board and smiled. The white paint had gone on smoothly, without drips, and now the plot looked completely different—not like an abandoned grandmother’s dacha, but like a real vacation home.

“Alyosh, look how beautiful it turned out!” she called to her husband, who was busy with the new metal roofing on the shed.

Aleksey climbed down the ladder, wiped the sweat from his brow, and looked around. In two months of work, the plot had changed beyond recognition. The old house was sided, the roof replaced, all the outbuildings painted. Marina planted new flower beds, put in roses and peonies, tidied up the vegetable garden. They even paved the paths with tiles.

“Yeah, it turned out great,” he agreed, putting his arms around his wife’s shoulders. “Grandma would have been pleased.”

They stood in the middle of their little paradise, breathing in the scent of fresh paint and blooming apple trees. All the weekends spent on repairs, all the arguments in the hardware stores, all the blisters on their hands—it was all worth it. Now they had a place they wanted to come to.

“We should celebrate,” Marina suggested. “Let’s buy some champagne, make a salad…”

“Definitely. But first, I need a shower—I’m covered in dust.”

But they never got to celebrate their housewarming. As soon as they arrived and unloaded groceries, Viktor, Aleksey’s brother, drove into the yard in his Zhiguli.

“Oh, little brother!” Viktor climbed out of the car and looked around. “You’ve built yourself a whole palace here! Irka, look how beautiful it is!”

Irina, Viktor’s wife, scrutinized the plot critically.

“Not bad,” she agreed condescendingly. “Though the siding color isn’t great. And the porch is a bit small. But overall—okay.”

Their teenage children got out of the car and immediately headed to the swings Aleksey had recently installed.

“We’re here for a barbecue!” Viktor announced. “The weather’s great, it’s the weekend… We’re thinking of having a good rest.”

Marina glanced at her husband in confusion. They had planned to quietly work in the garden and then sit alone in the new gazebo in the evening.

“But we weren’t prepared for guests,” she began.

“Come on, what’s there to prepare!” Viktor waved off. “We’ll just grill some meat and hang out. By the way, where’s the grill?”

“We don’t have a grill yet,” Aleksey admitted.

“No grill?!” Irina was outraged. “You have a dacha like this and no grill! That’s the foundation of dacha relaxation!”

“We planned to buy one, but we’ve been spending everything on repairs…”

“That’s simple!” Irina insisted. “What kind of dacha is it without a grill? You should have bought one first.”

Viktor looked around the yard professionally, calculating where best to place the grill.

“Over there, under the apple tree, is the perfect spot. Better to make a brick, permanent one. But for now, we’ll run to the store and buy a disposable one.”

“We didn’t budget for a grill,” Marina tried to object.

“Come on, don’t be stingy! You built such a dacha and now you’re reluctant to spend money on a grill!”

In the end, Aleksey went to the hardware store for a portable grill, charcoal, and a grate. Marina stayed behind to entertain the guests and prepare snacks from the groceries she had brought for themselves.

“Where’s the meat?” Viktor asked when Aleksey returned.

“What meat?”

“For the barbecue! We came for a barbecue!”

“Well, you didn’t tell us… We didn’t buy any meat.”

“Ah, young people!” Viktor shook his head. “You don’t know how to host guests. Fine, let’s all go to the butcher together.”

The day passed in a fuss and expense. Aleksey bought three kilos of pork, marinated it, chopped vegetables for a salad. Marina spent the whole day in the kitchen preparing treats. By evening, the guests finally left, leaving behind a mountain of dirty dishes and an emptied fridge.

“This is funny,” Marina said tiredly as she cleared the table. “They came here to rest, but we ended up being the ones who worked.”

“Come on, they’re family,” Aleksey tried to excuse his brother, though he himself was not very pleased.

Two weeks later, Viktor and his family came again. This time, they gave advance notice.

“We’ll come over tomorrow,” he said on the phone. “Prepare about three kilos of meat, fresh veggies. And the tomatoes should be sweet, not that sour store stuff. We’re bringing young potatoes, baked in their jackets.”

“Viktor, maybe everyone should bring their own meat?” Aleksey timidly suggested.

“What? No way! We’re the guests! The hosts should treat us. That’s just how hospitality works.”

Marina snatched the phone from her husband:

“Listen, Viktor, when are you bringing the housewarming gifts? We’ve been living here for two months already.”

“What gifts! We’re bringing potatoes! Do you know how expensive young potatoes are now? That’s a serious gift!”

After that conversation, Marina was gloomy all week. On Saturday, she woke early, went to the market, bought good expensive meat, tasty vegetables, fruits. She spent the whole day preparing salads, marinating meat, setting the table.

Viktor and his family arrived around two in the afternoon with a single bag of small potatoes.

“Look at this beauty we brought!” he proudly announced, dumping the potatoes on the table. “Not some store junk!”

“Yeah,” Marina muttered through her teeth. “What a treasure.”

“Exactly! Do you know how much these potatoes cost? I paid one hundred fifty rubles per kilo! So we’re not coming empty-handed.”

Irina inspected the set table critically:

“There’s not enough meat. And where’s the greens? Dill, parsley are must-haves. And green onions. And cucumbers—where are they from? Not from your own garden, right? Yours are still small.”

“Store-bought,” Marina admitted.

“Oh, you should have told us earlier—we would have brought some from our garden. Ours are already big and tasty.”

“Your garden is two hundred kilometers from here!”

“So what? They’re ours!”

The whole day went on in the same tone. Viktor’s family ate, drank, criticized, and gave advice. The kids ran around the plot, broke two new roses, scratched the freshly painted fence with a bicycle.

“Next time buy fattier meat,” Irina instructed as they got ready to leave. “This was a bit dry. And get more charcoal—the grill didn’t heat well.”

“And buy a proper grill,” Viktor added. “This disposable one is nonsense. Money down the drain.”

After the guests left, Marina sat amid the trashed plot staring at the pile of dirty dishes. Aleksey silently gathered empty bottles.

“You know,” she said quietly, “this won’t happen again.”

“Come on, don’t be upset. They’re family…”

“What family? They’re freeloaders, not family. They think we owe them entertainment at our expense.”

But Aleksey didn’t want to argue with his brother, and when Viktor called a week later, suggesting another barbecue, he agreed.

“Just a heads-up,” Viktor said on the phone. “We won’t be alone. We’re bringing Kolya and his wife, and Sergey with the kids. So buy more meat and veggies. And don’t worry, we’ll bring potatoes again.”

Marina listened to the conversation, feeling anger boiling inside.

“Alyosha,” she called her husband after he hung up. “Come here.”

“What’s up?”

“Sit down and listen carefully. I’m not hosting your relatives’ feedings anymore. Enough.”

“Come on, they’re family…”

“Your family thinks we owe them entertainment. They come here like to a restaurant where they’re supposed to be served. But they don’t put in a single kopeck and still criticize us.”

“But they bring potatoes…”

“Potatoes for two hundred rubles! And we spend thousands! Alyosha, wake up! They’re using us!”

“Well, it’s not that bad…”

“How not? They didn’t even bring us a grill for the housewarming, though they constantly complain we don’t have one. But they demand we feed them. And act like we owe them!”

Aleksey thought it over. Indeed, the recent visits from relatives felt more like raids than friendly visits.

“Okay,” he finally agreed. “I’ll call Viktor and tell him we won’t be here this weekend.”

“No,” Marina shook her head. “Don’t lie. Tell the truth—that we’re no longer willing to feed them at our expense. If they want to come, they should bring their own meat, veggies, drinks. If they don’t like it, they shouldn’t come.”

“They’ll be offended…”

“Let them be offended. Better offended relatives than a ruined family budget.”

Aleksey hesitated to call his brother. But when Viktor called Friday to confirm the arrival time, he had to speak up.

“Listen, Vitya,” he started uncertainly. “Let’s do it differently this time. Everyone brings their own stuff. We’ll buy meat for ourselves, you for yourselves…”

“Are you crazy, little brother?” Viktor got angry. “We’re coming to visit you! Guests aren’t welcomed like that!”

“But you see, our budget can’t take it anymore…”

“What budget! You have good salaries, such a dacha… Don’t be stingy!”

At that moment Marina came to the phone.

“Give it to me,” she said to her husband and took the receiver. “Viktor, hi. Listen carefully. We won’t feed you at our expense anymore. If you want to come—bring your own meat, products, drinks. If not—don’t come.”

“What do you think you’re doing?!” Viktor exploded. “We’re family! We bring potatoes!”

“Potatoes for two hundred rubles against our five thousand! You’re out of line! You think we should entertain and feed you just because we have a dacha? And what do you give in return besides criticism and rudeness?”

“Marina, are you crazy? Alyosha, take the phone and talk to your wife!”

“He won’t,” Marina said. “Because he agrees with me. We’re tired of your raids. Either you start behaving like normal guests and contribute to shared costs, or don’t come at all.”

“You’re crazy! Stingy now! We won’t come anymore!”

“That’s fine,” Marina answered calmly. “Grill your own barbecue in your own yard.”

She hung up and looked at her husband, who stood with wide eyes.

“Marina, you do realize they won’t talk to us anymore?”

“Thank God. Maybe now we can rest properly at our dacha.”

“But it’s my family…”

“Alyosha,” she said wearily, “family is when people care for each other. Not when some use others. Your brother doesn’t care about us—he uses us. And if you don’t understand that, the problem isn’t only with him.”

Aleksey walked around gloomily for several days, expecting Viktor to call and make peace. But Viktor never called. Instead, on Saturday morning, Aleksey and Marina were alone at the dacha for the first time in a long while.

“You know,” Aleksey said, sitting in the gazebo with a cup of coffee and looking at his well-kept plot, “this is nice.”

Marina smiled, watering flowers.

“I told you. Now this really is our place to relax.”

“But we still need to buy a grill.”

“We will. For ourselves. And we’ll barbecue whenever we want, not when uninvited guests show up.”

They sat in silence, enjoying the peace. Bees buzzed over flower beds, a woodpecker hammered somewhere, and no one demanded the table be set immediately or to entertain them at someone else’s expense.

“What if they do come after all?” Aleksey asked.

“They won’t,” Marina answered confidently. “And if they do, I’ll send them back. I said—they’re not welcome here anymore.”

Aleksey nodded. He understood his wife was right. This was their dacha, their work, their money. They had the right to decide how to relax here and whom to host.

“You know, I’m even glad it turned out this way,” he admitted. “I got tired of listening to them. Everything’s wrong, everything’s not right. And what did they do for this dacha? Nothing.”

“Exactly. And now we can peacefully enjoy what we created with our own hands.”

She came over, hugged him around the shoulders. They looked at their plot—neat beds, blooming flower beds, freshly painted buildings—and felt deep satisfaction. This was their place, their little paradise they made themselves. And now no one disturbed them from enjoying the fruits of their labor.

Since then, the relatives really stopped coming. Sometimes Aleksey met his brother in town—Viktor pretended not to see him or gave meaningful looks but didn’t dare to start a conversation. Meanwhile, Aleksey and Marina spent every weekend at the dacha, inviting friends who always brought something and helped cook. They bought a good grill, set up a nice barbecue area, and now their plot truly became a place they wanted to return to again and again.

Last summer, Viktor unexpectedly stopped by. Alone, without his family. He stood at the gate, looked at the transformed plot, and quietly said:

“It’s beautiful here. You did a good job.”

“Thank you,” Aleksey replied.

“Maybe I could come in? Talk?”

Aleksey looked at his wife. Marina shrugged:

“If he wants to talk like a human, let him come in.”

Viktor entered, sat at the gazebo table. Marina silently placed tea before him.

“I realized you were right back then,” he finally said. “We really behaved like… freeloaders. Sorry.”

“It’s good that you realized,” Marina responded.

“Can I come sometimes? But differently. With my own food.”

“Sure,” Aleksey agreed. “But let us know in advance. And come not with a crowd.”

“Of course. And… thanks for not kicking me out right away.”

Since then, Viktor started coming occasionally, always with food, always alone or with his wife. He stopped criticizing and bossing around, helped cook, thanked them for hospitality. Marina realized that this was how it should be—when people respect each other and don’t think they owe someone just because they’re relatives.

And the dacha became what they had envisioned—a place of rest and joy, not constant stress from uninvited guests with empty hands and big appetites.

It all began with what seemed like a simple stomachache. Nothing unusual—just the kind of discomfort you get after eating too much pizza. But when Lily quietly said it hurt to breathe, I didn’t hesitate. I called 911 without even grabbing my purse.

Through it all, she stayed calm—far calmer than I was. Honestly, she was braver than me. While I was falling apart, she was the one reassuring me. Clutching her little blanket and a sheet of stickers like she was heading off on a school trip instead of riding in an ambulance.

The paramedic who arrived—Judy—was kind and warm. She chatted with Lily about her favorite cartoons and admired the oversized blue bow in her hair. Everything felt normal. Routine.

Until Lily turned her head and, clear as day, said:

“You’ve done this for me before.”

The words seemed to freeze time. I felt the atmosphere shift. Judy’s friendly expression faltered. She tried to mask it quickly, but something flickered in her eyes—was it recognition? Shock? Fear?

Oblivious to the tension, Lily kept chatting, her sweet little voice slicing through the silence. “You came to my house before,” she said, tilting her head innocently. “I was sick then too. Don’t you remember?”

I went cold. I turned to Judy, whose face had gone pale. She quickly looked away, clearing her throat, but I saw the sheen of sweat begin to form on her brow. Her reaction unsettled me. Deeply.

The ride to the hospital felt endless. The silence between us was thick. Judy tried to keep things upbeat, but her smile no longer reached her eyes. I kept asking myself—had she really been to our house before? But Lily hadn’t had any major illnesses that I could remember… had she?

I tried to dismiss the unease. Maybe Lily had mistaken her for someone else. Maybe Judy just had one of those familiar faces. But my gut told me something wasn’t right.

By the time we reached the hospital, I couldn’t even focus on Lily’s stomach pain. She was starting to doze off, the worst seemingly behind her. The doctors ran some tests and concluded it was a bad bout of indigestion. Some fluids and mild pain medication, and she was back to her usual cheerful self.

But I couldn’t let go of what had happened in the ambulance. Hours passed. Lily slept peacefully, but my thoughts raced. Finally, I spotted Judy in the hallway.

“Can I talk to you?” I asked, quietly.

She looked startled, but nodded and stepped aside.

“Is everything okay?” she asked, her voice calm but strained.

I took a deep breath. “Earlier, Lily said something strange. She said you’ve helped her before. That you came to our house when she was sick. Is that true? Has she seen you before?”

Judy’s face lost all color again. Her mouth opened slightly, then closed. She glanced around, as if making sure no one could hear. “I… I don’t think I should be the one telling you this,” she said hesitantly.

My stomach dropped. “Please. I need to know. Has something happened to Lily that I don’t know about?”

Judy looked down, clearly battling with herself. When she finally spoke, it was slow and deliberate. “Yes,” she whispered. “It wasn’t the first time I’ve responded to a call for Lily. It was a couple of years ago. She was only four. She’d had another stomach episode, but it was different. When I got there… she was unconscious. It was critical. I honestly thought we might lose her that night.”

My heart stopped. “What? No one ever told me that. I had no idea. You’re telling me she nearly died?”

Judy nodded, guilt written all over her face. “Your husband said it wasn’t serious. He insisted we didn’t need to make a big deal of it. You weren’t home at the time. I tried to convince him to take her in for more tests, but he brushed it off. Said she’d be fine, and not to worry you.”

I sat down, feeling dizzy. “So he just… decided not to tell me?”

“I wanted to say something,” she said, her voice breaking. “But he made it clear it wasn’t my place. I’ve regretted staying quiet ever since.”

My voice shook. “What happened that night? Why was it so serious?”

“She had a rare reaction to medication,” Judy explained. “It sent her into shock. Her blood pressure crashed, her breathing became shallow. I’ve seen it before, but it’s rare—and dangerous.”

Tears welled in my eyes. “Why would he keep that from me?”

Judy hesitated again. “I don’t know. But… something about him didn’t sit right with me. There’s a reason I remember that night so clearly.”

I stood up abruptly, panic and anger rising in my chest. “Where is he?”

She gently placed a hand on my arm. “Be careful. There might be more you don’t know.”

I nodded and turned to go, heart pounding. In the waiting area, my husband looked up and smiled like nothing was wrong. “Hey, everything okay?” he asked.

“No,” I said sharply. “Everything is not okay. I know what you’ve been hiding.”

His smile cracked, but he tried to brush it off. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

I stared him down. “You never told me about the night Lily almost died. You kept that from me.”

He stiffened, clearly caught off guard. “I didn’t want to scare you. I thought… it was better you didn’t know.”

“Better for who?” I snapped. “Not for me. Not for our daughter.”

The silence was suffocating. And in that silence, it became crystal clear—this wasn’t just about a single lie. This was about control. About power. He had decided what I should know. What I could handle. And that was unforgivable.

“I’m done,” I said firmly. “With the lies. The secrets. Lily deserves honesty. I deserve honesty. I won’t let you keep things from us anymore.”

I turned and walked away—this time, for good.

The truth was ugly. It shattered the illusion I had clung to for years. But with every step I took toward freedom, I felt stronger. The weight I’d been carrying, the vague sense that something was always being hidden from me, finally made sense. The karma that had been circling us found its moment.

Now, Lily and I are building a new life. One rooted in truth. In safety. In openness.

And I’ve learned something valuable: sometimes the most painful revelations are the ones that finally set you free.

If you’re living in someone else’s version of the truth, please—ask questions. Trust your instincts. You deserve to know the full story.

If this story resonated with you, share it. Like it. Someone else out there might need this reminder too:
Your truth matters. Your voice matters. And sometimes walking away is the bravest step toward healing.

Marina had always understood one simple truth: in the Berezkin family, she would always remain an outsider. Not because Alyosha didn’t love her—he adored his wife, saw in her his support and the meaning of his life. But behind that love stood an invisible yet strong wall, built over the years by Valentina Petrovna—his mother and Marina’s mother-in-law.

Anechka was the center of the universe for her mother. Her existence justified every sacrifice, every tear, every sigh. For Valentina Petrovna, the world revolved around her youngest daughter, and everything else was just background.

“Alyoshka, you know what kind of girl Anya is,” she often told her son, believing Marina didn’t hear. “She’s special. Not like us. She needs more attention. More care.”

These words hurt Marina. Not out of jealousy or envy—she had long accepted her role as “second fiddle” in this family. What tormented her was something else: she saw where this blind, almost fanatical love was leading.

Alyosha grew up responsible not because he wanted to, but because circumstances demanded it. At thirteen, he was delivering newspapers in the mornings, working after school, bringing home his first paycheck. His parents explained it simply: “Now we have Anya, we need money.” He never argued. He just silently took it all upon himself.

“I remember when he brought his first earnings home,” a neighbor told Marina. “Valentina Petrovna cried from sorrow and joy. And Alyosha stood there, so serious, even older than his years. The first thing he asked was: ‘Should I buy something for Anya?’”

Seven years had passed since their wedding. Nothing had changed. Only now, instead of him, Valentina Petrovna herself believed the son had a new “addition”—a wife with a good salary.

Anya, at twenty-three, looked like a model from a magazine cover. Long hair, bright eyes, a slender waist—she was generously gifted with looks. But beauty was the only gift fate gave her. Everything else—work, patience, perseverance—belonged to the older brother.

“Why would I want an office job?” she said when her parents hinted she should find something to do. “I’m not some kind of Lyoshka. I have other prospects.”

Each such word cut Marina like a knife. Her husband was a man with a mind, heart, and strength of spirit. He was building a career, had achieved a lot, and deserved respect—not the contemptuous tone of a younger sister.

“Talk to her,” Marina begged her husband after yet another family dinner. “She needs to understand she’s not the only one in the world.”

Alyosha sighed and stroked his wife’s hair.

“Marish, she hasn’t found herself yet. She needs time.”

“Seven years after school—isn’t that enough?” she couldn’t hold back. “Lyosh, open your eyes. Your sister doesn’t look for a job because she’s sure someone will do it for her.”

He was silent. He knew Marina was right. But admitting it meant admitting that the family he sacrificed himself for had raised a selfish person.

The breaking point came suddenly. A man named Andrey appeared in Anya’s life—a thirty-five-year-old with expensive watches, confident manners, and vague stories about business. He arrived in different cars—BMW, Mercedes… Everything about him was beautiful but too smooth.

“Mommy, did you see his suit?” Anya gushed. “I immediately knew—this is my man!”

Valentina Petrovna rejoiced. Alyosha met his sister’s new suitor with caution but said nothing. Marina immediately sensed something was wrong.

“There’s some catch,” she told her husband. “Everything is too perfect. Why hasn’t he ever talked about his work specifically?”

“Maybe he’s just cautious,” Alyosha shrugged. “Not everyone’s as open as you and me.”

But Marina wasn’t calm. Her intuition warned her—it was bad news.

After a month of dating, the “small” favors began. Andrey asked for money for gas, gifts for partners, “urgent” expenses. Anya turned to her parents, who helped as they could, then went to her brother.

“Alyoshka,” their mother cried, “this is her chance! Andrey is a serious man. Just temporary difficulties.”

And Alyosha gave money again. Marina remained silent, but every bill given felt like a stone on her heart.

“This will end badly,” she whispered to her husband at night. “Lyosh, I feel like they’re leading us to the abyss.”

“What can I do?” he answered tiredly. “Forbid her from seeing him? She’s already an adult.”

“Then stop funding this relationship.”

“But what if he really loves her? What if they have a future?”

Marina saw how her husband suffered, torn between the family he grew up in and the one he created himself. She was silent, holding a grudge, waiting for the moment everything would collapse.

It came in February.

Andrey offered Anya a “golden” deal—investment in a promising startup. They needed only 500,000 rubles. In six months, they would be millionaires. Buy a house. Get married. Life would start anew.

Anya took out a loan. Gave him the money. And a week later—silence. The number was unreachable. Profiles deleted. The cars turned out to be rented. Andrey vanished.

Anya was hysterical. Valentina Petrovna cried, blaming the whole world. But the debt remained. Real, cold, monthly.

“Alyoshka,” their mother called, “you understand, Anya won’t cope. Help— you both earn well.”

Marina stood nearby, listened to every word, and saw her husband’s lips tighten. Saw something inside him break.

“Mom, let’s meet,” he finally said. “We need to talk calmly.”

The meeting took place at the parents’ house. Anya sat red from crying, Valentina Petrovna held her hand like a child. Alyosha and Marina sat opposite.

“We can’t pay the entire loan at once,” Alyosha began, “but we’re ready to help with monthly payments—on condition that Anya starts working.”

“What work?” Anya sobbed. “Everyone will laugh at me.”

“No one will,” Marina said firmly. “That’s only in your head. Find a job, start earning—and we’ll help. Otherwise, you’ll spend your whole life living off your brother and parents.”

“How dare you!” Valentina Petrovna shouted. “She’s my daughter, not yours!”

“That’s exactly why she turned out the way she did,” Marina couldn’t hold back. “Because to you, she’s not a daughter, but a deity who’s allowed everything.”

“Marina!” Alyosha tried to stop her.

“No, Lyosh,” she turned to her husband. “Enough silence. Your sister, at twenty-three, can do nothing but look beautiful. She doesn’t work, doesn’t take responsibility, doesn’t live. And do you know why? Because you all decided everything for her her whole life.”

“But what about the loan?” Valentina Petrovna cried.

“That’s her problem,” Marina said. “She took it out herself. She must be responsible.”

Silence fell in the room. Anya looked with hatred. The mother with bewilderment. Alyosha was silent, looking at the floor.

“Just because I’m your daughter-in-law doesn’t mean you can stick your hands into my wallet!” Marina said firmly. “Buy your daughter everything yourselves if you want!”

After those words, silence reigned. Thick, heavy. And in that silence, Marina understood: something in this family was broken. Perhaps forever.

“Lyosh,” their mother’s voice was quiet but trembling with hurt, “will you allow your wife to talk to us like that?”

Alyosha slowly lifted his eyes. Marina saw pain in his gaze—the very pain he had carried inside for years. He loved the family where he grew up. But he loved her too—his wife, who had been through everything with him: hardship, compromises, struggle for the future.

“Mom,” he finally said, “Marina is right. We helped Anya all her life. But she didn’t get better, more independent, or responsible. She only demanded more.”

“Lyosha!” their mother exclaimed.

“No, Mom, listen. I love Anya. I’ll always be her brother. But I can’t solve her problems anymore. Let her try at least once on her own. If she finds a job—even the simplest one—then we’ll help with the loan.”

“And if she doesn’t?” Valentina Petrovna asked.

“Then she’ll live with the consequences of her decisions,” Alyosha replied. “It’s her choice. And her responsibility.”

Marina took his hand. His fingers were cold, slightly trembling.

Two months passed. Anya didn’t look for work. Didn’t even pretend she wanted to start a new life. She habitually waited for someone to come to her rescue again. Valentina Petrovna went to banks, asked for restructuring, sold grandmother’s jewelry. But the debts did not decrease.

“Lyosh, help at least a little,” she called her son. “I can’t do anything anymore.”

“The condition stays the same,” he answered firmly. “Let Anya start working.”

“She can’t! She’s depressed!”

“Mom, depression isn’t cured with money. She needs a goal. Something to do. Work is the best therapy.”

Marina heard these conversations. Saw how her husband was exhausted. Losing interest in life. How a wall grew between them, built by other people’s problems.

One evening, after another call from his mother, she approached him.

“Lyosh,” she said quietly, “I understand how hard this is for you. But you have to make a choice.”

“What choice?” he asked, looking down.

“Between the past and our future. Between the family you were born into and the family we created together. Lyosh, I can’t watch you tear yourself apart anymore. And I don’t want to be part of what’s killing your sister from the inside.”

“And if I refuse to help, and she gets worse?”

“Maybe she will. But in time she’ll understand: no one else will live her life for her. And until then… she’ll never learn to be an adult.”

Alyosha was silent for a long time. Then he went to the window. Stood looking into the night.

“What if they hate me?”

“Maybe,” Marina nodded. “But better to be hated for the truth than loved for a lie.”

The next day, Alyosha called his mother.

“Mom,” he said, “Marina and I have made a decision. We won’t help with the loan until Anya starts working. Any job, even for a month—and we’ll begin helping. Six months—and we’ll pay together.”

“Lyosh, are you crazy? She’s your own sister!”

“Precisely because she’s my sister, I can’t keep doing what she should do herself. Mom, understand—we’re not Anya’s enemies. We want her to start living a real life.”

“What if the bank sues?”

“Then let them sue. That’s also part of life she must go through.”

Valentina Petrovna hung up. She never called again.

Marina saw how it hurt Alyosha. Felt every tear, every heartbeat. But she knew: there was no other way. And waited for what would come next.

The answer came a month later.

Anya found a job. Simple, low-paid—a sales clerk in a clothing store. But she worked. Earned. And for the first time in her life, did something with her own hands.

“Lyosh,” Valentina Petrovna cried into the phone, “Anya is working! She’s tired but working. She says she wants to prove to everyone she can do it herself.”

Alyosha looked at Marina. She nodded.

“We’ll help, Mom. But in parts. The rest she’ll pay herself.”

“Thank you, you and Marina,” the mother whispered.

When Alyosha hung up, Marina hugged him.

“Do you think it will work?” he asked.

“I don’t know. But now she has a chance. Before, she didn’t.”

A year passed. Anya not only kept her job—she was promoted to senior sales clerk. They paid off the loan together: Anya paid most of it herself, Alyosha helped with the rest. Valentina Petrovna was proud in a new way—not of her daughter’s beauty, but of her strength.

Once, Anya met Marina in a store and said:

“I hated you for a long time. For making Lyosh stop helping me.”

Marina tensed.

“But now I understand: you were right. If you had just paid everything then, I’d still be the same. And it would have all repeated again after a year.”

“It was hard for me too,” Marina admitted. “I saw how Lyosh suffered. How you suffered. But I knew: if we gave up then, you both would have lost more.”

“Thank you, Marish. Only now do I understand what it means to be an adult.”

Marina hugged her sister-in-law. For the first time in many years, she felt that Anya had become not just her husband’s relative, but a true sister.

Dmitry’s shouts echoed through the beauty salon “Aphrodite.” The receptionist, pressed fearfully against the counter, held her breath, and the client who was just having a manicure flinched in surprise — the fresh nail polish was ruined. Nina stood nearby, arms crossed, her face stone-cold as she watched the eruption of male anger.

“How could you? Without my permission! This is our shared money!” Dmitry shouted, waving his arms. His face turned crimson, his neck tensed, a pulsing vein bulging.

Ten years ago, when Nina planned to open her own salon, she could never have imagined that her biggest problem would be her own husband. Dmitry got a job there as the receptionist but quickly started to see himself as the true boss. Yet, he rarely showed up at work — only to show off to clients or “lecture” the staff.

Every day, she watched him strut around the salon, telling everyone it was a family business, their joint venture. Meanwhile, Nina dealt with all the real problems: hiring experienced specialists, buying equipment, negotiating with cosmetics suppliers, managing the finances.

Her husband was convinced that his mere presence and a few random pieces of advice gave him the right to be considered an equal owner.

“Dima, let’s not make a scene in public,” Nina said calmly, heading to her office. He followed her like a shadow.

“How dare you buy a summer house for your parents without my approval? This is our business!” he continued to yell, slamming the door.

She sank into her chair and rubbed her temples tiredly. This conversation was inevitable, but she had hoped it would happen in a calmer atmosphere. The wedding anniversary had seemed the perfect occasion to give her parents a gift — a countryside house with a garden. But Dmitry’s reaction was worse than she had feared.

She glanced at a photo of her parents on the table. They had dreamed of their own land all their lives, spent every weekend helping neighbors at their dacha, tending plants. And now, when she finally made their dream come true, her husband threw a tantrum like a child deprived of a toy.

“Dima, let’s be honest,” Nina said firmly. “This is my business. I built it with my own hands, invested my money, work here twelve hours a day. You are formally the receptionist, but you even do that job carelessly. What equality are you talking about?”

“So that’s how it is?! I’m nobody to you? Just an assistant? But I’ll get even with you! You buy your parents a summer house, and I’ll buy my own a car! Not some old thing, but a proper SUV! You hear me?!”

With that, he abruptly turned and ran out of the office, slamming the door hard.

Nina shook her head and took out her phone. Within five minutes, all the bank cards linked to the salon’s account were blocked. She knew her husband’s character well: if he wasn’t stopped now, he might do something foolish just out of spite.

Dmitry burst into the bank, nearly knocking down an elderly woman at the entrance. He was determined to teach his wife a lesson and prove who was boss at home. A premium card was in his pocket — the thought of withdrawing a large sum warmed him inside.

The bank was crowded. The line moved slowly, and Dmitry’s impatience grew. He kept glancing at his watch, fragments of the morning’s quarrel spinning in his mind. How dare she spend money without asking him?

Imagining the proud announcement to his parents about the car purchase, picturing their grateful looks and the neighbors’ envy.

“Hello, how can I help you?” smiled the bank clerk when it was his turn.

“I need to withdraw a large sum,” Dmitry said, placing his card on the counter.

The clerk ran it through the terminal, paused a moment, and returned it:

“Unfortunately, your card is blocked.”

“What do you mean, blocked? Check again!” he demanded, feeling cold inside. With slightly trembling hands, he took out a second card.

“That one is unavailable too. The system shows restrictions set by the account owner,” the clerk replied.

Dmitry felt a knot tighten inside him. Nina was one step ahead. While he was plotting revenge, she had already taken action.

“And the payroll card?” he asked hopefully, handing over a third card.

“That account is also restricted,” the clerk said softly.

People in line began whispering disapprovingly. But Dmitry didn’t care. He sank slowly into a chair, realizing that for the first time in ten years, his wife had put him in his place — firmly and without unnecessary words.

The phone in his hands trembled. He dialed her number several times but didn’t dare press call.

Memories flickered: how he proudly told friends about “his” salon, how he bossed employees around… and now it was all falling apart.

Anger won. Dmitry pressed the call button.

“Nina! What are you doing?! Unblock the cards immediately!” he hissed through clenched teeth.

“No, Dima,” her voice was cold and calm. “You’re acting irresponsibly. I won’t let company funds be used for your ambitions. That’s impossible!”

Her composure only fueled his rage…

“Fine!” he jumped up, drawing everyone’s attention. “Then don’t wait for me at home. I’m not coming back until you stop this farce!”

“Suit yourself,” Nina replied shortly and hung up, leaving Dmitry torn between anger and helplessness.

Outside, he realized he didn’t even have money for a taxi — cash hadn’t been used in ages. He had to call his family and ask for help.

On the way home, he was silent, ignoring his mother’s worried glances.

The first evening passed with attempts to explain the situation. His mother shook her head:

“Dima, have you gone mad? What car? We already have two!”

His father silently smoked on the balcony.

On the second day, calls from the salon staff began. Dmitry smugly ignored them, imagining how Nina had to deal with problems alone.

By the end of the week, his confidence began to crack. The work chat showed the salon running smoothly. Nina was handling everything easily, and the new receptionist, Sveta, was getting many positive reviews.

Every evening Dmitry checked his phone, hoping for a missed call. He imagined his wife calling, asking him to come back, admitting she was wrong. But the phone remained stubbornly silent.

His mother tried daily to get through to him:

“Son, you know you’re acting foolishly. Nina built this business from scratch, and you just relaxed, pretending to be the boss. And her parents really had long dreamed of a summer house… Why be so angry?”

Life at his parents’ house became unbearable. His father deliberately ignored him, occasionally saying:

“When will you finally grow up?”

His mother tried to reconcile him with his wife, constantly reminding him how smart Nina was and how much she had done for him. And his sister, who came for the weekend, bluntly said:

“You’re selfish, Dimka! Nina works like a horse, and you just play and boss around like a director!”

But Dmitry refused to listen. He was tormented by resentment — his wife had dared to show him his place and humiliate him in front of everyone. Deep down, he knew his family was right, but admitting it meant admitting his own inadequacy.

On the eighth day of his voluntary absence, the phone finally rang. Nina’s name appeared on the screen. His heart tightened.

“So, she couldn’t hold out!” he smugly thought, picking up.

“Dima, we need to talk. Come home. I’m waiting for you,” she said.

There was something uneasy in her voice that made him wary…

An hour later Dmitry stood nervously fiddling with keys outside the apartment door. Something inside told him this conversation would be different. Usually, after fights, Nina greeted him with an apologetic look, trying to smooth things over. But now there was determination in her tone that gave him goosebumps.

The key wouldn’t turn. He tried again — no luck. The locks had been changed. This discovery froze him. Now he would have to ring the bell like a stranger.

Nina took a long time to open the door. When it finally swung open, Dmitry barely recognized his wife. She looked composed and confident — as if preparing for important business negotiations, not a talk with her husband.

“Come in,” she said briefly, stepping aside.

Dmitry stepped inside and immediately froze.

His suitcases stood in the hallway. All his belongings were neatly packed, each with a list of contents. Even his favorite ties were folded by color.

“Is this a joke?” he asked, confused.

“What do you think?” Nina leaned against the wall, arms crossed. “I forgave a lot, Dima. Your tantrums, arrogance, laziness, rudeness. But the last scene was the last straw.”

He looked around. Photos, trinkets, personal items — all gone. It was as if someone carefully erased every trace of his life here.

“Are you kicking me out?” Dmitry tried to smile, but it was unconvincing.

“Exactly. I’m tired of being a nanny to a grown child who thinks he’s the big boss. Ten years have passed, and you’re still the same immature selfish man hiding behind my back. Enough!”

“But I’m your husband! We have a family, a business…”

“What business, Dima? While you played boss, the salon ran because of me. During this week you lived at your mother’s, things even went better. Without your ‘brilliant’ orders and fights with the staff. Can you even understand that?”

Nina approached the table and handed him a folder with documents.

“I analyzed our work for the year. You missed 48 workdays without valid reasons. Three times you disrupted deliveries by forgetting to place orders. Four employees quit because of your attitude. And that’s just part of what I recorded.”

Dmitry wanted to argue but couldn’t. Every word hit its mark. His self-image crumbled instantly.

“I filed for divorce,” Nina continued calmly, handing over the papers. “Everything is already processed by the lawyer. Take your things and start a new life. It will help you.”

There was no anger or resentment in her voice. Only exhaustion and a firm decision to move on.

Two months later, Dmitry sat in his parents’ kitchen, absently turning an empty cup. The divorce had been quick and quiet. Nina had organized everything in advance: documents, division of property, everything. She simply erased him from her life like an extra line in a notebook.

“Son,” his mother gently placed a hand on his shoulder, “maybe it’s time to start changing? Nina sent you your work record and a reference. I arranged with a friend — she’s ready to hire you as a manager in a store. You’ll start from scratch, but with your own effort.”

“Mom, be quiet,” Dmitry answered softly for the first time.

Memories swirled: how Nina took out a loan, wrote the business plan, rejoiced at the first clients. And he? Just considered himself the owner, without investing anything.

Yesterday he accidentally met one of the salon’s clients. She pretended not to notice him but he heard her say on the phone:

“Can you imagine, ‘Aphrodite’ has become so cozy! Nobody yells, the girls are so attentive! Just beautiful!”

His phone vibrated. A message from the work chat:

“Dear clients! We are pleased to announce that our salon ‘Aphrodite’ is opening a second branch! We look forward to seeing you at the new address!”

Dmitry smiled bitterly. Nina was not just thriving — she was growing. And he sat in his mother’s kitchen, realizing how much he had lost.

“You know, Mom… I think I’ll go to that interview. You’re right. I need to start a new life. From scratch.”

He took his phone and texted Nina:

“Congratulations on the new branch! You deserve it.”

The reply came almost immediately:

“Thank you, Dima. Take care of yourself.”

For the first time in two months, he felt relief. Maybe that’s what he was missing — honesty with himself.

“What time is the interview?”

“At two,” his mother smiled quietly, wiping a tear. Her son looked alive for the first time in a long while.

“Then I’ll go prepare. Need to make a proper resume. No fluff. Time to be myself.”

In the hallway, he stopped at the mirror. The reflection was no longer the confident “boss,” but a confused man who had to relearn how to live. And the first step — to be honest with himself.

“Well then,” he muttered to his reflection, “welcome to adult life, Dima. About time…”

The phone rang again. It was his mother’s friend.

Taking a deep breath, Dmitry pressed “answer.” The time for a true new beginning had come — no masks, no pretenses, no borrowed glory. Only his own effort and honestly earned money. Maybe that’s how he would finally become who he always wanted to seem.

A millionaire boy-another boy who looks just like him living on the streets, wearing dirty, tattered clothes, and decides to take him home and introduce him to his mother. Look, mom, he’s just like me. When she turns around and sees the two of them together, she falls to her knees, weeping. I knew it! What she shares will leave you speechless. But how is this possible? You… you look just like me!

But no. It was real.
Ashton looked more closely at the boy and noticed the dirty and torn clothes, the disheveled hair and the sunburnt skin, weathered by life on the streets.

While the young millionaire exuded an imported perfume, the boy in front of him carried the strong odor of abandonment and daily struggle. For a few minutes, the two just stared at each other, as if time had stopped.

Then, cautiously, Ashton took a step forward.

I won’t hurt you, Ashton said, trying to convey confidence. The street boy remained silent for a moment. His eyes showed distrust.

Ashton, curious and kind, asked, What’s your name?

He extended his hand, a gesture that carried a rare sincerity. I’m Ashton. Nice to meet you, Luke, he said enthusiastically.

Feeling the handshake, Ashton felt a strange sense of familiarity, as if that boy was part of his life in some inexplicable way. Where do you live? Ashton asked, eager to know more. Luke opened his mouth to reply, but there wasn’t time.

Ashton, where are you? Penelope, the boy’s mother, called out. The little millionaire smiled excitedly.

Come on, Luke, my mother needs to meet you. She’ll be surprised when she sees how much we look alike, he said, turning to call Luke. But when he heard footsteps approaching, the street boy sh0cked.

Ashton turned, his heart still racing. I just came outside to get some air, Mom, he replied, trying to explain. You know I don’t like you going out into the street alone, Penelope scolded, adjusting her son’s small jacket.

I didn’t go to the street. I just stayed here on the sidewalk, the boy assured her. Penelope took a deep breath, relenting.

All right, but let’s go inside. It’s time to cut the cake and sing Happy Birthday. Your father is waiting.

It’s your father’s birthday. Penelope replied, trying to smile. The truth was that Ashton, despite being very young, already harbored unfavorable feelings towards his father.

And so, the party continued. Forced smiles, automatic applause, camera flashes. Ashton joined in everything mechanically, but his mind was far away, traveling back to the magical moment when he met Luke.

His eyes were fixed on the starry sky, but his mind was stuck on that strange encounter. How could there be another just like him?

A boy who had everything, while he had nothing.
Lying beside her husband, the businesswoman commited distressed murmurs. Her face, normally serene, was showed an expression of despair. Afonso, bothered by his wife’s constant movement, opened his eyes and let out an impatient sigh.

With little finesse, he turned and shook her shoulders. Wake up, Penelope, he said, irritated. The woman abruptly opened her eyes, gasping for breath, and sat up in bed, her hands pressed against her rapidly beating heart.

No, don’t take him! My son! She screamed, her voice was full of the terror of the nightmare.

She recognized the room illuminated by the soft light of the bedside lamp, felt the touch of her husband, heard the distant ticking of the clock on the wall. Then, in a tremulous whisper, she murmured. It was all a dream.

She closed her eyes for a moment, trying to hold back the tears that insisted on falling. But when the second one was born, she went on, her voice faltering, he was taken away. I didn’t even get to see him or touch him.

It’s the same dream every time. My love, we only had one child. You were only pregnant with Ashton.

They weren’t twins. He recommended, attempting to sound understanding. Penelope, however, didn’t answer immediately.

She murmured, her voice thick with emotion. So sure there were two. It wasn’t just a feeling.

Until the day of the delivery, she expected two cries, two small bodies in her arms, but only Ashton came into the world.

You’ll look for help tomorrow. I’ll go with you if you want. He said, trying to end the conversation.

A quick, discreet frown betrayed his discomfort. Penelope, busy, didn’t notice, but Afonso saw and pretended to ignore it. A few minutes later, mother and son departed.

Penelope is having these dreams about twin children more and more often. I fear she might somehow explore what happened on the day of Ashton’s birth.

I’m on my way there. We need to talk. I need your help to get this story out of her head before it’s too late.
The secret he had struggled so hard to bury seemed, little by little, to be emerging from the depths, and if it came to light, everything he had achieved would crumble like a house of cards.

A few hours later, at Ashton’s school, while the establishment throbbed with the rhythm of learning, the young millionaire found himself distant, lost in thought.

Ashton, is everything alright? You seem distracted today. She said, approaching his desk. The boy quickly looked up and replied, Sorry, teacher.

I didn’t sleep well last night, he said, forcing a smile. The teacher, knowing him well as one of the institution’s best students, simply nodded, deciding to overlook the lapse in attention. Ashton tried to refocus on the lesson, but it was like trying to hold water in his hands.

How could there be someone so like him? When the recess bell rang, the young millionaire got up quickly, almost running over his classmates.

Hazel looked at him with concern. What’s going on? You’reacting strange today. You haven’t even spoken to me properly.

Is it because of what you saw your father doing? She asked, lowering her voice.

It’s not about my father, he said, looking at the ground. It’s something else.

Something that occured yesterday.
Something curious. Hazel’s eyes gleamed with curiosity. What? Tell me, she pleaded, almost begging.

Ashton took a deep breath and said, I saw a boy who looked just like me. Hazel frowned. Like a doppelganger? That’s normal.

No, Hazel. You don’t understand. It wasn’t just similar.

It was identical. Same height. Same eyes.

Same hair. Even the voice was similar. The boy explained.

Actually, I don’t know if he lived on the street. But his clothes were torn. He was just like me.

But it was like he was living a completely different life. Like a parallel universe, you know?

Are you sure? Exactly alike? She asked, trying to process it. Ashton nodded quickly. I am.

Absolutely. He was identical. And what did you do? Hazel asked, intrigued.

So you’re telling me that you might have a twin brother living on the streets? Ashton scratched his head, confused.

I don’t know. My mom always said I’m an only child. But it’s all very strange.

I swear he was identical to me, Hazel. He admitted. The girl, filled with determination, crossed her arms.

You need to find this boy again, Ashton. Find out who he is. She said firmly.

Why don’t you go back to the place where you found him? Maybe he’ll be around there again.

If he’s homeless, he might be sheltering near there.

But how am I going to get back there? My parents would never let me go out alone, especially to look for a stranger, even if he’s a child.

Leave it to me. Do this. Ask your mom to let you spend the afternoon at my house.
Ashton felt hope reborn within him. He extended his hand to his friend and smiled. Deal.

Meanwhile, in another part of the city, Luke’s reality was quite different. The boy, his stomach rumbling with hunger, rummaged through trash cans in search of something he could eat. He turned one over, then another, and another.

Something inside him told him that the encounter hadn’t been just a coincidence. Something was about to happen. Back at Ashton’s school, the young millionaire was anxiously watching the clock affixed to the classroom wall.

They both quickly got up and walked together towards the door. Before leaving, the boy ran up to the teacher. I promise I’ll be more attentive tomorrow, Professor, he said with an awkward smile.

The teacher smiled and nodded understandingly.

Ashton is coming to my house today. He just needs to let his mother know, she said excitedly.

Hazel ran back to Ashton, who was waiting for his mother to arrive. However, it was Afonso, the boy’s father, who appeared, accompanied by Michelle, his sister. Upon seeing them, Ashton’s expression automatically darkened.

Something inside him triggered every time he saw Afonso, and even more so when Michelle was around. With a fake smile, Michelle bent down, hugging Ashton tightly. Lovely nephew, I’ve missed you so much.

The boy took a deep breath, trying to stay calm. I’m not going, he said, facing his father with courage. Afonso’s expression tightened even further.

The boy quickly agreed. That’s right, dad. Afonso looked at the girl with disdain, clearly suspicious.

Let the boy go. What’s the harm? Besides, they’re going to work on a school project. It’s better to let him go.

Penelope values Ashton’s studies more than anything. Afonso huffed, defeated. All right, he said reluctantly.

From afar, Afonso watched the two get into the car, his face filled with disapproval. I don’t like that friendship, Michelle. When I was his age, all I cared about was playing soccer with the boys, he commented, shaking his head.

She winked at him mischievously. Now forget about it. Let’s worry about what really matters.

Penelope. I’m going to talk to her and get this twin children’s story out of her head once and for all. After all, am I a good sister-in-law or not? She said, laughing.

The driver followed the usual route until Hazel leaned forward and said, Theodore, could you change the route? Please take us to the Peach District’s party hall. The driver looked in the rearview mirror, confused.

Your parents told me to take you home, Hazel, and you have a friend with you. The girl smiled with her persuasive manner. Please, Theodore, I just want to stop by the hall to inquire about the date for my 13th birthday party.

My parents are so busy lately and I’d really like it to be there. You have no idea how popular that place is. Ashton looked at her in admiration, impressed by his friend’s cleverness.

Theodore sighed, defeated by the girl’s charm. All right, but no funny business. If I lose my job, it’ll be your fault, he said, pretending to be angry.

Hazel laughed and replied. You’re the best driver in the world, Theodore. Ashton smiled, relieved.

But before we continue and find out if Ashton will reunite with Luke and what their true relationship is, help our channel by clicking like.

And tell me, would you like to have a twin?
The door opened and Afonso appeared with a carefree smile on his face. Penelope stood up immediately, and her expression softened slightly upon seeing him.

Ashton caught up to Luke and touched his shoulder. Luke! He called out, hopefully. The boy turned around, startled.

For a moment, his eyes reflected fear, but upon recognizing Ashton, a spontaneous smile spread across his face. Hazel, seeing the two side by side, put her hand to her mouth in shock. My God, you’re identical.

She whispered. Ashton, trying to reassure Luke, said, There’s no need to be afraid. Hazel is my friend.

You can trust her. Then the young millionaire took a deep breath and asked, Why did you run away yesterday? Luke, ashamed, replied, I don’t like adults. Whenever they get close, they try to take me to some shelter.

Ashton nodded, understanding. He didn’t want to scare him. Where do you live? He asked.

Luke shrugged. On the street. Those words struck the young millionaire deeply.

Hazel, still in shock, asked gently, Don’t you have parents? Luke lowered his gaze sadly. No, I was found in a trash can as a baby. Some homeless people raised me.

But they died. I’ve been alone ever since. Ashton’s heart ached.

He looked at Luke and felt a connection that went far beyond physical similarity. Something there was stronger. They sat on the sidewalk, away from the bustle, trying to find a moment of peace amidst the whirlwind of emotions they were feeling.

Hazel excitedly stood up quickly and added, That’s right. You’re coming with us. We’ll figure something out.

Hazel pointed with her finger, her voice thick with emotion. Look at that. You have a birth mark exactly like Ashton’s.

Ashton approached, observing closely. It’s true. I have a birth mark exactly the same, in the same place.

Look here, he said, surprised, also lifting his shirt. Hazel looked at the two of them, her eyes shining with disbelief. It can’t be a coincidence.

You’re twin brothers. There’s no other explanation. Luke’s eyes widened in confusion.

And now, with this birth mark? But how? How can you be my brother, Luke? Hazel added. It’s strange because Mrs. Penelope always said she only had one child. But that birth mark? It’s too much of a coincidence.

Now we take Luke to my mother. She needs to see him. Only she can confirm whether or not he’s my twin brother.
Twin Pregnancy Week by Week | Pampers

Luke swallowed, fear written all over his face. What if… What if they take me to a shelter? You don’t know what life is like there. He asked, his voice thick with emotion.

Theodore leaned forward and said firmly, Trust me, kid. Mrs. Penelope is a woman with a good heart. She would never do that.

Luke looked at Ashton, Hazel, and Theodore. There was sincerity in their eyes, a sincerity he hadn’t seen in a long time. With his heart racing, he finally nodded.

All right, I’ll go with you. Theodore smiled, relieved. Then let’s go.

He walked into the house excitedly, passing Michelle as if she were invisible. He ran straight to his mother and hugged her tightly. Hello, my love, Penelope said, hugging her son tightly.

She took a step back and asked, Where’s Hazel? Doesn’t she want to come in? Ashton shook his head, excited. She’s out there with a new friend. You’ll love to meet him.

He was still adjusting his suit jacket when he saw Hazel open the car door and Luke get out. When he saw the boy, Afonso froze. His face paled instantly.

He stood still, unable to hide his astonishment. Ashton, full of enthusiasm, pointed at Luke and said, Mom, look! He looks just like you. Michelle put her hand to her mouth, completely speechless.

I knew it, she whispered. Her voice choked with emotion. In that instant, her mind was swept back twelve years.

His life had always been based on scams. His marriage to Penelope was his most ambitious con yet. He presented himself as a major businessman, used dirty money from other smaller scams to maintain the facade, and now, with the pressure mounting, he needed an even more audacious plan.

And it was in this scenario that the most perverse idea arose in his mind. Sell one of the babies. If there are two, why not sell one? He thought aloud.

If the children took after their mother, they would be blonde with blue eyes, children desired by many wealthy families desperate for an heir. Michelle sat up, startled. Have you lost your mind? Are you trying to put a price on your own child, you maniac? Afonso, with a cold glint in his eyes, replied.

If it’s to maintain this life and secure our future, it’s what needs to be done. You know I’ve never cared about children, Michelle. My only love is you.

That’s a lie. Ashton and I did some research. You don’t even have the same last name.

We even took a picture of your IDs. You think you’re smart, but we’re much smarter. Penelope’s eyes widened.

I’ve never seen her ID. She murmured, more to herself than anyone else. Ashton turned to Michelle and said with a mocking tone.

Show us your ID and call my mother’s as if you’re really my father’s sister. Michelle was left with no way out. Afonso tried to come up with some excuse, but Michelle, desperate, exploded, her loud voice echoing through the walls of the mansion.

Fine, I’ll tell you everything. She screamed. But only if you give me a good amount of money, Penelope.

The entire confession. Both of you are going to jail. You won’t get another cent of my money.

Not even that necklace you’re holding. Michelle was furious. You tricked me! I told you everything! I deserve it! Penelope responded with coldness.

The only thing you deserve is to rot in jail. At that moment, Michelle tried to flee, running towards the door. But before she could take two steps, sirens echoed in the garden.

The police had arrived. Hazel, radiant, raised her cell phone and said, I was the one who called the police. The officers entered swiftly, handcuffing Afonso and Michelle.

Both were taken away, still protesting uselessly. Days later, during the trial, they were sentenced to many years in prison for all their crimes. Penelope, with her heart in pieces but determined, took a DNA test to formalize Luke’s custody.

As expected, the test confirmed what her mother’s heart already knew. Luke was her son. Luke finally found the family he had always dreamed of.