A prison warden’s unexpected plea and a hauntingly familiar song
In his office, Vasily Sergeyevich’s patience was wearing thin as his phone persistently rang from the inner pocket of his jacket. The meeting had dragged on, and pressing matters piled up, yet the call did not cease. Realizing the call was likely personal rather than work-related, he finally excused his female correctional staff colleagues, abruptly rose, grabbed the phone, and hurried to answer.
“Hello?” he said, voice rough, still mulling over his work concerns.
Initially, silence prevailed on the other end, as if someone merely checked the line. Then, a sharp, irritable voice of his son’s caregiver broke through.
“Vasily Sergeyevich, do you even check your phone? I’ve called multiple times!”
His heart skipped a beat. He instantly understood something was wrong with Kostya, and guilt clenched his chest.
“Sorry, Ilona Danilovna,” he began, searching for a dignified way out. “I was in a meeting and couldn’t answer. What happened?”
“What happened?” she raised her voice. “Your son has a fever! Just a common cold, but he can’t stay in the group—he’ll infect the other children. You must come immediately and take him home. He has been alone in the medical room for an hour.”
“Ilona Danilovna, I’m at work… I can’t just leave…”
“That’s no longer my problem, Vasily Sergeyevich!” she interrupted sharply. “If you don’t care about your son trembling with fever all alone, then stay at work. But don’t accuse anyone of negligence later.”
Vasily fell silent. Her words hit hard. He knew Ilona was right. Although strict, sometimes even stern, her toughness was softened by genuine care for the children. Parents forgave her harshness because in the group, she transformed into a kind, tender guardian. For many children, especially those deprived of affection at home, she was like a mother figure. The kids adored her, cherishing every word, glance, and cheek kiss. She taught them kindness, friendship, and empathy. To her, these children were family.
Without hesitation, Vasily Sergeyevich grabbed his jacket and dashed out. In the hallway, he called to Rita, his trusted assistant:
“I’m heading to the kindergarten to get Kostya! He’s sick! I can’t bring him to work. I’ll sort it out and call you.”
His thoughts raced like a turbulent stream. Grief gripped his heart—the grief he had tried to avoid since Tamara’s passing. He ran as if escaping memories that would overwhelm if he stopped.
Tamara’s name flashed in his mind like lightning in a dark sky. She and Rita had been friends, starting work together at the facility. Tamara handled the colony’s supplies while Rita was already married with a child. After his transfer, Vasily and Tamara married within a year. He felt unbelievably fortunate.
At age ten, a loving family adopted him, which was rare for children his age. His foster mother devoted much time to him, enabling him to complete school, enter university, and serve in the military. Years later, he was reassigned to this city, beginning a new life chapter—with Tamara.
The birth of little Kostik filled Vasily with childlike joy. He made goofy faces, hung diapers, and laughed as Tamara playfully called him a fool. Life seemed like a fairy tale—until Tamara fell ill.
Initially attributing her condition to fatigue, Vasily noticed her sharp weight loss and pale expression. Taking initiative, he scheduled her exam, leaving their three-year-old son with godmother Rita. Days later, the clinic called him in alone with devastating news: Tamara had only months to live.
Returning home, Tamara met him with quiet acceptance.
“You saw the doctor, didn’t you?” she softly asked.
He nodded, feeling his chest tighten.
“That’s better,” she smiled sadly. “I didn’t know how to tell you.”
“You knew all along?”
“No one can know everything,” she replied, “but I just felt it. You understand what tests imply. My time is short.”
Tears streamed down Vasily’s cheeks—for the first time since then.
Two months later, she passed away, just a week before Kostya’s fourth birthday. They celebrated as best they could. After putting his orphaned son to bed, Vasily finally released years of restrained sorrow.
The following day, Ilona Danilovna greeted him at the kindergarten, probably spotted through the window.
“Vasily Sergeyevich, I understand your hardship raising Kostya alone. But responsibility demands attentiveness.”
He smiled involuntarily, recognizing love beneath her firmness.
When he lifted Kostya in his arms, the boy asked:
“Dad, where are we going? Home?”
“I don’t know, son. I can’t take you to work and can’t leave you alone at home. I’m at a loss…”
He glanced anxiously, whispering:
“Maybe you stay home alone? Watch cartoons? I’ll try to return early.”
Kostya grinned slyly.
“What if I get a fever or want to play with matches? Kids shouldn’t be left alone!”
Vasily chuckled. Though sure his son wouldn’t touch matches, the temperature possibility made him pause.
“You’re right. Looks like I have to bring you to work and leave you under Aunt Rita’s care.”
Kostya frowned.
“Not Aunt Rita! She’ll send me to her girls who are mean and make me read!”
Indeed, Rita’s two daughters, near Kostya’s age, treated him like a toy, forcing him into “smart” games, poems, and books—a near torment for the boy.
“Got another idea?” Vasily smirked.
Kostya removed his scarf and spoke seriously:
“Dad, call Aunt Lena.”
“Aunt Lena? Who’s that?” Vasily asked, surprised.
“Dad,” Kostya stood at attention, “inmate Sokolova.”
Vasily smiled faintly but frowned immediately. Sokolova was serving time, not due to a grave crime but because she had been in the wrong place with the wrong people. She was treated leniently, allowed to assist officers by cleaning, helping in the med unit and kitchen, and often assigned to Vasily. Her behavior earned no reprimands and kept her under the administration’s favor.
But leaving his child with her? It was unexpected. Vasily hesitated and called Rita, seeking her prudent advice.
She listened carefully, then cautiously replied:
“It’s unconventional, but Lena’s a good young woman. I’ve never seen her misbehave. She’s respected rules and always acted properly. Alright, Vasily… Bring her over. We’ll talk.”
Twenty minutes later, a timid knock sounded at the door. Vasily opened it—there stood Lena, her usually calm eyes displaying slight fear, as if worried about breaking rules again.
“Hello, did something happen, Vasily Sergeyevich? I cleaned and cooked just yesterday…”
“No, Lena, nothing bad,” he soothed, softening the mood. “Just a little situation. Kostya is ill, and I can’t leave work—there’s a big inspection tomorrow. Would you watch him?”
She relaxed slightly, smiling faintly.
“Of course, don’t worry, Vasily Sergeyevich. Everything will be fine.”
He nodded, feeling warmth as he handed her medicine and instructions from the kindergarten nurse.
“Here’s what to give him. I’ll be available and call you.”
“Don’t worry,” she reassured. “I’ll try to be a good nanny for him.”
Standing beside her, Vasily contemplated the light and kindness hidden in this woman — how rare such souls were, especially in a place that could so easily steal hope and humanity.
Key Insight: Genuine care can be found in the most unexpected places, revealing humanity amidst hardship.
Work was relentless. The inspection loomed, documents demanded attention, and meetings beckoned. Still, Vasily managed to call.
About an hour and a half after leaving, he dialed. Lena answered calmly and confidently:
“Everything’s fine, Vasily Sergeyevich. The fever’s dropping, Kostya ate, drank tea, and now we’re playing.”
“What game?” he inquired, heart lightening.
A joyful voice interrupted:
“Bears! Dad, we’re bears now!”
“How’s that?”
“Bears eat and sleep mostly. Sometimes roar if unhappy. I eat medicine even if I don’t want to, then sleep like a bear in its den.”
Vasily smiled, amazed at how Lena cleverly coaxed a sick child to take medicine. She was more than a caretaker; she was a friend.
Later, he called to say he’d be late.
“All good,” Lena replied. “Fever rose a bit, but we managed. Kostya’s fine—playing and laughing.”
He promised to return soon but arrived three hours later. Entering quietly, he heard Lena’s soft singing. Her voice had a resonant clarity filled with memories—a blend of Russian simplicity and Armenian tones, a lullaby his mother once sang when childhood nightmares woke him at night.
Frozen in the hallway, emotions overwhelmed him, tears unexpectedly streaming. He hadn’t cried since Tamara’s death.
When the singing ceased, Lena emerged, hesitating yet gathering composure.
“Do you know this song?” he whispered.
She smiled sadly.
“Yes, my mother sang it when I was very young. I’ve forgotten the words but the melody stayed with me. Finding this song connected me to her, though I don’t even know her name. I was placed in an orphanage at three and at seven found this melody in a forgotten library.”
“So you… come from an orphanage?” he asked, curious and moved.
She shrugged with a faint smile:
“Not exactly. I had foster parents who returned me after three years. Then others adopted and rejected me several times.”
Vasily felt a painful familiarity grip his heart. Memories of his own childhood surfaced—he and his sister left in an orphanage after a fire killed their family. How as a child, he resented her survival, refusing to acknowledge their kinship for years.
“Lena… Thank you,” he whispered.
“No thanks needed, Vasily Sergeyevich. I’m here if you need anything,” she replied quietly before leaving.
Alone in the kitchen, he pondered every word deeply. Gazing at the phone, he called Rita decisively:
“Rita, it’s late, but can the case for Sokolova be expedited? I can ask Timofeyev to bring documents within the hour.”
List of key moments:
- Vasily’s struggle balancing work and parenting
- Lena’s unexpected yet sincere role as caregiver
- The revelation of Lena’s difficult past and shared humanity
- Efforts to amend Lena’s judicial case
- The emotional reunion and familial bonds reforged
The coffee cooled and papers sprawled across the desk. Vasily worked late, cross-checking facts and contacting relevant parties. The next day, after submitting a report, he prepared to justify his actions before superiors.
When called in, he took a deep breath:
“I just need time. I’ll see what can be done,” he murmured, almost to himself. “I grew up in an orphanage; I know how fate there can break a person.”
Lena’s case was reopened. Thanks to Vasily’s efforts, the true culprit — a powerful official using her as a scapegoat to cover financial fraud — was exposed. Within a month, her sentence was mitigated and the conviction fully removed.
At the colony gates, Vasily and Kostya waited like family.
“You? What happened?” Lena asked, surprised.
Vasily sighed deeply.
“Yes, Lena. I need to apologize. Back in the orphanage, I insisted that no one knew we were related. Forgive me if you can. If we had stayed connected, you wouldn’t have ended up here.”
Lena couldn’t hold back tears, quietly rolling down her cheeks.
“So it’s true…” she whispered, wiping her eyes. “The nanny was right. I have nothing to forgive you, Vasily. The most important thing is that you and Kostya are here. Everything else doesn’t matter.”
Half a year later, Lena joyfully danced at Vasily Sergeyevich’s and Ilona Danilovna’s wedding. The sun shone brighter, the air felt warmer, and smiles grew sincere. For her, this celebration symbolized life’s regained meaning, love, and true happiness.
In life’s unexpected turns, compassion and hope persist, binding people in new families formed from trials and kindness.