Alina was drying her hair in the hallway when she heard the doorbell ring. She opened it to find her mother-in-law, Galina Stepanovna, standing with two children—Katya and Misha—holding onto each other tightly.
“From now on, you’ll be the one to raise them,” Galina said with a firm voice, her eyes steady. “I won’t accept any refusal.”
Alina stood frozen, the towel in her hand dripping water onto the floor. She hadn’t imagined this—had never expected her quiet life to be disrupted in such an unexpected way.
“These are my friend’s children,” Galina continued, her voice trembling. “They’ve lost their parents. I can’t leave them to fend for themselves. You’ve always wanted children, Alina. Here they are.”
Alina felt her heart beat wildly in her chest as she stared at the two children. Katya, with her dark hair and wide, wary eyes, clutched a small bag with hastily packed belongings. Misha stood quietly beside her, his shoulders tense, his gaze fixed on the floor.
The room felt thick with tension, and Alina’s throat tightened as the weight of the situation settled in. Four years of trying to have children, and now, suddenly, two appeared out of nowhere.
Alina’s voice faltered. “Perhaps we can discuss this first?”
Galina Stepanovna shook her head. “There’s nothing to discuss. You have a good heart. They need you more than anyone else.”
Andrej, Alina’s husband, emerged from the kitchen and stood in the doorway, his eyes moving from his mother to his wife and then to the children. He said nothing, but his gaze was thoughtful, as if reflecting on a question that had no easy answer.
“What happened to Lyudmila?” he asked softly, his voice barely above a whisper.
“Not in front of them,” Galina replied, shaking her head. “For now, the most important thing is to take care of them. They’re exhausted.”
Misha wobbled on his feet, clearly fighting sleep. His eyelids fluttered, and his head drooped, as though the weight of the world was too much for him to bear.
“I’ll make up their beds in the living room,” Alina said, her voice steadier than she felt.
Andrej nodded, picking up Katya’s bag. “Let’s help them.”
As Alina tucked the children into bed that night, she noticed that they never let go of each other’s hands, even as they settled into the unfamiliar surroundings. Katya whispered softly to Misha, her voice barely audible, as if trying to reassure him.
Misha fell asleep almost immediately, but Katya’s wide, alert eyes never left Alina’s face. There was a mixture of suspicion and curiosity in them, as if trying to decipher who this new woman in her life was.
In the kitchen, Galina Stepanovna stood by the window, a cigarette between her fingers, the smoke curling into the night air. She exhaled slowly, her voice low and thick with emotion.
“I know this came out of nowhere,” she said, her eyes tired. “But Lyudmila was like a sister to me. We’ve been through so much together. I couldn’t just leave them.”
Alina’s heart clenched. “Why us? Why not you?”
Galina shook her head. “At sixty-two, I can’t raise children. But you, Alina, you’re younger. They need someone like you.”
Alina covered her face with her hands. “I don’t know how to be a mother. I couldn’t even have children of my own.”
“But you’ll know how to love them,” Andrej said gently, kneeling before her and taking her hands in his. “They could become ours, you know?”
Alina looked at him, the weight of his words sinking deep into her chest. “If not us, then who?”
The following days passed in a blur. The apartment changed—noisy, colorful, and alive with new life. Misha began speaking more, slowly at first, his words hesitant and shy. Katya kept her distance, always observing, always watching.
Then, one evening, as Alina read them a story, Misha suddenly jumped off the couch, ran to his schoolbag, and returned with a crumpled sheet of paper. He handed it to her.
“This is for you,” he said, his voice small but clear.
Alina unfolded the paper. On it was a drawing of a house with four figures: a man labeled “Papa Andrej,” a woman labeled “Mama Alina,” and two smaller figures, “Misha” and “Katia.”
Alina’s breath caught in her throat, and tears welled up in her eyes. This was it. She hadn’t expected this moment, but it filled her with a tenderness she couldn’t explain.
“Thank you,” she whispered, pulling Misha closer. Katya looked at them with a look that was no longer filled with suspicion but with something new—a glimmer of hope.
And in that moment, Alina knew that her life had changed forever.