“Svetlana Alekseevna, don’t feel lonely! We’ll be back in a fortnight,” said Darya Andreevna with a gentle smile, lingering at the door. The housekeeper responded with a nod, a flicker of concern crossing her eyes, yet she exhaled calmly and maintained her usual composure:
“I’m no child. Take care, and don’t worry. Everything will turn out all right. You know that.”
“Indeed I do! After so many years, I’ve come to realize you’re reliable in every way,” Darya replied warmly, embracing her like a dear friend.
“Maybe I should call a taxi?”
“Yes, yes, I’m coming!” Darya chuckled, straightening the shawl draped over her shoulders.
Nearby, Vladimir Nikolaevich winked at Svetlana Alekseevna, trying to ease the moment:
“We’ll keep in touch, Svetlana Alekseevna!”
She laughed softly, waving dismissively but with a hint of sorrow in her tone: “Oh, just go, Vladimir Nikolaevich!”
The couple stepped outside and shut the gate behind them. Svetlana watched as their car gradually disappeared around the corner. She stood a little longer, then inhaled deeply and turned back toward the house.
They are such good people. Kind, gentle, and fair. They possess wealth, a warm home, and mutual affection — yet they lack the most vital thing: children. Despite all their efforts, fate seemed to deny them this blessing.
Svetlana Alekseevna had served in this household for over five years. From day one, she adored this lively, bright, and cozy place. She stumbled upon this job without references, almost by chance, driven by desperation.
Having lost her only son to a merciless illness, she found herself alone. Her daughter-in-law, initially seeming caring, soon grew distant towards her. The shared apartment, once a gift to her husband from his parents, legally belonged to her son, and Svetlana felt unwelcome.
“This cannot continue,” she resolved quietly. Without confrontation, she chose to leave. Departing a home filled with memories and heartache, she found solace here among accepting people.
When she confided honestly in Darya Andreevna, the latter simply shook her head in disbelief:
“How could anyone mock and scorn someone who’s lost a son?”
She remained, provided with lodging, worked diligently, and sought to assist without overstepping. Gradually, a bond of trust grew, and Svetlana began to feel nearly at home.
Now, alone in the house, she pondered Vladimir and Darya’s last words before leaving for another infertility treatment attempt. After numerous failures, Darya had spoken firmly to her husband:
“That’s enough, Volodya. I won’t continue. Age, energy, nerves… Maybe it’s decided that we are destined to live childless.”
These words lingered heavily in Svetlana’s mind. She sympathized deeply with the yearning mother denied motherhood and was reminded painfully of her own experience — of being a mother and losing a child.
“The heartache of longing for what cannot be is a burden that weighs differently on each soul.”
Several days elapsed with the employers away, during which Svetlana allowed herself minor freedoms: watching a film, sitting amidst the garden, even tending the flower beds. Though well-maintained, the garden had been neglected by the gardener. Until a replacement arrived, she took care of it herself.
One evening, as twilight descended and a chill crept into the air, she sat in the garden gazebo engrossed in a book. Suddenly, sounds of footsteps made her look up sharply.
A girl stood before her — small, frail, dressed in worn clothes, disheveled hair, pale complexion, frightened eyes.
“My goodness! How did you get here? The fence is so high!” Svetlana exclaimed.
“I… I slipped through a hole beneath the fence,” the girl’s voice quivered. “Can I sit with you for a while? I’m scared to be alone.”
Svetlana hesitated, studying the child’s attire—it was too light for the cool evening. Yet what disturbed her most were the bruises on the girl’s arms, clearly inflicted not by play but by an adult’s hand.
“Come, sit here in this chair, little one.”
The girl cautiously perched on the edge, eyes darting as though dreading an unseen threat.
“My name is Svetlana Alekseevna. And what’s yours?”
“Sasha. Alexandra.”
“A beautiful name. Did you run away from someone?”
“If I tell you, will you not send me away?”
“No, I won’t. Just tell me who is hurting you.”
Tears gathered but were swallowed quickly.
“My father died long ago. I hardly remember his face, though they say I look just like him. My mother passed after I was born. Then dad married Yadviga. She isn’t a kind woman; she’s cruel. When others are around, she smiles and speaks sweetly, but alone with us, it’s hell. Her son, my ‘brother,’ beats me. He says I’ll die soon, and then they’ll be happy. Yadviga says, ‘I hope you rot! You’re a burden to us!’”
A shiver ran through Svetlana’s spine as she listened silently, sympathy and indignation swelling within her.
“I cannot go out alone; they punish me if I try. They fear I’ll tell someone. Today they left for three days and forgot to lock the door. I saw the hole beneath your fence and ran. I was frightened but had to leave.”
Looking at the girl, Svetlana felt a stirring deep inside — as if seeing a younger self shaped by fear and pain.
“Are you hungry, Sasha?”
“I ate,” the girl replied hesitantly, a trace of doubt in her tone.
“Come inside. I’ll warm you up and give you some food. It’s cold outside, and you need rest. Together we’ll figure out what to do next.”
The little one followed her like a lost pup, eating slowly and mechanically before slowly nodding off, exhaustion overtaking her.
“I’ve set up a place for you on the couch in my room. Sleep well, little one. We’ll talk tomorrow.”
Instantly, Sasha fell asleep, finally free from fear and worry, safe as a child should be.
Thus began their cohabitation of nearly a week. Svetlana knew the situation was precarious. The girl was likely being sought. Disclosure could lead to accusations of kidnapping or worse. Yet how could she return the child to torment?
Her own childhood bore haunting parallels — a stepfather cruel and domineering, mornings commencing with dread, disbelief from adults, accusations that she sought to destroy her mother’s newfound happiness. “Don’t be selfish,” they said, “your mother has found joy, and you want to take it away.”
Because of this, she couldn’t forsake Sasha.
Still, with the employers’ return imminent, the moment to decide loomed large. She wrestled between contacting child welfare — risking the girl’s return to tormentors; alerting the police — a closed case but not resolved rightly; or sheltering her — risking her own freedom.
Key Insight: Sometimes protecting a vulnerable child demands personal sacrifices, a testament to true courage.
She never desired for her own mother’s happiness to hinge on the man who brought misfortune. How could she explain that to a child? How to convey that a smile for survival was no salvation? Svetlana sighed, feeling the weight of that childhood longing for a miracle — for someone to see her pain.
Her thoughts were interrupted by footsteps on the porch. She halted as Vladimir and Darya appeared from a taxi, their arrival a day early.
“Svetlana Alekseevna! We missed home — and you! No more trips!” Darya exclaimed joyfully.
“You say that every time you come back,” Vladimir laughed.
Darya spun happily. Yet Svetlana’s heart was heavy.
Inside, behind closed doors, Sasha was watching cartoons — hidden from the world yet exposed to danger.
“Is something wrong?” Vladimir asked, sensing unease.
“No, all’s well. Welcome,” she answered, masking the pounding in her chest.
She led the way inside, opening the door for Vladimir with care. Suddenly, Sasha darted out, pressing close to Svetlana in fear.
Silence fell thickly.
“Who is this?” Vladimir approached cautiously.
“This is…” Svetlana began, but was cut off.
“Svetlana Alekseevna, who is this girl? She looks too young to be a granddaughter…” Darya scrutinized her face, noting the resemblance and age.
Before they could continue, Vladimir stopped, staring at Sasha:
“Is your name by chance Sasha?”
Darya knelt, astonished:
“Volodya… it’s her! It’s Sasha!”
“Sasha, how did you get here? Where are your dad and Yadviga?” Darya’s voice trembled.
Sasha clung tightly to Svetlana, whose heart clenched.
“Vladimir, make some tea. We’re all exhausted. But you certainly know how to lift our spirits,” Darya said without taking her eyes off the child.
Gathered around the table, Svetlana recounted how Sasha arrived, the bruises, the fears. When she mentioned “dad,” Darya gasped, and Vladimir turned away momentarily, retreating inwardly.
He later shared, “Stepan, her dad, was my childhood best friend until Yadviga came along.”
“You left, Sasha? Didn’t you live elsewhere?” Darya asked.
“Two months ago, we returned. Yadviga sold our house. So we moved.”
“She sold it? And your dad didn’t transfer ownership?”
“No transfer. She’s my guardian but wants to get rid of me and become rich.”
Vladimir paled.
“How can anyone speak so cruelly to a child?”
Darya stood, addressing Sasha:
“You don’t need to listen to those grown-up horrors. Want me to style your hair nicely?”
The girl trusted her, reaching out. At the doorway, Darya paused:
“If the child is missing, they will find her. We must act swiftly.”
After they left, Vladimir confided to Svetlana:
“She never told me about Stepan’s death!”
“Did you argue?”
“Yes. His new wife accused me of harassment and wanted me out of their lives. Stepan promised not to see me again. He was hot-tempered but forgiving. I thought time would heal, but I got angry instead. Perhaps he needed help, but I was too blind to see.”
Long into the night, they discussed plans. Sasha slept soundly, comforted at last. Darya had braided her hair into the beautiful styles she once only dreamed of, promising more the next day.
“Sasha,” Darya whispered at the door, “I don’t like your husband’s idea.”
“First, I’ll be near,” Vladimir reassured. “Second, it’s the quickest way. Court battles could drag a year, and Sasha would suffer all that time.”
Sasha brightened:
“I agree, Uncle Volodya! I don’t want to go back, and I’ll tell them everything.”
They prepared carefully. Specialists attached a microphone to Sasha and fixed a camera on her school bag, confident one meeting would settle the case.
Things proceeded as expected — except Yadviga struck Sasha immediately. The first blow knocked the bag away; the camera captured everything. The second strike caught Yadviga off guard when Vladimir swiftly grabbed her arm.
“You wretch! Do you realize what I’m capable of to end this?” he whispered firmly.
Yadviga recoiled, pale and stunned:
“Where did you come from?”
While legal proceedings progressed, Sasha stayed with Vladimir and Darya who secured temporary guardianship, ensuring her safety. She called Svetlana “grandmother” and once slipped and called Darya “mom,” blushing and apologizing with fright.
Darya silently wept, clenching fists as if afraid to lose this moment. Then she embraced Sasha:
“If you want to call me mom, please do. I’d be so happy. Truly.”
Later, Darya requested a private discussion:
“Vova, I need to talk.”
He braced, expecting talk of treatment, but she said:
“Sasha called me mom — accidentally, unprepared… ” Tears fell freely.
He breathed deeply:
“Are you worried I’ll oppose it?”
“What do you think? What if we legally adopt her?”
He hugged her tightly, pouring in love, thanks, and acceptance.
“You’re wonderful. I wanted to speak about this too. Stepa was my lifelong friend. I should have understood sooner. Now I won’t let this girl lose family again.”
This marked the start of a new journey for all: for Svetlana Alekseevna, one of healing and motherly devotion; for Vladimir and Darya, a family forged by love rather than blood; and for Sasha, a path toward safety, trust, and a true home.
Often, the strongest bonds form in unexpected places. Family is defined not by birth, but by hearts united through care and choice.
In conclusion, this story reminds us that compassion can create new families and that safety and love may arise even from the most painful circumstances. Through courage and kindness, broken lives can find healing, and children like Sasha can be given the chance to grow in a nurturing environment founded on support and understanding.