— Lyudmila Sergeyevna, please at least eat something,” the young woman said softly, looking at her mother-in-law with worry.
“I just can’t, Ninochka, truly I can’t. Just the thought of food makes me feel ill,” the elderly woman sighed, shaking her head.
Nina sat down beside her mother-in-law on the sofa.
“You can’t do that,” she said quietly. “I’m not feeling well either and have no appetite, but we have to learn to live on.”
“For what’s the point, Ninochka?” asked Lyudmila Sergeyevna, her eyes dimming as if the last ray of hope had faded.
“What do you mean, ‘for what?’” Nina hesitated in confusion, not knowing how to answer.
It had been only six months since the day Pavel, her husband and Lyudmila Sergeyevna’s son, died. Both women were struggling unbearably with the loss. Yet while Nina was at least trying to piece herself together, Lyudmila Sergeyevna seemed to have completely given up on life without her son. She was withering before their eyes: staying at home and eating almost nothing. In just half a year she had lost so much weight that she became unrecognizable, though she had once been a stately and energetic woman.
Nina cried too, often at night, burying her face in a pillow. But deep inside, she was convinced that Pavel wouldn’t have wanted his wife and mother to give up. He had always been a cheerful, impulsive man—sometimes even recklessly so. And that very trait had led to his downfall.
When the house next door caught fire, they barely managed to get outside. The roof was already ablaze, and their little boy cried, trying to go back inside for his beloved cat. Without a second thought, Pavel rushed back in. Nina screamed, and Lyudmila Sergeyevna simply collapsed to the ground. One second, then another.
On the porch, Pavel appeared with the cat in his arms. But at that very moment, a beam fell right on his head. The cat survived, but Pavel died instantly. Nina’s and Lyudmila Sergeyevna’s cries echoed through the neighborhood. The little boy, frightened and pale, clutched the choking cat and slowly moved away from the scene of the tragedy.
They had no children, even though they had lived together for five years. The mother-in-law often reassured Nina, “There’s still time, you’re still young.” But Nina knew: time waits for no one. She had just turned thirty, and Pavel was thirty-five. They had met late and married not early either.
Nina struggled to get up from the sofa.
“We have to get ready. We can’t be late—the boss will scold everyone.”
“Oh, Ninochka, you should change that job. They don’t respect you at all. And they pay next to nothing. Look, all our people cross the river to work in the city,” sighed Lyudmila Sergeyevna.
Nina sighed too. Truly, it was a little frightening. So many years in one place. Sometimes it’s worth trying something new.
Lyudmila Sergeyevna turned away toward the wall. Nina sighed again. She knew that as soon as she stepped out the door, her mother-in-law would start crying—hysterically, desperately. That sight was unbearable.
Nina stepped outside. She had never liked night shifts. She was always worried about her mother-in-law, treating her like a mother—especially since she had never known her own. Her aunt had raised her, and that woman had seen her more as a burden than as a child.
As soon as Nina turned eighteen, she left her aunt’s home and immediately got a job, so she wouldn’t have to ask anyone for anything. She lived alone, barely speaking with anyone, until one day the stove started to smoke. Someone advised her to turn to Pavel. She did, and everything changed.
Pavel and she fell in love at first sight. After the stove was repaired, he became a frequent guest at her home. They never parted again. They often visited the mother-in-law, even though they lived in her small house. After Pavel’s death, Nina moved in with Lyudmila Sergeyevna. She didn’t want to leave her alone, and it made it easier to endure the grief together.
She carefully closed the door and walked along the path. The mother-in-law’s house stood a little way off. One had to pass through a small grove with a marsh, and then arrive at the village. But those who went to work in the city passed by the house. Almost immediately behind it was a small bridge over the river, and then literally a kilometer to the city.
Nina looked back at the house, sighed, and continued on. She had almost passed the grove when she heard a splash and a groan coming from the marsh. Something inexplicable. She stopped, then rushed toward the marsh. Maybe some dog had gotten caught.
Or perhaps it had its collar snagged and couldn’t get free. Nina even scratched her hand as she pushed through the bushes. Finally, she reached the edge of the marsh and nearly screamed. A child was thrashing in the murky sludge just a couple of meters away.
“Don’t move, do you hear? Hold on and stay still!” she shouted.
Quickly grabbing the trunk of a young tree, she stepped into the water, praying only that the trunk would hold. The water was thick and foul-smelling. Nina literally pulled the little girl out of the quagmire.
“Who are you? Whose are you?” she asked.
But the child could not speak. The little girl kept nearly falling. She had no strength left. She appeared to be about five or six years old, no more.
“Oh, my poor thing!” exclaimed Nina, picking the child up in her arms and dashing back to the house.
“Mom!” she called as she burst through the door.
Lyudmila Sergeyevna turned around in surprise and even fear. Seeing her dirty, wet daughter-in-law with a similarly dirty and wet child in her arms, she gasped and leapt out of bed.
“Ninochka, who is this? What happened?”
Nina hurriedly began to strip the soaked clothes from the girl. She grabbed a blanket from the stove and wrapped the child up.
“She needs to be washed. Oh, Mom, I pulled her out of the marsh—I don’t know what to do. I have to warm her up, feed her, but I can’t linger—I’m going to be late. Go, don’t worry, I’ll manage.”
Nina looked at Lyudmila Sergeyevna with doubt.
“Are you sure you’ll manage? You yourself seem so unsteady.”
“Go, don’t worry,” her mother-in-law replied firmly, and her voice carried such assurance that Nina, though reluctantly, believed her.
Within five minutes she washed herself with cold water in the bathhouse, changed, and dashed off to work. Their boss was an unbearable man: he didn’t care about anyone’s problems. Late—get fined. No matter how much Nina rushed, two minutes always turned out to be too many. She was already met by a note: “Nina Alekseevna is deprived of five percent of her bonus.” She gritted her teeth and then couldn’t hold back:
“To hell with your bonus!”
Her thoughts at that moment were far from work. She had left behind a barely living mother-in-law with an unknown little girl. Not only could the child get sick, but what if Marishka developed a fever and Lyudmila Sergeyevna couldn’t do anything? Sigh—she should have stayed home. They could have sacrificed the bonus and survived. And now she wouldn’t be able to get out. The guard would only open the factory in the morning.
“Nina, where are you rushing off to?” Larisa, who worked nearby, looked on in astonishment as Nina gathered her things.
It was quite surprising. Usually in the mornings they would leisurely leave the factory, stand and talk.
“There’s a two-day weekend ahead—why rush? We could just chat.”
But there Nina was, dashing off so fast that she might even lose one of her shoes.
“Larochka, don’t be offended, I really must run. Things aren’t well with my mother-in-law.”
Larisa looked at her with sympathy. She knew Nina’s whole story.
“No, no, later, all later.”
And Nina dashed off—not just walked, but ran, almost as if she were flying. People she passed gave her puzzled looks. She had never moved so quickly before. Lately, she had been walking slowly, her head down.
“Mom, Mom!” She literally burst into the house.
Lyudmila Sergeyevna, who was frying pancakes in an apron, turned around in surprise.
“Ninochka, what are you shouting? You’ll scare Marishka.”
Nina then sat down. She couldn’t understand what was happening. Yesterday she had left the child with an exhausted woman on the brink of life and death, and now she was facing an entirely different person. Yes, emaciated, with dark circles under her eyes, but a living Lyudmila Sergeyevna. A person not with a lost look, but with a spark of life. Nina glanced further.
At the table sat a small guest. Light curly hair, dark eyes. She froze, holding a pancake in one hand and a mug of milk in the other. The girl was clean. Her clothes were old, but neat. What was going on? Had Lyudmila Sergeyevna even washed her clothes?
“Mom, how are you here?” the little guest asked.
“Everything’s fine. Marishka and I washed yesterday, ate, and went to bed. And then I did the laundry. And for breakfast I prepared everything. I even ran to see Sveta. I wanted to buy milk, but that rascal Sveta wouldn’t take any money.”
At the mention of milk, Nina suddenly burst into tears. Her mother-in-law rushed to her:
“Nina, Ninochka, what’s wrong with you?”
“Yesterday, you see, I realized that I can be useful to someone, that I can help, you know?”
Marishka explained that she lived in a neighboring village. She hadn’t intended to go to the marsh—she was just hiding in the grove from her drunken stepfather. And her mother, also an alcoholic, obeyed the stepfather, and he beat the girl with a belt.
Nina listened, and the hair on her head stood on end. How should one live so that a child could recount everything so nonchalantly?
“And does your stepfather beat you often?” she asked.
“This one not so much. But the previous one—and even the one before him—very, very much.”
Nina and Lyudmila Sergeyevna exchanged looks.
“How many stepfathers have there been, that the child remembers three already,” Nina shook her head.
“And isn’t your mother’s name Katya?” she asked.
The girl nodded.
“Katya.”
Nina looked at her mother-in-law:
“Well, I think I understand who they are. Remember, they came to us about ten years ago, lived here for less than a year, and then moved to another village? There were about ten people in the household, all drinking. The little girl, they called her Katya. Always so unkempt.”
“Oh, I remember something,” Lyudmila Sergeyevna frowned.
“They said many died from drinking. But as we see, not everyone did. What are we going to do? We can’t give the girl to them. Absolutely not,” Nina stated firmly.
“Ninochka, you should go see our local inspector. The women say that, though he’s young, he’s a very capable man. You should consult him. It’s not right to just hide the child with us,” said her mother-in-law.
“Right. Fine, I’ll go. And where does he live?”
In the evening, timing her visit so as not to catch the inspector during work hours, Nina went to the designated house. Dmitry Sergeyevich—a man of about thirty-five—appeared in the window.
“Are you here for me? I’ll be right out.”
He appeared in the yard, draping a shirt over his shoulders.
“Did something happen?”
“Let me tell you everything, and you can advise me on what to do,” Nina proposed.
“Alright then, have a seat,” nodded the inspector.
They sat on a bench, and Nina recounted the entire story: about Marishka, about the marsh, about her drunken mother and abusive stepfathers. Dmitry Sergeyevich scratched his chin thoughtfully:
“Yes, I’ve already dealt with that family. Though it was for a different matter. Do you have some free time? Let’s drive over there. We’ll see what they’re up to and how they’re looking for the girl.”
“Of course,” Nina answered without hesitation.
When they arrived at the house, thick smoke billowed, as if the building were about to catch fire. Nina didn’t immediately recognize the same Katya. Only one thing remained unchanged—the woman was just as dirty and emaciated.
“Ma’am, where is your daughter?” asked the inspector.
“She’s somewhere around here, probably wandering about,” the woman replied indifferently with a dismissive wave.
“How can that be? The daughter hasn’t been home for two days, and you don’t even know where she is. Here’s a person who saved her from death, took her in,” Dmitry Sergeyevich exclaimed indignantly.
Ekaterina stared blankly at Nina for several seconds, then burst into laughter:
“What, you’ve taken a liking to my brat? You can take her away—I’ll give her for a couple of bottles.”
Nina abruptly jumped up and ran out the door. A minute later, the inspector came out to her.
“These kinds of people,” Dmitry Sergeyevich shook his head.
They got into his car.
“Dmitry Sergeyevich, now what? Will Marishka be handed over to an orphanage? And will she grow up to be another Katya?”
“Yes, she will be given away. There are no other options at the moment. There’s absolutely no way to bring her back here.”
Nina sighed heavily. The inspector looked at her attentively and said:
“Would it be alright if she stays with you for one more night? It’s too late to call today.”
Nina perked up:
“Yes, of course. Perhaps then on Monday you could call? Today is Wednesday. Why start at the end of the week?”
The man smirked:
“Well, we’ll see.”
On the drive back, they began chatting.
“So, does that mean your husband died for the sake of the child’s happiness?” asked Dmitry Sergeyevich.
“For the cat,” Nina bitterly smiled.
“No, you’re mistaken. It doesn’t matter whether the child cried over a cat or a toy. Your husband gave his life so that the child wouldn’t cry,” he said.
For the first time, Nina heard such a perspective on what had happened. She felt unbearably ashamed for having stopped speaking with the fire victims. They had come to her several times, but she always turned them away.
“I must definitely talk to them. Clearly, they are suffering too,” she thought.
The inspector called the guardianship only two weeks later, and during all that time he helped Nina gather the necessary documents. Lyudmila Sergeyevna looked upon him as a hero. And though Nina felt embarrassed, she didn’t dwell on it.
When the girl was finally taken away, real torment began. Nina was torn between the orphanage and the guardianship. The guardianship was unyielding. Dmitry Sergeyevich drove with her many times, offering support.
“If only you were married, that would at least bring some stability,” they repeatedly said at the guardianship office.
Lyudmila Sergeyevna immediately declared:
“You need to get married—even if only temporarily.”
After a full year, they managed to bring Marishka back home. The little girl was so overjoyed she nearly collapsed. She hugged Lyudmila Sergeyevna for a long time, calling her grandmother, and cried with happiness. And Dmitry Sergeyevich smiled sadly:
“Nina, whenever you decide that you need your freedom, just say so, and we’ll get a divorce immediately.”
Nina looked at him, lowering her eyes. And then Lyudmila Sergeyevna began to speak. At first the words came with difficulty, then as if someone had released her voice:
“You know, I never thought I’d say this—never… It’s so hard for me,” she sighed deeply. “But I see that there is still a thread connecting you two. Perhaps you shouldn’t separate? Nina, you were a good wife to my son, but he is no more. And you, Ninochka, are young. And Marishka will always be my granddaughter.”
Dmitry Sergeyevich bowed his head:
“Thank you, Lyudmila Sergeyevna. I know how hard it was for you to say that.”
Then they all sat together for a long time, embracing, and began making new plans for a new life.