Autumn winds danced through the air, rustling golden leaves along the winding paths. Victoria stood by the window, her gaze resting on the tangled mess that had once been a flourishing garden. Overgrown shrubs and wild grass had claimed the land, turning it into something between an untamed woodland and an abandoned lot.
“I can’t ignore this any longer,” she murmured to herself, almost as if saying it out loud would make the task easier to face.
With a sigh, she opened her laptop and scrolled through her emails. A message from Elena Sergeevna caught her attention. An old acquaintance from the business world, Elena was singing the praises of a young gardener.
“Kirill is truly gifted,” the email read. “In just a few months, he restored my garden to its former splendor. I highly recommend him.”
Victoria hesitated. The garden did need attention—serious attention. She had purchased this estate three years ago, determined to start fresh, yet the landscaping had remained untouched, a symbol of unfinished transitions in her life.
Her eyes drifted to an old photograph sitting on the shelf. A younger version of herself beamed beside Alexey, both glowing with the joy of their honeymoon. A familiar pang of loss tightened in her chest. Grimacing, she turned the frame facedown.
“No more dwelling on the past,” she said with resolve.
Fifteen years had passed since Alexey had disappeared. One ordinary morning, he had kissed her on the cheek, promised he’d be home late, and then… vanished. No warnings. No explanations. She had searched, called friends, questioned acquaintances—but there had been nothing. As if he had never existed.
Then came the divorce papers. A lawyer had handled everything, leaving her with no closure. Only later did she realize how little she had truly known about the man she had married. He had charmed her effortlessly, showering her with affection, but he had been evasive about his past. She had dismissed it then, too in love to see the cracks beneath the surface.
The sharp ring of her phone yanked her from her thoughts. It was Elena, following up on the gardener. After a moment’s hesitation, Victoria agreed.
“Send him over tomorrow at ten.”
The next morning, she sat in her office, awaiting the arrival of the mysterious gardener. At precisely ten o’clock, the doorbell chimed.
A tall, athletic young man stood on the threshold, his posture confident, his eyes both calm and piercing.
“Good morning. My name is Kirill. Elena mentioned you might need assistance with your garden.”
Victoria led him outside, pointing out the areas that needed attention. Kirill moved with quiet precision, taking notes, asking insightful questions, assessing the work with an expert’s eye.
“It’s a mess,” Victoria admitted.
“It’s nothing that can’t be restored,” he replied with a reassuring nod. “In two to three months, we can bring it back to life.”
His quiet confidence was contagious. By the end of the conversation, she had hired him. He began the very next morning.
From her office window, Victoria found herself observing him more than she intended. He worked methodically, every movement purposeful, every action deliberate. He had a deep understanding of nature, as if he could anticipate its rhythms and needs.
Gradually, the garden transformed. Weeds vanished, pathways reemerged, and in place of unruly brambles, orderly flower beds took shape. Kirill worked tirelessly, taking only brief breaks. Over time, their conversations stretched beyond garden maintenance—books, travel, even philosophy. She discovered he wasn’t just skilled in his trade but had a depth that intrigued her.
And yet, something about him unsettled her. The way he spoke, his mannerisms, even the way he furrowed his brow—it all felt eerily familiar.
One afternoon, she caught sight of him standing by the old gazebo, its wooden beams barely visible beneath tangled vines.
“It’s a beautiful structure,” he remarked. “A shame it’s been left to decay. Would you like me to restore it?”
“No,” Victoria answered sharply. The memory of Alexey proposing to her in a gazebo just like this one flashed through her mind. That life belonged to the past. She had no desire to resurrect it.
Kirill studied her reaction but didn’t press further.
That evening, as she sifted through old documents, her gaze landed on a photograph of Alexey. She froze. The resemblance between him and Kirill was undeniable. The same strong jawline, the same eyes, even the same faint scar on the left cheek.
A chill ran through her. Could it be a coincidence? Or was there more to this?
The next morning, she deliberately approached Kirill.
“Good morning,” she greeted, handing him a thermos. “It’s cold today. Have some tea.”
“Thank you,” he said, smiling. That smile—it was a ghost from her past.
“How long have you been gardening?” she asked, keeping her voice casual.
“Professionally, about a year. But I’ve been learning since I was a child. My father taught me.”
“Your father? What was his name?”
“Alexey,” he replied without hesitation.
The world seemed to tilt. Victoria gripped a tree trunk to steady herself.
“Are you all right?” he asked, concern etched on his face.
“Yes… just a little dizzy,” she muttered before retreating indoors, heart pounding.
Alone in her office, she pieced the timeline together. Kirill was nineteen. Alexey had disappeared fifteen years ago. Which meant…
Her stomach twisted. Had Alexey been living a double life all along? A family elsewhere, a secret child? She had spent years questioning herself, wondering if she had driven him away, but the truth was far worse.
The days that followed were unbearable. She scrutinized Kirill, every movement a painful reminder. Then, one morning, he approached her with a bouquet of freshly cut roses.
“The first bloom of the season,” he said warmly. “A gift for you.”
Victoria recoiled. Alexey had given her roses, too. The past crashed over her like a wave.
“Take them away,” she snapped. “I hate roses.”
Kirill looked stunned. “I’m sorry… I didn’t know.”
“There’s a lot you don’t know,” she muttered.
That night, she nearly called Elena, desperate for answers. But before she could, there was a knock at the door.
“Victoria Andreevna, may I come in?”
Kirill stood hesitantly at the entrance. “I need to ask you something.”
She nodded, bracing herself.
“Ever since I mentioned my father’s name, something changed. I see how you look at me—like you’ve seen a ghost. Did you know him?”
Victoria took a deep breath. “Tell me about your father.”
Kirill hesitated. “I barely remember him. He and my mother died when I was four. My Uncle Lesha raised me—my father’s twin brother. He adopted me and became my dad.”
The room spun. A twin. That explained everything. The resemblance, the sudden disappearance. Alexey hadn’t betrayed her—he had been saving his nephew, stepping into the role of a father.
“I need to see him,” Victoria whispered.
Days later, Alexey stood before her, time having etched lines into his face. Silence stretched between them, thick with unspoken words.
“Forgive me,” he finally said. “I should have told you.”
“You should have given me a choice.”
They talked long into the night, unraveling fifteen years of pain. By morning, Victoria knew one thing: she wouldn’t let the past define her future.
Kirill found them in the living room—Victoria leaning against Alexey’s shoulder, his arm wrapped around her protectively.
“Does this mean everything’s different now?” Kirill asked.
Alexey smiled softly. “It means everything is finally as it should be.”
Victoria reached for Kirill’s hand. “Stay. Both of you.”
In the garden, the roses bloomed once more—not as painful reminders, but as symbols of love, resilience, and new beginnings.