An Unexpected Visitor
In a tranquil village, no one could say with certainty where she had come from, this woman who seemed to have appeared from thin air. One rather uneventful day, in the house once occupied by an elderly woman named Baba Dunya, a light flickered on, shadows danced behind foggy windows. She arrived alone, accompanied by a seven-year-old boy, appearing soft-spoken and reserved. Naturally, the neighbors quickly began to weave various theories: from where did she come? What was her purpose? And most importantly, where was the child’s father? Was he a casualty on the battlefield defending his homeland, or was he among those whose name was whispered in fear?
Ludmila, notorious in Alexandrovka for her insatiable curiosity and penchant for gossip, could not resist her impulse and promptly made her way to the village council to interrogate the chairman. She brought along a bottle of top-notch homemade spirit as a compelling argument.
“Listen, Vasilych, who is this newcomer? The one who settled into Dunya’s house? Alone with a child, and without a man… Where’s her breadwinner?”
“What newcomer?” replied the chairman, fully aware of whom she was referring to but unwilling to indulge the gossipmonger.
“You know, the one with the little boy. Where’s her husband? Is he missing?”
“Ludmila, are you at it again?” Vasily Andreevich sighed. “Don’t you have your own worries? Why must you stick your nose where it doesn’t belong?” He held a lasting disdain for this woman, recalling how she once spread a ridiculous rumor about his own wife, just when the latter was dealing with some nerves.
“But I must know, Vasilych! We’ll be living close by. We should know who our neighbors are.”
“Not in the same house,” he muttered.
“So, who is she? What are her roots?”
“She’s from the city. She moved here. We lost our veterinarian, Natalia is gone, so she’ll be taking care of the livestock.”
“And her husband?” Ludmila pressed on, undeterred. “Where is he?”
“In Karaganda. Leave me be, I’m tired of you! What concern is it of yours?”
“Oh, my God, what secrets! Is he… our enemy?”
“May your tongue wither!” the chairman exploded. “He died in the war, understand? He lost his life. Now get out of here before I find something for you to do, I have no time for gossip.”
Once the persistent visitor had left, Vasily Andreevich rubbed his face in frustration. He should have warned Emilia, although she already understood without his words that secrecy was vital for survival. He had taken an enormous risk, forging documents to protect her and the boy from a dreadful fate. Being the spouse of an enemy of the people was a mark of shame, one that in these years meant merely existing rather than living.
Meanwhile, Emilia was busy washing windows in her new home, which was empty and filled with dust and an old smell. Her gaze, heavy with unspeakable longing, drifted over bare walls and cracked floors. Yes, she was accustomed to a different life, to a cozy urban apartment, with the gleam of polished floors, and the soft whispers of curtains dancing in the wind…
Her husband, Leonid Ignatievich, was the director of the city theater, and she and her son, Elisei, had never known hardship even during the harshest, most hunger-ridden years of the war. This prosperity was not solely due to her husband; Emilia had worked tirelessly as a remarkable veterinarian with a special touch. In the city, everyone knew her name if they had livestock or household pets. For a time, they even invited her to join a traveling circus at a good salary, and she worked both day and night, rushing to help those in need. Grateful clients ensured that her family never faced poverty.
But three months ago, her neighbor, Vera Petrovna, had knocked on their door, her face pale and eyes wide with terror.
“Emilochka, run away from here, as far as you can,” she whispered urgently, barely crossing the threshold. “Believe an old fool; I’ve seen this before… I know how it ends for families…”
“What troubles, Vera Petrovna? What do you mean?” Emilia felt her world shift beneath her feet.
“Your Leonid Ignatievich has been taken. Accused of anti-Soviet propaganda.”
“What propaganda? He never said a single bad word… He’s always been loyal!”
“We know that, but… they handed out leaflets in the theater along with the programs, calling for actions against the authorities. A stack was found in his safe.”
“That can’t be true! He’s been set up!” Emilia gasped, her vision darkening. Vera Petrovna, without waiting for an invitation, brought her a glass of water.
“We know, dear, we know. But proving it now is another matter. He’s in charge, and he will bear the consequences. You and your son must disappear because they could come for you at any moment. As his wife, you were expected to know about his thoughts.”
“But where do we go? I believe this will be clarified; it’s a misunderstanding!”
“Clarified? My brother is still being ‘clarified’—sixteen years in the taiga cutting wood due to a neighbor’s complaint. Do not expect mercy; save your son. If your husband manages to sort things out, he’ll find you…”
“Where should I go? Am I supposed to hide for my entire life?”
“For now, stay with my friend, Olga. She lives alone on the outskirts, almost outside the city. You will be her niece; I will give her a note, she’ll understand. I will pass messages through her.”
Two months later, Vera Petrovna delivered the harrowing news: Leonid Ignatievich had been sentenced to ten years in the camps. All fingers pointed at him, the makeup artist and screenwriter testified that he was the one distributing the cursed leaflets. Now his position had been taken over by the director Gordeev, a man with whom Leonid had always had strained and almost hostile relations.
“What should I do now?” Emilia asked, having cried all her tears.
“They were looking for you, but your husband is clever; he stated you went to Tashkent to visit a sister. Let them search there! Do you really have a sister?”
“Yes, a cousin, she married and lives in aul. It won’t be easy to find her.”
“Well, that’s good. Stay here for now, and we’ll see what the future holds.”
One evening, under the pretense of buying bread, Emilia stopped by a tailor to alter her once-elegant coat, now ill-fitting. She had lost a considerable amount of weight from endless worries and bitter thoughts. While she sat in the tailor shop, a man waited for his turn, and a slow, inconsequential conversation began between them. It turned out he was Vasily Andreevich, the chairman from Alexandrovka. He lamented about the hardships he faced: the local veterinarian had died, and no new specialist had been sent, and to make matters worse, a sick heifer was in need. Driven by her professional instincts, Emilia promised to take a look at the animal.
Next day, she made her way to Alexandrovka, which lay thirty kilometers from the city, examined the poor cow, and penned down treatment recommendations along with the necessary medications on a scrap of paper.
As he escorted her back to the edge of the village, the chairman cautiously inquired where she was working and if she would consider replacing the deceased Natalia at the local farm. Emilia remained silent, carefully pondering every word as she rushed to conclude this dangerous conversation.
But unexpectedly, Vasily Andreevich gently but firmly took her by the elbow and, gazing directly into her eyes, quietly asked, “Are you hiding from someone?”
“I’m not hiding; I’m fine,” she tried to lie, her voice quivering.
“Then leave your contact information, if you need help, I’ll find you. Not for free, of course…”
“I can’t leave an address. I can’t share where I work… Because…”
“Because you aren’t working but hiding. Listen, I’ve seen people of all kinds in my life, and I recognize that scared, hunted look well… My cousin had it when she tried to defend herself from an unjust accusation. And she didn’t hide no matter how much I pleaded… Five years in the camps, all connections severed… It shouldn’t be this way. Emilia, if you need help, you can rely on me. Just tell me, don’t be afraid.”
At that moment, something inside Emilia snapped. She began to cry, bitterly and inconsolably. She longed to unburden herself, to share her misfortune so that at least one person in the world would understand and perhaps offer advice. She was tired of living in constant fear, of living in the shadows. She had a son to think about! And casting caution aside, she resolved that whatever happened, this man didn’t know her address or real last name; he only had her first name… And she unfolded her entire sorrowful story, pausing intermittently to wipe her tears and moisten her parched throat.
He listened patiently, without interruption, and when she fell silent, he sat quietly for several minutes, staring in the direction of the setting sun. Then he turned back to her, his gaze calm and resolute.
“We have an empty house in the village. You can move there with your son. There’s a school not far away, around five kilometers. You will have work.”
“But what if someone finds out?”
“You will take a different surname. If someone asks, tell them your husband died at the front, and you were sent here for a temporary assignment. And stay away from our village gossipers, especially one in particular.”
“But I don’t want you to get into trouble because of me.”
“There will be no trouble if you don’t let anything slip.”
“I need to think…”
“Alright. You know where to find me.” Vasily Andreevich rose from the bench and walked slowly down the road, not looking back. Emilia sat there for nearly an hour, mulling over his words, and then trudged home, consumed with doubts. Had she done the right thing in trusting a stranger? Would this trust turn into new misfortune?
Upon returning, she heard her landlady reading a fairy tale to Elisei.
“You’re back, dear?” The elderly Olga had grown fond of her silent tenant. Although she didn’t pay for her lodging, there hadn’t been such neatness and comfort in her home for a long time— the panes sparkled, the curtains and napkins were starched, not a speck of dust. From their meager supplies, Emilia managed to whip up tasty meals. It couldn’t be said that she and her son were living off the old woman; the woman had sold some of her own jewelry, which made it possible for them to make ends meet.
In the evening, wrapped in a worn blanket with a cup of herbal tea, Emilia shared the chairman’s proposal. After considering it for a moment, Olga said, “You know, I’ve heard about him. They say he’s a decent man; he doesn’t abandon his people in distress, and his wife was known as a good woman.”
“How do you know?”
“My late neighbor, Matryona, was from that village. She told me everything.”
“What do you think, should I agree?”
“I’m not the one to advise you, dear. I’ll tell you this—hiding for the rest of your life isn’t feasible. Elisei needs social interaction, and you need work. How many valuables do you have left? What will you do afterward? Of course, it will be empty without me, but I’ll manage somehow. You need to think about the future, to build your own destiny…”
For two weeks, Emilia was torn by doubts, but in the end, she made her decision. She went to the Alexandrovka village council, standing at the threshold, quietly saying:
“Hello, Vasily Andreevich.”
“And may you not be ill, Emilia,” he turned around, and understanding flashed in his eyes.
“I’m here regarding your proposal. Is it still valid?”
“Of course! Did you really change your mind?”
“I did. But what if the truth is revealed?”
“I told you. Just say, Emilia, will the surname Orlov suit you?”
“I don’t care what surname I live under, as long as I’m not afraid for myself and my son.”
“That’s good. The documents will be ready in a week. How old is the little one?”
“Seven. I’m twenty-eight.”
“You’re still young…” sighed the chairman quietly. “In general, take the boy and move in. When can you?”
“I think tomorrow. We don’t have much to take, only what we can carry…”
“That’s fine; you’ll settle in. Everything will be available to you.”
The siguiente day, Emilia arrived in the village firmly holding her son’s hand in one and clutching a worn suitcase in the other. After settling into a small yet sturdy house, the next morning she went to the farm, where the chairman introduced her to the villagers. Instantly, the women bombarded her with questions, and she skillfully dodged their inquiries, steering the conversation onto professional topics.
Within a few days, she was dubbed the recluse, but everyone unanimously recognized her as an exceptional new veterinarian, a true specialist who rushed to help at the first call, day or night.
When the chairman brought the new documents, issued under the surname Orlova withAdjusted dates, Emilia took her first full breath in a long while: here, she was a complete stranger to everyone, needing only to adapt to village life. And wait for her husband… Who knew what these next ten years would bring?
Integrating into Village Life
As time passed, she acclimatized to the rhythm of rural life, gradually establishing connections with her neighbors, though she remained somewhat reserved and taciturn, eventually left alone.
Her demeanor puzzled the local men—how could a young and attractive woman remain in mourning for so long? They explained her reluctance to forge new relationships by the fact that so much time passed since the end of the war.
Stepan, the local carpenter, a man with kind eyes and skilled hands, attempted to win her heart through her son—showing the boy his trade, teaching him how to handle tools, crafting simple toys for him. One evening, stepping out onto the porch for a breath of fresh air, Emilia found him sitting on her bench.
“Hello. What brings you here? We saw each other today already,” she expressed with slight surprise.
“I just can’t figure it out,” he began, stroking the time-polished wood of the bench. “Everyone knows your husband died at war. So, who’s this other dad Elisei was talking about today?”
Emilia’s fingers trembled. She had known this moment would arrive at some point, and she had mentally prepared a response, yet the fear remained overwhelming. She was exhausted from lying; she didn’t want it, but telling the truth was fraught with danger.
“Yes, my husband died,” she replied quietly. “The man Elisei was talking about… Well, he lived with us for a time. My son doesn’t remember his father; I was pregnant when the war began, so he referred to that man as his dad.”
“Does that man have a name?” Stepans asked bitterly.
“He does. But you don’t need to know it. We simply separated. I won’t say more. And what you heard, keep to yourself.”
“Still, someone will figure it out. You should have a talk with your son. I will keep quiet, but still, Emilia, why do you keep pushing me away? What is wrong with me?”
“No, it’s not that,” she shook her head. He appealed to her; his calm strength and kindness resonated with her, but she loved her husband and waited for him. How could she explain this feeling to Stepan?
“Am I distasteful to you?”
“No,” she replied again.
“So what’s the problem? I own my own home, have a trade; I don’t starve. Why am I wrong? I’ve been circling around you, unsure how to please you, and you treat me like an icy wall. Just say it out loud, what’s the problem?”
“Everything is fine, Stepans. I just can’t embrace new relationships yet; I need time, okay?”
“You’ve been here for a year, hasn’t your heart thawed?”
“No, it hasn’t thawed. Please, Stepan, stop. And don’t come back here.” Emilia abruptly turned and walked into the house, closing the door behind her. God, were there really not any other women in this village he could pay attention to?
One month after this conversation, Emilia traveled to the city and visited Olga, her savior.
“Hello, my dear. Did you bring me gifts from the village again? You spoil me…”
“What am I to do with this? The villagers spoil us, and we don’t need much for ourselves. You should let me know if you’ve heard any news. Has Vera Petrovna received any updates?”
Vera Petrovna was the only person unafraid to maintain contact with the imprisoned Leonid. She wrote him letters deep into Siberia, and the replies were left at Olga’s knowing Emilia would collect them. The letters made no mention of his wife and son, and he never inquired, knowing each word went through the meticulous scrutiny of a censor.
At that moment, Olga hesitated, lowering her gaze, trying to steer the conversation onto something else, but Emilia sensed her discomfort.
“What’s wrong? Are you hiding something from me?”
“I just don’t know how to tell you this, dear… Vera Petrovna received news from the camp. Here.” She approached the old dresser and tremblingly pulled out a yellowed sheet. It read in official handwriting: “Your correspondent has deceased from pneumonia, buried in a common grave.”
Attached to the letter was her last message, returned with the cold resolution from the camp commander.
Holding that paper, which represented eternal loss, Emilia sat in a chair and wept silently, her tears seeming to wash away her last hopes. She returned home only after dark.
The next day, she wore a mask of composure, working as if nothing had happened. But in the evening, alone with the humming silence, she would allow herself to confront her sorrow. She had to relive the loss again; this time it was final and irreversible.
A month later, she stood at Vera Petrovna’s fresh grave. As Olga reported, the elderly woman had not survived a significant heart attack.
Emilia no longer concealed her sorrow; the villagers believed it was her grandmother who passed away, offering genuine sympathies for the widow. Even Stepan temporarily halted his persistent courtships, seeing that his beloved had more pressing matters at hand.
But after a few months, he resumed his attempts to persuade her to go for walks, taking Elisei with him to his workshop or to the river with fishing poles. The child began to hint that Uncle Stepan would make a good housemate. The boy matured quickly, painfully resembling his father, and was already aware that life in the village without a strong man was incredibly tough.
“Mom, he’s a good man, Uncle Stepan. And he loves you; I can tell.”
“I see it too, son…” She gently stroked Elisei’s hair; he had just turned nine.
“Mom, we’ve lived here for two years now, and the porch is completely crooked. Why not let Uncle Stepan fix it? Why refuse help?”
“Let him fix it,” Emilia replied with a slight smile. She could see how attached her son was to this man, and she understood that she couldn’t live her entire life in the shadow of the past. A year had already passed since that dreadful news… He wouldn’t return. But she would always remember him, keeping his memory deep in her heart.
When Stepan finished fixing the porch, he typically invited Emilia to take a walk by the river, to the old, half-destroyed bridge.
“Well, let’s go…” she sighed softly.
“Really?” he couldn’t believe his ears. “You’re really going with me?”
“Really. Let’s take a walk, but just for a little while; we have an early day at the farm tomorrow.”
She returned home at sunset, holding a modest yet fragrant bouquet of wild daisies and cornflowers. For the first time in two long years, she allowed a man to tenderly brush his lips against her cheek.
Stepan was dear to her, and the kindness and sincerity with which he treated both her and her son slowly melted the ice surrounding her hardened heart. A year later, she agreed to marry him. They did not throw a lavish wedding; the chairman quietly officiated, and on the same day, Emilia and Elisei moved into Stepan’s spacious and sturdy home.
A year after that, she learned she was expecting a child. Soon, a girl named Marina was born.
And while everything seemed good and peaceful in her life with her new husband, who carried her in his arms and adored both children, there were moments when she would find herself alone, shedding quiet tears, mourning the one she believed she still loved…
Stepan pretended not to notice, but it was also difficult for him, despite the careful concealment. He understood that his wife didn’t belong to him completely, yet he did everything to ensure she felt his protection and support while dutifully bearing his burden.
When their daughter Marina turned three, the past, which seemed forever buried, violently barged back into her orderly life… And Emilia found herself at a crossroad where the choice seemed impossible.
An Unforeseen Encounter
On one sunny autumn day, as the air was crisp and clear, Emilia was returning from the farm when a voice, familiar yet unexpected, called out to her. At first, she couldn’t believe her ears, but turning around, she was astonished to see Olga. What was she doing here? The old woman never visited her in the village; it had always been Emilia venturing out to the city. She had just been there a week ago…
“Olga? How did you get here? What happened?”
“Emilochka, my dear… I don’t even know where to begin. Your husband has returned. He doesn’t know I’m here; I decided to warn you myself.”
“Olga, what are you saying? Stepan is home; he hasn’t gone anywhere!”
“Not Stepan, but the real one, your Leonid!” Olga had always called Stepan ‘fake,’ believing that since the documents were forged, the marriage didn’t count.
“You must be mixing things up; you showed me that letter five years ago…”
“There was a mistake, a huge mistake! He came to me, learned I was Vera Petrovna’s friend, meaning I must know something. He’s staying with me for now. He’ll explain everything himself.”
Emilia’s heart raced fiercely, pounding in her temples. Leonid is alive? How can that be? Her only desire was to drop everything and rush into the city to ensure this wasn’t a mirage, that she wasn’t delirious. To see him, embrace him, breathe in his scent, to tell him how she had waited and loved him all these years. But then a terrifying thought struck her… What would she say? That she loved him? What kind of love is that when she has another husband and a small daughter?
“Olga, how did you arrive?”
“My nephew brought me on a motorcycle; he’s waiting for me around the corner. Will you come?”
“I will. Tomorrow, I have a day off. I just need to find a reason…”
Her hands were trembling; she tried to compose herself, but it was impossible. Stepping into her—no, Stepan’s—home, she gathered all her will to smile at her husband and then, busying herself by the stove, tried her best not to meet his gaze, asking as naturally as possible:
“Do you have a day off tomorrow too?”
“Yes, we thought Elisei and I would go to the river and catch some fish.”
“I’m afraid that won’t work. I completely forgot I promised Olga I’d clean her windows before winter.”
“Aren’t you spending too much time on her?” he grimaced in frustration. “I understand you, but you were just there last week.”
“So what?” Emilia shrugged. “There were times I’d disappear for two months. You know how she helped me back in the day. Besides me and that nephew, she has no one; he’s forever on duty, and his wife isn’t much help… I made a promise, Stepan.”
“Fine, just don’t be too late.”
The following day by midday, Emilia stood at the entrance of Olga’s house, struggling to catch her breath from anticipation. One more step and she would see him. Another move…
He stood in the hallway, waiting for her. Unshaven, gaunt, with gray at his temples, yet so familiar and once so loved… She rushed towards him, and they stood silently in an embrace as her shoulders shook quietly.
“Well, that’s enough, dear, don’t cry. I’m here, alive. Olga told me what you were notified of… I will tell you everything, just let me look at you!”
Half an hour later, Olga discreetly excused herself, citing urgent matters.
“Tell me everything,” Emilia implored.
“Alright, I’ll start from the beginning…” Leaning back in his seat, Leonid began his unhurried story: “When they came for me, I immediately sensed it was someone’s report. All I thought about was you and our son escaping. Luckily, I managed to whisper to Vera Petrovna. Afterward, well, there was trial, transit, Siberia, lumberjacking.”
“But why then did they say you were dead?”
“Because of some mix-up. I lived in the barrack with a man with almost the same name, only our patronymics differed: he was Semenovich, I’m Ignatievich. But in documents, our initials were the same. We got sick on the same day; the winter was harsh that year. They put us in a hospital, and a week later, he passed away. I fought off the illness for a long time, barely survived. Later, I found out I had been ‘buried’ under his name by mistake. I wrote to Vera Petrovna, but never got a reply to that or any subsequent letters.”
“She’s no longer alive. She passed away a month after receiving the news from the camp.”
“I learned that later.”
“Leonid, how are you here? You still had so much time remaining…”
“Amnesty, for good behavior. The camp commander—he’s not a bad person, met with me, and gave me a good report. And I fell under the general amnesty,” he smiled wryly. “Now I can start life anew. We’ll be together again—I, you, and our son.”
Emilia stared silently out the dusty window, unsure how to approach a terrifying truth. But he needed to know everything.
“Leonid… Back then, after your arrest, we were hiding. Then I came across a good person who provided us with shelter here in the village, work, new documents. A year later, I found out you weren’t alive… another year later, I remarried…” As she spoke these words, Leonid flinched, and his face distorted in a grimace of pain. He stared at her in stunned silence.
“But you’re living with him on forged documents! You are my true wife! I will struggle, but I’ll try to forget you were with another; after all, you thought you were a widow.”
“We have a daughter.”
“What did you say?”
“We have a daughter with him,” she repeated, each word feeling like an insurmountable weight.
Leonid jumped up and began pacing the room, clenching and unclenching his fists. Then, crouching down before her, he took her cold hands in his.
“I… I will accept her, I will try… But I won’t be able to breathe knowing you were with him! Tell me, do you love him?”
“No, I only love you. All these years, you’ve remained in my heart!”
“Alright. As soon as I settle in, I will send news, and you’ll take the children and we’ll leave. We will be together. You agree?”
“Leonid, I need time to think… Stepans is not guilty of anything.”
“I’m not guilty either!” he yelled, frustratedly. “After all, we are husband and wife; we love each other! And that… that Stepan will find someone else. Additionally, we will restore your documents. I’ve been pardoned; times are changing; nothing threatens us anymore. We can live openly and honestly.”
Moral Dilemma
The entire next month, Emilia found herself in tormenting inner turmoil. On all her day offs, she ventured into the city under various pretenses to spend hours with Leonid. She could not muster the strength to confess to Stepans that she was leaving. She felt unbearable sympathy for this honest, straightforward man.
One day, while walking with Leonid through the old city park, they stopped by a pond to feed the ducks and suddenly heard a mocking call.
Turning around, Emilia saw Gordeev, the very director who had taken her husband’s place.
“Well now, Leonid,” he spoke coldly.
“For you, it’s Leonid Ignatievich,” he replied with icy venom in his voice.
“Ignatievich, you say? How was it to be a guest of the state? Are you satisfied?”
“What are you allowed to do?” Emilia snapped, always suspecting this man of dastardliness.
“I allow myself the truth. Your husband nearly sent me away, but as they say, ‘don’t dig a pit for others…’”
“Silence and leave, while you can!” Leonid pulled Emilia’s hand sharply and withdrew her towards the exit of the park.
“What does he mean?”
“Don’t listen to him! Old malice is choking him. He always aimed for my position; he was envious. He got what he wanted but refuses to accept the truth. Enough about him. Dear, when will you finally make your decision? When will I see my son?”
“Soon; I need to prepare him.”
“Tomorrow. I will wait for you both then. No more delays; I want to celebrate my son’s birthday with him, not some other man.”
Upon hearing these words, Emilia unexpectedly felt a sharp resentment towards Stepan. How could he be just some stranger? For these years, he had been a true father to Elisei; it was his hand guiding the boy, his love warming them both.
Returning home that evening, Emilia found Stepan sitting alone at the table in their messy house.
“Where are the children?” she asked quietly.
“In the yard, didn’t you see?” His voice dripped with fatigue and flatness.
“No… They’ve probably gone behind the house.”
“You seem to notice nothing these days.”
“What do you mean?” Emilia tensed up.
“I noticed you didn’t catch on yesterday. I saw you walking with an unfamiliar man, laughing at his words, how he held your hand. Who is he? Were you with him today?”
“He is my husband,” Emilia exhaled, and with those words, it felt as if a heavy burden had been lifted. There was no point in hiding anything anymore. Looking into his shocked, pained eyes, she recounted everything, right from the start, not omitting a single detail.
“So all of this has been a lie?” he gestured expansively around the room. “Your name, our life, our marriage…? And our daughter? Marina? What will happen to her? I will not let her go for anything!”
He stood up from the table, pulled on his coat, and stormed out, slamming the door behind him. A few minutes later, Elisei dashed into the house.
“Mom, why did dad take Marina away and leave? He said you’d explain everything!”
And for the second time that evening, Emilia found herself recounting her story, looking into her son’s wide, suddenly mature eyes.
“What will happen now? Mom, are you leaving dad?”
“Yes. You have your real father. Tomorrow… tomorrow I will introduce you to him.”
They left for the city at dawn, though Leonid was waiting for them closer to evening. There was no one at Olga’s place, and Emilia and her son wandered through the sleeping streets.
“Do you see that theater?” she pointed. “Your father used to be the director here.”
“Mom, can we go inside? Can we take a look?”
“I believe so. There are still people working there who knew him well.”
They entered the cool, empty foyer, looking around. Emilia noted how the building had changed in six years; there were new wall paintings…
“Emilia? Hello.” Gordeev approached them.
“I can’t return the greeting. I’m just showing my son where his father worked before his life was derailed,” she replied coldly.
“You still think so? Hm… Allow me to clarify something. Please step into my office.”
Emilia hesitated but curiosity overcame disgust. Leaving Elisei downstairs, she climbed to the familiar second floor.
Sitting down in a chair across from his enormous desk, she waited silently.
“You expect explanations, and I will give them…” Back then, six years ago, it was your husband who brought those leaflets to the theater. Did you know he was taking bribes and arranging for people in the troupe who wouldn’t have gotten in without it? These were mistresses and relatives of officials… You’re not naïve; you know how it works.”
“You’re lying! He never took bribes!” Emilia flared up.
“Oh, really? Where did those jewels come from? And the wealth that was beyond even his salary?”
“He had a respectable income! And rations…”
“You are remarkably naïve. Even now you’re not asking how he lives now, having taken a job as a janitor. Meanwhile, he isn’t living in poverty at all. Surely he had some savings tucked away.”
“What does that have to do with you framing him with leaflets?”
“That was my doing. But they were his leaflets. Your husband brought them to the theater and started distributing them, and I returned them into his safe, which, to his misfortune, was unlocked. That negligence saved me from his treachery.”
“But why? Why would he do that?”
“What do you mean why? I found out about his dealings one day, having caught him at the moment he was taking a stack of those same rations. He decided to eliminate me. But as you see, it turned out justly. Do you remember what I told him about the pit? That’s exactly what I meant.”
Shaken, Emilia exited the office without a word. She didn’t know if she should believe Gordeev. But why was he lying now? As she walked down the street, oblivious to her son’s words, she suddenly spotted Leonid ahead—he was just emerging from a jewelry workshop. Waiting for him to turn a corner, she left Elisei outside and stepped inside. An elderly jeweler was behind the counter.
She staged a small performance, complaining that her brother was stealing and selling family valuables. In the end, the jeweler, pitying the “poor woman,” informed her that Leonid had indeed just sold a beautiful necklace for a rather substantial sum.
“Now he can live carefreely for a couple of months,” the old man concluded.
Thanking him, Emilia exited and silently made her way to the bus station.
“Mom, what about Dad?” asked Elisei.
“Another time, son. Another time…”
Her mind was a tempest. Unable to withstand the turmoil, she sent Elisei home alone and returned to the city.
Leonid didn’t deny the obvious. Emilia told him about her encounter with Gordeev, and if she had harbored doubts before, the words of the jeweler dispelled them.
“So it’s true? You were taking bribes, accepting money often in rations and jewels?”
“I wanted to ensure you lacked for nothing! To provide you with all the best!”
“And is it true you brought those leaflets to set up Gordeev?”
“It’s true. And so what? I paid dearly for that!”
“We paid dearly too!” Emilia said quietly yet powerfully. “We hid like criminals, fled from our homes, and lost everything! Our apartment was taken from us!”
“I have savings, we can live well again; we had enough for a few more years living free of worry! Do you understand how many fathers tried to place their ‘daughters’ in the theater? And the troupe is large…” Leonid chuckled, and this laughter triggered nausea in Emilia. The first months following his arrest flashed before her eyes, filled with tears, fear, and humiliation. She stood up and looked at this man and suddenly understood distinctly that she could not remain at his side. She could not betray the honest, real life she had created with Stepan.
“Five years ago, I learned you died. Perhaps it would have been better if that were the truth. At least I loved that man you were in my memories—honest and noble. So let it be. You are dead to me.”
“Wait! You can’t just walk away! We have a son! And you—my wife!” he shouted. “The boy will understand everything. Since we had to lie, he has come to despise the very nature of lies. And I am no longer your husband. You’ve been without a husband since the day you placed her and your child in mortal danger. What would have happened if they had found us? I’d be in a camp, our child in an orphanage? All because of your greed!” Emilia swung the door open and dashed outside. Leonid chased after her and grabbed her by the wrist.
“Darling, don’t you remember you’re living under false documents? I can report it to the authorities.”
“And who will believe you? I have a clean history: an orphan, a front-line husband, a son. But you… it turns out Gordeev is a noble man; he kept quiet about your bribes… What if this comes to light? What about the jeweler? Didn’t you consider him? Let my wrist go,” she hissed, and as soon as his fingers loosened, she quickly walked away, not looking back.
Once more, tears filled her eyes, but this time they were tears of liberation. Just that morning, she had been building castles in the sky, dreaming of reuniting with her beloved, but now she was revolted by the very thought of him.
Returning home in the evening, she told Elisei everything. He listened in silence, and then embraced her tightly, and they sat like that until they heard familiar steps. It was Stepan returning home with Marina in his arms. Elisei, as if sensing everything without words, led his sister into another room. The man approached the table and sank heavily onto a chair.
“What have you decided? Keep in mind, I won’t return our daughter to you. At least not until I’m sure you’re fine. Maybe I’ll bring her to you then, but for now… let her stay with me.”
“I’m staying. I don’t want Leonid.”
“What?” Stepan thought he misheard.
“I’m staying. If you… take me back. And I promise,” her voice faltered, “I’ll be a true wife to you. Loyal.”
“And we’ll forget everything that happened. And we won’t speak of it, okay?” He took her hand in his, and within his gaze, she sensed not only love but also boundless, overwhelming relief.
“He was afraid—he truly feared losing me. He worried for our daughter… This is how a real man should value his loved ones. This is what love is.”
“I love you, Emilia. Very much.”
“And I love you,” she answered softly, and for the first time in all those years, she realized it wasn’t a lie. She indeed felt something more for him than respect and gratitude. Perhaps this was the real feeling she had been resisting for so long, clinging to ghosts of the past. But even if it had not yet matured into love, she would learn it. She vowed to herself.
Under the eaves of their humble but sturdy and reliable home, beneath the quiet whispers of the autumn wind outside, their new shared life began—a life fought for and prayed for, built not on lies and fear but on trust, loyalty, and the quiet strength known as true love. In this lay its profound, unalterable meaning.