Alla Sergeyevna was slowly regaining consciousness, feeling the heavy weight of fatigue settle on her shoulders.
Her head was pounding, her eyelids felt like lead.
She heard the children quietly close the door—carefully, trying not to make any noise.
That was strange, because usually they came and went loudly, as if to deliberately announce their presence. But today everything was different.
Gathering her strength, she propped herself up on her elbows, leaning against the headboard, and looked out the window.
Through the dusty glass, she managed to glimpse Pyotr and Marina quickly walking toward the forest.
Their silhouettes flitted between the trees before vanishing behind a thick wall of greenery.
Alla Sergeyevna tried to shout:
— Marinka! Petya! Wait!
But her voice was weak, barely more than a whisper. The children didn’t turn around.
A moment later, they were gone from view.
She closed her eyes, but a second later opened them again.
Tears streamed down her cheeks like mountain spring water, tracing the deep wrinkles time had carved into her face.
“How did it come to this? How could I let it get this far?” she thought, feeling a void inside her—cold and bottomless like a well.
Her son had always been a difficult child. Whether it was his nature or fate playing a cruel joke—no one could say.
He had spent his whole life “drifting,” as Alla Sergeyevna put it, from one city to another, from one job to the next.
Sometimes it seemed like he’d finally found his path, and then everything would fall apart again.
Then, when he was already past forty, he returned home—with his young wife, Marina.
He didn’t come back empty-handed, but not wealthy either.
Just with hope—a hope that soon crumbled like sand slipping through fingers.
Alla Sergeyevna welcomed them warmly. So be it, she thought. The family is near, a grandson will be born, and a new life will begin.
Vanya, her beloved grandson, had lived with her since birth. She loved him with all her heart, rejoiced in every step, every achievement.
She had a large house, savings—everything one accumulates after a lifetime of work.
Once, during her husband’s lifetime, they had built that house together, saving every ruble, cutting corners where they could.
But one day, Pyotr found out how much money his mother had in the bank.
His expression changed in that moment—hardened, almost unfamiliar.
— Mother, you’re this rich and never said a word? — he asked with a strange tone—half surprised, half accusing.
— Rich? — Alla Sergeyevna chuckled. — That’s not rich. Just a little, maybe to help my grandson someday, buy an apartment…
— Oh, come on! Let him earn it himself! — her son snapped.
— You do have a son, you know!
Why does Vanya get everything?
He stomped his feet in anger and turned away, but after calming down, he spoke again:
— Mother, there’s this really promising deal.
Just need a small investment, and the profit will be huge!
Alla Sergeyevna shook her head. She knew that look—hope mixed with greed.
— You’ve “invested” before. And how did that turn out? No money, no profit. But do as you wish.
Petya rubbed his hands, pleased, as if he’d already gotten her approval:
— Mother, I knew you wouldn’t abandon me! Just five hundred thousand!
— Just? — she repeated sarcastically. — And when did you earn that kind of money?
Pyotr flushed red like a tomato. In the year and a half since they’d returned, neither he nor Marina had found stable work.
They looked for easy paths, dreamed of wealth, but did nothing to achieve it.
— I thought you’d give it to me…
— And why would you think that?
I earned that money with my own hands—not by chance. I won’t give it to anyone easily, even my own son.
— But I’m your son!
— Exactly. That’s why I want you to learn to value money.
You know, even if Vanya asked, I’d think twice.
Because he has brains, ambition, and a drive for more than just handouts.
These words wounded Pyotr deeply.
He lashed out with cruel words, but the argument was interrupted by a sudden outburst Ivan overheard when he came home from school.
Without a word, he pushed his father out of the room, gave his grandmother some valerian, and quietly said:
— Don’t cry, Grandma. I’ve only got six months of school left, then an internship.
After that, you and I—anywhere in the world you want to go!
Alla Sergeyevna smiled, stroking his hair, though she knew she no longer had the strength for such travels.
But Vanya never gave up, always found the words to lift her spirits.
Later, Ivan moved to another city. He called often, shared his successes, promised that soon he’d bring her to live with him.
But Alla Sergeyevna just waved it off, thinking it didn’t matter anymore where she lived.
And now—tied hands, a cold floor, darkness, and betrayal. How had it come to this?
After all, this was her son, her own flesh and blood. And for what—money?
Alla Sergeyevna decided—she wouldn’t fight anymore.
She would just wait for it all to end.
Time passed—an hour, maybe a day. She lost track.
Her head throbbed, her thoughts scattered.
Then suddenly she heard voices. Had they returned? To finish her off?
She reached toward the window, trying to see who it was.
And saw a girl walking through the forest, speaking to her small dog.
— I’m not going back! I’d rather live with wolves in the forest than with him!
The girl sobbed, and Alla Sergeyevna, summoning her last strength, whispered:
— Sweetheart… Help me…
Her voice was barely audible, but the dog heard it.
He started barking and ran toward the hut. The girl followed him in alarm.
She had never been here before, but felt strangely confident.
She had spent part of her childhood not far from here.
Her mother had recently remarried, and her new stepfather had become the source of all her troubles.
After another fight, where her mom accused her of horrible things, she had run away.
For good.
Seeing Alla Sergeyevna, she immediately rushed to untie her.
The woman’s hands were bruised blue from the pain.
— Feeling better? — Alyonka asked, rubbing the elderly woman’s hands.
— Thank you… A sip of water, please…
The girl brought water from a spring, and it tasted like the sweetest water Alla Sergeyevna had ever had.
She told her story, and after listening, Alyonka sighed:
— Worse than my story. My mom—my own mother—believes a stranger over me.
— What do we do now? We need to find people, said Alla Sergeyevna.
— Why? — replied Alyonka. — So they can hurt you again? I don’t have a future either.
They stayed in the hut for a week. The nights were cold and scary, so they decided it was time to go.
Alyonka suggested heading to her grandmother’s old house, a few kilometers away.
— Will we make it? Won’t we get lost? — worried Alla Sergeyevna.
— We’re strong! What’s there to be afraid of?
But by midday, it was clear they had lost their way.
They passed the same tree twice. Alyonka burst into tears:
— I haven’t been here in years. Everything’s overgrown—I don’t know where to go.
— Ah, child… — sighed Alla Sergeyevna. — It’s all the same to me now. But you still have a life ahead.
That night was especially frightening. Toshka barked nonstop.
They took turns sleeping, exhausted and broken. In the morning, they headed north, guided by moss on the trees.
— Why is this forest endless? — exclaimed Alla Sergeyevna.
— We keep going deeper, replied Alyonka. — I don’t know what else to do.
They slept a little. When Alla Sergeyevna woke up, she realized Alyonka was sick.
Fever, chills. Water was nearly gone. Toshka caught a mouse and ate it, but that was no solution for humans.
Alla Sergeyevna found a puddle, made a compress, but her strength was fading.
She cried—from hopelessness, from the thought that this young girl, with her whole life ahead, might die here in the forest.
Toshka barked loudly. Alla Sergeyevna feared it was wolves. But then a voice rang out:
— Grandma! Grandma!
It was Vanya. Alla Sergeyevna couldn’t believe her ears.
— Vanyusha? Is that you? Am I dreaming?
Her grandson hugged her tightly:
— Don’t cry, Grandma. Everything’s going to be okay now.
They made it out of the forest. Alyonka received medical help, Alla Sergeyevna was given tea.
Vanya cared for them both. Alyonka was carried on a stretcher, Toshka curled up in her arms and fell asleep.
— Grandson, how did you find me? — asked Alla Sergeyevna.
— Long story. Dad and Marina left—far away.
If you don’t want to see them again, you won’t have to.
I let them go. I couldn’t bring myself to send them to prison.
— You did right, my boy. No need to carry that burden.
When they returned home, Vanya continued to take care of them. One day he said:
— Grandma, Alyonka keeps asking about Toshka.
I’ve decided to take him with me. He doesn’t know the city.
Alla Sergeyevna smiled:
— We’ll live on. Maybe even get to babysit some great-grandkids.
