Alla Sergeyevna slowly came to herself, feeling the heavy weight of fatigue settle on her shoulders. Her head throbbed, her eyelids felt as heavy as lead. She heard the children closing the door—quietly, almost cautiously. It was strange, because usually they came and went loudly, as if demanding attention. But today, everything was different.
Summoning her strength, she propped herself up on her elbows, leaning against the headboard, and looked out the window. Through the dusty glass, she caught sight of Pyotr and Marina walking quickly toward the forest. Their silhouettes flickered between the trees until they vanished behind the thick greenery. Alla Sergeyevna tried to call out:
“Marinochka! Petya! Wait!”
But her voice was weak, barely more than a whisper. The children didn’t turn back. Another moment, and they were gone from sight. She closed her eyes, then opened them again. Tears streamed down her cheeks like mountain streams, tracing the deep wrinkles etched by time.
“How did it come to this? How could I have let things go so far?” she thought, feeling a hollow emptiness inside, cold and bottomless as a well.
Her son had always been difficult. Whether it was his nature or a cruel twist of fate—no one knew. He had always been “drifting,” as Alla Sergeyevna said herself, from city to city, job to job. Sometimes it seemed he had found his path, only for everything to collapse again. And then, past forty, he returned home—with his young wife, Marina.
He hadn’t come empty-handed, but neither was he wealthy. Only hope, which soon began to slip away like sand through fingers. Alla Sergeyevna welcomed them warmly. Well, she thought, at least family is nearby. A grandson would be born soon. Perhaps a new life would begin.
Vanya, her beloved grandson, had lived with her since birth. She loved him with all her heart, rejoicing in every step he took, every victory. She had a large house, savings—everything one accumulates after many years of work. She and her late husband had built the house together, saving every ruble.
But one day Pyotr discovered how much money was in his mother’s bank accounts. His face changed. It hardened, almost unrecognizable.
“Mother, you’re so rich and never say a word?” he asked, his tone strange—half surprise, half reproach.
“Rich?” Alla Sergeyevna smiled bitterly. “This isn’t wealth. Just a little saved to help Vanya, maybe buy an apartment…”
“No way! Let him earn it himself!” Pyotr interrupted sharply. “You have a son! Why does everything go only to Vanya?”
He stomped angrily, then, calming slightly, added:
“Mother, here’s a tempting deal. You invest a little, the profit will be huge!”
Alla Sergeyevna shook her head, recognizing the look—hope mixed with greed—in his eyes.
“You invested before. What came of it? No money, no profit. But decide for yourself.”
Pyotr rubbed his hands, pleased as if he already had her consent.
“Mother, I knew you wouldn’t leave me in trouble! Just five hundred thousand are needed.”
“Just?” she repeated sarcastically. “When did you manage to earn that?”
Pyotr flushed like a tomato. In the year and a half since their return, neither he nor Marina had found steady work. They searched for easy ways, dreamed of wealth, but did nothing to achieve it.
“I thought you’d give it…”
“And how did that idea come to you? I earned that money through hard work. I won’t give it away easily—not even to my son.”
“But I am your son!”
“Exactly why I want you to learn to value money. Even if Vanya asked, I’d think twice. Because he has a mind, a desire to work, and ambition beyond handouts.”
These words hurt Pyotr deeply. He said many harsh things to his mother, but the conversation was cut short by a sudden quarrel overheard by Ivan, returning from school. Without words, Ivan pushed his father out, gave Alla Sergeyevna some valerian, and said gently:
“Don’t cry, Ba. I have six months of study left, then practice. After that, you and I—we can go anywhere in the world!”
Alla Sergeyevna smiled, stroking her grandson’s hair, though she knew she no longer had the strength for such journeys. But Vanya never gave up. He always found words to support her.
Then Ivan left for another city. He called often, telling her of his successes, promising to take her with him soon. But Alla Sergeyevna brushed it off, feeling she no longer cared where to go.
And now—bound hands, cold floor, darkness, and betrayal. How had it come to this? After all, this was her son, her own flesh and blood! Because of money?
Alla Sergeyevna decided she would no longer fight. She would wait until it was over. No one knew how much time passed—an hour or a day. She lost track of time. Her head pounded, thoughts scattered. Suddenly, she heard voices. Were they back? To finish her off for good?
She reached for the window and saw a girl walking through the forest, talking to her little dog.
“I won’t come back anymore! Better to live with wolves than with him!”
The girl sobbed. Gathering her last strength, Alla Sergeyevna whispered:
“Daughter! Daughter, help!”
Her voice barely audible—but the dog heard it. It barked and ran toward the hut. The girl followed, frightened.
She was here for the first time but felt sure of herself. Not far away was where she had spent her childhood. Her mother had recently remarried, and the new husband was the cause of her troubles. After a fight where her mother accused her of terrible things, the girl ran away—left for good.
Seeing Alla Sergeyevna, she immediately untied the ropes. The woman’s hands were blue with pain.
“How do you feel?” Alenka asked, rubbing the elderly hands.
“Thank you… A sip of water…”
The girl brought water from the spring, and it tasted like the best water in Alla Sergeyevna’s life. She told her story. Alenka sighed:
“It can’t be worse than mine. My own mother believes a stranger’s husband instead of me.”
“What shall we do? We need to get to people,” Alla Sergeyevna said.
“Why? Wait until they torment you to death? I have no future either.”
They lived in the hut for a week. Nights were cold and scary, so they decided it was time to leave. Alenka suggested going to her grandmother’s old house, several kilometers away.
“Will we make it? Won’t we get lost?” Alla Sergeyevna worried.
“We’re strong! What do we have to fear?”
By noon, they realized they had lost their way. They returned again to the same tree. Alenka cried:
“I haven’t been here in a long time. Everything’s overgrown, I don’t know where to go.”
“Oh, girl…” Alla Sergeyevna sighed. “I don’t care anymore. But you need to live.”
The nights were especially frightening. Toshka barked incessantly. They slept in turns, exhausted and broken. In the morning they headed north, using moss on the trees as a guide.
“Why is this forest so endless?” Alla Sergeyevna exclaimed.
“We’re going deeper,” Alenka replied. “I don’t know what to do.”
They slept a little. When Alla Sergeyevna woke, she realized Alenka was sick—fever, chills. Almost no water left. Toshka caught a mouse and ate it, but that wasn’t enough for people.
Alla Sergeyevna found a puddle and made a compress, but her strength was fading. She cried—despairing that a young girl with her whole life ahead might die in this forest.
Toshka barked loudly. Alla Sergeyevna thought it was wolves. Suddenly 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 is good now.”
They left the forest. Alenka was helped, Alla Sergeyevna given tea. Vanya cared for them gently. Alenka was carried on a stretcher; Toshka sat in his arms, asleep.
“Grandson, how did you find me?” Alla Sergeyevna asked.
“Long story. Dad and mom left far away. If you don’t want to, you won’t see them again. I let them go. I couldn’t send both behind bars.”
“That’s right, grandson. No need to carry sin on your soul.”
When they returned home, Vanya continued to care for them. One day he said:
“Ba, Alenka often asks about Toshka. I decided to take him with me. He doesn’t know the city.”
Alla Sergeyevna smiled:
“We’ll live some more. Maybe even take care of great-grandchildren.”
