The bus hissed to a stop at the edge of the village. Olesya stepped into the drizzle, one hand resting protectively on her pregnant belly, the other clutching her coat tightly. She was the only passenger to get off. The driver gave her a sympathetic glance before pulling away.
The village was hushed—bare trees silhouetted against the gray sky, rain tracing thin rivers down the branches, and the soft tapping of droplets on her umbrella. Olesya walked slowly, swallowed by memories of Andrey: his laughter, his rough hands, the way he whispered her name like a secret.
Life before him had been hard—an orphanage, vocational school, endless night shifts at the metalworks. Then Andrey came into her world, an engineer unafraid to get his hands dirty. He truly saw her. Their connection grew through shared lunches and tired conversations. When she told him she was pregnant, he was overjoyed and proposed beneath the dim dormitory lights. “I want you to meet my family,” he said, but Olesya hesitated, afraid of their judgment. Three months ago, Andrey had gone to visit them alone. “Just a few days,” he promised. He never returned. Rumors said he’d abandoned her, couldn’t handle the news. But Olesya refused to believe it—until she overheard the truth: he was mugged near the train station. He didn’t survive.
Now she tread the cemetery path, chrysanthemums clutched tightly. At his grave, she collapsed, tears streaming down her face.
The cold crept in, and she realized her phone was missing. Looking for shelter, she spotted a mausoleum nearby. She slipped inside, whispering, “I just need to rest.”
Then—buzzing. A phone, not hers, vibrated on the cold stone floor.
She answered. A man’s voice came through: “Hi! That’s my phone—I lost it yesterday.”
“I’m in the cemetery,” she said, voice faint.
“I was working there. Must’ve dropped it.”
Her vision blurred. The phone slipped from her fingers.
