Matvey pulled the car to a stop at the cemetery gates and took a deep breath. Lord, how many times had he intended to come here? How many times had he postponed it “for later”? When his mother was alive—there was never any time. After her passing—it was as if there was no place left for the past at all.
And yet, it was long overdue for him to wake up. To understand that this entire world he had so carefully constructed around himself was only a facade. Not a single word, not a single gesture had any real substance. Ironically, he was even grateful to Natasha—now his ex-wife—for demolishing that fragile house of cards. Just a blow—and it all collapsed. Such a seemingly perfect family life, such “genuine” relationships with friends… But in reality—his wife, his best friend, and all those friends who knew and kept silent. It was more than a collapse. It was a blow from which Matvey still had not recovered.
A Grave Visit
Right after the divorce, he left for his hometown. Eight years had passed since he buried his mother. Eight years! And not once had he found the time to visit the grave. Only now, when nothing good was left in his life, did he comprehend a simple truth: his mother was the only person who would never betray him.
He married late—he was thirty-three, and Natasha was only twenty-five. He was proud of her, like a trophy. She was beautiful, elegant, a “socialite,” as it had seemed then. Now he remembered her face twisted in anger, the words she had thrown at him: that she had hated him their entire short life together, that every night with him was torture for her. He still did not understand how he could have been so blind. She cried, begged for forgiveness, said she felt lonely… But as soon as the word “divorce” was spoken—the mask fell. There she was, the real one.
Matvey got out of the car, taking a large bouquet of flowers from the back seat. He walked slowly, looking down at his feet. The path must have been overgrown. He had not even come when the monument was being installed—everything was done online, from a distance. Like a symbol of his whole life: everything from a distance, everything unreal.
The fence was clean. The monument was also clean. The flowers were fresh, the soil neatly loosened. Someone was taking care of the grave. Probably one of his mother’s old friends. Although… apparently, the son had no time for that.
He opened the gate and whispered:
“Hello, Mom…”
His throat tightened, and his eyes stung. Matvey did not expect to cry. He was a businessman, cold-blooded, calculating, accustomed to keeping a straight face. And now he was crying like a child. He made no attempt to hold back the tears. They were liberating, washing away everything connected with Natasha, with betrayal, with the pain. As if his mother really was nearby, stroking his head and whispering: “It is okay, son… Everything will be fine.”
He sat for a long time, in silence. But he spoke in his mind. He remembered childhood: how he fell, scraped his knees, and his mother would apply iodine, repeating: “It will heal, no scar will remain.” And it really did heal. With time. And each time the pain became lighter. And his mother always added: “You get used to everything, except betrayal—never.”
Now he understood every word she had said. Back then, they seemed like simply tender phrases, but they turned out to be wisdom.
Paying the neighbor to look after the house was not a problem, but how long could he keep the house locked up? He smiled, remembering how he had met the neighbor. He was not feeling well, it was difficult. And her daughter—Nina—had greeted him with such warmth… They started talking, and everything somehow fell into place. He left early in the morning, leaving a note about where to put the keys. Perhaps, from her point of view, he had acted unfairly. But he had not promised anything. Everything was by mutual consent. She had just divorced her tyrannical husband and told him how hard it was. They were both lonely. So they had spent time together for a while.
A New Chapter
“Mister, will you help me?”
Matvey turned abruptly. Before him stood a little girl about seven or eight years old, holding an empty bucket.
“I need to get water to water the flowers. Mom and I just planted them, but today mom is sick. It is hot outside—they will die! But the bucket is too heavy. I cannot carry it myself. Please do not tell mom I came here alone. If I carry it little by little, she will still notice I was gone.”
Matvey smiled. “Of course, show me where to go.”
The girl ran ahead. Talkative, lively. In five minutes he learned almost everything: how mom did not listen to advice and drank cold water, how she got sick, how they had come to the grandmother’s grave who passed away a year ago, and how grandma would have scolded her for that. The girl had been in school for a whole year and was determined to get only A’s—and in the future wanted to graduate with a gold medal!
With every word, Matvey felt lighter. Children are a true miracle. He thought about how he wished to have a normal family: a wife who loves him, and a child who waits for you at home. His Natasha was like an expensive doll—beautiful but without a soul. Children were not even discussed. According to her, “you have to be a complete fool to lose your figure for a squealing bundle of joy.” They lived together for five years. And now he understood: he had no warm memories of that marriage.
He set down the bucket, and the girl carefully began to water the flowers. Matvey looked at the monument and froze. The photo was of… the neighbor. Nina’s mother. The grandmother of this little girl.
“Zinaida Petrovna was your grandmother?”
“Yes! Do you know her? Although why do I ask—you were at Grandma Zoya’s!”
Matvey glanced at the girl: “So you… live here with your mom?”
“Well, yes! I told you—mom does not let me go to the cemetery alone.”
Matvey looked at the child in confusion. So Nina had come back here, and she had a daughter. And he did not even know… Wait. He did not even know how old Masha was. Maybe the child was born later?
The girl quickly said goodbye and ran off, reminding him not to make her mom worried.
Matvey returned to his mother’s grave, sat down, and thought. Something had changed inside. Probably now Nina was taking care of the house herself. And he was paying her, although before he thought he was paying her mother. But, in general, who he paid was not important.
Then he drove to the house. His heart tightened. Everything was as it was before—as if his mother would appear on the porch at any moment, wipe away tears on her apron, and hug him. He stayed in the car for a long time. His mother did not appear. But in the yard, a surprise awaited him: everything was neat, beautiful, and flowers had been planted. Nina really cared for the house. He would definitely have to thank her. The house was also clean and cozy, as if someone had just left and would be back soon. Matvey sat at the table, stayed a little while, but did not linger—he had to settle things with the neighbor, and then he could rest.
The door opened—it was Masha.
“Oh, it is you!” she whispered, putting a finger to her lips. “Please do not tell mom we met at the cemetery!”
Matvey pretended to zip his lips, and the girl laughed: “Come in!”
“Mom, uncle Matvey came to us!” Masha shouted inside the house.
Nina appeared in the hallway and froze, shrinking from surprise.
“Is that you…?”
Matvey smiled: “Hi.”
He looked around—no husband, no sign of him.
“Matvey, I am so sorry… I did not tell you about mom’s death. Work in the city is difficult, so I am taking care of the house myself.”
“My condolences, Nina. And about the house—thank you so much. When I come in—it is like mom just stepped out for a minute.”
“Are you staying for a long time?”
“For a few days.”
“Are you going to sell it?”
Matvey shrugged: “I have not thought about it yet. Here, take this—it is for your hard work. Like a bonus.” He put a thick envelope on the table.
“Thank you, uncle Matvey!” Masha exclaimed happily. “Mom has wanted a new dress for a long time, and I—a bicycle!”
Matvey laughed. Ah, a familiar character!
In the evening, he realized he was sick. His temperature rose. He found his mom’s thermometer and measured it—the fever was high. He did not know any medicine, so he texted the neighbor’s phone. Only now did he know that Nina was replying.
“What do people take for a high fever?”
Ten minutes later they were already at his place.
“Lord, why did you come into the house? I infected you!”
“Come on, you are sick—why did you come here?”
“It is okay, I am already better!”
Nina handed him pills, and Masha brewed tea.
“You will burn yourself!” Nina worried.
“Who, Mashka? Never! She is a jack-of-all-trades!”
Matvey smiled. And suddenly a light bulb went off in his head—like when, as a child, his brain suddenly found the right answer to a difficult problem.
“Nin…” The woman looked scared: “What?”
“When was Masha born?”
Nina slowly sat down: “Why do you need to know?”
“Nina!”
She turned to her daughter: “Mashenka, run to the store, buy a couple of lemons. And something to drink.”
“Okay, mom!”
As soon as the girl left, Nina spoke: “Matvey, let’s agree right away: Masha has nothing to do with you. We do not need anything, we have everything. Forget it.”
“What do you mean ‘forget it’? Is it true?”
“Nina, do you even understand what you are saying? Why did you not tell me? Why did you hide it?”
Matvey jumped up. “I decided to keep the child myself. You were not involved—that is why I did not tell you. I never thought you would show up here. And I definitely never thought it would matter to you.”
“So you think I would not want to know I have a daughter?”
Nina shrugged: “I got over it. As you can see.”
Matvey was silent. He was in shock. All these years he had lived a fake life. But real happiness—here it was, nearby. In the face of a little girl and a woman he had apparently always loved.
“Matvey?” Nina called worriedly. “What will you do? Please, do not tell Masha anything. You will leave—and forget. It will hurt her, she will start waiting…”
“No! That will not happen!”
“Please understand me…”
“I do not even know yet what to do.”
That night he dreamed of his mother. She was smiling, hugging Masha and saying she had always dreamed of such a granddaughter.
In three days Matvey was leaving. Nina sat at the table, listening to him: “I will sort things out and come back. In a week, maybe a little more. Not like that. I want to bring you back. I promise—if nothing works out, I will not say anything to Masha. But I will always help. Nina… Is there any chance? A chance for a family, for happiness?”
She wiped a tear and whispered: “I do not know…”
He returned three weeks later. He did not go to his own house, but to Nina’s. In his hands were huge bags with gifts for Masha and her mom. “Hello!”
Nina was sewing something by the window, heard his voice, and barely smiled: “You came…”
Masha came out of the room: “Hello, uncle Matvey!”
Nina stood up: “I thought it over. And… Mashenka, I want to introduce you to your real dad.”
Matvey dropped the bags. “Thank you…”
They left a week later. Both houses were put up for sale—they decided to start life anew. Masha still mixed up words, calling him “dad” sometimes, then again “uncle Matvey.” And he just laughed, hugged them both, and believed that now everything would be exactly as it should be.
