The Road to Goodbye
The bus shuddered to a halt at the edge of the village, brakes hissing. The doors creaked open, and Olesya stepped into the drizzle, her coat pulled tight around her swollen belly. The driver gave her a fleeting glance in the rearview mirror before the bus rumbled away, leaving her alone.
The village was quiet, the trees skeletal, their branches slick with rain. The only sounds were the squelch of her boots on wet gravel and the steady tap of droplets on her umbrella. She hadn’t spoken the entire journey, her gaze fixed on the blur of the passing world outside the window.
Her mind was trapped in memories—Andrey’s laughter, the warmth of his calloused hands, the way he said her name like it was a secret only they shared.
The orphanage had been her first home. Then vocational school, then the night shift at the metalworks plant. Life was hard, but she endured it—until Andrey arrived.
He had come with a team of engineers to install new machinery. She remembered his confident stride, the way he rolled up his sleeves and worked without pretense. He noticed her—really noticed her—in a way no one else ever had.
Their love grew quietly. Shared lunches, walks after shifts, whispered conversations in the break room. For the first time, Olesya felt like she belonged somewhere.
When she discovered she was pregnant, Andrey didn’t hesitate. He proposed that same night under the dim light of the dormitory hallway.
“I want you to meet my family,” he had said, grinning. “I want them to love you like I do.”
But fear kept her from saying yes. She had spent her life being unwanted—how could she face a family who had everything she never did? She put it off, again and again, even as Andrey reassured her.
Three months ago, he had left to visit them alone, promising, “I’ll tell them about you, about the baby. Then we’ll go together next time.”
That was the last time she saw him.
She waited. A week. Two. Whispers started—that he had run, that he couldn’t handle fatherhood. She refused to believe it. Not her Andrey.
Then came the truth.
She overheard two workers murmuring: “Remember that engineer, Andrey? He was attacked on his way home. Didn’t make it.”
Her blood turned to ice. She stormed into the accountant’s office, demanding answers. The older woman confirmed it with a heavy sigh. “Mugged outside the train station. He didn’t survive the night.”
Now, standing in the rain, Olesya followed the winding path through the cemetery, her fingers crushing the bouquet of chrysanthemums in her grip.
The grave was fresh, the earth still unsettled. A framed photo was fixed to the cross—Andrey’s face smiling at her, forever young.
“Hi, my love,” she whispered, sinking to her knees.
She didn’t know how long she wept.
Eventually, the cold seeped into her bones. She reached for her phone—but it was gone.
The wind howled. Desperate, she turned to a nearby mausoleum, its iron door slightly ajar.
Inside, the air was dry and still. A faint light filtered through a crack in the ceiling. She sat on a stone bench, whispering, “I just need to rest. Forgive me.”
Then—a buzz.
A phone. Not hers. New. Vibrating on the floor.
She picked it up, trembling. “Hello?”
A man’s voice answered. “Hi! That’s my phone—I lost it yesterday.”
“I found it,” she murmured.
“Can you return it? I’ll pay. There’s important stuff on there.”
“I’m at the cemetery,” she said.
“Oh—right. I was working there yesterday.”
Her vision blurred. The phone slipped from her fingers.
Then—nothing.
A Stranger’s Voice
Darkness swallowed her, filled with fragments of Andrey’s voice, his laughter just out of reach. Then—a new voice.
“Miss? Can you hear me?”
She gasped, her body jerking awake. A man crouched in front of her, rain dripping from his hair.
“I didn’t mean to scare you,” he said. “I was tracking my phone. Are you okay?”
She blinked. His face—
“Andrey?” she choked out.
His expression softened with sorrow. “No. I’m Dima. Andrey was my brother.”
Her world tilted.
“I’m Olesya,” she whispered. “His fiancée.”
Dima inhaled sharply. “I know. He told me about you.”
“I came to say goodbye,” she said.
He reached for her. “Let’s get you out of here.”
Before she could protest, her legs gave way. He caught her effortlessly.
“I’m taking you to the clinic,” he said firmly. “You’re not alone anymore.”
At the Clinic
Olesya woke in a sterile white room, the beep of a monitor beside her. Her hand drifted to her belly—her baby kicked softly.
Near the door stood Dima and a woman—elegant, regal, her eyes red-rimmed but sharp.
“I’m Andrey’s mother,” the woman said. “Nina.”
Olesya tensed. “I didn’t mean to cause trouble. I just wanted to see his grave.”
Nina stepped closer. “You loved him. That matters to me.”
Olesya looked away. “I didn’t come for help. I just needed to say goodbye.”
Nina’s voice softened. “Tell me about my son. About you.”
And so, Olesya did.
She spoke of the factory, the nights, the way Andrey made her feel safe. She told them about his proposal, her fears of not being enough.
Nina listened, silent.
When Olesya finished, Nina reached for her hand.
“You’ve met the wrong people if they made you think you weren’t enough,” she said. “You were everything to my son. That’s all I need to know.”
The House of Echoes
Olesya awoke in a sunlit room—Andrey’s old bedroom. Posters, books, a guitar in the corner.
Nina brought her tea. “This was his. We kept it the same.”
Olesya’s throat tightened. “It’s perfect.”
Days passed quietly. Nina cooked, Dima visited, bringing fruit, books, quiet company.
One afternoon, Nina showed her an album—pictures of Andrey as a boy, grinning, sneaking cookies to Dima.
“He was always protecting someone,” Nina said. “He went home to prepare us for you. He just… never got the chance to finish.”
Olesya’s eyes burned. “I let fear win.”
Nina squeezed her hand. “Do you believe us now?”
“Yes,” Olesya whispered.
They embraced—long, tight, healing.
A New Kind of Silence
Time moved forward.
Olesya returned to school—law, this time. She wanted to fight for girls like her, ones who thought they had no rights.
Nina helped her find an apartment. Dima visited every Sunday—“Karina’s Sunday,” they called it, though it was more than that.
One evening, Olesya sat by the window, staring at her phone.
Dima had texted weeks ago: “I’m proud of you. And I miss you.”
She hadn’t replied.
Not yet.
Turning Toward Tomorrow
Years later, Olesya stood in a sunlit garden, watching Karina chase butterflies. Nina sat beside her, smiling.
“She’s a force of nature,” Nina said.
“She is,” Olesya agreed. “She reminds me of Andrey sometimes.”
Nina’s smile wavered. “He’d be proud of her. Of you.”
Olesya looked down. “I still think of him.”
“I know,” Nina said gently. “But I also see the way you look at Dima. You’ve built something beautiful from something broken. That takes strength.”
Olesya whispered, “I love him.”
Nina squeezed her hand. “You never stop loving the people you lose. You just make room for more.”
A Wedding, A New Chapter
The ceremony was small—close friends, Nina, Karina scattering petals with glee.
Olesya wore ivory; Dima wore navy. They spoke quiet vows.
Andrey’s photo sat nearby, a candle flickering beside it.
That night, on the balcony, Dima handed her tea. “You okay?”
She nodded. “Just thinking. Andrey gave me love when I didn’t believe in it. He gave me Karina. And he brought me to you.”
Dima kissed her temple. “The past brought us here. Now we write the rest.”
And So, Life Goes On
Years passed.
Olesya became a lawyer. Dima started his own firm. Karina grew—fearless, clever, with Andrey’s eyes.
One night, as Olesya tucked her in, Karina asked:
“Mama, did Papa Andrey love me?”
Olesya kissed her forehead. “Yes, baby. He loved you before he even met you.”
Karina smiled. “Then I’m very lucky. I have two papas.”
Olesya’s throat tightened.
In the hallway, Dima waited. She took his hand.
They stood together in the quiet—in a home built not on loss, but on what they had chosen to rebuild.
