After a grueling day at the office, Alla had just one wish—to have dinner with her husband, sink into a hot bath, and finally disconnect. The day had been relentless—reports, clients, constant rushing. She parked in the courtyard, clicked the car’s remote lock, and headed quickly toward the entrance of her building. As she reached into her bag for her keys, she suddenly heard cautious footsteps behind her. Turning around, she saw a thin girl, no older than eighteen, holding a bundle in her arms—a baby.
“Excuse me… are you Alla? Dmitry’s wife?” the girl asked softly, her voice trembling.
“Yes,” Alla replied, frowning. “What’s going on?”
“My name is Sveta… I’m sorry to intrude… but this is Dmitry’s son. His name is Vanya. I don’t know what to do… I was working as a delivery girl when I met your husband. That day, my boyfriend had just left me—I was crying my eyes out. Dmitry tried to comfort me…”
“Very comforting indeed,” Alla said sharply. “And now what do you want from me?”
“I have nowhere to go. No money. No home. I can’t cope. Please, take him. He’s his child…”
“Absolutely not. You had him—now raise him. What does this have to do with me?” Alla turned and walked away quickly.
But inside, a storm was brewing. No matter how hard she tried to appear indifferent, the idea of her husband’s betrayal and the possibility of a child tormented her. When Dmitry came home that evening, she asked him directly:
“Did you sleep with Sveta?”
He lowered his eyes. He didn’t deny it. He didn’t lie. He just said quietly:
“Yes… it was only once… I was in a dark place. I’ve regretted it every day since…”
Before they could finish the conversation, the doorbell rang. Dmitry opened it and returned holding a baby. A note lay on the blanket: “His name is Vanya. Please take care of him.”
He stood there, stunned. Alla took the child in her arms, looked into his tiny, frightened face, and calmly said to her husband:
“Go to the pharmacy. Get diapers, formula, bottles. Now.”
And so Vanya stayed with them. Days passed, then weeks. Dmitry was not ready to be a father—especially not to a child he wasn’t sure was his. His parents refused to acknowledge the baby, calling Sveta promiscuous. Under their pressure, he insisted on a DNA test. The result was shocking: Dmitry was not the father.
He came home and announced coldly:
“We’ll send him to an orphanage. He’s not mine.”
But Alla had already made her choice:
“He’s mine now. If you want to stay—stay. If not—go. But I’m not giving him up. God didn’t give us our own children. Maybe He sent this one for a reason.”
Dmitry left. Filed for divorce. Alla stayed behind, but she didn’t break. A nanny helped with Vanya. Neighbors supported her when things got hard. She managed. Until one day, the child suddenly became ill—his temperature soared, convulsions followed. Her world collapsed in an instant. They called an ambulance. The diagnosis: pneumonia. He was rushed to the hospital. A week of IVs, sleepless nights.
There, in the hospital room, they were cared for by a young, calm doctor with kind eyes. His name was Ivan. He not only treated Vanya but seemed to grow fond of Alla too. One day, he mentioned:
“By the way, Sveta was here. She asked about the boy.”
Alla said:
“If she comes again, bring her to me. I want to talk.”
A few days later, Sveta returned. Their conversation was long. It turned out the child wasn’t Dmitry’s at all. He was the son of the boyfriend who had left her. By the time she realized it, it was too late. Lost in despair, not knowing what to do, she had turned to Dmitry—the only one who listened without judging her.
Alla didn’t shout. She didn’t blame. She just listened. And in that moment, she realized she couldn’t hold onto her anger. Years ago, in her youth, she had had an abortion. Maybe this was her chance—her way to save a life.
“Move in with me,” she said quietly. “Let’s start over. Go study. We’ll manage.”
Sveta burst into tears. Later, she enrolled in college, met a good man, got married, and eventually took Vanya back. And Alla? Alla found her happiness too. Ivan stayed. He proposed. And now they’re expecting a baby of their own.
Dmitry tried to come back. His new family had fallen apart. But it was too late.
Kindness doesn’t always come back right away. But it does come back. The secret is learning to forgive—and to listen to your heart.