“Oh, Grigory, how lucky I am to have you. I can’t imagine how we managed without your help before,” said the elderly woman as she watched the young man skillfully handle his tools.
Grigory smirked as he packed his tools into his bag.
“Oh, come now, Elena Sergeyevna. It’s nothing, just a simple fix. A matter of moving the loop to another spot, five minutes of work.”
He tested the gate, which now opened and closed smoothly.
“Easy for you to say, Grishenka. For us, it would take an entire day, and we’d probably ruin it instead of fixing it. We women are clumsy, and even more so with age,” she said with a shake of her head.
“What do you mean by age?” Grigory laughed. “We’ll have you married off yet.”
The elderly woman burst into laughter.
“Oh, you joker.”
Grigory had moved to the village a year ago, buying an abandoned house and immediately setting to work restoring it. The neighbors, mostly retirees, watched with interest as the old structure came back to life under his hands.
The village was full of such houses, left empty as the younger generation moved away and the elderly gradually passed on. It was painful for those who had spent their whole lives there to watch the place slowly decay.
No one questioned why a young man had chosen to settle in such a remote place. If he had decided to stay, that was his business.
“Alright, Elena Sergeyevna, I must be off. I’ll drop by this evening to check your blood pressure,” Grigory said as he headed toward the gate.
“Oh, don’t bother yourself. Mind your own business, I’ll be fine,” she waved him off.
“Of course. And who was it that nearly fell into the potato furrow from dizziness yesterday?” he teased.
“Was that me?” she laughed. “How do you manage to notice everything? I just got a little too hot in the sun. What now, measure my pressure every hour?”
Grigory was already in the yard when he heard her shout.
“Oh, who’s speeding through the village like that?”
He turned to see a car barreling down the road, kicking up clouds of dust. Geese and chickens scattered in every direction. Something was wrong.
The car screeched to a stop at her gate. A man jumped out and opened the trunk.
“Sergey, my God, what happened?” she cried, flailing her arms.
Grigory realized this was her son-in-law. She had mentioned him before.
Sergey set two suitcases in front of his mother-in-law and said coldly, “Here, I’m returning it. The second miscarriage. Who would want something so defective? No one.”
He opened the passenger door, and a young woman all but collapsed into her mother’s arms. Slamming the door shut, Sergey got back into the car and sped off, tires screeching.
The woman clutched her mother and pressed a hand to her stomach.
“Liza, little Liza, does it hurt?” her mother asked anxiously.
“No, Mom. It’s just that the ride was rough. I was only discharged from the hospital yesterday. I need to lie down.”
“My God, daughter, how can this be?” she cried. “How can you travel in such a condition? Idiot!” she shouted after the retreating car before leading her daughter inside.
Grigory wanted to help with the suitcases but hesitated. What if they didn’t want anyone to know?
Elena Sergeyevna reappeared in the evening as Grigory was in his yard, debating whether to visit as he had promised. He now felt awkward.
“Grisha, Grishenka,” she called.
“Yes, Elena Sergeyevna?”
“Could you fetch a paramedic? My daughter has arrived, and she’s in very bad shape.”
“Of course, don’t worry.”
He started his car and drove to the next village. No one here knew that ten years ago, he had been a doctor. His life had taken a drastic turn when his wife had an affair with the hospital’s chief physician. That affair led to a conspiracy against him, and he found himself accused of negligence resulting in a patient’s death.
The investigator had seen the inconsistencies in the case. Justice had prevailed—the chief physician had been dismissed, and his wife’s affair quickly fell apart. She had even suggested they go back to how things were.
But Grigory had had enough. He returned to the village where he had grown up, bought a house, and decided never to practice medicine again. With the money from selling his apartment, he was financially secure. He planned to find another occupation, perhaps farming.
When he arrived at the paramedic’s house and explained the situation, the man shook his head.
“First, it’s none of my business. Second, there’s a celebration at my house today. Guests are already at the table, and you want me to leave?”
Grigory’s patience snapped.
“Are you a medical professional or not? A woman who’s had a miscarriage, a long journey, and severe stress—do you understand what might happen?”
“I understand.”
“Do you realize she could start bleeding at any moment? If that happens, no one will have time to react. She could die! And who will be held responsible?”
The paramedic grumbled, but he grabbed his bag.
“My mother always told me to pick a profession where I could sleep peacefully. But no, I wanted to save everyone.”
Grigory barely hid his amusement.
“Why are you smiling? Are we going or not?”
He drove back, waiting outside while the paramedic examined Liza.
Half an hour later, the paramedic emerged with a grim expression.
“She needs medication, injections every four hours. If she refuses hospitalization, this is the only way to keep her stable.”
“Where am I supposed to find someone who can give injections?” Elena Sergeyevna asked in despair.
“I’ll do it,” Grigory said, taking the list of medications.
“Grishenka, do you even know how?”
“I do, don’t worry.”
The first time he entered, Liza turned away. The second and third times, the same. On the fourth, with her mother absent, she finally spoke.
“Are you a doctor?”
“I used to be.”
From then on, he sat by her bedside after each injection, talking to her. She barely responded. Then, one evening, he shared his story.
“Is that true?” she asked, suddenly interested.
“Do you think I made it up for entertainment?”
“Sorry.”
“Do you want to see my plans?”
“Plans?”
“Yes, I’m starting a farm. But I struggle with calculations.”
“I can help. I worked as an economist for years.”
Their conversations grew longer. Evenings at the kitchen table turned into lively discussions. Liza regained color, regaining purpose.
One night, as they finalized his farm business plan, he kissed her on the nose.
“We did it.”
Liza blushed.
Days later, Grigory returned from the city with supplies. Liza was alone when he walked in, his face unreadable.
“I came here to forget, to never love again. But then you appeared.”
She trembled.
“These three days without you nearly drove me mad. Now what do I do?”
“I don’t know, Grish. Because I need to figure out how to live with it too.”
When her mother returned, she found them embracing. She stepped back with a smile.
Months later, their farm’s grand opening made the news. Liza had given birth three days earlier but was already glowing with happiness.
Sergey, drinking at a bar, saw the broadcast. He stared at the screen, seeing Liza, smiling, holding her baby.
He gripped his glass so hard it shattered.
“She deceived me,” he muttered.
But deep down, he knew. He had been the one to throw her away.