Anna would never forget that spring day. Her friends had gathered at her modest apartment on the outskirts of Zarechnyy, preparing for the upcoming wedding. The air was filled with the pleasant aromas of apple pies baked by her mother and fragrant lilacs brought by Tatyana. Outside, birds sang, and the warm May breeze slipped through the open window, gently playing with the light curtains.
“His genes are definitely not the best!” her friends exclaimed, trying to warn the lovestruck bride-to-be. “We know how he handles alcohol. Just think about his father! Remember how the elder Kravtsov used to stir up trouble at the factory gate?” Anna absentmindedly stirred her tea with lemon, dismissing their concerns. At twenty years old, caught up in love, such warnings sounded absurd. To her, Viktor was perfect: handsome, confident, and strong. At twenty-five, he already held a position as foreman at a machinery plant, where his father had once worked as a mechanic. The occasional scent of alcohol on him seemed like a part of his youth and circle of friends. “He’ll outgrow it,” Anna thought, remembering how Viktor had wooed her with roses and trips around the city in his old Moskvich.
“Anya, dear,” her close friend Marina had said, “you saw his behavior on New Year’s Eve. He completely changes when he drinks. Remember how he almost got into a fight with the guard, Petya?” But Anna remembered a different story—the next day, Viktor had come to apologize, kneeling in the courtyard with a huge bouquet of carnations, serenading her beneath her window to the delight of the neighborly grandmothers.
The wedding was beautiful—held at the city’s best restaurant, complete with live music and fireworks over the river. Viktor was sober and charming, dancing with his bride until they were both exhausted and delivering heartfelt toasts. Anna shone in a white dress, specially ordered from the regional center, while her friends whispered enviously about the couple. The first months of married life were a dream. The two-room apartment, bought by Viktor’s parents, became their first home. By then, the elder Kravtsov had become a shop floor manager and helped his son secure a home. Anna lovingly decorated the space, hanging curtains and placing flowers on the windowsills. Viktor often came home with small gifts, like candies or a new vase for her beloved chrysanthemums.
Their pregnancy came at the end of summer. Returning from the country house, their car loaded with baskets of apples and tomatoes, Anna felt an unusual weakness and dizziness. Viktor took care of her, even buying a test himself. When he saw the two lines, he joyfully spun his wife around the room.
But the joy was short-lived. Just a week later, everything began to change. Viktor drank so much that he passed out for the first time. He shouted that he wasn’t ready to be a father, that they were too young, that they should have waited. Anna cried for hours but decided it was just fear of responsibility. The next morning, Viktor apologized, promised to stop drinking, and swore to be a good father.
The pregnancy was tough. Anna was often hospitalized for bed rest, while Viktor’s visits at home became less frequent. When he did show up, he reeked of alcohol. He tried to mask it by speaking softly and moving carefully, but his bloodshot eyes gave him away.
When Marina was born, Viktor didn’t even show up at the maternity ward. Later, Anna found out he had spent three days drinking at a friend’s garage, celebrating their daughter’s birth. That marked the beginning of the end of their marriage.
Five long years passed in a haze of constant arguments. Little Marina grew into a smart and beautiful girl, but her childhood was marred by endless fighting. Viktor’s drinking became more frequent, and money was spent at the “Prichal” bar on the corner of Rechnaya Street. To make ends meet, Anna took a job as an accountant at a small firm. Her mother-in-law helped care for Marina, and after Viktor’s death from liver cirrhosis, Anna was too afraid to argue with her son.
“You must be drinking when I’m not around!” Viktor would shout as he stumbled in late at night. “Where did you get the money for a new dress? Who are you seeing at work?” Anna stayed silent—her dress had been bought by her mother. Talking to a drunk husband was pointless; he wouldn’t believe anything she said, always accusing her of cheating, monitoring her every move, and causing scenes at her workplace.
Marina was terrified of her father. When she heard his footsteps on the stairs, she would either hide in a closet or run to the neighbor—Aunt Vale. The little girl grew increasingly anxious, crying at night, though she excelled in school as a way to escape the chaos at home.
That fateful autumn night, everything went wrong. Late September brought rain, with fine drizzle outside. Marina was turning six, and Anna had planned a small celebration. A neighbor helped bake a “Ptichye Moloko” cake, balloons decorated the room, and two of Marina’s kindergarten friends were invited. Viktor promised to come home sober—he had recently found a new job and was supposedly drinking less, giving hope for change.
However, he came home unusually early, around seven, already heavily intoxicated and smelling of cheap homemade liquor. Marina was about to blow out the candles on her cake when Viktor burst into the room.
“What kind of party is it without me?” he yelled, knocking the table over. The cake flew onto the floor, and the girls screamed as they scrambled into the hallway. Marina burst into tears.
“Why are you doing this?” Anna asked softly, trying to salvage the cake. “It’s her sixth birthday…”
Viktor grabbed her by the hair. “Shut up, you idiot! Who let you boss around in my house?”
“Stop, Dad!” Marina cried, trying to intervene between her parents as Viktor swung at Anna. He pushed Marina, and she hit a wardrobe, crying out in pain. That was the last straw. Anna grabbed a heavy crystal vase—a wedding gift from her colleagues—and struck Viktor on the head.
Viktor collapsed like a fallen tree. On the white carpet—a gift from her mother-in-law—blood began to spread. Marina huddled in a corner, clutching her stuffed bear tightly.
With trembling hands, Anna dialed the police: “Come… please come… I… I think I’ve killed my husband. Just take care of my little girl, please. She’s innocent.”
The trial was quick. Considering her emotional state, her solid work history, and the fact that she had a minor child, Anna received a sentence of ten years in a general regime prison.
Marina was taken in by her grandparents—Anna’s parents. They lived in a private house on the outskirts of the city, running a small homestead. Grandfather Stepan worked as a carpenter, while Grandmother Klavdia tended the garden and helped raise Marina.
Twenty years later, Marina sat in the cozy kitchen of her country home in the “Sosnovy Bor” cottage settlement. Her husband, Andrey—the director of the local machinery plant—was playing with their youngest son, teaching him how to assemble a radio-controlled car, while the two older children did their homework in the next room.
“Can you imagine,” Andrey said while tightening a motor with a screwdriver, “our Dimka assembled a radio all by himself today! He’s just like his grandfather. Remember how your grandfather Stepan always built things?”
Marina smiled, looking at her happy family. She had met Andrey by chance at a class reunion. He had studied in a parallel class, graduated from a polytechnic institute, and started his career as a junior engineer. A year after they met, they married—by then, Andrey had become the deputy head of the workshop.
She held no grudge against her mother, who had always defended them both. After serving ten years in prison, her mother was released but moved to another city to avoid reopening old wounds. They kept in touch by writing letters and congratulating each other on holidays, though they rarely met.
When Marina’s eldest son, fifteen-year-old Pavel, noticed his father often clutching his side in pain, she began to worry. Andrey brushed it off as ordinary fatigue, but within a month, the truth came out.
“Cancer, dear,” he confessed one evening when the children were asleep. “But don’t tell the kids yet, especially not Dimka—he’s too sensitive.”
Andrey lived for another six months. He suffered greatly, yet continued to work as long as he could, played with the children, and made plans for the future. Marina was left alone with three kids, but she didn’t break down. She found a job teaching piano at a local music school—her youth’s education proving valuable. Grandmother Klavdia helped with the children, though she herself was barely able to move.
Then, Marina decided to learn to drive—having three children without a car was tough, especially when the youngest, Dimka, started swimming lessons at a sports school across town.
At the “Svetofor” driving school, Marina was assigned to instructor Mikhail Yuryevich—a cheerful man in his fifties, with graying temples and lively brown eyes. He quickly bonded with his students, though occasionally surprised them with gaps in his own knowledge.
“How is it that you haven’t read Lermontov?” Marina wondered after one lesson, as they discussed the recently adapted film “A Hero of Our Time.”
“Why?” Mikhail replied with a smile. “I’m more of a technical guy. I served in the tank corps and worked as a long-haul truck driver for twenty years. And you are an excellent student!”
During one of her piano lessons, Marina noticed an unusual boy—Zhilya. His piano playing was so soulful, as if he were conversing with the instrument. It turned out he was Mikhail’s son.
“Let’s meet at a café to talk about Zhilya’s progress,” Mikhail suggested after class. “He’s got quite a temperament—just like his mother.”
They met at “Poplavok,” a cozy restaurant on the water. Mikhail shared his story: years ago, he had fallen in love with a girl from an intellectual family. Her parents had opposed their marriage. She married someone else. When Mikhail returned from the army two years later, he discovered he had a son—Zhilya, born to that very girl.
Fate had more surprises. During a driving lesson while practicing parking near a supermarket, Marina accidentally bumped into an elderly woman. The woman escaped with a fright, but Marina recognized her mother in the woman.
They sat and talked. Her mother explained how she hadn’t been able to take her daughter after her release, how she met Ivan Petrovich—a bus depot mechanic who helped her start anew—and how after his death, she was left alone, taking on odd jobs.
“Forgive me, my daughter,” her mother wept. “I thought of you every day. I watched your life from afar.”
Marina forgave her mother, embracing her. In that moment, she realized life was too short to hold onto resentment.
A month later, Mikhail invited the family to a dinner. Zhilya played the piano, and the children listened with bated breath while Grandmother Klavdia discreetly wiped away tears.
Now, they all live together—Mikhail, Marina, and the children. They are one big, happy family. Mikhail and Marina married quietly at the local church, and the children call him “dad.” Zhilya found siblings to call his own. Grandmother Klavdia moved in with them, helping with the household and children.
In the evenings, the family gathers, some doing homework, others reading, and some playing the piano.
No one talks about genes anymore—fate is shaped by love and forgiveness. Mikhail doesn’t drink, even on holidays, though neighbors tease him about his mineral water. In the living room, a family photo hangs, showing them all happy and genuine.
Every Sunday, they visit Andrey’s grave. Marina has learned to live with the loss, though sometimes, seeing her eldest son so much like his father, tears come to her eyes. Mikhail is always there, ready to support her.
Recently, Zhilya was admitted to a conservatory to study piano. At his first major concert, the whole family gathered. As the first chords of Chopin filled the air, Marina realized: nothing in life happens by chance. Even the greatest trials can lead to happiness if you maintain the ability to love.
In the evenings, music often fills their home. Zhilya prepares for concerts, the younger children take lessons from him, and Mikhail, though not a fan of classical music, listens with pride. Marina often reflects on the strange turns fate can take—sometimes, you must endure pain and loss to find true happiness.
Recently, Pavel, her eldest son, asked for permission to invite a girl over. Watching her love-struck son, Marina understood that the most important thing is to teach children to love and forgive. Only then can the cycle of pain and loneliness be broken, and only then can a true family be formed—a family where no one ever raises a hand against a loved one.