Ivan Viktorovich paced nervously around the room, his voice shaking with tension.
“What do you mean she’s gone? She just disappeared?”
The nanny, clearly distressed, tried to defend herself.
“I don’t know how it happened. I only looked away for a second… then this dog showed up, people started running. I turned to pick up Polechka, and she was gone.”
Ivan’s body trembled as he dialed a number.
“This is Dyachenko. My daughter just went missing in the park, ten minutes ago at most.”
He jumped up from his chair and stopped briefly near the terrified nanny.
“If a single hair on Polina’s head is harmed, I swear I’ll shove your phone where it belongs.”
The nanny turned pale. “How did he know about the phone?” she thought. Of course, she had been a little too caught up in social media, but it was only ten minutes, no more.
The employer had already caught her doing it before, but she tried never to take her phone out in front of him. And now, such a disaster had happened.
She had only been working for this family for three months and had always found taking care of the child hard. The only thing that kept her going was the salary.
Ivan Viktorovich rushed to the park with his security team—it was a ten-minute walk. By the time they arrived, two police cars had already pulled up. Only now did the nanny begin to grasp the seriousness of what had happened.
She was pale, and the more she thought about what might have happened to the five-year-old girl, the more frightened she became. Ivan’s booming voice startled a flock of birds as he shouted,
“Come here!”
Olya walked over hesitantly, nervously twisting a drawstring around her finger, afraid to lift her eyes.
“Tell me exactly what happened.”
Like a frightened rabbit, Olya began speaking quietly.
“We were right here. I was sitting on the bench, and Polina was always in my sight, feeding the pigeons. Then there was noise—stray dogs started fighting with a large dog a man was walking. People panicked and tried to separate them. I wanted to grab Polya so she wouldn’t be scared. I looked around and didn’t see her anymore.”
Olya looked around, frightened and confused, while Ivan was barely holding back his anger.
“How could I have hired her?” he thought.
Then a boy around eight or nine years old approached them, looking like a typical street kid. Olya looked at him with worry, and he said,
“She was on her phone. The girl was playing by herself. I saw it—I was playing nearby. When the chaos started, Polina walked toward the dogs. That lady didn’t notice until later,” the boy said, sniffling. “Some man stopped near Polina, and they talked. Your girl liked the dogs, so she went closer. Then they barked, and everything happened…”
“Now she’s nowhere to be found…” Olya murmured, blinking in confusion.
She felt like she was shrinking into the ground, realizing she wouldn’t be able to avoid the consequences.
“That’s all lies, total lies! It wasn’t like that!” Olya tried to defend herself, but Ivan barked without turning around,
“Silence!”
He turned his attention to the boy.
“What happened next?”
“The girl got really scared, the dogs were very close… she started crying, and I calmed her down,” the boy explained.
“Where is she now?” Ivan asked, anxiety in his eyes.
“There,” the boy pointed. “Under the tree. She cried and cried, then fell asleep. I covered her up, and that’s when you showed up.”
Ivan, along with the guards and police, rushed after the boy and found Polya sleeping sweetly on a cardboard box.
“Polechka! My baby!” Ivan cried as he gently lifted her in his arms.
The girl opened her eyes, startled at first, then smiled.
“Daddy, there were such big dogs, but Grishka protected me!”
“My sunshine, I was so worried about you,” Ivan whispered, comforting her.
Polya kept looking around and asked,
“Where’s Grishka?”
Ivan quickly glanced at the guards, but they only shrugged. The boy had vanished, as if into thin air—he had just been there.
Ivan sighed deeply, already thinking it was time to consider hiring more responsible staff.
Holding his daughter, he headed home. On the way, he stopped in front of Olya, who stood nervously playing with her clothing.
“You’re lucky. You have ten minutes to pack your things and leave my house. I hope I never see you again. I’ll be informing your agency about you,” he said firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument.
Olya wanted to protest about her unpaid wages, but realizing it was pointless, she headed inside to collect her things.
Back at home, Polya finally burst into tears. The stress had caught up with her. She kept asking,
“Daddy, why did Grishka leave?”
“He was so nice?”
“When that mean dog barked at me, Grishka stood between us. He even barked back and yelled loudly, pushed me toward the tree. I was so scared I couldn’t walk, just cried. Then he gave me a doll, and I fell asleep,” she shared through tears.
“Polya, I promise I’ll find him, I swear,” Ivan said, looking into his daughter’s eyes.
She pulled the doll from under her sweater.
“Daddy, take care of her while I sleep, okay? Just for a little while. Then I’ll take care of her myself.”
Ivan looked at his daughter and realized her condition was a result of what she had been through. He touched her forehead—no fever. He considered calling a doctor but decided to wait. He gently covered her with a blanket and suddenly noticed the doll she had handed him. When he looked at it, the blood drained from his face.
Masha had always been a unique person. She often drifted in her own world of dreams and imagination. People called her a bit strange. But Ivan had seen in her a rare sincerity and kindness that drew him in. At the time, those qualities weren’t a priority for him, but something about her captivated him. He decided she had to be part of his life—even without marriage.
Ivan courted Masha with charm, and he could afford it. He had plenty of free time and no financial worries—his father still ran the family toy factory.
The first time Masha invited him to her home, Ivan was stunned. He had no idea she made toys. This discovery felt almost mystical. Her family had been involved in this craft for generations—her great-grandmother used to sew dolls that only the wealthy could afford. They were true works of art, and Masha’s inherited gift for drawing added even more to their legacy.
With a tender smile, she took out a large, timeworn album from a cabinet. She brewed coffee, and they spent the entire night going through the sketches, notes, and designs. Each page opened a magical world where past and present intertwined.
“Masha, you have no idea how priceless this album is,” Ivan exclaimed, jumping up. “This is a true legacy! Dolls made from these designs would be a sensation!”
Ideas swirled in his head. He forgot why he even came. Masha watched his excitement with a soft smile. Then she gently nudged him toward the door.
“First thoughts are always the truest.”
Months passed before Ivan saw Masha again. In that time, he created a detailed business plan that even impressed his stern father. On one of their walks, he passionately told Masha about his ideas—not only creating retro dolls, but also restoring old ones, using her album as the blueprint.
“Masha, I can’t thank you enough for this discovery,” he said, glowing with inspiration.
That evening ended with a special closeness that meant a lot to Ivan. In the morning, as he was leaving, Masha handed him the album.
“My grandmother would be happy to know her work is bringing joy again.”
“I can’t take it. It’s your family’s legacy,” he protested.
“I want her dolls to live on,” she said quietly.
Time flew, and Ivan became consumed by work. The factory flourished, but his personal life faded into the background. He nearly forgot about Masha—until he met Ira, who later became the mother of his daughter Polina.
The first product presentation was a success, but joy was short-lived. Three months later, Masha unexpectedly showed up at his office. She looked pale and worn down. Ivan was preparing for his wedding to Ira at the time.
“Masha, what a pleasant surprise,” he said, though his voice trembled slightly.
He walked over to the cabinet and took out the first doll ever made at the factory. Holding it in his hands, he said,
“Masha, this doll belongs to you.”
Masha accepted the doll and looked at him like she wanted to say something. But at that moment, his phone rang. It was Ira.
“Yes, dear,” he said, distracted.
When the call ended, Masha was gone. Ivan considered chasing after her but decided against it.
Fate had other plans. Ira died during childbirth. Doctors later said if she had lived a calmer, more balanced life, things might have been different. But nothing could be changed. Ivan now poured all his love into little Polina.
Now, holding the very first doll from the factory, Ivan thought about Grisha, the boy who had saved his daughter. How did he get the doll?
Ivan knew he had to find the boy.
He wandered the park, hoping to spot him, but found nothing. Then he saw a group of homeless people and approached.
“Hello, do you know a boy named Grisha? Do you know where I can find him?” Ivan asked.
The homeless men looked at him closely. Ivan realized they expected something in return and handed them some money. The oldest among them, clearly respected by the others, asked,
“Why are you looking for him? He’s a good kid. Did something happen?”
“No,” Ivan replied. “I want to thank him. He saved my daughter.”
After a brief discussion, the older man said,
“Go to the end of the street. The private houses begin there. Walk straight until you see a run-down home. Knock loud—the old drunk woman there is always angry. Grisha lives with her.”
Ivan approached the grimy, rundown house. It was hard to imagine Masha could be here.
“Why are you here?” came a familiar voice.
“Hi Grisha. I came to see if you need anything. And to ask about this doll,” Ivan said.
Grisha stepped out from behind the fence and sat on a bench. Nearby, Ivan’s security car waited.
“The doll? It’s not really mine. It’s my mom’s. She never let go of it.”
“What’s your mom’s name?” Ivan asked.
“Maria. She’s sick, can’t walk, and the old lady drinks and beats her,” Grisha explained. “Wait… do you know my mom?”
“I think so. I gave her that doll,” Ivan admitted.
Grisha shook his head.
“No way. Mom said my dad gave it to her. But he’s been gone for a long time.”
Ivan’s hands began to tremble as he realized how tangled everything was.
“Grisha, where is your mom now? Can I talk to her?”
“She’s inside. Like I said, she can’t walk. But the old lady is mad today—she won’t let anyone in.”
Ivan stood up decisively and signaled to his guards. The car pulled up closer, and the guards quickly stepped out. Grisha watched them, wide-eyed, and pointed them toward the house. Inside, they were met with the heavy smell of neglect, alcohol, and fried onions.
“Who are you?” snapped a drunken woman with a worn face, surrounded by people of similar condition.
“Where’s Maria?”
“What do you want with my niece? Who are you barging in and asking questions?”
Grisha pointed toward a door, and Ivan stepped through. A guard held back the angry woman.
On a filthy bed lay Masha—almost unrecognizable from exhaustion and weight loss, but still Masha. She slowly turned her head, looked into Ivan’s eyes, and smiled faintly.
“You’re here… I knew you’d come,” she whispered.
The doctor examined her and shook his head.
“To let it get this bad from a simple fracture… unbelievable. We’ll treat her, but we’ll have to break and reset the bone. It won’t be quick or cheap, but it’s still possible.”
Grisha sniffled softly.
“What about me? The old lady won’t let me go without Mom.”
“You’ll stay with us now—with me and Polina,” Ivan said.
The boy looked at him with hope.
“So you’re my real dad?”
Ivan sighed heavily.
“To be honest, I’m not sure. But something tells me I am. Your mom will get better and be with us again,” he said, gently ruffling the boy’s hair.
“I hope so…”
“Well then, let’s go. Your sister’s waiting.”
Grisha grinned wide.
“I think we’ve already met.”