— We’re unloading, we’ve arrived.
Oleg yanked the handbrake and slammed the car doors with a flourish. Sofia struggled to open her eyes; the long jolt along the dirt road had battered her entire body.
On the back seat, in huge car seats, their sons — Stepan and Miron — squirmed and squeaked in unison. They were only two weeks old.
Sofia looked out the window, expecting to see the country house her husband had promised, and froze. Through the dusty glass stood a crooked fence, and behind it, a log cabin blackened by age.
The porch had sagged, the roof’s slate was covered with a thick layer of gray-green moss, and instead of glass, yellowed, hole-ridden film flapped in the wind.
— Oleg… — Sofia turned to her husband, feeling her mouth go dry. — What is this? Where have you brought us?
Her husband exhaled irritably, avoiding her eyes. He hastily got out of the car, opened the trunk, and started pulling out the bags, throwing them onto the yellowing grass by the gate.
— Sonya, let’s skip the drama — he adjusted the collar of his branded polo, nervously scanning the surroundings. — The plot is fine. My grandfather used to live here, never complained.
Sure, the paint has peeled, the porch needs fixing. It’s all manageable. You need nature with the babies now. The air here is cleaner, good for you! In the city, there’s only exhaust fumes.
— Oleg, are you out of your mind? — Sofia stepped outside, forgetting her sweater. The wind immediately slipped under her light T-shirt. — I can barely stand after being discharged!
There aren’t even proper doors! Where will I wash the children? Where will I heat water?
Oleg slammed the trunk so hard that the SUV rocked.
— Listen, I explained everything! My project is urgent, clients are on the phone around the clock. I have to work! And the boys cry at night. I don’t sleep, I can’t focus in meetings.
You want me to get fired? I brought pasta, buckwheat, water in jugs. I’ll come Saturday with more. You’ll manage.
He awkwardly gestured toward the car where the boys were crying, without even trying to approach them. He jumped into the driver’s seat and sharply reversed. The wheels kicked up a cloud of dry earth, covering the bags.
Sofia was left alone. The silence pressed against her ears; only the wind whistled through the old house’s cracks, and the babies, awakened by the noise, wailed in the car.
She didn’t know that this had started before the birth. While Sofia was under medical supervision for days, Oleg suddenly realized how comfortable the empty apartment was.
No one asked him to assemble the crib, no one complained. One evening he stopped at a café near his office. There he met Rita.
Well-groomed, sharp, with perfect nails and expensive perfume, she quickly made it clear what she wanted. When she learned twins were coming, Rita just smirked: “I don’t deal with other people’s diapers, Oleg. Decide, or we just had a nice time.”
Oleg, used to ease and avoiding any difficulty, quickly found a solution. He took his inconvenient wife to the village of Klyuchi, where civilization appeared only on Thursdays in the form of a mobile store.
Sofia dragged the cribs onto the porch. The boards beneath her feet sagged ominously. Inside, the house smelled of mold and stale dust; on the collapsed sofa lay a piece of fallen plaster.
Stepan cried louder, demanding food. Miron followed suit.
Sofia sank onto the crooked stool. Her hands trembled. She pulled the bottles and formula from the bag, but immediately realized there was no hot water. The old stove in the middle of the room looked as if it would collapse at the spark of a match.
Moreover, there was no firewood anywhere.
— They’ll freeze… — she whispered, trying to wrap the crying children in a single blanket.
From the yard came the heavy squeak of a gate.
Sofia flinched, instinctively shielding the car seats. In the doorway stood a tall, stooped figure. A man in a worn jumpsuit wiped his hands smeared with mechanical oil on a gray rag.
— Madam, at least you should’ve covered the windows with cardboard — his voice was deep and hoarse. — It’s so drafty, I can hear it from my yard.
— Who are you? — Sofia clutched the edge of the stool.
— Neighbor, Ruslan — the man stepped inside, surveying the ruin. — Looks like the city gentleman dumped you here and left fast. Don’t touch the stove. The chimney’s blocked; you’d suffocate in half an hour.
— I need water… to mix the formula — Sofia’s voice cracked, and she sniffed.
Ruslan nodded silently, tossed the rag into his pocket, and left. Ten minutes later, he returned, carrying a long orange extension cord in one hand, a regular electric kettle, and a plastic bucket of clean water in the other.
— Hand me the bottles — he commanded, plugging in the extension cord. — Don’t use the local outlets; the wiring is ruined.
They worked until late evening. Ruslan asked no unnecessary questions. He simply brought a heat gun from his garage, blasted decades of dust from the old sofa, and covered the torn windows with thick greenhouse film, nailed in place with tiny nails.
— Why are you doing this? — Sofia whispered when the babies finally fell asleep and the room had warmed noticeably from the whirring heater.
Ruslan shrugged, sipping hot water.
— I don’t like seeing the weak abandoned. I used to repair cars in the city. Had my own workshop. Then… — he smiled, looking at his calloused hands — my ex-wife found someone richer.
I had to split the workshop, the nerves wore me down for a long time. I sold everything, bought a house here. I tinker with tech for fun. I grow vegetables. It’s calmer here. People are easier to understand.
Slow, monotonous days began. Oleg didn’t come on Saturday or the next week.
He transferred a laughable amount, barely enough for a couple packs of cheap diapers, and wrote: “Workload, don’t bother me.” Sofia didn’t call. The resentment faded, leaving a cold emptiness instead.
But every day Ruslan stopped by. He brought a dozen eggs from his hens, chopped firewood. The boys quickly got used to his steps on the porch and stopped fussing when he lifted them with his huge hands.
One evening, as a chilly, rainy autumn downpour set in, Ruslan entered, shaking water from his coat.
— Pack your things, Sonya.
— Where? — she panicked.
— To my place. I’ve got a solid house with a gas boiler. Two rooms are completely empty. Here you’ll spread damp, the children will start coughing. No discussion.
Life under one roof with Ruslan turned out surprisingly easy. He didn’t meddle, didn’t demand gratitude. In the evenings, they sat in the spacious, warm kitchen, peeling potatoes for dinner and talking.
Sofia started helping in the yard — planting late flowers, tidying the veranda. It turned out that if there’s someone to take part of the household chores, motherhood stops feeling like excruciating slavery.
One evening, Ruslan approached her on the veranda. Sofia was rocking Stepan to sleep.
— Sonya… — Ruslan shifted nervously, fidgeting with the edge of his work jacket.
— I can’t speak nicely. You see what I am. Always dirty, simple. But you and the boys… you brought life to this house. I thought I’d spend my life alone among my machines. But now I want to wake up in the mornings.
Sofia looked up at him. There was no fatigue left in her eyes.
— You’re the most reliable person, Ruslan. Without you, we would have been lost.
Meanwhile, in the city, Oleg began to understand that freedom has its price. Rita turned out to be a woman with bottomless needs. New clothes, spa trips, weekend getaways.
His salary wasn’t enough; Oleg fell into credit cards. Rita nagged him every day.
— Look, there’s that old house your grandfather left, right? — she pressed during breakfast, spreading avocado on toast. — Sell it. I need a proper car.
— Rita, who needs that ruin? The land is barely worth anything. And Sofia is there… with the kids.
Rita slammed her fork on the table.
— Ah, Sofia! You still pity that simple woman? Fine. Tomorrow we go, I’ll see it myself. We’ll take photos, put it up for sale. Your ex can find another place. Not my problem.
The next day they rattled along the bumpy dirt road. Rita clicked her tongue in annoyance at the bumps the entire way. When the car stopped at a familiar yard, Oleg got out and froze.
The plot was overgrown with weeds. The film on the windows hung in gray shreds. The gate had fallen off and lay in the wet dirt.
— Where’s your faithful wife? — Rita sneered, trying not to dirty her light pants. — It’s disgusting to even be here. We wouldn’t get even a first installment!
Oleg fidgeted in place. A bad feeling rose inside him. Had Sofia left? Where? Without money, with the babies?
— Hey, Oleg! — Rita nudged him with her elbow. — Look. Isn’t that her?
From the gate of the neighboring sturdy brick house, Sofia stepped out. Oleg blinked. She was no longer the exhausted woman she had been after the children’s birth. Her hair was neatly tied, her cheeks rosy, a comfortable knitted cardigan on her shoulders.
Beside her walked a tall, strong man in a clean jacket. He pushed a wide modern twin stroller in front of him. The man said something quietly, and Sofia laughed in response. He put her arm around her, and she leaned into him.
They passed Oleg’s abandoned SUV. Sofia glanced at her husband standing among the tall thistles. Their eyes met for a moment. But there was neither anger nor reproach in her gaze.
She looked at him like a stranger who had come to the wrong address. Then she turned toward Ruslan and continued the conversation.
— Your wife didn’t even flinch — Rita chuckled, fixing her hair. — Found a man with money, and look at the house. And you were telling me stories. Let’s get out of here, loser.
She walked to her car, loudly clacking her heels on the dry ground. Oleg stayed by the crooked fence. He watched the woman he had brought to the middle of nowhere walk away, and his sons, who would call a completely different man their father.
At that moment, he clearly realized he had traded his real family for an empty, pretty picture. He had lost everything. But Sofia wasn’t looking back.
