The bus hissed to a stop at the edge of the forgotten village, doors groaning as they opened. Olesya stepped out, rain slicking her coat to her skin. Pregnant, exhausted, and drowning in grief, she clutched her belly and moved forward. The driver gave her a nod, then vanished down the misty road, leaving her in silence broken only by the soft drizzle.
The village hadn’t changed. Bare trees rattled in the wind. Crooked fences leaned like old men. Narrow paths, slick with rain, threatened to trip her at every step. Each footfall carried memories she couldn’t escape—Andrey’s laugh, the rough warmth of his hands, the way he whispered her name like it was fragile glass.
Her life before him had been hard. Orphanage walls, factory shifts, endless chores. She hadn’t known softness until Andrey—grease-stained overalls, kind eyes, a man who noticed everything about her. Lunches became walks, walks became nights talking in cramped kitchens, and one night, a kiss that changed everything.
Pregnant, she panicked—but Andrey’s reaction was the sun breaking through clouds. He proposed, full of hope. “Meet my family next weekend,” he said. Fear twisted her stomach. She held back. “You go first,” she whispered. He agreed, but never returned. Rumors swirled: “He ran.” “He got scared.” She refused to believe it…until she overheard the truth: he’d been mugged on his way to see his parents. He didn’t survive.
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