**The Seventh of July!** It couldnt be! Just a coincidence. But the nameAndrew. His middle name and surname were different. Then again, adoptive parents could change those, even the first name” She stared at the mans portrait for a long time, as if hoping to find something familiar.
The woman in the HR department of the town council finished processing the paperwork for the new employee, then picked up the phone.
“Inna Andrewovna, could you come to my office? Your new cleaner is here.”
Soon, a stern-faced woman entered and immediately addressed the older newcomer.
“Youre the new cleaner?”
“Yes.”
“Im the facilities managerInna Andrewovna,” she introduced herself brusquely. “And you?”
“Vera,” the woman replied, then corrected herself upon seeing the expectant look. “Vera Alexeyevna.”
“Come, Ill show you your work area,” Inna said, leading her out. “Youll be responsible for the entire third floor”
***
Vera was overjoyed to have landed this job. Smiling to herself, she surveyed her new domain.
“Two years until retirement, and I can even work after that if I want. Eight hundred pounds a month, plus bonuses. At least Dmitry and I can live comfortably now. The kids have all moved outthank goodness. Oh, I dont even know the mayors name! How embarrassing if someone asks. Lunch soonIll check the photo display downstairs.”
***
Returning from the canteen, she passed the wall of portraits and paused.
“Andrew Borisovich born 1983.”
“Goodness, hes young. Not even forty,” she thought. Then it struck her. “Andrew? 1983?”
She turned back, rereading the birthdate.
**”The seventh of July!** It couldnt be! Just a coincidence. But the nameAndrew. His middle name and surname were different. Adoptive parents could change those, even the first name”
She stared at the portrait, searching for somethinganythingfamiliar.
***
The new job kept her busy, pushing stray thoughts aside.
At home, she chatted with Dmitry all evening before he retreated to his room to watch football. Vera went to hers.
Their three-bedroom flat felt spacious now that the kids were gone. Dmitry still slept beside her sometimes, though less often these days.
Lying in bed, her mind wandered to her youthand the secret shed never shared with her husband.
Before Dmitry, shed had a son. Andrew. She was only nineteen thenno money, no job, living in a cramped dormitory unfit for a child. She lasted six months before giving him up.
Three years later, she married Dmitry. Theyd never asked about each others past. Soon, their own children arrivedtwo daughters.
The girls grew up. One married a university lecturer; grandchildren now filled her days. The other lived in London, successful in her own right.
Vera had never landed a proper career. For twenty years, shed managed a factory floor until the place shut down. Then a friends daughter suggested this cleaning job at the council.
And now Mayor Andrew Borisovich, born 1983.
She didnt regret her life. But all these years, shed wondered about her son. Sometimes he even appeared in her dreams. She just wanted to knowwas this him? Was he happy?
***
Days passed.
Vera was mopping the corridor when voices echoed. Mayor Andrew Borisovich strode past, deep in conversation. Spotting her, he nodded and continued.
For a moment, she saw Vitalythe boy shed loved forty years ago. Handsome, carefree. Shed never imagined him serious. Yet here was Andrew Borisovich, exactly the man shed once wished Vitaly could become.
But Vitaly had vanished the moment he learned she was pregnant. At first, she waited. Then she understoodhed run.
“Could Andrew Borisovich really be my son?
If Id kept him, would he still be mayor? But my daughters turned out fine. The eldest has a big house, a car. The younger ones doing well too. Daughters but no son.
Would I have married Dmitry otherwise? Noeverything would be different. For me, for him, for Andrew. But maybe its all just a wild coincidence.
Does it even matter? He has parentsgood ones, if hes mayor. Theyve probably never told him hes adopted. A different middle name. A happy childhood. Not many working-class lads end up running a town.”
***
After lunch, her young colleague, Helen, approached.
“Hi, Auntie Vera!”
“Hello.”
“Were celebrating Lyubas birthday on Friday. Shes turning forty-fivecleans the sixth floor. You coming?”
“Of course!” Vera smiled.
“Twenty quid each, then. And bring something nicea salad, maybe?”
“Sure.” Vera handed over the cash.
“We celebrate everyones birthday here.”
“Helen, just call me Vera. Were colleagues.”
“Right, Vera!”
***
Friday evening, they gathered in an empty office on the seventh floor. The table was set.
As usual in any workplace, toasts were made. Sips of red wine followed each one.
Suddenly, the door opened.
Andrew Borisovich walked in.
“Happy birthday, Lyuba Olegovna,” he said warmly, handing her a small gift.
“Thank you!” Lyubas eyes welled up.
“Join us!” the facilities manager urged.
“Just for a minute,” he agreed, sitting beside Vera.
She served him salad and cold cuts. Wine was poured. He raised a toast.
Vera watched him, trembling inside. This was her son. She no longer doubted it.
***
He stayed twenty minutes before excusing himself.
“What a man!” said Katya, the longest-serving employee. “The old mayor would never have sat with us.”
“How long has he been here?” Vera asked.
“A year. Remember the election?”
Truthfully, Vera didnt. Dmitry handled all that.
“His parents are loaded, by the way,” Katya added. “But theyre not his real ones.”
“What?” Lyuba gasped.
“Found out during the campaign. Rumor is, he didnt even know. Funniest part? He didnt care. Still adores them.”
“Katya, how do you know this?”
“The old mayors deputyOlga Pavlovnadug up dirt to keep her boss in power. Didnt work, did it?”
“Does he know who his real parents are?” Vera dared to ask.
“Doesnt seem to. And why would he? His folks gave him everything. Hes a decent man, our mayor.”
Vera stared at the door hed left through. Her heart swelledjoy for her sons happiness, sorrow that shed never hold him.
She smiled softly.
“I wont disturb you, my boy. Ill just stay close.”
