Stolen Happiness Anna was pottering in her garden—spring had come early this year. It was only the end of March, but the snow had already melted. She knew the cold would return, but for now the sun was warm enough that she stepped outside to fix the sagging fence and patch up the woodshed. She thought about getting some chickens and maybe a piglet, a dog, and a cat. “That’s enough, you’ve wandered far enough,” she chuckled to herself, “enough is enough.” She longed to dig over her vegetable patch, to tend the earth and breathe in the smell of home, just as she did as a child—shoes off, running barefoot across the newly-turned, soft-as-down soil. “We’ve still got some living to do,” Anna said aloud, to nobody in particular. “Hello?” Startled, Anna looked up. At the gate stood a girl—barely more than a child, in a thin, grey raincoat that Anna recognised from the local college; flimsy shoes, sheer nylon tights—not fit for this nippy weather. “She’ll catch her death in those,” Anna noted. The girl shifted from foot to foot. “Hello,” Anna said, curtly. “I’m sorry, may I use your loo?” the girl asked. “Oh, well, go on then. Straight ahead and round the back,” Anna replied, watching as the girl dashed off. “Thank you, you’ve saved me. I’m looking for a room to rent – do you have one?” “I wasn’t planning to let a room. What for?” Anna asked. “I just want a room of my own. I don’t want to live in the hostel—there’s too much drinking and boys coming and going.” “And what do you have to pay?” “Five pounds… that’s all I have.” “Well, come inside, then. Go on.” “Actually, can I nip to the loo again?” “Go on.” “What’s your name?” Anna asked as she led the girl inside. “Olya,” she piped, barely a squeak. “Well, Olya, why are you here really?” Anna demanded, eyeing her intently. “I… I want to rent the room—” “Don’t lie, Olya. Why are you really here?” “Er, loo, please…?” “Honestly? Girl, what’s wrong with you?” “I don’t know…” The girl was in tears. “I just can’t wait…” “Go, then…” Anna followed the girl out. “Are you just bursting for a wee? Or…?” “No, just that—hurts when I go…” “We’ll sort it out. Now talk—why are you here?” The girl was silent, gathering resolve. “Well? Out with it. I’ve nothing worth stealing here. Who sent you?” “No one. I came myself. Are you Anna Samoilova?” “Yes, that’s me…” “You… you don’t recognize me… Mummy? It’s me, Olya… your daughter.” Anna’s back was ramrod straight; not a single muscle in her weather-beaten face so much as twitched. “Olya,” she breathed, “daughter… Olyushka…” “Yes, Mum, it’s me. They wouldn’t give me your address at the orphanage, can you imagine? Said it wasn’t allowed. But my teacher in college, Anastasia Sergeyevna, she helped me. We sent off a request, found your name and address—and here I am.” Anna didn’t move, tears streaming down her cheeks. “Olya… my little Olya, my daughter…” “Mother! I’ve looked for you for so long. I wrote letters, and they laughed, said you abandoned me like an old shoe. But I believed in you, Mum, I always believed…” Anna tentatively embraced the sobbing girl; her coarse, callused hands clinging to Olya’s chunky-knit cardigan—her daughter, little Olya. They sat hugging, nothing more to be said; everything was clear. Afterwards, remembering her granny’s wisdom and her own bitter experience, Anna fetched hot water, made dill tea, fussed over Olyushka, her darling daughter—the very reason to live. There was a reason to go on—God had shown mercy. She had her garden to tend, a piglet to care for, a coat to mend, some cash tucked away just in case. She’d nearly given up, ready to die—and then her Olya turned up. *** “Mum…” “Oh?” “Mum…” “Come on, out with it, you little flatterer.” Olya grabbed a homemade pasty from the table, cheeks rosier by the day; her mother had dressed her up like the little doll she’d missed raising, and seemed herself to grow younger. “Mummy—” “What?” “Mum, I’ve fallen in love.” “Well, I’ll be—” “Yeah. He’s so lovely, Mum. His name’s Ivan. He wants to meet you…” “I… I don’t know…” But Anna thought: So, the happy days are ending—God gave, and now He’s taking away. “Mum, what’s wrong?” “Nothing, love, nothing. You just grew up so fast… I barely had time to enjoy it… Forgive me, Olyushka…” “Mum, oh what silly things you say—how could I not forgive you? You know how much I love you. I searched so long… We’ll give you grandkids, me and Ivan—just you wait.” The meeting went well; Ivan, a village lad—hardworking, steady—won Anna’s approval. Times were hard for many—some could barely feed themselves while others pampered dogs—but Anna, Olya, and Ivan got by. Anna sewed for a cooperative after her factory closed, earning enough to dress them immaculately in “designer” clothes head to toe. Ivan never sat idle—he built a new fence, fixed the house with his brothers, rebuilt the barn, and the home seemed happier than ever—especially after Olya, her clever, beautiful girl, was found. Anna’s heart melted; she wanted to live all the more, to make up for the shadowy years of her past—her secrets surfacing only in sleepless nights, when memories crashed over her like waves. “Mum, you alright?” “Yes, love, go to sleep, sweetheart.” “Mum, can I stay with you?” “Of course,” Anna shifted, hugging the wall so Olya could join her. “My little one, my girl—my heart could burst with love. This is it, real mother’s love—thank you, Lord, for letting me know it.” They got married, and the young couple stayed with Anna—who thrived. Even at work they noticed the severe Anna Pavlovna smiling, her cheeks rosy. “Will it be a grandson or granddaughter?” she whispered during break at work, “I’m so excited.” Anna Pavlovna’s daughter is so happy, her heart is so full, the women would sigh. A grandson! Antoshka—a family name, after Anna’s own mother, Olya’s grandmother: stern but fair. Anna was giddy. “I’ve not held a baby since Olya…” Well, apart from Olya, all those years ago. Holding little Antoshka, Anna’s heart hammered—pure happiness. Now, her thoughts revolved around her grandson; he was the best, the most beautiful, and he stuck to his granny like glue. Ivan got ambitious—he built a huge house, and of course there was always room for Anna. They couldn’t imagine life without Mum. Ivan and his brothers started a construction business, opened a builders’ merchant—life ticked over sweet and steady. Then, more good news: a grand-daughter on the way. Anna fashioned countless dresses for little Marina, her pretty darling. The sounds of children’s laughter filled her home. All was well for Anna, except lately she felt a frequent burning in her chest, sharp and hot. “Mum, my dear, why didn’t you say something hurts? Where? Where is it?” “It’s alright, love, really…” *** “It’s too late, there’s nothing we can do…” “Doctor, please, how can that be? She’s my mum—” “I’m sorry, truly.” *** “Daughter, Olya—it’s my time, forgive me. I’ve lived too long already. They counted me out, but you saved me, that day you came, my own girl…” “Mum, don’t say things like that—” “Love, let me finish—it’s hard…I’m not your real mother, Olya. Forgive me—” “Mum! Never say that to anyone. You’re my mum—mine, and that’s all I care about. Do you hear me?” “Yes, yes, Olya… I hear you, my heart. There’s a notebook, my diary… Forgive me, Olya. I love you, child.” “And I love you, Mum. Mum… Muuuum…” *** “Ol, have something to eat…” “Yes, Vanya… I will… you go.” Olya sat in her mother’s room, reading the notebook, as Anna had called it—her life, Anna’s. Relentless, awkward, rotten, but sometimes cheerful. Her mother—strict Antonina Karpovna—her father killed in the war. Annushka, Anyuta, Annette—so many names. She’d fallen for a thief—what a wild life, there’d been fun, danger, the thrill of it. She left home for the thief… It spiraled on and on, years lost. Old age came upon her suddenly, a grasshopper skipping through life. The thief disappeared in the camps; she was alone in the world. There might have been a child, but she’d caught cold when helping her thief-hero plan a jailbreak, youthful and foolish, she lost everything—even her womanhood. No child, no kitten—her mother’s house was all she had left. There, she thawed a little, endured. The doctors told her to wait it out, “either-or.” She went to church, seeking forgiveness—it was hard. And then a miracle—God sent unexpected joy, and Anna couldn’t let go of the chance. She thought: I’ll get to be a mum for a while, at least see what it’s like. Olya—her darling—became the light of her life. She wrote in third person, “Anna never expected to live so long—such happiness; I work, I live, I have a daughter, my soul, my little heart. Even the illness withdrew for a while.” Forgive me, God, for the request—let me live to play with my grandchildren, to help my daughter. At first, Anna worried Olya would find out the truth: that she wasn’t really her mum, just shared a surname, maybe a muddle at the orphanage. In time, she stopped fretting, began to live a normal, human life; finally believed she was worthy. Forgive me, precious girl, for stealing you from your real mother—my happiness was borrowed, stolen. “Mum,” Olya sobbed, “my dear mum—I do hope you hear me. I knew, I worked it out straight away. When I lived with you, they told me the records were wrong, Anna was Ivanovna, I found her—just to see. She turned me away, remarried, didn’t want me, Mum. “She’s still alive, has her own family, but she didn’t care about me. She was afraid I’d be found, wouldn’t see me, just gave me money. “I ran away, Mum. Remember when I was so sick? Delirious, remember? And you, my darling—you cared for me. I thank God He brought us together. I searched so long for you. You—YOU are my mum. “Maybe it was a mistake after all, maybe it wasn’t. Up there, they know who belongs with whom. How do I live without you again, Mum?” “Olya, Olyushka…” “Let her cry, Vanya. She’s burying her mother.” *** “Grandma, was Grandma Anna kind?” “Very kind, darling.” “And pretty?” “The prettiest, Annushka.” “Who named her that?” “Oh, I don’t know—her father, maybe, or her mum.” “Your granddad or your grandma named her that.” “Yes, granddad or grandma.” “And you named me after her—after your mum?” “I did; and your daddy loved his granny very much.” “Can she see me?” “Of course; she’s watching, always helping you.” “I love you, Grandma Anna,” the little girl lays a crown of dandelions on her great-grandmother’s grave. “And I love you, pet,” the birch whispers; “and we love you,” the wind echoes.

Borrowed Happiness

Ann was pottering around her back garden. Spring had come early that year; though it was only the end of March, not a patch of snow remained. She knew the chill would likely return, but for now the sun was shining so warmly that Ann had ventured outside, eager to do somethingprop up the ramshackle fence or mend the wood shed, perhaps.

She thought about getting some chickens, maybe even a piglet, and perhaps a dog or a cat for company. Thats enough, she told herself with a wry smile, reminiscing over her independent years. Yes, enough for now.

Ann longed to turn over the vegetable garden as soon as possible, to work the beds and inhale the earthy scent of home soiljust as she did in childhood. She remembered running barefoot across the fresh furrows, feeling the silky, warm ground squish delightfully between her toes.

Weve still got life ahead of us, Ann said aloud, as if to someone invisible.

Hello.

Ann started and looked up. By the gate stood a young girl, no more than a teen, a mere child. She wore a drab macone of those Ann knew the local college gave outthin shoes and beige tights much too light for the weather.

Too chilly still for a get-up like that, Ann thought. The lass is young, shell catch her death; those shoes are little better than cardboard, dreadful really, she noted silently.

The girl shifted her spindly legs nervously.

Hello, Ann greeted her, a little stiffly.

Excuse me, could I possibly use your loo?

Well then, go on. Straight down there, turn the corner.

Ann watched the girl dash off with mild curiosity.

Thank you, youve saved me, the girl gushed when she returned. Im looking to rent somewhere. You wouldnt happen to have a spare room?

Hadnt really planned on it. Whats the need?

Im hoping to rent a room. I cant stand living in those college hallspeople drinking, smoking, boys everywhere.

Oh, really? And how much can you pay?

Five pounds thats all Ive got.

Well, come inside then. Go on, in you come.

Sorry could I use the loo again?

Off you pop.

Whats your name? Ann asked as she ushered her in.

Holly, came a mouse-like squeak. Holly.

Well then, Holly, what brings you here? Ann gave her a piercing look.

I I need a room

Dont lie to me, Holly. I said: why have you come here?

Sorry can I use the loo again?

Whats up with you, girl?

Idont know, she mumbled through tears, I just cant hold it anymore.

Well, go on then.

Ann followed her out, concerned.

Is it just a quick wee, or?

Just a tinkle, hurts a bit she mumbled, embarrassed.

Well sort it. Now, tell me what youre really here for.

The girl struggled, silent for a moment.

Well? Im listening. If youve come to pinch something, theres nothing worth nicking here. Who sent you?

No one. I came on my own. Are you Ann Smith?

Thats me, yes why?

You you dont recognise meMum? Its me, Holly your daughter.

Ann sat bolt upright; not a muscle flickered on her weatherworn face.

Holly she breathed, my girl Holly

Yes, Mum, its me. They wouldnt give me your address at the childrens home, you know. Said they werent allowed, can you imagine, Mum? But I asked my teacherMiss Jenkins at college, shes lovelyshe helped me, and we wrote off for your details and then we found your address ourselves And here I am!

Ann didnt move a muscle, but tears ran quietly down her face.

Holly, my darling my Holly

Mum! Mum! the girl sobbed, flinging herself round Anns neck. Its taken me so long to find you, Mum. I wrote lettersthey laughed, told me youd left me behind like an old coat But I believed in you, Mum. I always believed

Ann gently hugged her weeping daughter. The hands that had roughened with years of work lovingly clung to Hollys chunky-knit cardie. Her daughter, her precious girl, her Holly

They stayed locked in that embrace, words unnecessaryfor everything was clear.

Later, stirred by memories of her grandmothers old remedies and the rough comfort of experience, Ann fussed round Hollyboiling water, steeping chamomile, tending to her dear girl with the care and purpose she thought shed lost forever.

Holly, her lifes one true purpose. Now there was a reason to live; some grace had been granted, all wasnt lost. The garden could wait, along with the piglet, and that old coat shed planned to mend. Ann had squirrelled away a little for a rainy day. What a foolshed felt ready for the end, and then Holly, her own little Holly, had arrived

***

Mum!

Yes, love?

Mum

Go on, then, sweet talker.

Holly nabbed a bun from the plate Ann had baked fresh, her cheeks round and glowing. Ann had kitted her out in everything, as if she were a doll, and she herself felt years lighter for it.

Mummy!

What is it now? Out with it.

Mum Im in love.

Well, would you look at that.

I am! Hes so kind, Mum. His names Jackhe really wants to meet you.

I I dont know

But underneath it all, Ann thought: there go my happy days. Whats been given can so easily be taken away.

Mum, whats wrong? Mum

Nothing, darling, its nothing at all. Youre all grown up now, so quicklyyou barely let me enjoy you, forgive me, my Holly

Mum, oh Mum, dont be silly. How could you say that? Jack and I will give you grandkids, you know Mum, you must know how much I love you, how long I searched for you. Oh, my lovely Mum!

Jack, once introduced, proved a steady, practical village lad, and Ann immediately saw he was a good sortjust the kind. Proud to let her daughter go to him, she thought.

Times were hard; often folk had nothing to eat, yet some pampered their pets better than most people. But Ann, Holly and Jack were getting by. Ann sewed wellher factory had long since closed, but shed joined a local co-op where the wages were fair, and both Holly and Jack were kept smartly dressed.

Jack was never idle; he built a new fence, replaced two rows of timber on the cottage with his brothers, patched the old shed for the piglet. The little house came alive anew, especially after clever, beautiful Holly had come home.

Anns heart thawed at last, filled with a vibrant hunger for life, making up for all those hard, shameful years she tried not to rememberbut, still, sometimes at night, the pain caught her by surprise and she couldnt stifle her sobs

Mum? Mum, whats wrong? Are you hurting?

No, darlinggo on, off to bed now, my love

Mum, can I sleep with you?

Of course, pet. Ann shifted to the very edge, making room for her daughter beside her.

My precious girl. My heart aches with love. Thats what a mothers love is. Thank you, Lord, for letting me know it.

They had the wedding, and the young couple stayed on living with Ann. She blossomedit was plain for all to see, even her workmates noticed. Ann Smith, always severe, now struggled not to smile, her cheeks aflame with happiness.

Shell have a grandson or granddaughter soon, Ann whispered to her friends at break. Oh, Im nervous!

They sighed; such a lucky daughter, to be so loved by Mrs Smith.

A grandson! A grandson was bornBen! Named after Anns own mother, Hollys grandma, who was firm but fair, Ann would say proudly. Hes perfectoh, hes gorgeous, girls.

Id never held babies, not since HollyId forgotten how it felt. Holding him, my heart poundedI knew, this was happiness.

Ann lived for Ben now. He was the finest, the strongest, and his grannys pride. He never strayed far from her side.

Jack started buildinghe knocked up a big new house, and Ann had her own space. How could they have considered anything else?

Jack and his brothers set up a small building business, opened a tool shop, and life ticked along quietly.

Then another bit of good newsa granddaughter, a little girl.

The dresses Ann made! The outfits she prepared for little Mollyher darling, such a pretty child.

The house was forever full of childrens laughter.

All was well in Anns worldthough lately shed been feeling a burning pain in her chest. Often enough now, it wouldnt go away.

Mum, my darling Mum, why didnt you say? Where does it hurt?

Im alright, love, all alright

***

Im sorry, its too late, the doctor said to Jack.

But Doctor, my mum

I know, Im so sorry.

***

Holly, my girl its time for me, forgive me. Ive long outstayed my welcome, but you saved me that day, you came to me, my dearest

Mum, dont speak like that.

Darling, let me finish. Oh, its hard dont interrupt I Im not your real mother, Holly. Forgive me…

Dont, Mum! Dont ever say that, do you hear? Youre mineno one else, youre my mum my one and only Mum. Understood?

Yes, love, I understand, my darling. Theres a notebookthe diary Forgive me, my Holly. I love you, child.

I love you too, Mum Mum Mum

***

Holly, have a bit to eat.

Yeah, Jack in a minute Go on.

Holly sat in her mothers room, reading the notebookher life, Anns life: harsh, bumpy, sad, but full of brightness too.

A strict mother, Betty, her father killed in the war.

Annie, Annie-flower.

Shed loved a bad lota charming rogue, a wild exciting life. Shed run away with him.

But it led her to nothingyears of hardship, then old age came suddenly. Shed leapt from trouble to trouble.

The rogue disappeared in prison; no one left in the world. She might have had a baby, but shed fallen ill waiting for her lover to escapefoolish, young, and everything lost. Unable to have her own children, nothing left but her mothers house to settle in, a little thawing of the heart.

The doctors had warned her to prepare, but shed gone to church, stood in the back, prayed and begged. Thenby some miraclejoy came suddenly. She couldnt let the chance slip by. She just wanted to know, for a little while, what it felt like to be a mother.

Holly, her shining light, her reason for living. Ann wrote about herself in the third personI just want to be like everyone else.

A daughterher soul. And the illness, too, seemed to loosen its grip.

Forgive me, Lord, for my requestlet me live to see my grandchildren, help my daughter.

At first, she was frightenedwhat if Holly found out the truth, that she was only an unrelated Smith, that maybe there was some mix-up? But then she stopped worrying, started livingreally living. At last, she believedshe deserved this.

Forgive me, my darling, whispered Ann in her mind, forgive me for stealing you from your real mother. So it turned out, my happiness is borrowed

Mum Holly sobbed at the grave, Mum, my lovely Mum. I hope you hear me now.

I knewI almost knew straight away. When I lived with you, some old records showed errors; Ann had been Ann Williams, not Smith. I found her, out of curiosity.

Shed given me up. Got married, I was in the way

Shes still alive, has her own family. Didnt care for me at all, Mum.

She was afraid someone would find out, so she hid me away, tried to buy me off, Mum.

I left, ran away.

Remember when I was so ill, Mum? That feverremember, Mum? You were there for me, Mum, my wonderful Mum. I thank God I found you. I searched so long You are, and always will be, my Mum.

Lucky it was a mix-upthough maybe it wasnt a mistake at all. Maybe, up above, someone just knew where to send us.

How can I go on without you, Mum

Holly, darling

Let her grieve, Jackshes lost her mum.

***

Granny, was Granny Ann kind?

The kindest, darling.

And was she pretty?

The prettiest of all, Annie.

Who called her Ann?

I dont know. Her mum or maybe her dad.

Your granddad or grandma named her?

Yes, my granddad or grandma.

And did you name me after great-granny, Mum?

Yes, I didand so did your dad. He loved her so much.

Can she see me?

Of course she can, darling. Shes watching youand looking after you always.

I love you, great-granny Annie, the little girl whispered, laying her dandelion chain on the grassy grave.

And I love you, darling, rustled the birch, and so do we, sang the wind.

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Stolen Happiness Anna was pottering in her garden—spring had come early this year. It was only the end of March, but the snow had already melted. She knew the cold would return, but for now the sun was warm enough that she stepped outside to fix the sagging fence and patch up the woodshed. She thought about getting some chickens and maybe a piglet, a dog, and a cat. “That’s enough, you’ve wandered far enough,” she chuckled to herself, “enough is enough.” She longed to dig over her vegetable patch, to tend the earth and breathe in the smell of home, just as she did as a child—shoes off, running barefoot across the newly-turned, soft-as-down soil. “We’ve still got some living to do,” Anna said aloud, to nobody in particular. “Hello?” Startled, Anna looked up. At the gate stood a girl—barely more than a child, in a thin, grey raincoat that Anna recognised from the local college; flimsy shoes, sheer nylon tights—not fit for this nippy weather. “She’ll catch her death in those,” Anna noted. The girl shifted from foot to foot. “Hello,” Anna said, curtly. “I’m sorry, may I use your loo?” the girl asked. “Oh, well, go on then. Straight ahead and round the back,” Anna replied, watching as the girl dashed off. “Thank you, you’ve saved me. I’m looking for a room to rent – do you have one?” “I wasn’t planning to let a room. What for?” Anna asked. “I just want a room of my own. I don’t want to live in the hostel—there’s too much drinking and boys coming and going.” “And what do you have to pay?” “Five pounds… that’s all I have.” “Well, come inside, then. Go on.” “Actually, can I nip to the loo again?” “Go on.” “What’s your name?” Anna asked as she led the girl inside. “Olya,” she piped, barely a squeak. “Well, Olya, why are you here really?” Anna demanded, eyeing her intently. “I… I want to rent the room—” “Don’t lie, Olya. Why are you really here?” “Er, loo, please…?” “Honestly? Girl, what’s wrong with you?” “I don’t know…” The girl was in tears. “I just can’t wait…” “Go, then…” Anna followed the girl out. “Are you just bursting for a wee? Or…?” “No, just that—hurts when I go…” “We’ll sort it out. Now talk—why are you here?” The girl was silent, gathering resolve. “Well? Out with it. I’ve nothing worth stealing here. Who sent you?” “No one. I came myself. Are you Anna Samoilova?” “Yes, that’s me…” “You… you don’t recognize me… Mummy? It’s me, Olya… your daughter.” Anna’s back was ramrod straight; not a single muscle in her weather-beaten face so much as twitched. “Olya,” she breathed, “daughter… Olyushka…” “Yes, Mum, it’s me. They wouldn’t give me your address at the orphanage, can you imagine? Said it wasn’t allowed. But my teacher in college, Anastasia Sergeyevna, she helped me. We sent off a request, found your name and address—and here I am.” Anna didn’t move, tears streaming down her cheeks. “Olya… my little Olya, my daughter…” “Mother! I’ve looked for you for so long. I wrote letters, and they laughed, said you abandoned me like an old shoe. But I believed in you, Mum, I always believed…” Anna tentatively embraced the sobbing girl; her coarse, callused hands clinging to Olya’s chunky-knit cardigan—her daughter, little Olya. They sat hugging, nothing more to be said; everything was clear. Afterwards, remembering her granny’s wisdom and her own bitter experience, Anna fetched hot water, made dill tea, fussed over Olyushka, her darling daughter—the very reason to live. There was a reason to go on—God had shown mercy. She had her garden to tend, a piglet to care for, a coat to mend, some cash tucked away just in case. She’d nearly given up, ready to die—and then her Olya turned up. *** “Mum…” “Oh?” “Mum…” “Come on, out with it, you little flatterer.” Olya grabbed a homemade pasty from the table, cheeks rosier by the day; her mother had dressed her up like the little doll she’d missed raising, and seemed herself to grow younger. “Mummy—” “What?” “Mum, I’ve fallen in love.” “Well, I’ll be—” “Yeah. He’s so lovely, Mum. His name’s Ivan. He wants to meet you…” “I… I don’t know…” But Anna thought: So, the happy days are ending—God gave, and now He’s taking away. “Mum, what’s wrong?” “Nothing, love, nothing. You just grew up so fast… I barely had time to enjoy it… Forgive me, Olyushka…” “Mum, oh what silly things you say—how could I not forgive you? You know how much I love you. I searched so long… We’ll give you grandkids, me and Ivan—just you wait.” The meeting went well; Ivan, a village lad—hardworking, steady—won Anna’s approval. Times were hard for many—some could barely feed themselves while others pampered dogs—but Anna, Olya, and Ivan got by. Anna sewed for a cooperative after her factory closed, earning enough to dress them immaculately in “designer” clothes head to toe. Ivan never sat idle—he built a new fence, fixed the house with his brothers, rebuilt the barn, and the home seemed happier than ever—especially after Olya, her clever, beautiful girl, was found. Anna’s heart melted; she wanted to live all the more, to make up for the shadowy years of her past—her secrets surfacing only in sleepless nights, when memories crashed over her like waves. “Mum, you alright?” “Yes, love, go to sleep, sweetheart.” “Mum, can I stay with you?” “Of course,” Anna shifted, hugging the wall so Olya could join her. “My little one, my girl—my heart could burst with love. This is it, real mother’s love—thank you, Lord, for letting me know it.” They got married, and the young couple stayed with Anna—who thrived. Even at work they noticed the severe Anna Pavlovna smiling, her cheeks rosy. “Will it be a grandson or granddaughter?” she whispered during break at work, “I’m so excited.” Anna Pavlovna’s daughter is so happy, her heart is so full, the women would sigh. A grandson! Antoshka—a family name, after Anna’s own mother, Olya’s grandmother: stern but fair. Anna was giddy. “I’ve not held a baby since Olya…” Well, apart from Olya, all those years ago. Holding little Antoshka, Anna’s heart hammered—pure happiness. Now, her thoughts revolved around her grandson; he was the best, the most beautiful, and he stuck to his granny like glue. Ivan got ambitious—he built a huge house, and of course there was always room for Anna. They couldn’t imagine life without Mum. Ivan and his brothers started a construction business, opened a builders’ merchant—life ticked over sweet and steady. Then, more good news: a grand-daughter on the way. Anna fashioned countless dresses for little Marina, her pretty darling. The sounds of children’s laughter filled her home. All was well for Anna, except lately she felt a frequent burning in her chest, sharp and hot. “Mum, my dear, why didn’t you say something hurts? Where? Where is it?” “It’s alright, love, really…” *** “It’s too late, there’s nothing we can do…” “Doctor, please, how can that be? She’s my mum—” “I’m sorry, truly.” *** “Daughter, Olya—it’s my time, forgive me. I’ve lived too long already. They counted me out, but you saved me, that day you came, my own girl…” “Mum, don’t say things like that—” “Love, let me finish—it’s hard…I’m not your real mother, Olya. Forgive me—” “Mum! Never say that to anyone. You’re my mum—mine, and that’s all I care about. Do you hear me?” “Yes, yes, Olya… I hear you, my heart. There’s a notebook, my diary… Forgive me, Olya. I love you, child.” “And I love you, Mum. Mum… Muuuum…” *** “Ol, have something to eat…” “Yes, Vanya… I will… you go.” Olya sat in her mother’s room, reading the notebook, as Anna had called it—her life, Anna’s. Relentless, awkward, rotten, but sometimes cheerful. Her mother—strict Antonina Karpovna—her father killed in the war. Annushka, Anyuta, Annette—so many names. She’d fallen for a thief—what a wild life, there’d been fun, danger, the thrill of it. She left home for the thief… It spiraled on and on, years lost. Old age came upon her suddenly, a grasshopper skipping through life. The thief disappeared in the camps; she was alone in the world. There might have been a child, but she’d caught cold when helping her thief-hero plan a jailbreak, youthful and foolish, she lost everything—even her womanhood. No child, no kitten—her mother’s house was all she had left. There, she thawed a little, endured. The doctors told her to wait it out, “either-or.” She went to church, seeking forgiveness—it was hard. And then a miracle—God sent unexpected joy, and Anna couldn’t let go of the chance. She thought: I’ll get to be a mum for a while, at least see what it’s like. Olya—her darling—became the light of her life. She wrote in third person, “Anna never expected to live so long—such happiness; I work, I live, I have a daughter, my soul, my little heart. Even the illness withdrew for a while.” Forgive me, God, for the request—let me live to play with my grandchildren, to help my daughter. At first, Anna worried Olya would find out the truth: that she wasn’t really her mum, just shared a surname, maybe a muddle at the orphanage. In time, she stopped fretting, began to live a normal, human life; finally believed she was worthy. Forgive me, precious girl, for stealing you from your real mother—my happiness was borrowed, stolen. “Mum,” Olya sobbed, “my dear mum—I do hope you hear me. I knew, I worked it out straight away. When I lived with you, they told me the records were wrong, Anna was Ivanovna, I found her—just to see. She turned me away, remarried, didn’t want me, Mum. “She’s still alive, has her own family, but she didn’t care about me. She was afraid I’d be found, wouldn’t see me, just gave me money. “I ran away, Mum. Remember when I was so sick? Delirious, remember? And you, my darling—you cared for me. I thank God He brought us together. I searched so long for you. You—YOU are my mum. “Maybe it was a mistake after all, maybe it wasn’t. Up there, they know who belongs with whom. How do I live without you again, Mum?” “Olya, Olyushka…” “Let her cry, Vanya. She’s burying her mother.” *** “Grandma, was Grandma Anna kind?” “Very kind, darling.” “And pretty?” “The prettiest, Annushka.” “Who named her that?” “Oh, I don’t know—her father, maybe, or her mum.” “Your granddad or your grandma named her that.” “Yes, granddad or grandma.” “And you named me after her—after your mum?” “I did; and your daddy loved his granny very much.” “Can she see me?” “Of course; she’s watching, always helping you.” “I love you, Grandma Anna,” the little girl lays a crown of dandelions on her great-grandmother’s grave. “And I love you, pet,” the birch whispers; “and we love you,” the wind echoes.