**July 7th! This cant be real. Just a coincidence. But the nameAndrew.**
Vera stared at the portrait of the man, as if hoping to recognise something familiar.
The woman in the HR department of the town council had just processed the paperwork for the new employee. Then she made a call:
“Mrs. Inna, could you come to my office? Your new cleaner is here.”
Soon enough, a middle-aged woman walked in and immediately addressed the new hire:
“You’re the new cleaner?”
“Yes.”
“Im the facilities managerInna Andrews. And you?”
“Vera,” the woman corrected herself after catching the expectant look. “Vera Alexeyevna.”
“Come, Ill show you your workspace,” Inna said, leading her out of the office. “Youll be responsible for the entire third floor.”
***
Vera was overjoyed to have landed this job. Smiling, she surveyed her new domain:
*Two more years until retirement. Maybe Ill stay on even after. The pays decenteight thousand plus bonuses. At least Dmitry and I can live comfortably now. The kids are grown and gone. Oh noI dont even know the mayors name! How embarrassing if someone asks. Lunch soontheres a display downstairs with photos of all the mayors. Why didnt I check earlier?*
***
On her way back from the canteen, she passed the display and read the name of the towns leader: *Andrew Borisovich born 1983.*
“Oh, hes still young. Not even forty,” Vera thought, then froze. *Andrew? 1983.*
She turned back and checked the birth date.
*July 7th! This cant be real. Just a coincidence. But the nameAndrew. Different patronymic and surname. Adoptive parents can change those. Even the first name*
She studied the portrait for a long time, as if searching for something familiar.
***
The new job kept her busy, pushing other thoughts aside.
At home that evening, she talked endlessly with Dmitry. Eventually, he retreated to his room to watch football, and Vera went to hers.
Their flat was spaciousthree bedrooms. With the children gone, there was plenty of room. Dmitry still slept with her occasionally, but less and less.
Now, lying on her bed, her mind drifted back to her youthand to the secret shed never shared with her husband.
Before Dmitry, shed had a son. His name was Andrew. Shed only been nineteenno money, no job, just a dormitory from vocational school, utterly unfit for raising a child. Shed lasted six months before giving him up to an orphanage.
Three years later, she married Dmitry. They never asked about each others pasts. Soon, their own children were borntwo daughters.
Now grown, one had married and settled in the regional capital, her kids already in school. The other had moved to London.
Vera herself had never gained a proper profession. For twenty years, shed worked as a facilities manager at a local factoryuntil it went bankrupt. Then a friends daughter offered her this cleaning job at the town hall.
And now *Mayor Andrew Borisovich, born in 1983.*
No, Vera didnt regret her life. But all these years, shed wondered about her son. Hed even appeared in her dreams a few times. She just wanted to knowwas this him? Was he happy?
***
Days passed.
Vera was cleaning her floor when she heard voices. Andrew Borisovich walked by, deep in a conversation with a colleague. Spotting her, he nodded and continued past, close enough for her to catch his profile.
Suddenly, she saw *him*the boy shed loved forty years ago. Handsome, carefree. Shed always wished hed be serious, responsible. Now, looking at Andrew, she realised: he was exactly what shed imagined back then.
But that boy had vanished the moment he learned she was pregnant. *Gone to find work,* hed said. Shed waited, hopedthen realized hed simply run away.
*Could Andrew Borisovich really be my son?*
*If I hadnt given him up, he wouldnt be where he is. But my daughters turned out well. The eldest has a nice flat, a car. The youngers doing fine too. But my son*
*Would I even have married Dmitry otherwise? Noeverything wouldve been different. For me, for Dmitry, for Andrew. Then again, maybe he isnt my son. Arent there plenty of strange coincidences?*
*Does it even matter? He has parentshe was only six months old when I left him. They probably never told him. Different surname, different life. And a happy childhood, by the looks of it. Not many working-class lads become mayors.*
***
After lunch, a younger colleague, Helen, approached her:
“Hey, Auntie Vera!”
“Hello.”
“Were celebrating Lyubas birthday on Fridayshes turning forty-five. You in?”
“Of course!” Vera smiled.
“Then its twenty quid each. And bring somethinga salad, whatever.”
“Got it.” Vera handed over the money.
“We celebrate everyones milestones here.”
“Helen, just call me Vera. Were colleagues.”
“Sure thing, Vera!”
***
On Friday, they gathered after work in an empty office on the seventh floor. A table was set.
The usual office party unfoldedtoasts, sips of red wine after each one.
Then the door opened.
Andrew Borisovich walked in.
“Happy birthday, Lyuba Olegovna!” He handed her a small gift.
“Thank you!” Lyuba blinked back tears.
“Join us!” the facilities manager urged.
“Just for a minute.” He sat beside Vera.
She quickly served him salad and cold cuts. Wine was poured. Another toast was made.
Vera watched him, her heart trembling. *This is my son.* She no longer doubted it.
***
Andrew stayed twenty minutes before excusing himself.
“What a man!” said Katya, the longest-serving employee. “The last mayor wouldnt have dreamed of sitting with us.”
“How long has Andrew Borisovich been here?” Vera asked.
“A year. Remember, we voted for him last year?”
Truthfully, Vera didnt. Dmitry handled all that.
“You know his parents are loaded, right?” Katya continued. “But guess what? Theyre not his real parents.”
“Really?” Lyuba gasped.
“Came out during the election. Rumor is, he didnt even know. And the best part? He didnt care. Still adores the ones who raised him.”
“How do you know all this?”
“The old mayors deputy was digging dirt. Wanted her boss to stay in power. But people chose Andrew instead.”
“So he still doesnt know who his real parents are?” Vera asked carefully.
“Doesnt seem to. And why would he? Hes doing brilliantly.”
Vera gazed at the door, her heart full. Joythat her son was happy. Sorrowthat she could never embrace him.
*My fault,* she thought.
Smiling to herself, she whispered in her mind:
*I wont disturb you, my son. Ill just always be nearby.*
