The icy air sliced through skin like needles, but Igor didn’t feel the cold. Everything inside him was frozen: his heart had turned into a block of ice, harder than any snowstorm. He stood in the middle of the snowy park, wrapped in the twilight, feverishly scanning the passersby, searching for that tiny silhouette in a fuchsia snowsuit: Misha, his grandson.
For Igor, this boy represented his entire universe. Clutching his phone, he cursed the moment of inattention when a work call had distracted him: a single minute of distraction, and now his heart was constricting with fear and remorse. He was inflicting a true punishment upon himself, every fiber of his sturdy body sinking deeper into guilt.
A single refrain haunted his mind: «I’m going to lose him.» The past year had been a succession of irreparable losses: first his wife, gone in a breath, as if stifled by illness; then that terrible message from the Himalayas: his daughter and son-in-law, Misha’s parents, had perished there. This little boy with the serious gaze and tender smile was the only link he had left to the past. His only anchor. The thought of losing him made him feel like he was suffocating. He clung to the idea of him like a drowning man to a lifebuoy.
Panic was growing. He screamed: «Misha! Mishenka! Where are you?!»
Only silence answered him, along with the cold percussion of the wind laden with snow. Passersby stared at him, thinking he was just a negligent grandfather. None of them knew the pain hiding behind that cry.
Just as all hope seemed to fade, a small cry of panic—Misha’s—came from the river. Igor froze. That chilling scream seized him by the gut.
Without hesitating, he rushed toward the riverbank. He knew the treachery of this river: under the snow, the fragile ice hid menacing holes. And there, in that black water, a tiny figure dressed in fuchsia was struggling. Misha.
Igor’s heart skipped a beat. He ran, sinking into the snow, stumbling, gasping, as if the distance were insurmountable. He saw his grandson struggling, his coat dragging him down. He knew he was too late. But just as despair was closing in, a shadow leaped: a woman.
She moved with almost animal speed: throwing herself flat on her stomach on the ice, sliding to the hole, she reached through in a single motion, grabbed Misha, and hauled him onto the bank.
Igor arrived just in time, pulled his grandson from the snow, and hugged him so tight that the trembling boy finally stopped sobbing. Without a word, he called out to the woman: «Follow me. To my house. To get warm.»
She obeyed silently.
In the car, wrapped in his grandfather’s parka, Misha slowly calmed down. The doctor confirmed there was no danger. Back home, Igor put the boy to bed, then joined the woman in the kitchen where she waited, wearing his old bathrobe.
«What is your name?» he asked, handing her a cup of tea. «Anna.» «Thank you. You saved my grandson, my only treasure. You cannot imagine what this means to me.»
He tried to slip money into her hands, but she stepped back. «I didn’t do anything exceptional… I just happened to be there, that’s all. Anyone would have done the same.»
Igor saw it then: neither greed nor self-interest, only fatigue and sadness. «Perhaps you need work?» he said gently. «I own a restaurant. A general utility position is open: modest pay, but stable. If you accept, I would be happy.»
Tears welled up in her eyes: «Thank you… Yes, I accept.»
Weeks passed quickly. Igor, consumed by caring for Misha and managing the restaurant, often noticed Anna: she worked with remarkable precision and intuition. Sometimes, she offered advice to the cooks, as if she had always belonged to this brigade.
One day, a crisis arose: a high-ranking official ordered a banquet with nearly impossible requirements and a record turnaround time. For the restaurant, it was a masterstroke opportunity; for Igor, a crazy gamble.
It was then that he discovered the extent of Anna’s talent. Organizing the workflow, proposing solutions, she turned the challenge into a success: the banquet was a triumph. Igor realized she was not a simple dishwasher, but a trustworthy person, also seeking a second chance.
Just as he was preparing to pull an all-nighter to prepare for another event, his head chef, Viktor Petrovitch, called him, his voice broken: «Igor, it’s a disaster… I fell down the stairs, broke my leg… I won’t be able to work.»
Igor’s heart sank: «And the menu? Had you started?» «No… I don’t know how to fix this. Forgive me.»
Desolation overwhelmed him: failing this banquet would mean ruining a reputation built over years of labor. He summoned the staff: «Emergency situation: Viktor cannot handle Mr. Sedykh’s banquet tomorrow. There is no menu, no dishes ready.»
Murmurs of worry and panic ran through the kitchen. The young commis chef, Sergei, despaired: «What are we going to do? Without a chef, without a menu… It’s impossible!»
In the silence, Anna stepped forward: «May I see the order?»
She received the paper, and her modest demeanor vanished. With an assured gesture, she began to scribble, swapping expensive dishes for clever alternatives, planning the service and the flow of every preparation. Her sketch was more than a menu: it was a culinary manifesto.
When the astonished cooks applauded her, Igor knew he had found his salvation. Later, in his office, he asked Anna: «Why hide your gift? With such talent, why accept such a modest job?»
She lowered her eyes, nervously stroking the fabric of her bathrobe, then spoke with a trembling strength: «I had a restaurant, my own dream… My husband—a renowned restaurateur—cheated, gambled in casinos, and embezzled our funds. I confronted him, and he took away our son, Sasha, who had a heart condition. The little one died of fear and loneliness. I lost all control, bought a gun, and shot… He survived, but he painted me as a criminal. I was convicted, my restaurant was stolen, then sold.»
Igor remained silent, remembering the headlines he had once skimmed. Now, he saw resilience, pain… and immense talent in Anna. «I believe you, Anna,» he said. «Tomorrow, you will be the head chef for this banquet: that is not a request, it is an order.»
The banquet was an incredible success. The guests praised every dish, and Mr. Sedykh himself was full of admiration. Anna, wearing her white toque, directed the kitchen with grace and assurance. Igor felt his heart race: he had fallen in love with this strong woman, broken but invincibly alive.
When the last guest left, Igor took Anna’s hand—cold, but vibrant with life: «Anna… I love you. Will you marry me?»
Tears beaded in Anna’s eyes: «Igor… I love you too. But I am an ex-convict, stained by my past. I am not worthy of you. You deserve someone better.»
A few days later, Igor visited Viktor, now recovering. He told him about Anna, her story, and his love. Viktor smiled mischievously: «You think she isn’t worthy? Then show her the magnitude of your love.»
The following evening, Igor took Anna to the outskirts of the city, in front of the old building of her restaurant. She immediately recognized the sign, the one her husband had stolen from her, now abandoned. But the façade was no longer in ruins: new windows, fresh paint, and a neon sign: «Restaurant Sasha.»
«What is this…?!» Anna choked out, tears streaming down her cheeks. «I cannot marry a woman without a dowry,» Igor explained, smiling. «So I bought back and restored this restaurant in memory of your son. It is yours now: entirely yours.»
He took out a small velvet box, opened it to reveal a ring set with a pure diamond: «Madam Restaurateur, I officially ask for your hand; you, my equal, now the owner of this place. You deserve everything that is best.»
Anna, her sobs mingled with a radiant smile, slid the ring onto her finger. Her restaurant was rising from its ashes, just like her life. Where everything had seemed lost, love had bloomed, and justice had finally triumphed.
