«I sheltered you, orphan, now I pull you like a cursed one,» Yulka heard, but believed: she will have a real family.
Yulka knew that she had no family. Aunt Tanya, who raised her from childhood, never tried to become a mother to her and didn’t even hide that the girl was stranger to her.
— I have sheltered you, orphan, now I pull you like a cursed one — she loved to repeat, sighing heavily and pressing her lips, as if she really carried an unbreakable cross.
Their house stood at the very edge of the village — an old, mowed, with chipped paint on the windows and a fence, that leaned over as if it was about to collapse. Inside, there are low ceilings, creaking cheeks, the smell of raidity. In the winter, the furnace was melting badly, the walls were pulled in cold, and Aunt Tanya grunted more and more often. If Yulka got into her hand at the inappropriate moment, the usual screams began:
— You’re messing around under your feet! Go to the barn, so my eyes don’t itch!
And she walked, without a dispute. There was no light in the barn, and Yulka lit a small flashlight — a gift from the neighbor Vasilka, sat on a drawer, wrapped in an old tufajka, and read. Books were her secret salvation. Everything was different there — a warm, kind world, where orphans found their happiness. Yulka believed that her life would also change one day. So she will grow up, go somewhere, work, and have a real, kind family, where no one chases or rebukes anyone. She’ll have a house, big, bright, and the children will be laughing, but she’ll never, for nothing in the world, tell them: «You’re messing with your feet.»
Yulka studied well. The teachers praised and said: the girl is capable, hard-working. And she only tried harder, as if she was afraid that if she got a threesome at least once, Aunt Tanya would chase her out completely.
When it was time to go to the city to study, Aunt Tanya only sighed a sigh of relief.
— That’s great. Finna live in peace . Just look there, don’t let me down. Get a lot here so you don’t have to come back.
“I won’t be back,” Yulka replied quietly.
She really wasn’t going to come back. She wanted least in the world to be again in that yard with the broken gate, where every look reminded that she was not hers.
Yulka didn’t really know how she got to Aunt Tana. The aunt herself said that she had sheltered her, regretted it, and put her on her feet. And what happened before remained a secret. No photos, no letters, not even memories. Only vague images: the warm hands of some woman and a lullaby, ending up on a half-word. Sometimes it seemed like all this was just a dream.
It was scary in the city of Yulka at first. Everything is new, not the usual. It seemed that every passer-by knew where she was going, but she was the only one lost in this endless anthill. She rented a room on the outskirts — a tight one with a narrow bed and a window facing straight out to rusty garages, but Yulka was happy anyway: her room, albeit tiny, but her own corner.
During the day she studied, in the evenings she hurried for a part-time job at the kiosk, where she sold coffee and pastries. Came home late, tired and hands up, but happy to have made it through another day. Today there was barely enough time for food, the drive and textbooks. The dress was one for every occasion, the shoes were old, worn. But she didn’t complain. Everything seemed temporary, overcomeable, like a long road to go without losing a step. The main thing is not to give up.
The first time Yulka often remembered the barn, the old fufaika, the same flashlight Vasilka. I remembered Aunt Tanya’s voice, her eternal: «You’re messing under your feet! ». Not with longing, but as if educating yourself: that’s where you came from, don’t you dare forget what you are trying for.
The years have gone by. Yulka graduated from the institute excellently, then got a job: first as a general manager, but somehow unnoticeably everything began to work out. They were entrusted to a small precinct, then a department, then a leadership position. Colleagues were surprised: young, modest, and how confidently she holds up. The management praised — «promising», they said. And she is… she just couldn’t have it any other way. Her diligence was a habit.
This is how Yulka turned into Julia Sergeyevna — a woman in a tight suit, with a smooth hairstyle and a confident look. It would seem that life would have worked out. She would be happy, proud of herself — an orphan from the village, now leads a team, lives in her own apartment. But somehow the heart remained silent. There was no joy. As if all she had achieved was wrong. She once dreamed not of a career, but of a house that smells of cakes, where children’s laughter sounds in the mornings. But the years ran by, and all this didn’t come for some reason.
One day off, Julia wondered why it worked out like that. The day turned out to be gray, lazy, and the thoughts crawled by themselves to where it had not looked for a long time. I sat in the kitchen with a cup of coffee, looked out the window — people were walking outside, some with children, some with dogs, a couple under their hands, someone was laughing. «What’s wrong with me?» » — the thought flashed, and somehow became empty.
I remembered Valerca, a classmate. Kind, jolly, slightly distracted. Everyone was running after her, bringing cakes from the buffet, calling her to the movies. And she then, proudly as an adult, cut off:
— Until I build a career — no novels.
Recently, Julia saw him in the mall: confident, tight, his wife is beside him — beautiful, well-groomed, and two kids, as funny as himself.
Then there was Michael — a colleague, smart, attentive, with beautiful eyes. He brought flowers, saw them off after work, said:
— Yul, you must not only work, you must also live.
And she is again, as usual:
— Misha, I have a project now, not before that.
He tried a couple more times and then it was gone. Got married a year later and moved to another city. Julia heard that his daughter was born.
There was also a fleeting affair — with the owner of the restaurant, where she had an advertising campaign. Everything seems beautiful: bouquets, compliments, restaurant. But she felt that it was not hers. Yeah, light flirt, no sequel. And that’s all.
Since then, there was no one else in her life. Or did she just not notice? Worked, built a career, went forward without looking back. It seemed, just a little bit more, and the same «later» will come, when you can relax, rest, think about personal. Only this «then» for some reason kept moving all the time.
Julia breathed a heavy sigh. Not all goals can be achieved. And this made my soul bitter, as if I had spent a small part of my life in vain.
Phone rang this evening. At the other end of the wire there was a ringing voice of an old friend, Anyutka:
— Yul, I’m back from Moscow! We need to meet urgently, we haven’t seen each other for a hundred years!
«Ah, I, honestly, don’t want to go anywhere,» mumbled Julia.
— Here’s another one! Get it together, it’s not up for debate! I’m waiting for you in our cafe in an hour!
Anya possessed that rare gift — to convince anyone. And Julia, sighing, went anyway.
In the cafe, Anyutka chatted without begging, telling where she had visited, who she had met, what shopping she had brought.
— Can you imagine, — she rattled, — there are such shops! And the subway is like a palace!
Yulia nodded, smiled, but listened half-heartedly. The thoughts returned to the same thing again: «What if I hadn’t refused Valerka then? Or a mouse? Maybe things have been different? »
Anya laughed, ordered desserts, showed photos on her phone, and meanwhile Julia became more and more conscious. She suddenly became unbearably sad — is she really doomed to stay alone? Maybe everyone has their own destiny, and she’s not destined to have a family?
— Why are you so quiet? — asked Anya. — What happened?
— No, it’s ok, — Julia made herself smile, — just thought.
When the evening came to an end, Anya offered to drive Julia home, but she refused — I wanted to walk, to give myself time to think. Autumn has long come into its rights: the wind was rustling in the branches of trees, it smelled of smoke and freshness, as if the first snow was about to fall.
Julia walked slowly, wrapped in a scarf, and suddenly heard a silent cry. The sound was coming from the underground passage. She stopped, listened — yeah, for sure, someone was crying… Continuation below in the first comment
Yulka had always known she had no real family. Aunt Tanya, who had raised her since early childhood, had never tried to be a mother to her and never even bothered to hide that the girl was a stranger to her.
“I took you in, an orphan, and now I’m stuck dragging you along like a curse,” she loved to repeat, sighing heavily and pressing her lips together as if she truly were carrying an unbearable burden.
Their house stood at the very edge of the settlement—old, crooked, with peeling paint on the window frames and a fence leaning so badly it looked ready to collapse at any moment. Inside there were low ceilings, creaking floorboards, and the smell of dampness. In winter the stove barely heated the place, the walls breathed cold, and Aunt Tanya grumbled more and more often. If Yulka happened to get in her way at the wrong moment, the usual shouting began:
“You’re always underfoot! Go to the shed so I don’t have to look at you!”
And she went, without arguing. There was no light in the shed, so Yulka would switch on a little flashlight—a gift from their neighbor Vasilyok—sit down on a crate wrapped in an old quilted jacket, and read. Books were her secret спасение. In them, everything was different—a warm, kind world where orphans always found happiness in the end. Yulka believed that one day her life would change too. She would grow up, get into some school, find a job, and then she would have a family—a real one, a kind one, where no one chased anyone away or threw their existence in their face. She would have a house, big and bright, and children would laugh there, and she would never, under any circumstances, say to them, “You’re in the way.”
Yulka studied well. Her teachers praised her, saying she was capable and hardworking. And that only made her try harder, as though she feared that if she got even one poor grade, Aunt Tanya would throw her out for good.
When the time came to leave for the city and apply to college, Aunt Tanya only sighed with relief.
“Well, that’s good. At last I’ll have some peace. Just don’t you let me down there. Make something of yourself so you won’t have to come back here.”
“I won’t come back,” Yulka answered quietly.
And she truly had no intention of returning. The last thing in the world she wanted was to find herself once more in that yard with its lopsided gate, where every glance reminded her that she did not belong.
How she had ended up with Aunt Tanya, Yulka never really knew. Aunt Tanya said she had taken her in, pitied her, raised her. But what had come before remained a mystery. No photographs, no letters, not even clear memories. Only vague images: the warm hands of some woman and a lullaby that broke off halfway through. Sometimes it seemed to her that all of it had simply been a dream.
At first the city frightened Yulka. Everything was new, unfamiliar. It seemed that every passerby knew exactly where they were going, and only she was lost in this endless anthill. She rented a tiny room on the outskirts—cramped, with a narrow bed and a window that looked straight out onto rusty garages—but Yulka was still happy: her own room, however small, was still her own corner of the world.
During the day she studied, and in the evenings she hurried off to a part-time job at a kiosk where she sold coffee and pastries. She came home late, tired, her hands chilled, but happy that she had made it through one more day. Money barely covered food, transport, and textbooks. She had one dress for every occasion and old, worn shoes. But she did not complain. Everything seemed temporary, conquerable, like a long road that simply had to be walked without losing step. The important thing was not to give up.
At first, Yulka often remembered the shed, the old padded jacket, that little flashlight from Vasilyok. She remembered Aunt Tanya’s voice, her constant refrain: “You’re always underfoot!” Not with longing, but as a warning to herself: this is where you came from, don’t you dare forget what you are working for.
The years went by. Yulka graduated from college with top marks, then found a job—at first as an ordinary manager, but somehow, little by little, things began to fall into place. She was trusted with a small area of responsibility, then a whole department, and before long she was promoted to a leadership position. Her colleagues were surprised: young, modest, and yet so self-assured. Her bosses praised her—“promising,” they said. But she… she simply didn’t know how to live any other way. Hard work had become her habit.
That was how Yulka turned into Yulia Sergeyevna—a woman in a strict suit, with smooth hair and a confident gaze. By all appearances, life had worked out well for her. She should have been happy, should have been proud of herself—an orphan from a small settlement, now managing a whole team and living in her own apartment. But for some reason her heart remained silent. There was no joy. It was as if everything she had achieved was beside the point. Once, she had dreamed not of a career, but of a home that smelled of fresh pies, where children’s laughter rang out in the mornings. But the years kept passing, and somehow that life never came.
One weekend Yulia found herself wondering why things had turned out that way. The day was gray and slow, and her thoughts drifted on their own to places she had not looked into for a long time. She sat in the kitchen with a cup of coffee and looked out the window—people were walking outside, some with children, some with dogs, couples arm in arm, someone laughing. “And what do I have?” the thought flashed through her mind, and suddenly she felt terribly empty.
She remembered Valerka, a fellow student. Kind, cheerful, a little scatterbrained. He had always trailed after her, bringing her pastries from the cafeteria, inviting her to the movies. And she, proud and so very grown-up, had cut him off:
“Until I build my career, no romances.”
Recently, Yulia had seen him in a shopping mall: confident, fit, with a beautiful, well-groomed wife beside him and two little children, just as cheerful as he was.
Then there had been Mikhail—a colleague, intelligent, attentive, with beautiful eyes. He brought her flowers, walked her home after work, and said:
“Yul, life can’t be only about work. You have to live too.”
And she, again out of habit:
“Misha, I have a project right now. I don’t have time for this.”
He tried a couple more times and then disappeared. A year later he got married and moved to another city. Yulia heard that he had a daughter.
There had also been a brief affair—with the owner of a restaurant where she was running an advertising campaign. On the surface, everything was beautiful: bouquets, compliments, fine dining. But she felt that it wasn’t hers. Just light flirting, nothing more. And that was that.
Since then, there had been no one else in her life. Or perhaps she simply hadn’t noticed anyone. She worked, built her career, moved forward without looking back. It always seemed that just a little more time was needed, and then that magical “later” would come, when she could relax, rest, think about her personal life. But for some reason that “later” kept moving farther and farther away.
Yulia sighed heavily. It turned out that not all goals could be reached after all. And the realization left a bitter taste in her soul, as if she had wasted a large piece of her life.
That evening the phone rang. On the other end was the bright, lively voice of her old friend Anyutka:
“Yul, I’m back from Moscow! We absolutely have to meet up—it’s been ages!”
“Anya, honestly, I don’t really feel like going anywhere,” Yulia muttered.
“Oh, nonsense! Get ready, this is not up for discussion! I’m waiting for you in our café in an hour!”
Anya had that rare gift—the ability to persuade absolutely anyone. And Yulia, sighing to herself, went after all.
At the café, Anyutka chattered nonstop, talking about where she had been, whom she had seen, and what she had brought back.
“Can you imagine,” she rattled on, “the stores there are incredible! And the metro—it’s like a palace!”
Yulia nodded and smiled, but only half listened. Her thoughts kept returning to the same thing: “What if I hadn’t turned Valerka down? Or Misha? Maybe everything would have been different.”
Anya laughed, ordered desserts, showed photos on her phone, while Yulia sank deeper and deeper into herself. Suddenly it became unbearably sad—was she really doomed to remain alone forever? Maybe everyone had their own fate, and she simply was not meant to have a family.
“Why are you so quiet?” Anya asked. “Did something happen?”
“No, everything’s fine,” Yulia forced herself to smile. “I just got lost in thought.”
When the evening came to an end, Anya offered to drive Yulia home, but she refused—she wanted to walk, to give herself time to think. Autumn had long since taken over: the wind rustled through the branches, the air smelled of smoke and freshness, as if the first snow might fall at any moment.
Yulia walked slowly, wrapped in her scarf, when suddenly she heard quiet crying. The sound was coming from the underpass. She stopped and listened—yes, someone was definitely crying.
Carefully, Yulia went down the stairs, peering toward the dark far corner where janitors usually kept brooms and shovels, and from where the pitiful sound was now coming. She looked in and saw a boy, about six years old. He was sitting on the floor, hugging his knees and sobbing softly.
“Hey, little guy… why are you sitting here?” Yulia asked quietly.
The boy lifted his frightened eyes, then buried his face in his knees again. Yulia stepped closer and crouched down.
“Don’t be afraid,” she said gently. “I won’t hurt you. You must be freezing. Come on, I’ll buy you a doughnut. Want one?”
The boy looked at her doubtfully, as if trying to decide whether she could be trusted. His jacket was thin, the sleeves too short, his shoes dirty.
“Come on,” Yulia repeated, holding out her hand.
He hesitated, wavered for another second, and then carefully took hold of the edge of her coat.
In the nearest café, Yulia ordered the boy a doughnut and a cup of juice. He sat on a high stool, carefully unwrapped the pastry, and began to eat. Yulia watched him, and a strange warmth grew in her heart: this small, frightened child, so vulnerable and trusting, had suddenly ended up beside her, and that meant that right now, he needed her.
When he finished, he looked at her warily.
“Where are you taking me?”
Yulia smiled, trying to make the smile gentle and reassuring.
“To the kindest uncle,” she said. “He knows where your parents are.”
The boy thought for a moment, his eyes widening, and suddenly they shone with delighted excitement.
“To Ded Moroz?”
Yulia froze for a second, taken aback, but then nodded.
“Well… almost.”
And she led him through the empty autumn streets to the police station. The officer on duty came out to meet them at once, as if greeting old acquaintances.
“Petruha, you again?” he said, shaking his head. “What are we supposed to do with you, huh?”
Yulia looked at the policeman in surprise, and he explained:
“They bring him here like it’s his second home. He’s from an orphanage. The older boys fool him, talk him into running away, make him beg money from passersby, and then abandon him. For him it’s all some kind of adventure, and then he ends up sitting somewhere and crying.”
Yulia listened, and her heart squeezed with pity. The boy stood beside her, subdued, tugging at the sleeve of his jacket and not looking at anyone.
“Go with him to the senior officer,” the desk sergeant said. “We’ll sign the paperwork and then you’ll be free to go.”
Yulia nodded, although the word “free” suddenly sounded strange. What did that mean—free? And what about the boy?
They walked into the office. Behind the desk sat a middle-aged man in uniform. Yulia didn’t know ranks, but it was obvious he was a serious man.
“Please, sit down,” he said, pointing at a chair. “Were you the one who found Petruha?”
“Yes,” Yulia nodded. “He was sitting in the underpass crying. I thought he was lost.”
“He gets lost often,” the man said with a faint smile, though not unkindly. “He’s a good boy, just far too trusting.”
He made a few notes in a ledger, then handed Yulia a sheet of paper.
“Sign here and here.”
Yulia took the pen and signed. When she stood up to leave, Petruha suddenly whimpered:
“But you promised you’d take me to Ded Moroz…”
Yulia froze, and the officer was already about to step in, but she raised her hand.
“It’s just…” she said softly, crouching down in front of him so their eyes were level. “New Year’s is still a long way off. But after a little while, we really will go to Ded Moroz. You just have to behave, not hurt anyone, and not run away. Otherwise you’ll miss the trip, understand?”
The boy sniffled, then nodded, wiping his nose with his sleeve.
“Do you promise?”
“I promise,” Yulia answered gently.
Later, outside, as she walked toward the bus stop, Yulia felt a strange lump in her throat. Everything seemed wrong: she really had deceived Petruha. Even if it was for his own good, it was still a lie. And the feeling of guilt would not leave her, pressing quietly at her chest.
At home Yulia tossed and turned in bed for a long time, unable to fall asleep. Every time she closed her eyes, Petya appeared before her again, sitting in the underpass, hugging his knees, with eyes full of trust for the “auntie” who had promised him Ded Moroz.
Several weeks passed. December was taking over: shop windows glittered with garlands and tinsel, streams of people moved through the streets carrying bags and packages, and the city hummed with pre-holiday bustle. Yulia worked, smiled at colleagues, took calls and answered emails, but inside she felt restless. No matter how much she told herself she had done the right thing, the anxiety would not let her go. She kept feeling as though somewhere Petya needed her, and she could not be there.
And then, on one of those pre-New Year days, her patience snapped. As if obeying some inner impulse, Yulia got on a bus and went to the place where she had left the boy. To the police station.
On the steps of the station, she almost ran into that same senior officer. He recognized her at once.
“Hello. Yulia, right?”
“Yes…” Yulia’s voice trembled. “I wanted to ask about the boy, Petya. How is he? Which orphanage is he in? I’d like to visit him.”
The man sighed and was silent for a long moment, as if choosing his words.
“Petya’s in the hospital right now,” he finally said quietly. “The older boys beat him.”
Yulia went pale, her heart tightening.
“My God… what for?”
“Because he wouldn’t go with them,” he explained. “He kept saying he was going to Ded Moroz, and they mocked him. And he… got into a fight. He wanted to prove that Ded Moroz was real.”
Yulia lowered her eyes, and inside it felt as though a fist had closed around her heart.
“Can I… can I find out which hospital he’s in?” she asked softly, trembling with emotion.
“Of course,” the policeman replied, then suddenly added, “If you want, we can go together. I was heading there anyway. By the way, my name is Georgy.”
His voice was calm and steady, the kind of voice one trusted immediately and completely. Yulia nodded, trying to suppress her agitation.
“Let’s go.”
On the way they stopped at a supermarket. Yulia herself barely noticed how her hands reached for the brightly colored packages: fruit, chocolate, candy—everything that might, even a little, ease the boy’s pain and loneliness.
When they entered the hospital room, Petya was lying pale on the bed, but the moment he saw them, his face lit up with joy.
“I knew you’d come!” he exclaimed, as if he had never doubted it for a second.
Yulia came over, stroked his hair, and carefully set the fruit and sweets on the bedside table.
“Of course I came. I promised.”
At first Yulia tried to hold back her tears, but when she saw the bruise on the boy’s cheek, her heart clenched even tighter. She wanted to take him home with her, to hold him close, to protect him from every sorrow. She could hardly stop herself from saying that from now on no one would ever hurt him again.
When they left the hospital, darkness was already gathering outside. The frost nipped at their cheeks, and snow was falling in big flakes, as though the sky had decided to cover the earth with a fluffy blanket. In the evening glow of the streetlamps, the city looked completely different: quiet, magical, as though anything were possible here—even a real miracle.
Yulia walked beside Georgy in silence, listening to the crunch of snow underfoot. Inside her everything churned: exhaustion, worry about Petruha, and above all, the growing feeling that this was her chance to do something truly important.
“I… want to take him,” she said at last.
Georgy stopped. He looked at her carefully, for a long time, as if trying to measure how serious her resolve was.
“I wanted to as well,” he admitted. “Only… they’re reluctant to place a child with a single-parent household.”
They stood still, looking into each other’s eyes. At that moment, no words were needed: everything was clear. As if every road, every turn, everything that had happened before had led them to that very minute. As if fate itself had been guiding them toward a decision they both already felt with all their hearts.
From that day on, they began visiting Petya together—every single day, without fail. Yulia and Georgy brought him books, fruit, toys. In the evenings, on the way home, they walked through the city, laughed, shared their thoughts, and gradually got to know one another better. For the first time in many years, Yulia felt that she was truly living: not merely existing, but breathing deeply, rejoicing in each new day.
When Petya was discharged, they began taking him for weekends. The three of them went to the movies, rode down snowy hills, built snowmen in the yard. For New Year’s, the three of them went out of town—to a real Ded Moroz, to a residence with a Christmas tree, gifts, and the ringing laughter of children.
The holiday season flew by quickly, but it left behind the feeling of a true miracle. During those days, Yulia and Georgy filed their marriage application, and a little later they began the adoption paperwork. When the long-awaited day finally came, and at the orphanage Petya was told that he was now their son, the boy could not contain himself—he jumped up and down with joy, shouting down the whole corridor:
“I told you! Ded Moroz makes wishes come true!”
The orphanage staff smiled, and someone wiped away tears. Yulia stood beside Georgy, holding his hand, unable to stop her own tears. Her heart was full, overflowing. Yes, Ded Moroz really does grant wishes. It was just that hers had not come true right away—probably because she had only written him a letter. But Petya—he had gone to him in person. Yulia looked at her son, then at Georgy, and smiled.
“It seems miracles really do happen,” she said softly.
“They do,” Georgy replied with a smile, “if you believe in them.”
Yulia was immeasurably happy, because here at last was the family she had waited for all her life.
