“Don’t be afraid. I won’t hurt you,” he said, standing in the doorway.

Aunt Masha was out in the shed. Hearing voices, she quickly came inside.

“Aunt Masha, don’t give me to him!” Viktoriya begged, rushing over.

“Hello, son. Come in,” she said to the tall, well-built man with short blond hair.

Then, turning to Viktoriya, she hugged her and said, “I won’t give you to anyone, don’t be afraid, my girl. He’s a protector—he won’t hurt you. Don’t worry. This is Ruslan, my son. He’s the one who found you and brought you here. He saved you, sweetheart.”

“What??”

Ruslan stood quietly, his eyes downcast, afraid to speak—afraid to scare her even more.

Eventually, they calmed her down and explained everything. The memories hurt, even as whispers, but she had to revisit that day. After she was thrown into the lake and left for dead, two of the guards had gone to a bar and gotten completely wasted. They had genuinely felt sorry for her—but it had been an order. Eliminate. They couldn’t disobey. That night, Ruslan went to pick them up from the bar. Drunk, they told him everything in detail. Once he dropped them off, he raced to the lake in the dark. He didn’t even know the exact spot. But by morning, he found her—barely alive—on the very Sorrowful Shore where they so often found the dead.

Viktoriya covered her face and finally let herself cry. She had held it all in for so long, pushing away the darkness. Now it burst out of her. She sat straight at the table—her bandages wouldn’t let her bend—and sobbed out loud. Weeping for her former self. That fragile, helpless girl who was nearly killed and thrown into a lake. Aunt Masha cried with her, as if they were burying someone.

Ruslan jumped up, pacing between them, unsure how to help. Then he ran outside, got in his car, and sped off.

“Ruslan!” his mother shouted, bursting into louder sobs.

Fifteen minutes later, he returned. He approached the table and gently set down a tiny bundle.

The women grew quiet, peering at the fluffy little creature now meowing and running in fear across the table.

“Oh my God, a kitten!” Viktoriya said, her voice full of tenderness as she wiped her tears and reached for it. Aunt Masha clapped her hands and hurried to the kitchen for some milk.

Ruslan folded his arms across his broad chest and sighed in relief.

“Thank God,” he said.

Then he explained: he’d seen the kitten near the road but hadn’t picked it up. Now he’d remembered and figured it was the perfect distraction.

Soon after, they went to the city for Viktoriya’s check-up. She had an MRI and an ultrasound. Everything was fine—except for one unexpected piece of news that nearly broke her.

“You’re pregnant,” the doctor told her. “Seven weeks.”

So it had happened before that nightmare. And there was no doubt who the father was. Viktoriya covered her face. What now?!

“A child is a gift from God,” Aunt Masha said gently. “You just need to rejoice.”

“Tetya Masha…” Viktoriya sobbed.

“Everything will be okay, sweetheart. Don’t worry about a thing. We have a home, and there’ll be bread for the baby.”

In that moment, she remembered the buried treasure.

She stopped crying, lowered her hands, and looked at the smiling woman—her chosen mother.

“Mother… can I go somewhere with Ruslan?”

“Of course, my dear. Tell him where, and he’ll take you. But be careful. You’re responsible for more than just your own life now.”

She grabbed her hand, squeezed it, and said,

“I promise.”

They dropped Aunt Masha off at home and drove to the lake.

“What did you lose out here?” Ruslan asked.