Maybe you should think about others too? — Anna asked softly, looking into her husband’s eyes.
— Others? — Pavel smirked. — Those who chose this path for themselves? Not funny.
Anna was indeed half an hour late. It seemed like a trivial matter – city traffic jams had become a routine occurrence. But tonight was special: Pavel had invited new business partners over. And she stood in the entrance hall, still wearing her coat, soaked with the scents of the train station and hot soup being handed out to those in need, while loud laughter from the guests echoed from the living room.
— Darling, you’re just in time, — Pavel said with a forced smile as she entered. — We were just talking about charity.
Anna tensed. She knew that tone all too well.
— Oh, so this is your wife? — one of the guests, a portly man with a massive golden ring, animatedly remarked. — Pavel was just telling us about your… how should I say… interests.
— Yes, yes, — another joined in, tapping his expensive watch against a glass of whiskey. — To be honest, nowadays it’s rare to meet people who spend time on… how to put it in politically correct terms?
— On tramps, — Pavel abruptly finished. — My wife is convinced she can save the world by handing out soup at the station. Can you imagine? — He theatrically spread his hands. — Though the fact that they chose that way of life themselves somehow doesn’t trouble her.
The guests burst into laughter again, and Anna felt her cheeks flush. But not with her own shame – with shame for her husband.
When the guests finally left, they drove home in silence. Pavel was taking her to the supermarket for groceries for the next day. Anna gazed out the window at the fleeting streetlights, thinking about how much the man she once married had changed.
— Why did you do it? — she broke the silence.
— Do what exactly?
— You know very well. Why did you mock me in front of your partners?
Pavel slammed on the brakes abruptly at a red light.
— And what did you expect? That I would praise you for disappearing among the vagrants?
— They’re not just vagrants, Pasha. They’re people. Everyone has their own story.
— Of course! — he sneered sarcastically. — All these heart-wrenching stories about how fate broke them. But somehow I didn’t end up on the street. And you know why? Because I work, instead of waiting for someone to bring me a ready-made lunch!
Anna shook her head:
— You have no idea how much it hurts to hear that from you.
The next day, Anna stopped by Pavel’s workplace – he had forgotten some important documents. While searching his office, she accidentally knocked over a stack of papers, from which an old photograph fell out: a little Pavel with his parents. She had never seen his father before – she only knew that he had disappeared many years ago.
She picked up the photo. In it, an intelligent man in glasses was looking at her, bearing a smile remarkably like Pavel’s, but with much kinder eyes.
— What are you doing here? — a sharp voice from her husband made her flinch.
— I brought the documents you…
— Put the photograph down, — his voice turned icy.
— Pasha, I just…
— I said: put it down.
Anna gently returned the photograph to its place. And that evening, while preparing dinner, she couldn’t stop thinking about the eyes in the photograph – so warm and kind, belonging to a man who had been presumed dead for fifteen years.
A chilly wind was scattering bits of newspapers along the platform. Anna adjusted her scarf and held tightly to the bulky grocery bags. Tuesday was her day. The day when she came here, to the old station, to help those the rest of the world preferred to ignore.
— Anya! — a hoarse voice called out. — We were starting to worry if you wouldn’t come today.
Baba Zina, a small, wiry old lady with lively eyes, waved her hand in a worn knitted glove. She had once taught music at school. Now her home was among the cardboard boxes behind the dumpsters.
— How could I not come? — Anna smiled, taking out containers with hot soup. — Look, today it’s with meatballs. And the bread is fresh, straight from the bakery.
Gradually, others began to gather around. Anna knew almost everyone by name, knew their stories. There was Stepanovich – a former engineer who lost everything due to addiction. Next to him was Lyosha, nicknamed The Artist – a talented guy who had run away from an orphanage. And a little further away stood a newcomer – a tall, gray-haired man whom she had noticed here a couple of weeks ago.
— Vladimir Petrovich, please come over! — Anna called out. — The soup is getting cold.
He slowly approached, his movements retaining a certain innate elegance. Despite his worn clothes, there was a sense of former dignity in him.
— Thank you, — he murmured quietly as he accepted the bowl. His hands trembled slightly.
While people ate, Anna conversed with them. She enjoyed these talks – here, at the station, people were more sincere than many of her acquaintances from “normal” life.
— And how’s your husband? Still grumbling? — Baba Zina inquired, pouring herself more soup.
Anna sighed:
— Sometimes. There was another quarrel yesterday.
— And what about him? Such a young and beautiful woman could be spending time on something else – shopping, beauty salons… — the old lady grumbled.
— Do you have a photo of your husband? — Vladimir Petrovich suddenly asked. — Sorry for my curiosity.
Anna pulled out her phone:
— Here, we recently took a group photo at a corporate event.
She handed over the device, and something amazing happened. Vladimir Petrovich stared at the screen and froze. His face turned pale, and his hands began to shake even more.
— Oh my… — he whispered. — Pasha… my boy…
The bowl slipped from his hands and shattered on the concrete floor.
— What? — Anna felt a chill run down her spine. — What did you just say?
— He’s my son, — the old man’s voice broke. — My little Pasha… How he has grown…
The next hour passed in a haze. Vladimir Petrovich – the very father Pavel had been missing – began to recount his story. Fifteen years ago, he was returning from a business trip. The last thing he remembered was walking through the station square. After that – a blow to the head and darkness.
— I woke up in the hospital, — he said, swallowing his tears. — I remembered nothing. Absolutely nothing, except the name “Pavel”. I thought maybe it was mine… But there were no documents, no phone either. And when I was discharged – where was I supposed to go? Who was I? Where did I live?
He recounted how he tried to piece together his memories, how he suffered from fragmented images that failed to form a coherent picture. How he wandered from city to city, working wherever he could.
— And the memories came back little by little, like crumbs. First, the smell of mom’s baking. Then – how I taught Pasha to ride a bike. His first failing grade in mathematics… But addresses, names – everything was as vague as a fog.
Anna listened, her heart breaking. She recalled all of Pavel’s mockery of the homeless, his disdain for “those who chose such a life for themselves.”
— You know, — Vladimir Petrovich continued, — for the past few years I’ve often dreamed the same dream. As if I were at home, and little Pasha would run to me with some school project… And then I’d wake up on a piece of cardboard. And the longing… so overwhelming.
He was interrupted by the ringing of a phone. It was Pavel.
— Yes, darling?
— Where are you? It’s late, and you’re not answering.
Anna sighed deeply:
— Pasha, you need to come. Immediately.
— What happened? — concern edged his voice.
— Come to the old station. And be prepared for a very important meeting.
While they waited for Pavel, Anna questioned Vladimir Petrovich about his past. Every detail, every memory confirmed that before her truly was the father of her husband.
— And do you remember the car you had? — she asked.
— The old “Kopeyka,” green, — he smiled. — There was a dent on the trunk – when Pasha was learning to ride a bike, he crashed into it. And also…
He was interrupted by the sound of an approaching vehicle. A fancy SUV pulled up at the entrance of the platform. The door swung open.
— Anna! — Pavel’s voice rang out. — What’s all this urgency? I have an important meeting in an hour…
He faltered upon seeing the man standing next to his wife. Vladimir Petrovich slowly stood up.
— Hello, my boy, — he said quietly.
Pavel turned pale. He looked at the homeless old man, and recognition began to dawn on his face.
— Dad?.. — he murmured with barely audible lips.
And then, something happened that Anna had never seen in all their years of marriage. Her cynical, hard man, who had always taken pride in his stoicism, suddenly burst into tears. Like a small child, meeting the dearest person after a long separation.
Pavel looked at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. His hands still trembling. The sound of running water could be heard behind the wall – his father was taking a shower. Father… that word, almost forgotten for fifteen years, now pulsed in his thoughts.
— Darling, — Anna gently touched his shoulder. — I brought you clean clothes. And shaving supplies.
— Thank you, — he turned to his wife. — You know… I truly believed he had abandoned us. Mom used to say…
Anna silently embraced him. She felt his slight trembling.
Vladimir Petrovich emerged from the bathroom transformed. Shaved clean, in his son’s freshly pressed shirt, he once again resembled the refined man from the photograph. Only his eyes remained the same – tired, full of hidden pain.
— Please, sit down, — Anna motioned toward the kitchen table. — I’ve prepared dinner.
Pavel shuffled uneasily by the refrigerator:
— Dad, maybe… shall we have some wine?
— No, thank you, — Vladimir Petrovich shook his head. — I haven’t drunk in many years. Out there, it’s… a dangerous habit.
A heavy silence followed. Anna poured the hot soup into bowls.
— Tell me… tell me how you lived all these years, — Pavel finally urged.
And Vladimir Petrovich began his tale. Of the first months in the hospital, where doctors unsuccessfully tried to restore his memory. Of sleeping in basements and taking odd jobs, of endless attempts to recall anything from his former life.
— I worked as a loader, a janitor, a watchman… When I had documents. And then they got lost, and everything started anew. You know what’s the scariest thing on the street? — he looked into his son’s eyes. — It’s not hunger or cold. It’s that people stop seeing the person in you.
Pavel flinched, remembering his own words about the homeless.
— But I always felt that somewhere there was my home, my family, — his father continued. — I just couldn’t remember where. Sometimes I dreamed of fragments – your voice, Pasha, mom’s laughter, the smell of pies… And then I saw you in a photo on Anna’s phone, and everything suddenly fell into place.
The night passed with conversations. By dawn, Pavel stepped out onto the balcony. Anna covered the sleeping father-in-law with a blanket and joined her husband.
— We need to call your mom, — Pavel said hoarsely, watching the emerging dawn. — She must know.
— Maybe we should wait until morning?
— No. For fifteen years she lived with the thought that he had betrayed us. That he was gone somewhere in another city, drowned in drink. And all this time…
Pavel fell silent, but Anna already understood his pain. All this time, the father had been right there, at the very station where she went to help the homeless. Along which Pavel drove every day in his luxurious car.
The following days turned into a whirlwind of events: restoring documents, medical examinations, endless phone calls and meetings. Pavel’s mother arrived from another city in the evening – graying, haggard, with tear-stained red eyes.
— Volodya… — was all she managed to say upon seeing her husband.
And then followed a long conversation behind closed doors. Shouts, sobbing, explanations, and confessions. Anna and Pavel sat in the living room, holding hands, listening to the voices of the parents.
— You know, — Pavel suddenly began, — all my life I tried to live up to my father’s image. Even when I thought he had abandoned us. I wanted to show that I was stronger, more successful… And in the end, I almost became a monster.
Anna stroked his hand:
— You’re not a monster, dear. You just got a little lost.
A month passed. Vladimir Petrovich gradually adapted to his new life. The doctors talked about post-traumatic amnesia, prescribed treatment and rehabilitation. The memory returned slowly, in fragments, but it was coming back.
Pavel insisted that his parents live with them. The large house, once bought to impress business partners, finally filled with real life.
Pavel was changing. Anna noticed it in the little things: he began lingering his gaze on the homeless near the metro, sometimes even stopping to buy them food. Recently, she had found crumpled receipts from a bakery and two empty coffee cups in his coat – one from his favorite upscale café, the other plain, for someone from the street. He no longer frowned in discontent when she prepared for her charity visits, and yesterday he even quietly placed a couple of warm sweaters in a bag.
One evening she entered his office with a cup of tea and paused in the doorway. Pavel, having forgotten about his coffee, was clicking his mouse, intently studying the computer screen. On the page of some charity foundation, graphs and figures flickered – he was clearly doing some calculations.
— Have you really taken up charity work at night? — she asked, trying to keep a light tone, though her heart beat faster.
— You see, — he turned to her, — I was thinking… We have an empty space in our business center. Maybe we could set up a help point for the homeless there? With a shower, clothes, legal assistance…
Anna came to stand beside him:
— Are you serious?
— Very. I talked to my father. You know how many talented people there are among them? Artists, engineers, teachers… They just need a chance. A second chance.
Six months later they opened a center: “Second Chance.” Vladimir Petrovich, fully recovered from his ordeals, became its first consultant.
— Who knows better than me how to return to a normal life? — he would say as he welcomed new participants into the program.
And Pavel… Pavel finally learned to smile sincerely. Like in that old photograph, where he and his father looked so alike.
In the evenings the whole family often gathered in the kitchen. They drank tea, discussed everything under the sun. And one day Anna realized: how wonderful it was to see that love and kindness can change a person. Even the most cynical. Even someone who once mocked others’ misfortune.
— What are you thinking about? — Pavel asked, embracing her.
— That miracles really do happen. You just have to believe in them.
— And help them happen, — he added. — Like you. Thank you for not listening to me back then. Thank you for staying true to yourself.
Outside, snow fell, wrapping the city in a white blanket. Somewhere out there, on the streets, there were still people who had lost themselves. But now they had a chance. A chance to come back home. Just as the lost father returned to the son who had to lose and then find the one closest person to understand one simple truth: kindness is not weakness. Kindness is a power capable of creating real miracles.
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