The Price

This time, he had been cheated on—because he couldn’t shower his girlfriend with expensive gifts. That’s life. No money—no love.

From now on, he would see women as nothing more than objects. Use them, move on, goodbye. There was no more room in his life for trust, sincerity, dreams, or hope. Just him and his own life. That was it.

At the same time, Lana continued to nurture her dream of being with Robert. Now, nothing stood between them. Viktoriya had handed him over to her. She left. They broke up. Lana hadn’t stood between them while they were together—she’d only been a friend. It wasn’t her fault Viktoriya had made her choice. Lana had a right to happiness too—just like Robert. And she would fight for it.

“In two weeks we’ll take off your bandages and go to the city clinic for a head scan,” Aunt Masha told her.

“A head scan?” Viktoriya asked, surprised.

“Well, I don’t know what it’s called. We’ll check your little head—make sure everything’s okay,” she replied warmly, gently stroking Viktoriya’s hair and shoulder.

The girl laid her head on the woman’s chest and closed her eyes.

One day, Viktoriya had asked her:

“Can we not part ways? When I leave, I want to always come back here. Like to a mother.”

The woman had stroked her hair, kissed her, and said,

“You’d make me very happy if you came back.”

A few days later, a guy in an SUV arrived. He greeted her as he entered the house. Viktoriya was alone. When she turned and saw him, she recoiled in fear. His eyes looked painfully familiar. She recognized him. He had been part of her ex’s security detail—the same “benefactor” who had nearly killed her.

“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.

“I’ll show you,” she replied.

They got there in about an hour. But once they arrived, Viktoriya felt sick and vomited. She washed her face at the lake, sat a while, then got up to look for that tree. She wasn’t sure it was the right place. They wandered the shore—it all looked the same. Then he spotted a pile of stones.

“This is it,” he said. “You were lying right here. I stacked these rocks and placed a board under you to lift you up—just in case your bones were broken.”

She looked at him with deep gratitude. Her eyes filled with tears again.

“I’ll never be able to repay you for this,” she whispered.

“Just live long and be happy. That’s enough,” he replied with a smile.

She bit her lip and turned to find the rotting tree. There it was! Viktoriya ran to it, found a sturdy stick, and started digging. Immediately, she hit metal. The necklace was still there. She carefully pulled it out, looked at the dirt-covered jewelry, and handed it to Ruslan.

“What is this?” he asked, examining it.

“I think you don’t need to keep working for that killer,” she said. “Take it.”

He took the necklace and looked at her.

“This is the necklace?”

She nodded.

He opened his mouth slightly, stood there a moment, then knelt by the lake and washed it. The gems sparkled instantly, glowing with radiant brilliance.

“Vika, this is a fortune. He really did love you—though he acted like a monster. Most wives don’t get gifts like this.”

“May he rot in hell,” she said through clenched teeth. Her body still remembered the pain. “No amount of money could make up for what he did to me.”

Ruslan stood up and, for the first time, gently hugged her. He repeated his mother’s words:

“Everything will be okay. Forget it.”

“Thank you.”

“Come on. We shouldn’t stay here.”

“He went crazy looking for that necklace,” Ruslan said as they drove back. “They turned the whole hotel upside down, dug up everything here—but never found it.”

“Seriously?!” Viktoriya’s eyes widened.

“Yeah. It’s worth a lot. What did you think?” he said, glancing at her.

Then, after a moment’s thought, he added:

“I think we need to get out of here. Take everything and move somewhere else.”

“I agree,” Viktoriya replied immediately. “Let it all burn in hell!”

He said nothing. He took the necklace with him. Told her not to worry—he’d be back in two days after his shift. Viktoriya thanked God—for help, for a home, for a mother, for her rescuer.

She became devout, praying with Aunt Masha—now called Mother. They prayed on their knees, morning and night. Viktoriya dyed her red hair chestnut brown. She braided it and walked around the village in simple clothes.

Yes, she was still beautiful—but different now. She’d gained some weight, her belly was growing. No one could recognize the club girl she once was. That Viktoriya had drowned. For her safety, they changed her name from Viktoriya to Veronika. Aunt Masha started calling her Verochka.

“And where are you from, Verochka?” the villagers would ask.

“From Obninsk,” she’d reply. “My husband died. My aunt took me in. Car crash—quick death.”

And so they lived. And the necklace lay hidden, waiting for its time.