Anya had always felt out of place in her own family.
Her mother clearly preferred her two older sisters, Vika and Yulia, lavishing affection and care on them while keeping Anya at a distance.
Despite the pain it caused her, Anya kept her feelings bottled up, always trying to win her mother’s approval, hoping for even a sliver of warmth.
But when she turned eighteen, her mother’s rejection became final.
“Don’t expect to live here! The apartment belongs to your sisters. You’ve looked at me like a stray pup since you were a child. Go live wherever you want!”
With those harsh words, Anya was forced out of her childhood home.
She tried to reason with her mother, pointing out the unfairness — after all, Vika and Yulia had both gone to university on their mother’s dime and were allowed to live at home far longer.
But Anya had always been treated differently. Despite her efforts to behave well, her family barely masked their disdain for her.
The only person who ever treated her with kindness was her grandfather, who had taken in her pregnant mother when Anya’s father abandoned them.
Anya once wondered if her resemblance to her aunt—her mother’s sister — was the reason for the resentment.
Attempts to talk to her mother always ended in shouting matches or tears.
Her happiest memories were of summers spent with her grandfather in the countryside, where she helped in the garden and learned to bake.
It was a welcome escape from a home where she was met only with criticism and neglect.
“Why doesn’t anyone love me, Grandpa?” she used to ask. He’d respond gently, “I love you, sweetheart,” but never spoke of her mother or sisters.
After her grandfather passed away when she was ten, things only worsened. Her sisters mocked her, passed down their old clothes, and left her scraps while keeping treats for themselves.
Their mother never intervened. Anya grew up isolated and unloved, labeled a misfit no matter how hard she tried to earn their affection.
So when she was finally cast out, she found work as a hospital orderly.
Life was tough, but at least her coworkers didn’t treat her with contempt. She slowly found a rhythm, gaining a reputation for being dependable and resilient.
Eventually, her diligence earned her a chance at a scholarship to study surgery — a huge step for someone like her.
By 27, Anya had no family she could rely on. Her life revolved around work and caring for patients.
Still, the loneliness never left her. She visited her family rarely, and each time left feeling worse than before.
One such time, crying on the hospital porch, her coworker Grisha approached and gently asked what was wrong. She brushed him off, not believing anyone could find her attractive.
But he was sincere and reminded her she had potential — both as a surgeon and a woman. That night, she opened up to him for the first time.
Grisha encouraged her to contact Dmitry Alekseevich, a former patient who had once offered help.
When Anya called, Dmitry responded warmly and invited her over. She explained her situation, hoping to find work as a live-in caregiver.
But Dmitry had other plans. “Come live with me,” he said.
“I owe you my life, and I can help get you a job at a clinic.” Anya was hesitant, wondering about his family’s reaction, but he told her plainly: his relatives only appeared when there was something to gain.
They started living together, and a quiet friendship blossomed.
Two years passed, and her relationship with Grisha turned romantic. But Dmitry didn’t trust him and voiced his doubts.
Anya, however, had already accepted Grisha’s proposal and was pregnant.
Dmitry, though ailing, insisted on leaving Anya a house in the village, saying she deserved it.
Sh0cked, she later discovered the house was in the same village where her grandfather once lived. It stirred long-forgotten warmth and nostalgia.
Just before the wedding, however, Grisha’s ex, a woman named Lena, barged into Anya’s life and claimed him back.
Grisha didn’t fight for Anya. Betrayed and heartbroken, she packed her things and left for the village house.
There, Anya discovered a hidden box in the stove. It contained a letter, photos, and money. Dmitry had been her grandfather’s brother, entrusted with her care.
Even more sh0cking, her mother wasn’t her real mother — Anya was the daughter of her aunt, whom her adoptive mother had always envied. Everything made sense at last.
Though alone again, Anya felt stronger. She had a house, savings, a profession, and soon, a child. For the first time, she felt truly safe and genuinely happy.
