Veronika Sergeyevna adjusted her strict jacket one last time in front of the mirror and frowned — everything had to be perfect. Then, as usual, she put on a mask of cold calmness behind which she habitually hid her true feelings. “It will do,” she thought, looking at her reflection. After fifteen years as the head of a women’s correctional colony, she had learned to bury her worries so deep that sometimes even she couldn’t tell where they ended. Today it was especially important to remain firm — everything inside hurt, but she could not show it.
She left her office and walked down the long corridor. New prisoners had arrived today, and Veronika always met them personally. She wanted to see their eyes, to understand who stood before her — dangerous repeat offenders or just lost people who found themselves in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Whoever thought only men could commit cruel crimes was mistaken. The case files contained stories that sent chills even down the spines of the most experienced staff.
Two months ago, her son Denis suddenly died. So foolishly, so unexpectedly… He was just walking home, felt unwell, and fell. It seemed like an ordinary thing on a hot day. But he hit his head on a brick thrown on the pavement — and his life ended. The boy was only twenty-two. An age when others still have everything ahead, but he had nothing left. He didn’t even have time to introduce his girlfriend to his mother, although Veronika knew — he had someone, and seriously.
“What’s her name?” she asked once.
“Mom, there’s a time for everything,” he smiled. “I’ll introduce you in a couple of weeks.”
“You’re just like your father,” she sighed. “Stubborn to the extreme.”
Now, flipping through the files of the newcomers, Veronika’s attention was caught by one particular card. Two women — old system regulars, and the third — very young, confused, an orphan, clearly out of place in this terrible place. On paper, it appeared she had been convicted unfairly — simply made a convenient scapegoat.
“That’s all we needed,” thought the woman. Such prisoners often caused problems: they either tried to commit suicide or sought justice where there was none.
“Take those two to their cells, and bring this girl to me,” she ordered. “We need to talk.”
Another unpleasant fact — Lilya was pregnant. Strange. If there was a child, then there should be a father. Why didn’t he protect her? Maybe another “golden” young man who doesn’t want extra problems?
When the girl entered the office, Veronika noticed her fragility and fear. She spoke in a trembling voice:
“Hello…”
The chief smirked slightly:
“This is a colony, Lilya. You don’t say hello here like that. Well, tell me, what were you convicted for?”
“I don’t know…” the girl began to cry. “They said I stole a phone and money, but I wasn’t even in the office! Then they found them in my bag. Just because a guy, a student’s boyfriend, offered to date me…”
Veronika nodded. Now much was becoming clear.
“What’s that on your neck?”
Lilya grabbed her pendant:
“Please, don’t take it away! It’s like a talisman, a memory. My beloved gave it to me. We wanted to get married, but he disappeared…”
“Ran away?”
“No! He would never do that! Something happened… His name was Denis. He was the best…”
Veronika flinched. Something flickered in her mind. She looked closely at the pendant — it was incredibly familiar. Only two people had such jewelry: one belonged to her husband, the other — Denis. Her son wore that until his death.
“Show me,” she said quietly, approaching.
Lilya slowly lowered her hand. And then Veronika saw — it was her son’s pendant.
As soon as the door closed behind the girl, the woman collapsed into the chair. Her head was spinning.
A few minutes later, her friend Natasha, the medical unit doctor, peeked in.
“Nika, may I?”
“Come in. You look like you’ve seen a nightmare.”
“I really saw a ghost…”
“Tell me.”
When Veronika finished, Natasha whistled thoughtfully:
“So you’re sure the girl is innocent?”
“Almost one hundred percent. But now the question is: what to do?”
“Listen, maybe check who the father of her child is?”
Veronika perked up:
“Exactly! And also… let her stay with me for now. Pregnant women don’t belong in general cells.”
“Of course, bring her in. Meanwhile, I’ll try to figure things out.”
“Thank you, Natasha.”
Veronika couldn’t understand why her son kept silent about his girlfriend. Maybe he didn’t know about the pregnancy? The term — four months. Perhaps that was so. Although… what if the child wasn’t his?
Veronika’s head was about to explode. Sitting and guessing was useless. Action was needed.
After work, she stopped by the cemetery. Bowing over her son’s grave, she quietly said:
“Why did you leave me so many riddles, son? How can I unravel all this now?”
Denis’s photo on the tombstone smiled as if it knew the answers. Veronika slowly straightened up as if carrying someone’s invisible burden on her shoulders.
The first thing she decided was to visit Lilya’s home. The personal file had an address — a private sector. One house divided into two halves: in one lived the girl’s grandmother, the other half now inhabited by other people.
“Excuse me, may I talk to you?” Veronika addressed the old woman.
She met her suspiciously:
“About what?”
“About Lilya. About Denis,” Veronika cautiously named the boy. If the young man often visited here, the grandmother should know.
“Who are you?”
“I am his mother.”
“Oh my God! Where were you before?” exclaimed the woman. “The boy almost came here every day, then… Lilya got pregnant, and he disappeared. No help, no word — nothing!”
“Wait,” Veronika decisively stopped her. “You don’t know everything. Denis died more than two months ago. He didn’t even know about the child.”
The grandmother froze, clutching her heart:
“He died?! And Lilya kept waiting… Waiting for him to come, to take her away from here…”
They went inside. Over tea, the woman told much. Lilya was like family to her, and she didn’t believe in her guilt.
“She couldn’t have stolen! I don’t believe and won’t believe! A good girl, kind. I even went to the police, wanted to vouch for her, but they told me: ‘Go home, don’t get involved.’”
Veronika recalled the negative descriptions in the file and realized the truth was deeper than it seemed.
“Thank you,” she said, getting ready to leave.
“Wait, dear,” the grandmother brought a bag. “Here are Lilya’s things. Also a photo album. Look at home.”
At home, opening the bag, Veronika cried. The first photo showed Lilya and Denis — hugging, laughing, happy. She flipped through the album, found a group photo from the course, trying to spot who could have set the girl up. But the betrayer’s face remained hidden.
The next day she went to the institute.
“Why do you need this?” the dean asked coldly.
“I want to help.”
“Help a thief?” the woman snorted. “Only the guilty end up behind bars here.”
Veronika understood she wouldn’t get the truth from her. As she stepped outside, a student approached:
“Excuse me, you asked about Lilya? I know something. But let’s move aside so no one hears.”
Three days later, Veronika was hit by a car. Luckily, she managed to jump aside, but the blow was strong.
Natasha came to see her in the hospital:
“A warning, huh?”
“Yes. The car was heading straight for me. The driver saw me. And I saw him.”
“What will we do? How’s Lilya?”
“So far so good. She’s just beginning to realize what imprisonment is.”
“Nika, call Oleg. You can’t handle this alone.”
Oleg was her late husband’s brother. They hadn’t communicated for a long time — Veronika secretly blamed him for Sasha’s death, because he didn’t go fishing with him. If he had been there… Maybe nothing would have happened.
When Oleg arrived, he was frightened:
“Why didn’t you call me right away?”
“I just couldn’t. Sorry.”
“Stop it. People always look for someone to blame. Tell me everything.”
He agreed to help.
Some time later, Veronika and Natasha entered Lilya’s room. The girl jumped up.
“Lilya,” Veronika began, “Denis… he died. A completely stupid, accidental death.”
Lilya screamed, tears streaming:
“No! Better if he left me, found someone else! Just not this!”
Natasha quickly gave her an injection. After about ten minutes, the hysteria calmed down.
“You’re carrying my grandson or granddaughter,” Veronika said quietly. “We’re doing everything possible to get you released. You’re not alone. We will manage.”
Three years passed.
“Nikita! Stop!” Veronika called, chasing the little boy.
He ran happily, giggling joyfully. Lilya appeared ahead. Today she had passed her last exam. Thanks to Oleg and Veronika, she managed to finish her studies — though remotely.
A car stopped nearby:
“Girls! How I missed you! Especially you, Nikitos!”
The boy hesitated: mom, grandfather… Then he ran to Oleg.
A year ago, he and Veronika married. Today he was finally moving to this city.
“I sold my apartment in the capital,” he said, hugging Veronika. “Now I’m here again.”
She quit the colony to help Lilya study. Now she planned to find a calm women’s job.
Lilya came up, took her son in her arms, and they all hugged. Passersby walked around them, glancing curiously: they stood in the middle of the sidewalk, unable to let go of each other.
Strange?
No. They had simply gone through what you wouldn’t wish even on your enemy. And became a family — real, alive, united. And for them, that was the most important thing in the world.
