“Alyona, please help me…” Maria Nikitichna said with a shaky voice as she walked in, holding two small bundles close to her chest. Alyona stopped what she was doing at the sink, a plate still in her hand.
Heavy rain poured outside, and their dog stood at the door, scared and whining. Alyona had felt uneasy all morning, like something was off.
“What’s happening?” she asked, going toward her. Maria Nikitichna’s face was wet with tears. “Here,” she said, opening one of the blankets. Inside was a tiny baby, red-faced and softly crying.
“There are two of them—a boy and a girl. I found them in the old well…” Alyona nearly collapsed. She gently took the baby from her mother-in-law.
He was cold and dirty—but alive. His dark eyes stared right into hers, making her heart stop.
“In the well? The one that’s old and full of moss?”
“Yes. Petrovich and I pulled them out. I was walking by when Sharik started barking like crazy and pulling me toward the well. I got closer and heard crying. We barely managed to rescue them…”
Someone had left the babies and vanished. No one in the village was missing children, so they had to be strangers. Alyona held the baby close, feeling his heartbeat next to hers. She and Stepan had spent five years trying to have a child—years of hoping, testing, and heartbreak. The nursery was ready, but always silent.
“And the second one?” Alyona asked, eyes still fixed on the boy.
“A girl. Very small,” Maria Nikitichna said, carefully opening the second blanket. “They must be twins.”
The front door opened, and Stepan walked in, soaked from the rain.
“What’s going on?” he asked, staring at the baby in Alyona’s arms. His mother quickly explained. Stepan listened without a word, then came over and gently touched the baby’s cheek.
“How could anyone do this?” he said, hurt in his voice.
“The district officer will come tomorrow,” Maria said. “I’ve already reported it. The medic is coming too. They need a check-up.”
Stepan carefully took the girl in his arms. She opened her eyes and looked at him seriously, making him freeze.
“What will happen to them?” he asked.
“If no one finds their parents, they’ll go to an orphanage,” Maria said quietly.
Stepan looked at Alyona, then at his mother. He put his hand on Alyona’s shoulder and said just one word:
“We’ll keep them.”
It was simple, but full of meaning.
“We’ll keep them,” Alyona echoed, and for the first time in years, she felt warmth inside—like something frozen was beginning to melt.
An hour later, the medic came. He checked both babies: around one year old, healthy, unharmed. Somehow, they had survived in that old well.
That night, after the children had fallen asleep in a makeshift bed, Stepan sat beside Alyona.
“Do you really want this?” she asked gently.
“Yes,” he said, taking her hand. “Tomorrow I’ll talk to the officer. To everyone we need. We’ll become their guardians. This is our chance.”
“What if their parents come back?”
“They won’t,” Stepan said firmly. “Anyone who leaves their babies in the dark like that has already given them up.”
Alyona leaned on his shoulder. Outside, the rain had faded to a soft whisper. One of the babies stirred, and she quickly got up to check on them. They were lying close together—small, fragile, but now hers.
Something inside her woke up—a warmth she hadn’t felt in years.
“What should we name them?” Stepan whispered.
Alyona smiled. “Nadya and Kostya.”
Hope and Strength.
They had come just when they were needed most.
Five years later, the farm had grown—greenhouses, a cow shed, berry beds. And Nadya and Kostya had grown too—from tiny bundles into lively, curious children.
“Mama, look!” Nadya ran into the kitchen, holding a drawing. “It’s all of us—together!” Alyona smiled at the colorful picture. Nadya was full of energy, always moving. Kostya, on the other hand, was quiet and thoughtful, often helping his dad in the workshop.
“It’s beautiful,” Alyona said, kissing her daughter’s head.
“Where’s Kostya?”
“He’s picking herbs with Grandma,” Nadya said, sitting at the table. “She says she can tell them apart just by taste!”
Maria Nikitichna had become a real grandmother to the children. She was strict but loving—staying up all night when they were sick, and correcting them kindly when they misbehaved.
Then the phone rang. Alyona picked it up and heard the neighbor’s voice:
“Alyona! Come quickly! Maria Nikitichna is unwell!”
Alyona’s heart dropped. She told Nadya to stay inside and ran out. Maria was lying on the ground near the garden. Kostya stood beside her, scared.
“I called her, but she won’t wake up…” he said.
Alyona knelt beside her. Maria’s face was pale and her lips were blue—it was a heart attack. Even though the ambulance was on the way, it was too late.
“Take care of them…” Maria whispered, holding Alyona’s hand. “They… they’ve always been yours…”
Those were her last words.
The house grew quiet and heavy with sadness. Stepan became distant and barely spoke. The children didn’t understand, but they felt something was missing. Nadya drew pictures of Grandma in the clouds. Kostya sat quietly with his books.
One day, Stepan said at the kitchen table, “We’re leaving. We’ll sell everything. Start over.”
Alyona, for the first time, raised her voice.
“Have you thought about the kids? They need stability now.”
“I just… can’t stay here,” he said. The house and garden reminded him too much of Maria.
He started coming home late, smelling of cheap alcohol. Alyona barely recognized him anymore—the man who had once embraced children that weren’t his. Now, he felt like a stranger. When he yelled, the children would hide. Alyona began to wonder if their family could survive this.
Family vacation packages
Then, early one morning, there was a knock at the door. A tall man stood there with a suitcase—it was her father, Viktor Sergeevich. They hadn’t seen each other in three years.
“Hi, daughter. The neighbor said things aren’t going well. I came to help.”
He was a retired engineer and widower. He moved into a small room, but his calm presence brought comfort. One morning he said to Stepan, “Let’s fix the shed roof. I could use a hand.”
Surprised, Stepan agreed. They worked all day. Viktor told stories from his past, and slowly, like snow melting after a long winter, Stepan began to open up again.
By evening, as they looked at the new roof, Stepan said, “Thank you.”
“For what?” Viktor Sergeevich asked with a smile.
“For not feeling sorry for me,” Stepan replied. There was life in his eyes again.
With Alyona’s father around, the house felt warmer. He helped the kids with school, made them toys, and read bedtime stories. A month passed, and Alyona noticed Stepan smiling again. One night, he hugged her and said softly, “I thought I lost not just my mother… but myself too.”
Later, Viktor sold his apartment in the city and bought land nearby.
“Not for me—for the kids,” he said simply.
Alyona got a goat, planted new trees, and dreamed about growing the farm.
On September 1st, the twins started school. Nadya clutched Kostya’s hand, excited. The teacher smiled, “Such wonderful twins!” Alyona looked at her children, her husband, and her father—and finally knew for sure: this was a real family. Not perfect, but true.
Family vacation packages
Years passed. One day, Kostya, now a teenager, threw down a bucket.
“I’m not milking that goat anymore! I’m fourteen, not forty!”
His quiet nature had turned into teenage rebellion.
“Speak respectfully,” Stepan said calmly. “Pick up the bucket and finish the job.”
“You do it! I don’t want to be a farmer forever!” He pointed at the fields and greenhouse.
“This is our life. Everyone contributes,” Alyona said firmly.
Then Kostya asked, “Can I build a moped? Petka’s already on his third.”
“Ask Grandpa,” Stepan replied.
Soon, Kostya was talking to Viktor.
“Grandpa, will you help me build an engine?”
“Of course,” Viktor said. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you—it’s not easy.”
Meanwhile, Nadya burst into the kitchen.
“Mom! Look at my dress designs!”
Alyona smiled. “They’re beautiful. Maybe you can make one for the holiday?”
“I’ll make a whole collection!”
That evening, the whole family sat around a campfire. Viktor roasted sausages, Stepan teased Alyona, Kostya talked engines, Nadya shared fashion ideas. It was peaceful.
Family vacation packages
Alyona looked at the flames and thought: family isn’t about blood or where you come from. It’s about the warmth you build together.
“By the way,” Viktor said, chewing a sausage, “I saw Kostya help the Petrovs’ kids cross the stream. He carried one on his back. Just like you, Stepan—not in words, but in actions.”
Stepan smiled, eyes glowing.
“I just helped,” Kostya muttered, embarrassed.
“You’re kind,” Stepan said. “Just like Grandpa was.”
“Grandpa, tell us about your first motorcycle!” Nadya begged.
“It was more like a pile of noisy junk!” Viktor laughed. “But I rode it like lightning!”
Alyona watched them and thought about how close they came to losing all this. But they hadn’t. They had stayed strong.
Stepan sat beside her and asked, “What are you thinking about?”
“The kids,” she said, looking at them. “They don’t know they were found in a well.”
“Should we tell them one day?”
“No,” she said. “Why should they carry that pain? They’re ours. That’s all that matters.”
Later, Kostya brought out a wooden box.
“It’s an automatic chicken feeder,” he said, a little shy. “It runs on its own in the morning—so you don’t have to get up so early.”
Stepan was touched. He hugged his son.
Then Nadya handed Alyona a sketch.
“It’s a dress—for your birthday!”
That night, while tucking them in, Alyona felt truly happy.
Her father peeked in.
“I’m bringing a puppy tomorrow. Kostya says it’s for the farm—but I know it’s really for him.”
“Thank you, Dad,” she whispered. “For everything.”
A week later, the twins walked through the village, arguing playfully.
Anna Petrovna, their old neighbor, watched them go by.
“What a lovely pair! They’re just like their parents. Alenka was always so lively, and Kostya—he’s the image of Stepan.”
Alyona heard this and smiled. Everything really had come together.
What began on a cold, rainy night with two abandoned babies had grown into a real family—not by blood, but by love.
Five more years passed. The twins were now nineteen.
“We’re home!” Nadya shouted as they got off the bus.
Kostya looked around. “Looks like Dad finally set up the drip irrigation system.”
Nadya ran toward the house, clutching a bag.
“They don’t know we came early!”
Stepan came out, wiping his hands. Seeing them, he smiled wide, then opened his arms.
“Well, look at you!” He hugged Nadya, then pulled Kostya into a firm, loving embrace.
The sun lit the farm in golden light. Much had changed—new fence, gazebo, solar panels.
But the most important thing remained the same: they were still a family.
Life kept moving on.
“Where’s Grandpa?” Kostya asked, looking around.
Stepan’s face turned serious. He glanced at Alena and said gently, “Let’s go inside. We have something to tell you.”
Kostya didn’t say anything, but he felt it too. At university, he thought about the future and his plans. But now, all he could think about was helping Grandpa.
“You know,” Kostya said suddenly, “my roommate at the dorm found out he was adopted at sixteen. It was really hard on him.”
“What does that have to do with us?” Nadya asked.
“I just wonder… how would we have felt if we’d known earlier?”
Nadya froze. “Wait… are you saying what I think you’re saying?”
“Well, have you noticed—there are no photos of Mom being pregnant with us. And our birth certificates were made when we were already over a year old.”
Nadya looked down. She had never thought about that before. But now, things started to make sense.
“I found the papers by accident while helping Mom pack,” Kostya said. “But I never asked her. I figured… there’s a reason they never told us.”
“How do you feel about it?” Nadya asked.
“That we’re really lucky,” Kostya smiled. “First, that they found us. Second, that they’re such good people. Could we ask for better parents?”
Nadya leaned into him. “Should we tell them we know?”
“No,” he said. “Let’s keep it to ourselves. They don’t need to worry.”
The next day, they visited Grandpa at the hospital. He looked thinner, but his eyes were still bright.
“My inventors!” he said, smiling wide.
Kostya shook his hand. Nadya hugged him and quickly said, trying not to cry, “I won a contest at school! I got a certificate!”
“That’s wonderful!” Grandpa said proudly.
“I’m studying programming,” Kostya added. “I even made a prototype for rehab. Want to test it?”
Grandpa laughed. “Still full of jokes. Just like your mom when she was young.”
When their parents stepped out to talk to the doctor, Kostya quietly asked, “Grandpa… did you know we’re adopted?”
Grandpa looked at them calmly. “Of course I did. Do you just suspect it, or do you know for sure?”
“We know,” Nadya said. “We just want to understand… what now?”
He held their hands. “Now? Be thankful. You weren’t born to them, but you were chosen by them. And you live in their hearts. That matters more than blood.”
They nodded, feeling lighter.
“Now tell me about city life,” Grandpa smiled. “I want to hear everything.”
A few weeks later, Viktor came home. Kostya made a rehab machine for him, and Nadya redecorated his room to make it easier for him to move around.
One evening, the whole family sat on the porch. Alena asked, “Don’t you miss the city? Don’t you regret spending the summer here?”
Kostya and Nadya looked at each other.
“I want to stay,” Kostya said. “I can study online. There’s so much to do on the farm, and Grandpa needs help.”
“And I’ll come every weekend,” Nadya added. “I have classes, but the bus isn’t far.”
Alena looked at them with surprise. “But you’ve changed. You’re city people now. Why stay here?”
Kostya looked at the stars. “Because this place is where our roots are. The real ones.”
“And the deepest ones,” Nadya added softly. “Like water in an old well.”
Alena shivered. Their words said more than they realized. But instead of fear, she felt a deep warmth inside.
“Thank you,” she whispered, hugging them both. “For everything.”
That evening, no one spoke. They just sat together quietly, connected not by being related, but by something even stronger—trust, kindness, and love.