The Next Day

Anya hesitated before ringing the bell. Dmitry Alekseevich lived in a large house on the edge of town, a place she’d only passed by before, imagining what kind of people might dwell inside. When the heavy oak door opened, he appeared—smiling, distinguished, yet surprisingly kind-eyed.

“Ah, my savior has come!” he greeted, taking her coat. “Come in, come in. Tea is ready.”

They sat in the cozy parlor. Dmitry poured tea into porcelain cups and pushed a plate of pastries toward her.

“Anya,” he began, “I’ve thought a lot about the day you saved my life. Not everyone shows that kind of courage. You’re special. Tell me—what burdens you?”

For the first time, Anya confessed everything. The rejection. Her mother’s cruelty. The sisters’ mockery. Being kicked out at eighteen. By the time she finished, her cheeks were wet. Dmitry listened without interrupting, nodding gravely.

“Your family wronged you,” he finally said. “But I suspect there’s more to their hatred than petty jealousy. Have you ever wondered why your mother treated you like an enemy?”

Anya’s hands trembled. “Every day. But she never explained. Just called me a wolf cub. Like I wasn’t hers at all.”

Dmitry leaned closer. “Sometimes cruelty hides a secret. Secrets that rot the heart.”

The words lodged in her chest. She couldn’t sleep that night. His suggestion gnawed at her mind like a worm.

The Inheritance Quarrel

Weeks later, a letter arrived: Mother had died.

Anya’s stomach twisted. She hadn’t even known her mother was sick. The funeral was small—Vika and Yulia sobbed theatrically, casting scornful glances at their younger sister, as if her very presence were indecent.

Afterward, the notary announced: “The apartment and possessions go to Vika and Yulia. Anya is excluded.”

Of course. Anya swallowed hard, keeping silent. But then, the notary added: “However, there is an old family house in the village, unregistered until now. It goes to Anya Ivanovna.”

The sisters exploded.

“What? That ruin? She doesn’t need anything! She was never part of this family anyway!” Vika shrieked.

“Mother always said she was cursed!” Yulia spat.

The room grew tense. Anya clenched her fists, but left quietly.

Return to the Village

The old house smelled of damp wood and dust. It had stood empty since Grandpa’s death. Memories surged—his gentle voice, the orchard, the summers of brief happiness.

She lit a fire in the stove. As the wood crackled, a hollow sound struck her ear. Frowning, she tapped the stove wall. One brick was loose.

With trembling fingers, she pried it out. Behind it lay a small tin box. Her heart pounded as she lifted the lid. Inside—letters, photographs, and a yellowed birth certificate.

Her eyes widened.

The certificate listed her father’s name… not the man who had abandoned her mother long ago, but someone else entirely: Alexei Morozov.

The letters revealed more: her mother’s affair, the jealousy, the shame. Anya was not the child of the man her sisters called Father, but of another man altogether.

Her mother’s words echoed in memory: “You’ve looked at me like a wolf cub since childhood.”

So that was why. She hadn’t hated Anya for who she was—but for what she represented: betrayal, scandal, a constant reminder of a sin.

Confrontation

Days later, the sisters stormed into the village house, faces twisted with fury.

“Hand over whatever you found!” Yulia demanded, eyes darting toward the stove.

“You knew about the hiding place?” Anya asked, stunned.

“Of course!” Vika sneered. “Mother said if you ever discovered it, you’d ruin us all. Those papers prove you’re a bastard. You don’t deserve anything!”

They lunged at her, trying to snatch the box. Anya clutched it to her chest.

“You treated me like garbage all my life,” she whispered, voice shaking. “Now I know why. But I won’t let you erase me anymore.”

Yulia shoved her hard. “Without us, you’re nothing! Stay in this dump and rot, wolf cub!”

They slammed the door behind them, leaving her trembling but strangely lighter.

A New Ally

She returned to Dmitry Alekseevich, showing him the documents. He read carefully, frowning.

“Alexei Morozov… I know that name. He was a respected surgeon in Moscow. Died years ago. If this is true, Anya, you are his daughter. Which means you have a right not only to his name, but perhaps even to his inheritance.”

The thought staggered her. Could she really claim such a legacy?

“Don’t decide in haste,” Dmitry said gently. “But one thing is certain: your mother’s rejection was never your fault.”

For the first time, the heavy chain of guilt slipped from her heart.

Grisha’s Devotion

Meanwhile, Grisha didn’t leave her side. He fixed the leaking roof in the old house, brought her groceries, and made her laugh when memories threatened to drown her.

One evening, as they sat in the orchard, he said quietly: “Anya, you don’t need big names or fortunes. You just need someone who sees you. I see you. Stay with me.”

Her throat tightened. For years she had begged for scraps of love from people who despised her. Now, love stood before her—simple, steady, waiting.

The Sisters’ Downfall

Months passed. Vika and Yulia, intoxicated by their new apartment, fell into debt. They sold furniture, borrowed money, and soon creditors hounded them.

One night, Vika appeared at Anya’s door, eyes hollow.

“Help us. You’re a doctor, you earn well. We’ll lose everything.”

Anya looked at her for a long moment. The old wound ached. But then she remembered Grandpa’s voice: “I love you very much.”

“I’ll help,” she said slowly. “But on one condition—you leave me in peace. No more hatred. No more wolf cub.”

Vika’s lips trembled. She nodded.

The Final Revelation

Later, Anya traveled to Moscow. There, through old colleagues of Alexei Morozov, she confirmed the truth. He had indeed been her father—brilliant, respected, but unable to acknowledge her because of her mother’s stubborn pride.

In his will, long forgotten in dusty archives, a clause named “the child born of Natalia Ivanovna, if ever proven” as a rightful heir to part of his estate.

Anya wept. For once, the world called her not unwanted, not cursed, but rightful.

A New Beginning

Years later, the old village house bloomed again. The orchard thrived, children’s laughter rang out. Anya, now a respected surgeon, walked through the garden hand in hand with Grisha, their little daughter chasing butterflies ahead.

The past had left scars, yes. But the scars no longer defined her.

Sometimes, when she looked at the stove, she shivered—remembering the tin box, the dark secret, the years of rejection. But then she looked at her family, and warmth filled her heart.

She had been cast out like a wolf cub. But she had returned not broken, not defeated—stronger, loved, and free.