On my eighteenth birthday, my mother told me to leave, saying the apartment belonged to my sisters and accusing me of being defiant. I wasn’t shocked—I had always felt like the odd one out. My mother favored my sisters, while I got hand-me-downs and cold treatment.
My grandfather was my only source of warmth, teaching me about life during summers in the countryside. After he died, my family grew colder. My sisters mocked me, and my mother ignored it. I became a hospital orderly, working hard to survive. The hospital was a place where I felt respected. My hard work led to surgical training, and by twenty-seven, I lived quietly, focused on my career. Family visits were painful and often left me crying.
One day, my coworker Grisha comforted me, calling me beautiful and joking about marriage. It sparked hope for love. Then Dmitry Alekseevich, a patient I saved, invited me to stay at his home and work at his clinic, offering me peace. I accepted gratefully.
Grisha and I grew close, and when I became pregnant, I was overjoyed. Dmitry, ill himself, gave me a house in my grandfather’s village, asking me to keep it secret from Grisha. I agreed.
After Dmitry’s death, I moved in with Grisha, but he became distant. Just before our wedding, Lena appeared, claiming she and Grisha were in love and I was no longer needed. I left, thankful for Dmitry’s gift.
At the house, neighbors welcomed me. One day, I found a hidden box with photos and a letter revealing Dmitry was my grandfather’s brother, protecting me. My real parents had died, and Dmitry had searched for me for years.
With tears, I felt peace for the first time. I had a home, a child coming, and a fresh start. I would build a life full of love and happiness.
