The autumn breeze swirled fallen leaves along the garden path, as Victoria stood by the window, staring at the overgrown, neglected garden. It had become a tangled mess of shrubs and grass—more wilderness than garden.
“Something needs to change,” she murmured to herself.
Opening her laptop, she came across an email from Elena Sergeevna, a business acquaintance. Elena highly recommended a young gardener, Kirill, who had transformed her garden in just a few months.
Victoria thought for a moment. The garden certainly needed help. She had purchased the mansion three years ago, hoping to start fresh, but the garden had always been put off.
Her gaze drifted to a framed photo of her and Alexey, smiling and freshly returned from their honeymoon. She turned it face down. “Enough with the past,” she told herself.
Fifteen years had passed since Alexey mysteriously disappeared. That morning, he kissed her, said he’d be late, and then vanished. She never saw him again. At first, she was frantic, calling friends and acquaintances, but no one knew anything. It was as if he never existed. Later, a divorce petition arrived—filed by him through a lawyer, with no personal explanation. Victoria realized she had never truly known him. He had swept her off her feet, but kept his past hidden behind jokes and evasions.
The phone interrupted her thoughts—Elena Sergeevna calling to remind her about the gardener. “Yes, let him come tomorrow at ten,” Victoria said.
The next morning, Kirill arrived at precisely ten o’clock. Tall, fit, with a calm and attentive demeanor, he introduced himself and shook her hand.
“I’m Kirill. Elena Sergeevna said you needed a gardener,” he said.
Victoria showed him the property, where he examined every detail, making notes and asking specific questions. “There’s a lot to do, but we can have it in perfect shape in two or three months,” he said confidently.
His calm, professional attitude reassured Victoria. They discussed the details, and Kirill began work the next day.
She often watched him from her office window, fascinated by his deliberate, organized approach. It was as if he had an innate understanding of how to work with the garden.
Bit by bit, the garden began to transform. Weeds disappeared, pathways took shape, and flower beds replaced unruly shrubs. Kirill worked from morning to evening, taking only a short lunch break. Victoria grew accustomed to his presence. They spoke occasionally about plants, weather, and literature. Kirill turned out to be both a skilled gardener and an engaging conversationalist.
Yet, despite everything, something about him stirred an unsettling sense of familiarity in Victoria. His calm demeanor, his gestures—he reminded her too much of Alexey. She tried to dismiss the thought as coincidence.
One day, she saw Kirill examining an old gazebo, half-hidden by grapevines at the far end of the garden. She walked over to him.
“It’s a beautiful structure,” he remarked. “It’s a shame it’s abandoned. Would you like me to restore it?”
Victoria’s response was sharp. “No need.”
That gazebo had been where Alexey had proposed to her. It was a painful reminder of another life, another home, one she had left behind. Kirill, surprised, didn’t press further.
That evening, as Victoria went through old documents, she came across a photograph of Alexey. She froze. The resemblance between the young Alexey in the picture and Kirill was undeniable—same eyes, same features, even a mole in the same spot.
A chill ran through her. Coincidence? Or something more?
The next morning, Victoria went into the garden, determined to get answers. Kirill was pruning the bushes. She approached him.
“Good morning,” she said.
He looked up, and in the light of the morning, the resemblance seemed even stronger.
“It’s chilly today,” she said, offering him tea. “Have some.”
“Thank you,” Kirill replied, smiling—a smile so familiar it took Victoria’s breath away.
“How long have you been gardening?” she asked, trying to stay calm.
“A little over a year, but about three years in total,” he replied.
“And why did you choose this profession?” she pressed.
“I love nature, and seeing the results of my work. My father taught me to garden,” he said casually.
Victoria’s heart skipped a beat. “Your father? What’s his name?”
“Alexey,” Kirill replied without hesitation.
Victoria staggered, gripping a nearby tree to steady herself.
“Are you okay?” Kirill asked, concerned.
Victoria nodded quickly and rushed back to the house, her mind racing. Kirill was nineteen, Alexey had disappeared fifteen years ago. That meant Alexey had been a father during their marriage—his son, Kirill, had been born while they were together. All their dreams of children, their future plans—it had all been a lie.
Her emotions boiled over. Alexey had lived a double life, and she had been left in the dark.
Days passed as Victoria watched Kirill. His every gesture reminded her of Alexey. One morning, he handed her a bouquet of freshly cut roses.
“The first bloom,” he said with a smile. “They’re beautiful.”
Victoria froze. Alexey had always given her roses, calling them as beautiful as she was.
“Take them away,” she snapped. “I hate roses.”
Kirill hesitated, lowering the flowers. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know…”
“There’s a lot you don’t know,” Victoria muttered through clenched teeth.
She turned away, struggling with her emotions. Later, she spent the evening in her office, flipping through an old photo album, feeling the weight of her past crushing her.
But what should she do about Kirill? Should she tell him the truth? Send him away? Or pretend nothing had happened?
Just then, there was a knock at the door. Kirill stood on the threshold, holding a nervous expression.
“Victoria Andreevna, may I come in?” he asked. “I wanted to apologize about the roses. And I need to talk to you.”
She nodded, letting him in.
“I’ve been meaning to tell you about my family…” he began.
“What is it?” Victoria asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
“It’s about my father. Ever since I mentioned his name, something’s changed between us,” he said.
Victoria’s heart raced. “Why do you think that?”
“I notice how you look at me, like you’re seeing a ghost. Did you know my father?”
Victoria took a deep breath, already knowing the answer. “Tell me about your parents.”
Kirill sat down, a sad smile on his face. “I barely remember them. I was four when they died. My Uncle Lesha, my father’s twin brother, raised me.”
“Twin brother?” Victoria whispered, her chest tightening.
“Yes, they were remarkably alike. That’s probably why I look so much like the man you knew. Uncle Lesha adopted me, and I’ve always called him ‘Dad.’”
Victoria covered her face with her hands, overwhelmed by the truth. Alexey had left her to raise his son, but had kept it all a secret.
“I want to meet him,” she whispered.
A few days later, Alexey walked into her house. He had aged—gray at the temples, deeper lines on his face—but his posture was still confident, his shoulders squared.
They stood in silence for a long time, the weight of fifteen years between them.
“Forgive me,” Alexey said softly. “I should have explained everything. I thought it was the right thing to do.”
“Right for whom?” Victoria asked quietly.
“For everyone. I couldn’t leave Kirill alone. He needed a father. And you… you were building your life, dreaming of children. I didn’t want to burden you.”
“You should have given me a choice,” she said, her voice trembling.
“I see that now,” Alexey replied.
They talked late into the night—about their past, their pain, and the love that had never died.
The next morning, Kirill found them sitting together in the living room. Victoria was asleep against Alexey’s shoulder, and he was watching her as if afraid she might disappear.
“Does this mean everything is different now?” Kirill asked.
Alexey smiled, though sadness lingered in his eyes. “Now things will be as they should have been.”
Victoria slowly woke up, seeing both men there—Alexey, the one she had never stopped loving, and Kirill, the son she never knew about.
“Stay,” she said simply. “Both of you.”
Roses bloomed in the garden, no longer painful reminders, but symbols of love, hope, and a new life. The life Victoria was beginning with her new family.
