The bus hissed as it came to a halt at the edge of the forgotten village, its headlights dimming against the curtain of drizzle that blanketed the landscape. With a creak of the door and a blast of cold, damp air, Olesya stepped down, one hand cradling her pregnant belly, the other clutching her worn coat tight around her. She was the only passenger to disembark. The driver, a grizzled man with kind eyes, offered her a sympathetic nod before pulling away, the red glow of the taillights quickly swallowed by the mist.
Silence greeted her like an old friend. The village stood motionless under the grey sky—bare, twisted trees lined the road like sentinels, their rain-slick branches trembling in the wind. The soft, rhythmic patter of raindrops drummed against her umbrella, filling the air with a melancholic tune. With each step, her boots splashed through shallow puddles, and memories surged forth like ghosts from the past.
She thought of Andrey.
His laugh—warm and reckless.
His hands—rough from work, yet impossibly gentle.
The way he said her name—Olesya—as though it was a secret meant only for him to whisper.
Life before him had been a relentless grind: growing up in a crowded orphanage, surviving the rigid routines of vocational school, laboring through endless night shifts at the metalworks. Love had no space in her world—until Andrey. He was an engineer, thoughtful and grounded, but unafraid to dirty his hands with labor. He saw her. Not just the tired girl with calloused fingers, but the woman she was beneath the armor.
They bonded over shared lunches and exhausted, late-night conversations in the dormitory halls. When she discovered she was pregnant, fear tightened around her heart like a vice—but Andrey had only smiled. He had dropped to one knee under the flickering fluorescent lights and said, “Marry me. Come meet my family.”
Olesya had hesitated. What would they think of her? A girl with no past, no parents, no legacy. But Andrey had kissed her hand and promised everything would be fine.
Three months ago, he left to visit them alone. “Just a few days,” he said with a grin. Then he was gone.
The silence that followed was unbearable. No calls. No letters. Only rumors, each more cruel than the last: He left you. He couldn’t handle it. He moved on. Olesya clung to disbelief until, one morning, in a hushed corner of the break room, she overheard the truth: Andrey had been mugged near a train station. He hadn’t survived.
Now, the world was quieter. Dimmer. Colder.
She followed the winding cemetery path, chrysanthemums in her gloved hand, her heart beating heavily beneath her ribs. The grave appeared at the top of the slope, surrounded by frostbitten grass. She collapsed before the stone, tears flowing freely, whispering his name through the sobs.
Rain dripped from the brim of her umbrella. The wind pressed harder.
And then—panic.
Her phone was gone. No lifeline, no map, no comfort. The cold settled into her bones, urging her to move. Searching for shelter, she noticed a weathered mausoleum nestled beneath an old oak. With a shaky breath, she stepped inside, whispering, “I just need to rest…”
She leaned against the cold stone, the silence wrapping around her like a shroud.
Then—buzzing.
A phone, lying on the floor. Not hers.
Hesitantly, she picked it up. The screen lit with a call.
She answered.
“Hello?” she whispered.
A man’s voice: “Hi! That’s my phone—I lost it yesterday.”
“I’m… I’m in the cemetery,” she said, her voice barely audible.
“I was working there,” he replied, a touch of surprise in his tone. “I must’ve dropped it.”
“I wasn’t feeling well,” she murmured, dizzy.
“Are you okay?” he asked, voice growing concerned.
Her vision blurred. The phone slipped from her grasp, clattering to the floor.
And then—darkness.