After serving his full sentence, the man was released from prison and hurried straight to his fiancée’s grave. But as soon as he leaned down toward the headstone, he heard a child’s voice behind him: “There’s no one there, but I know where she is….”

**Vadim Kotov** arrived at his beloved’s grave early in the morning, never suspecting that he would become a pawn in someone’s cruel game.

The icy wind cut through the thin fabric of his coat, but he paid it no attention. He stood alone in the empty cemetery before a freshly dug grave where his fiancée lay. The flowers someone had left that morning were already losing their color under the gray December sky.

Vadim ran his hand over the granite headstone as if trying to touch Polina, to feel her warmth for even a second. His voice was barely audible. “Polina.”

His throat tightened, but he forced himself to continue. “I’ll find him. The one who did this. I swear.” He dropped to his knees, and tears rolled down his cheeks. Vadim felt the air around him growing thicker, every moment at the grave turning into torture.

“Why you?” Behind him came the crunch of frozen branches. Vadim stood up, his heart jolting at the sudden sound. When he turned around, a tall man in a long coat stood before him.

The man stared at him intently, his face looking as if it were carved from stone. “Vadim Alexandrovich?” the man said in a cold, professional tone. Vadim didn’t answer right away. He wiped away his tears and frowned.

“Yes, that’s me. Who are you?” The man showed his ID. “Investigator Stepan Sergeevich Belov.” Vadim didn’t understand why the investigator was there, but something in the man’s expression made him tense up.

“Have you learned something about who killed Polina?” Vadim stepped forward, grasping at hope. But the investigator didn’t answer immediately. He took a step closer, and his voice grew firmer.

“Vadim Alexandrovich, you are a suspect in the murder of Polina Rudyuk.” The words hit like thunder. Vadim recoiled, his face twisting in a mix of shock and rage.

“What?” he shouted. “This is some kind of mistake. I couldn’t have.”

Stepan signaled to the police officers standing nearby. Two of them approached, and before Vadim could understand what was happening, they put handcuffs on him. “Take these off!” Vadim jerked his hands, trying to free himself.

“I’m her fiancé! I love her!” “Love her?” The investigator tilted his head like a predator preparing to pounce. “Then why does all the evidence point to you?” “Evidence? What evidence?” Vadim’s voice trembled. He couldn’t believe this was happening.

The police silently dragged him toward the car. Vadim looked back, trying to find someone who could explain this absurdity. But the cemetery was empty.

They took him to an interrogation room that was cold and sterile. Vadim sat on a hard chair at a metal table with handcuffs attached to it. In the dim light of the lamp, the shadows on the walls seemed alive, as if mocking him.

Investigator Belov entered the room and carefully placed a case file on the table. He opened it without looking at Vadim. “Can you explain what this nonsense is?” Vadim finally managed to say, slamming his fist on the table.

“So, Vadim Alexandrovich…” Belov began, looking through the documents. “You’ve been sitting in this room for several hours now, but you haven’t really told us anything.” Vadim remained silent, just staring tiredly at the investigator.

“Are you going to keep silent? Or will you finally tell us how it all happened?” Belov looked up, studying his reaction. Vadim sighed. “I already told you. How many times do I have to repeat it?”

“Repeating it again won’t hurt. Maybe I’ll hear something new,” Belov said with a slight smile that looked more like a sneer. Vadim clenched his fists.

“Fine.” He leaned back in his chair, trying to gather his thoughts. “I was at the office. We were preparing a report for a client when Polina suddenly called me.”

“And what did she say?” the investigator asked, writing something in his notebook. “At first…” Vadim’s voice faltered. He cleared his throat. “At first I didn’t understand what was happening. She was breathing heavily. The connection kept cutting out. But then… then I heard her voice. She said someone was chasing her.”

“Chasing her?” Belov repeated, gripping his pen. “Yes.” Vadim closed his eyes, trying to push away the memories that painfully squeezed his heart.

“She… she was in a panic. She begged for help.” Belov leaned back in his chair and watched Vadim closely.

“And what did you do?” Vadim opened his eyes, clenching his teeth. “I immediately realized I needed to find her. I called our IT guy to track her phone.”

“You do understand that such procedures are illegal?” the investigator interrupted with a note of disapproval. “Seriously?” Vadim leaned forward, the handcuffs scraping. “Someone is chasing my fiancée, and you’re worried about legality?”

Belov didn’t answer, simply nodding for him to continue. “He found her location,” Vadim went on, lowering his head. “It was a forest on the outskirts of the city. I drove there right away.”

“And what did you find there?” Vadim sharply raised his head, his eyes blazing with anger. “I already told you. I found her purse. There was blood on it. But she wasn’t there.”

“And that’s all?” The investigator paused, then tossed a photograph onto the table. Vadim flinched. The photo showed his hands covered in dried blood. “Then explain why your hands were covered in blood?”

Vadim rolled his eyes, feeling his anger rising again. “Because I was holding her purse! I already told you!” Belov didn’t rush to remove the photo. He stared intently at Vadim. “Vadim Alexandrovich, did you know that we have other testimony?”

Timur Igorevich, Polina’s stepfather, said that you and your fiancée had been arguing frequently and that you suspected her of cheating.”

“What nonsense?” Vadim stared at the investigator in bewilderment. “So maybe you saw something in that forest that you weren’t supposed to see?” Belov continued, ignoring his reaction. “For example, her with another man.”

Vadim laughed loudly, but the laughter was bitter. “Are you serious? I loved her! I would have given everything for her!” “Loved her?” Belov leaned closer. “What if she didn’t feel the same way about you?”

“Enough!” Vadim shouted, trying to stand up, but the handcuffs held him back. Belov stood up from the table, gathered the photos, and headed for the door. “We’re done for today. Think about your words, Vadim Alexandrovich.”

When the door slammed shut behind the investigator, Vadim was left completely alone. He felt a dull pain spreading through his body. “Polina…” he whispered, lowering his head into his hands…

“Why?” Belov approached the glass behind which Junior Inspector Egorov stood. “Well?” Egorov asked. “He’s holding up,” Belov answered briefly.

“Maybe he really is innocent?” “Possibly,” Belov said, staring at Vadim for a long time. “But something in his story doesn’t add up.” “For example?” “For example, why weren’t there any signs of a struggle in the forest? Or why did she call him instead of the police?”

Egorov shrugged. “We don’t have anything yet except circumstantial evidence.” “Then we need to find something more substantial.” There was fatigue in Belov’s voice, but he knew this case was close to being closed.

Investigator Belov was hurrying down the corridor of the police station when he heard a familiar voice. “Stepan Sergeevich, wait a moment.” He stopped and turned toward the sound.

A tall man in a strict gray suit stood by the doors—Timur Igorevich, Polina’s stepfather. His face remained calm, but his eyes showed a shadow of tension. “Timur Igorevich?” Belov said reservedly, nodding.

Chernykh approached closer, extending his hand. “How are things going?” Belov quickly glanced around to make sure no one was listening, then shook his hand.

“Everything is going according to plan, as we agreed,” Belov answered calmly. Timur Igorevich nodded with satisfaction, withdrawing his hand. “Excellent. I’m counting on you, Investigator.”

“We’ll do everything to make sure justice prevails,” Belov assured him. For a moment, silence fell between them. Chernykh leaned a little closer, lowering his voice. “I don’t want that bastard to keep living without punishment. He destroyed my family and now he has to answer for it.”

Belov tensed slightly, but his face remained impassive. “We’ll gather enough evidence to convict him. You can have no doubt about that.”

Chernykh looked at the investigator carefully, as if trying to gauge his sincerity. “You understand that I’m taking a risk?” he said quietly. “If anyone finds out about our… cooperation, it could turn against both of us.”

Belov smiled slightly at the corner of his mouth. “No one will find out. You trust me, I trust you.”

Chernykh put his hands in his jacket pockets, tapping his fingers on the fabric. “Good. I hope you won’t disappoint me.”

He turned to leave, but Belov suddenly called after him. “Timur Igorevich!” “Yes?” Polina’s stepfather turned around, raising an eyebrow slightly. “I’m counting on a generous reward.”

Chernykh hesitated but then stepped closer. “You know me—I won’t remain in your debt,” Timur Igorevich replied. Belov returned to his office and tossed the case file onto the table.

Egorov, his partner, peeked through the door. “Was that Chernykh?” he asked. “Yes,” Belov answered briefly, opening the folder.

“What did he want?” Belov glanced at Egorov, then looked out the window. “To make sure we’re on the right path.” Egorov snorted. “Or to make sure we’re doing what benefits him.”

Belov didn’t answer. His gaze fell on the photo of Vadim with bloodied hands. “This Chernykh is too calm for a man who lost his stepdaughter,” Egorov noted, sitting on the edge of the table. “Don’t you think?” “I do,” Belov said quietly.

“So maybe we should dig deeper?” “We already are.” Egorov stood up and patted his partner on the shoulder. “You and your secrets, as always. Okay, keep me in the loop.”

When Egorov left, Belov looked at the photo again. In his mind, details were beginning to come together that no one else had seen yet.

That same evening, Belov went to the park where Chernykh was waiting for him again. The man sat on a bench, looking at the pond. “You’re not late,” he noted when the investigator approached.

“I don’t like being late,” Belov answered dryly. “So, what do you have?” “Not enough yet, but there are some inconsistencies that could be useful.” Chernykh frowned.

“Which ones exactly?” “That’s not up for discussion yet, Timur Igorevich,” Belov said, standing up. “Give me time.” Chernykh watched him walk away, clenching his hands into fists.

Something flashed in his eyes that could not be called grief. A month later, the day of the trial arrived. The courtroom was packed. Every seat was taken.

Friends, relatives, journalists. People whispered, talked, and discussed whether Vadim Kotov could really be guilty of murdering his fiancée. When the door to the hall opened, everyone turned their heads.

Vadim was led in wearing handcuffs. His face was pale and his eyes tired, but he held himself together. A dark red mark stood out on his neck from the shirt collar, which seemed to choke him just like the situation itself. His mother sat in the front row.

She clasped her hands in a prayer-like gesture. Her face looked as if all masks of hope had been ripped from it. Next to her sat Yulia, Polina’s close friend. Her gaze was fixed on Vadim, full of doubt but tinged with pain.

“Everyone please rise, the court is in session.” The bailiff’s voice rang out. The judge entered the hall, surveyed everyone present, and took his seat.

“The session is open. The case of Vadim Alexandrovich Kotov regarding the infliction of grievous bodily harm resulting in the death of Polina Andreevna Rudyuk.” The judge paused while the hall quieted down.

“Prosecutor, you have the floor.” The prosecutor stood up, adjusting his cuffs. “Your Honor, respected members of the jury, today we are gathered here to achieve justice for Polina Andreevna. We will present evidence that will clearly show Vadim Alexandrovich was so consumed by jealousy that he lost control and inflicted injuries on his fiancée from which she died.”

Vadim raised his head to meet the prosecutor’s gaze. “That’s not true!” he suddenly shouted, but his voice drowned in the hum of the hall. “Silence in the courtroom!” the judge warned, banging his gavel.

Witnesses testified one after another. Yulia approached the stand, her eyes filled with tears. “You were a close friend of Polina’s, correct?” the prosecutor asked. “Yes, we’ve been friends since childhood,” she answered quietly.

“What can you say about her relationship with Vadim Alexandrovich?” “They were happy, but they sometimes argued.” “What did they argue about?” “Mostly over small things.” Yulia lowered her gaze.

“Are you saying that Vadim Alexandrovich could be aggressive?” “No!” she exclaimed. “I can’t imagine him doing anything like that.” The judge signaled for her to continue.

“He just loved her very much.” The prosecutor nodded with satisfaction and returned to his seat. “Does the defense have any questions for the witness?” the judge asked.

“Yes, Your Honor,” Vadim’s lawyer said, standing up. He approached Yulia and smiled restrainedly. “Yulia, you said that Vadim loved Polina. Did you ever see him raise a hand to her?”

“Never.” “Do you know anyone who might have threatened her or wished her harm?” Yulia hesitated. “No,” she answered quietly.

“Thank you, I have no more questions.” The lawyer returned to his seat, but a heavy atmosphere remained in the hall. When all the evidence had been presented, the judge proceeded to announce the verdict.

The hall fell silent. “Vadim Alexandrovich, you are sentenced to seven years in prison.” For a second, a deathly silence fell.

“No,” Vadim’s mother exclaimed, jumping up from her seat. She covered her mouth to keep from screaming, but her sobs were audible to everyone. “This can’t be,” Yulia whispered, clutching Anton’s hand.

“Even out of jealousy, Vadim couldn’t have,” she added, unable to believe her ears. Handcuffs were placed on Vadim. His eyes searched for support among the faces in the hall, but he saw only tears, bewilderment, and pain. As he was being led out, he stopped for a moment and turned his head toward his mother.

“Mom, I didn’t do this. You have to believe me.” She tried to say something, but the words stuck in her throat. When the door closed behind Vadim, his mother collapsed to her knees. Yulia and Anton stood in the corridor.

“I can’t believe this is happening,” Yulia said, wiping away tears. “He’s not guilty,” Anton said firmly. “I know it.” “But the evidence,” she began. “Evidence or manipulation,” Anton interrupted…

She looked at him in bewilderment. “Do you think he was framed? And do you actually believe that?” he asked sharply. Yulia thought for a moment.

“I don’t know.” Anton squeezed her hand. The bus with bars on the windows slowly approached the massive prison gates. Vadim stared out the window.

The distorted landscape beyond the glass seemed as unreal as everything happening to him. The judge’s words echoed in his head again and again. “Seven years, seven long years in this hell.”

Inside the prison, he was met not only by cold walls but also by the palpable smell of fear, sweat, and hopelessness. Vadim had barely taken a few steps when the instructions began. “Newbie, listen up,” a guard growled, looking at him over his glasses.

“Here you’re nobody until you prove otherwise. Keep quiet and you might survive.” Vadim entered the cell where two men stared at him with sullen expressions—a large man around forty and a thin guy with a gloomy face.

“Well, fresh meat,” the big one smirked. “What’s your name?” Vadim remained silent, lowering his gaze. “Actually, it’s customary here to introduce yourself,” the second cellmate added, crossing his arms. “Vadim,” he answered briefly.

“Vadim, huh! Alright, Vadim, remember—this isn’t a university where you can keep quiet. First you introduce yourself to everyone, then you show what you’re worth.”

The big man smirked, stepping closer. Vadim felt his heart start beating faster but tried not to show fear. “I just want to serve my time,” he replied, trying to keep his voice steady.

“And we just want you to respect us, got it?” The big man suddenly delivered a sharp blow to his side. Vadim doubled over, trying to catch his breath. “Hey, Matvey, leave him alone. He just got here!” the thin one smirked.

“Yeah right, he should’ve known the rules before coming here!” Matvey replied, landing another blow. Vadim fell to his knees but still managed to say, “Get your hands off me!” Matvey laughed.

“Look at that—he’s got some spirit, but that won’t help you, buddy!” He leaned toward Vadim’s ear. “Here you’re either strong or nobody!” After those words, he stepped back, leaving Vadim lying on the floor. “Get up if you can!” Mark grunted, leaning against the bed.

The next morning Vadim went to the showers. There he quickly realized that privacy was a luxury. “Hey, you!” some man with long scars on his arms called out to him. “Who are you in life?”

“What?” Vadim didn’t understand. “I’m asking, what were you before prison?” The man came closer, his eyes flashing. “A businessman,” Vadim answered briefly.

His words caused laughter. “Well then, businessman, remember—this isn’t an office. Every day is a battle. And if you’re weak, you’re completely screwed.”

“Thanks for the advice,” Vadim replied sarcastically. The man stared at him intently. “You won’t last here!” Vadim silently turned away and continued washing.

That same day in the cafeteria, Vadim sat at an empty table, hoping no one would pay attention to him. “Fresh meat, do you even understand how things work around here?” he suddenly heard a voice nearby.

A man around thirty with a dragon tattoo on his neck sat down next to him. “Can’t a person just eat in peace?” Vadim replied without looking up. “Ha! There’s no peace here, just constant noise, pal! I’m Yura, and I can see you’re not one of those who adapts quickly.”

“What’s it to you?” Vadim picked up a spoon and started eating. “Just curious how long you’ll last here!” Yura laughed. “Don’t take it as a threat—just a fact!”

Vadim continued eating in silence, but inside he was already overwhelmed with exhaustion. That evening Matvey approached Vadim again. “So, you get how things work here?” “I get it,” Vadim answered briefly.

“Then show me what you’re worth,” he smirked. Vadim stood up and looked his cellmate straight in the eyes. “If you touch me again, you’ll find out what I’m capable of!” Matvey laughed, but surprise flashed in his eyes.

“Good, Kotov. We’ll see!” Vadim said. That night, lying on his bunk, Vadim whispered to himself, “I’ll prove I didn’t kill Polina anyway!” “What are you whispering about?” he heard Mark’s voice.

“That’s none of your business!” “Watch your words when you talk to me!” Mark turned to the wall and fell silent. Vadim closed his eyes, but sleep wouldn’t come. In his head were only thoughts about how everything had turned against him and how he would survive in this place where every day was a struggle for existence.

The first week in prison seemed like an eternity to Vadim. Every day began with anxiety and ended with pain. He took hits from his cellmates, from neighbors in the block, and even from people he had never seen.

These weren’t just acts of aggression. Every blow and every taunt came with unmistakable hints. “This is a greeting from Timur Igorevich!” another attacker smirked, twisting Vadim’s arm behind his back.

He lay on the hard bunk and tried to collect his thoughts. “Why Chernykh?” “Why does he hate me so much?” “I didn’t kill Polina!” But no one listened to him. “Hey, businessman, you seem really sluggish today,” Yura noted at lunch, sitting across from him.

Vadim lifted a spoon of soup as if it weighed a brick. His body ached and throbbed from the injuries. “I’m just tired,” he answered dryly.

“Tired? Ha! This is only the beginning. I’m surprised you’re still on your feet after those ‘greetings’!” “Do you know who they’re from?” Vadim asked sharply, forgetting the spoon. “Well, rumors are going around,” Yura smirked.

“They say some rich guy from the outside world really doesn’t like you here.” “Chernykh,” Vadim exhaled. “Ah, so it’s true. Listen, if he’s against you, it’ll be tough. He’s not just rich—he’s influential too, got it?”

“And what do you suggest?” Vadim asked irritably. “Survive! At any cost!” A couple of days later, when all the prisoners were herded into the showers, Vadim tried to stay inconspicuous. He stood by the wall, trying not to make eye contact with anyone, but it didn’t help.

“Well, businessman, how’s the water?” came the familiar voice of Matvey from behind. Vadim turned and met his smirk. “Matvey, leave me alone!” he tried to answer calmly.

“Oh, look at you—getting more confident!” Vadim froze. But before he could say anything, someone hit him in the back. Pain shot through his body, and he collapsed onto the tiled floor.

“What’s going on here?” a loud voice suddenly rang out as the overseer entered the shower room. Vadim tried to get up, but blood flowed onto the cold floor, turning the water crimson. “Break it up!” the overseer ordered, pushing the prisoners aside. He grabbed Vadim under the arm. “Hang in there, kid!”

Vadim vaguely remembered being led down the corridors. Voices sounded as if through thick glass. “He’s bleeding out—straight to the operating room!” In the medical unit they laid him on the table. Doctors’ faces flashed before his eyes.

“Deep cut, but not critical. Starting the operation!” Vadim wanted to say something, but darkness swallowed him.

When he came to, an elderly doctor in glasses was leaning over him. “Welcome back!” he said, making a note in the chart. “What happened?” Vadim croaked. “Someone tried to send you to the other side… But you seem stubborn!”

Vadim spent several weeks in the prison hospital. Though the hospital ward was small, it felt like a real refuge compared to the cruel reality he had left behind the prison walls. There were no beatings or taunts here. Only silence and the smell of antiseptic.

Every day was the same: blood pressure checks, procedures, and rare conversations with the doctors. However, he didn’t allow himself to relax. One morning Irina Vitalievna entered his ward. She was a woman around forty with soft features and kind eyes. She held a folder with records.

“Vadim Alexandrovich, how are you feeling today?” she asked, stopping by his bed. “Much better thanks to you,” Vadim answered, trying to sit up and lean on his elbow.

“That’s good news, but unfortunately I can’t keep you here any longer,” she shrugged, closing the folder. “We’ve done everything we can.” “I understand. Thank you for your help, Doctor,” he said sincerely.

When Vadim returned to his cell, the feeling of being trapped again didn’t leave him. The pain from his wounds gave him no rest, but his vulnerability was far more dangerous. He knew that weakness in prison was a death sentence, and for him every new day became a struggle for survival.

The night that fell soon after his return was especially heavy. The prison was, as always, full of sounds—shouts, footsteps in the corridor, echoing door slams. His cell was quiet, but it was a silence filled with tension. Vadim felt that every rustle could be the start of something bad.

Mark, his cellmate, never stopped humiliating him. A couple of days later he decided to show his character again. “Haven’t you figured out yet that I’m in charge in this cell?” he said mockingly, approaching Vadim while he sat on the lower bunk.

Vadim, clenching his teeth, looked at him. He knew he had to act so he wouldn’t become the target of constant abuse. He stood up and, without hesitation, struck back, pinning Mark against the wall. “If you come near me again, they’ll carry you out of here feet first,” Vadim whispered, gripping his collar tightly.

Mark coughed and tried to break free, but Vadim wouldn’t let go. The strength was on his side, and he wasn’t going to yield. Tension hung in the air. Mark, realizing he no longer controlled the situation, finally spoke. “Let go, damn it, I get it! I get it!”

Vadim stepped back but didn’t release his grip on the man’s clothes. He stared intently at Mark until he backed away toward his bunk. That night, when Vadim finally fell asleep, he dreamed he was free again, with Polina. But it was only a dream that quickly vanished as soon as a loud rustle woke him.

When Vadim opened his eyes, a dark mass immediately covered him. It was a pillow. Mark stood over him, pressing it around his head. Vadim cried out, unable to breathe. He struggled, trying to push the pillow away, but Mark was too strong.

He felt his body weakening, air leaving his lungs, and his brain clouding over. “You damn bastard!” Mark hissed, pressing the pillow harder. At that moment, when the last drops of air left him, Vadim felt several other cellmates start hitting his body.

Each blow was heavy, and Vadim couldn’t defend himself or fend them off. And then, in a moment of complete despair, he heard someone shout. “What’s going on here?” The overseers immediately burst into the cell, separating the rivals and pushing them in different directions.

They grabbed Mark and several other cellmates and quickly shoved them out of the cell. “Wait!” one of the overseers shouted, glancing at Vadim. “You okay?” Vadim barely managed to say, “Yes, yes, I’m okay.”

The overseer looked him over and, after a moment, shook his head. “Are you an idiot or something, kid? Why did you get into it again?” He sighed, looking at Vadim, but helped him to his feet. “You have to stand your ground. In prison, the one who doesn’t defend himself doesn’t survive. Remember that!”

Vadim stood up with difficulty. His whole body hurt, but despite that he felt relief. Mark was transferred to another cell, and life became much easier for Vadim. They still crossed paths in the cafeteria, but now there was no direct threat in the cell.

a little boy about eight years old standing a short distance away. He was wearing a simple jacket and jeans, and his eyes shone with some incomprehensible confidence.

“What? I don’t understand you,” Vadim asked again, trying to hide his confusion. “That lady lives nearby. Come on, I’ll show you where,” the boy said, ignoring the man’s expression, and took a step forward, extending his hand to Vadim.

Vadim stood there stunned. The boy was too strange, and his words sounded like something supernatural. He hesitated a little, but eventually some impulse made him follow. “Wait, what did you say? Who is that lady?” Vadim asked, trying to collect his thoughts.

“She’s here, nearby,” the boy repeated. “Do you know her?” Vadim couldn’t believe what he was hearing. In his life there had never been a stranger turn of events. He walked beside him, feeling his anxiety grow with every step.

“She’s my fiancée,” Vadim said when his thoughts returned to Polina. The boy nodded thoughtfully. “I see. She’s beautiful,” he said, as if it were an obvious fact.

“And what’s your name?” “Vadim,” the man answered, trying not to look confused. “And you?” “Max,” the boy smiled, clearly not understanding what storm of emotions his words had caused. “How did you end up here anyway, Max?” Vadim asked, trying to steer the conversation to a less strange topic.

Max shrugged. “Well, I spend a lot of time here. Everything’s nearby. I like walking around the graves—there’s always something interesting.” Vadim didn’t know what to say to that. Everything happening was too inexplicable and absurd.

He continued following Max, not knowing where it would lead, but something about the boy—his determination, his simplicity—made Vadim follow him. “Do you come here often?” he asked, trying to learn more about the strange child. “Yes, I live nearby. Sometimes I come to the cemetery to look at the new graves,” Max answered, waving his hand in a funny way, as if talking about the dead was as ordinary for him as talking about the weather.

Vadim felt anxiety pulsing in his chest. They approached old gates behind which a psychiatric clinic was visible. It was surrounded by a high fence, and the building looked quite impressive. “Look,” Max said, approaching the fence and pointing to a gap in the gates. “There she is—your fiancée.”

Stunned, Vadim approached the gap and looked inside. His heart stopped. He saw her—Polina—sitting on a bench inside the clinic. It was impossible. She was alive, but why was she here? Why in this place?

“But how?” Vadim breathed, unable to believe his eyes. “Mom says sometimes healthy people end up here and then become vegetables,” Max shrugged with pity. “And your fiancée was healthy.”

Vadim felt his world beginning to crumble. He couldn’t understand what was happening. Everything was so confusing, so absurd, that he needed to figure it out, and he was ready to learn the truth, even if that truth was bitter and full of fear.

“Wait, does your mom work here?” he asked, still not believing what was happening. “Yes, she’s a nurse,” Max answered, smiling. “I sometimes come to work with her… I don’t get bored.”

“Max, how can I talk to your mom?” Vadim asked, hoping she could at least explain what was happening. “She finishes work in an hour. We can wait,” the boy suggested and sat down on a bench nearby. Vadim sat down too. He felt every word from Max becoming part of an entirely new reality—a reality he couldn’t yet understand.

Max began telling some of his stories about how he skipped school, how he caught butterflies, and even how he hid from teachers. But Vadim barely listened. He was thinking about what he was about to learn—about why Polina had ended up here and what had really happened to her.

Vadim couldn’t forget how she looked when he saw her through the gap in the fence. She was like a living memory he was trying to understand, but which remained closed to him for now.

“You know,” Max said, interrupting Vadim’s thoughts, “sometimes I think this is a strange place, this clinic. Maybe it’s not so bad, because the people who live here are still alive. Maybe they live differently or are waiting for something.”

Suddenly Max ran toward a woman. His face broke into a happy smile, and his small arms wrapped around her waist. Vadim froze in place, unable to believe what was happening. “Mom!” Max exclaimed, hugging the woman. “Meet Vadim!”

The woman sighed heavily in response, and Vadim realized she was holding back some displeasure. She was tall and slender. Her eyes showed fatigue but also a kind of cold professionalism. She looked like someone accustomed to difficult situations.

“God, Max, I told you not to talk to strangers,” the woman said sternly, putting her hands on her hips and looking at the boy. “How could you?” Max seemed to ignore her remarks. He only smiled, looking at Vadim as if this moment wasn’t all that important. “Sorry, Mom, I just thought you’d be interested,” Max replied, his voice full of unshakable confidence.

Vadim felt the tension in his body ease slightly. He knew it was time to talk, but he wasn’t sure how to begin. He quickly stepped closer to the woman, took a few steps, and quietly introduced himself.

“Excuse me,” Vadim said, extending his hand. “I’m Vadim.” The woman looked at his hand with some wariness but, seeing his sincerity, shook it. “Olya,” she answered briefly.

Vadim felt his heart tightening from everything he was about to say. He understood that right now he had to find out the truth, no matter how painful it might be. “I need your help,” he said, calming his voice a little. “My fiancée, Polina Rudyuk, is in your clinic. I thought she was dead, and Max showed me…” His voice faltered, and Vadim sharply lowered his head, trying to hold back the tears that were welling up.

Olya noticed his weakness. Although her face remained cold, something like pity flashed in her eyes. She stroked Max’s head and took a step back, moving slightly away from Vadim. “You know, Vadim, the situation really is strange,” Olya began, not looking at him.

“When Polina was brought to us, she was perfectly healthy. I examined her myself. But you know how it is in places like this. We prescribe medications to patients, conduct therapy, and unfortunately even a healthy person can become a vegetable.”

Vadim shook his head as if he couldn’t believe what she was saying. He felt his breathing quicken and clenched his teeth so as not to reveal his emotions. “Become a vegetable?” he repeated, unable to believe his ears. “So you’re saying she…”

Olya looked at him, and her face softened for a moment. “Wait! Yes, there are cases where our chief doctor is paid to hide someone here,” she said. “And I suspect Polina’s case is exactly like that.”

Vadim felt everything inside him boiling. His pain became even deeper. He couldn’t understand how this had happened. Why Polina had ended up here and what she had been through all this time.

“Can I see her?” he asked, hoping they could help him. Olya sighed, and her gaze grew heavy. She looked away as if she didn’t want to answer the question. “No, they won’t let you in,” she said finally. “This facility strictly follows the rules. Only Timur Igorevich can visit Polina. He’s the only one with visiting rights.”

Vadim felt his fists clench with rage. “Is he here?” he asked, trying to squeeze something out of this information. “And do you know him?” Olya asked, as if she already sensed that this question would lead to a new storm. “Because of him I ended up in prison,” Vadim answered. “I think he’s involved in something bigger.”

Olya only shrugged, letting him know she didn’t know anything more. “Thank you,” he said quietly. “Now I know what I have to do.”

Vadim turned and, without saying another word, walked down the road. An hour later Vadim stood in front of Anton’s door, nervously pressing the doorbell. He sighed, trying to drive away the anxious thoughts that hadn’t left him since he said goodbye to Olya. Everything he had learned seemed too complicated to process. Anton was his friend, someone he could trust in the hardest moments.

“Vadim!” he heard a familiar voice. The door opened, and Anton hugged him like an old friend he hadn’t seen in many years. “Buddy!” Anton said with a smile, stepping aside to let Vadim in. “Come in. How are you? You look a little lost.”

Vadim nodded and entered the house. Anton was quite the character—a joker and optimist—but Vadim always felt he could count on his support. Anton’s apartment was cozy, with minimalist décor and a good bar in the corner.

Anton took his friend’s jacket, hung it on the hook, and went to the table, getting out snacks and a bottle of whiskey. “Has it really been seven years?” Anton smiled. “Let’s celebrate your return.”

Vadim sat down at the table, tired and worn out but not wanting to show it. He poured whiskey into the glasses, handed one to Anton, and immediately drank his own in one gulp. The sip of whiskey burned his throat, but he didn’t care. He didn’t care what he felt. He kept staring at an empty spot, hoping the drink would help him forget even a little.

Anton looked at him in surprise but didn’t comment. “Hey, what’s with you?” he asked, taking his glass. “You drank that fast. Everything okay?” Vadim was silent for a few seconds, trying to gather his thoughts before speaking.

He didn’t know where to start, how to explain all this to his friend, but the words flowed on their own. “Polina is alive!” he said, his voice growing quieter as his eyes filled with tears. “She’s alive, Anton, do you understand?”

Anton almost choked on his whiskey. His eyes widened in amazement. “How is she alive?” he asked, not believing his own ears. “Have you lost your mind? How can she be alive? We buried her!”

Vadim sighed, opened the bottle, and poured himself more whiskey, but this time he didn’t rush to drink… He stared into the glass, trying to accept the truth before continuing the story. “I was at the cemetery,” he said quietly, as if trying to convey the importance of every word. “I saw Polina’s grave, and then a boy came up to me and said she was alive. He took me to the psychiatric clinic. I couldn’t believe my eyes—she’s there, she’s alive, but in such a state.”

Vadim couldn’t continue. His voice broke, and he drank the whiskey again to suppress his emotions. Anton stared at him, not knowing what to say. He was shocked but still trying to understand what was happening. “It can’t be,” Anton said, his eyes widening. He drank his whiskey in one gulp and set the glass on the table. “And what do you plan to do now? You can’t just leave her there, Vadim.”

Vadim frowned and scratched his chin. He didn’t know what to think—his head was in complete chaos. He understood one thing: if he wanted to get Polina back, he needed to act immediately. “I want to go see that bastard,” Vadim said, his voice firmer than ever. “I want to find this Chernykh and ask him directly why he’s hiding her there. I don’t understand why she’s there, in that clinic, why she’s not at home, why they left her in that state. I have to find out the truth.”

Anton nodded, watching his friend. He saw that Vadim was ready to do anything to sort out the situation. “Do you think that will help?” Anton asked, not hiding his concern. “Are you sure you want to go down this path? You know who this man is and who you’re dealing with?”

Vadim didn’t answer. He wasn’t sure about his plan, but at that moment it was all he could do. He couldn’t sit idly by knowing Polina was in trouble somewhere. He had to act. “I know what I need to do,” Vadim replied, clenching his fists. “I’ll fight for her until I find the answers.”

The friends continued sitting at the table, discussing the past years and their experiences. Anton talked about his life, about how he had gone through a divorce, about how his life had changed over the last seven years. Vadim listened, but his thoughts were occupied with something else entirely. When night fell and the bottle of whiskey was empty, they said goodbye. Vadim stood up from the table, thanked Anton for the warm welcome, and stepped out into the street.

The noisy city seemed alien and out of place at that moment. When Vadim returned to his apartment, it greeted him with silence. He entered the room and saw a photo of his mother on the wall. She had passed away several years ago, and the pain of her loss still hadn’t faded. He sighed and whispered as if addressing her, “Well, Mom, I’m back.”

He stood in front of her photo, his eyes filling with tears. He remembered her kind eyes and her voice. She had always told him not to give up, that there was room for hope in life. He tried to feel her presence to find the strength to keep moving forward. Vadim lay down on the couch, feeling a heaviness in his soul. He was exhausted, so he quickly fell asleep.

The next day started early for him. Vadim sat on the edge of the couch, stretched, and realized he couldn’t put off the visit to Timur Igorevich any longer. He decided to act in order to unravel all the mysteries hanging over his life like a heavy burden.

He carefully got himself ready, buttoned his jacket, and left the apartment. Time wouldn’t wait. Every moment was precious. He took a deep breath of the fresh morning air and, despite his nervousness, walked forward like a man who had decided to go all the way.

The clock showed exactly six in the morning when Vadim stood at the gates of Timur Igorevich’s house. The silence surrounding the place only heightened his anxiety. He checked his pockets again, made sure he had everything he needed, and approached the entrance. Clenching his teeth, Vadim rang the bell several times until someone opened. “I need Timur Igorevich,” Vadim told the guard, looking him straight in the eyes.

He knew the conversation with Chernykh would be difficult, but he couldn’t wait any longer. The guard slowly looked him over as if weighing the situation, but finally nodded and let him into the house. “Follow me,” the guard said, leading him through several long corridors until he brought him to Timur Igorevich’s office.

When he entered the room, Chernykh was sitting at the table, leaning on his palms as if he had been expecting this visit. His gaze was cold, and a barely noticeable smirk played on his lips. “Ah, Vadim!” he said lazily, pointing to the chair opposite. “Have a seat. It’s been a while. I see you don’t give in easily.”

Vadim didn’t answer. He sat down and, without wasting time, spoke immediately. “Now I understand why you, you bastard, locked Polina away in the psych ward,” he began, clenching his fists. “You staged her death to get the inheritance. And to make sure no one guessed, you sent her there. You thought it would all go unpunished, right? But I’m here, and I won’t let you get away with it.”

Chernykh smirked, but a shadow of surprise flashed in his eyes. “Look at you—so clever,” he said with a grin. “Apparently they didn’t beat all the brains out of you in prison, huh? But you know, if you’re hoping someone will believe this nonsense…”

Vadim felt his anger growing. He couldn’t let this bastard get away clean. “You’ll answer for everything anyway,” Vadim said firmly, his voice filled with determination. “I’ll make sure justice prevails. You won’t escape what you did to Polina. She didn’t deserve this.”

Chernykh laughed. His laughter was loud and carefree, but there wasn’t a drop of sincerity in it. “Who’s going to believe an ex-convict?” Chernykh asked, smirking even more. “You don’t mean anything, Vadim. Who’s going to give you the right to speak?”

Vadim was on the edge. His blood was boiling with rage. He knew he shouldn’t lose control. He knew what he needed to do to put an end to this story. Taking a deep breath, Vadim stood up and headed for the exit. “I will achieve justice,” he said quietly but confidently before leaving the office.

After Vadim left Timur Igorevich’s house, his thoughts were in disarray again. He knew the conversation with Chernykh had given him only a small part of the answers, but it wasn’t enough to uncover the whole truth. He headed toward the police station, and along the way determination took hold of him.

When Vadim entered the station, he was met by Investigator Orlov… The man was older but had a firm gaze and professionalism that always made itself known. “Vadim Alexandrovich,” Orlov said when Vadim approached the desk, “what do you have on Timur Igorevich?”

Vadim sat down opposite him and began to explain the whole situation, telling how he had learned that Polina was living in a psychiatric clinic and that her stepfather, Chernykh, had staged her death for the inheritance. Vadim told how he had been to Chernykh’s house and, most importantly, showed the audio recording he had managed to make during the conversation.

“Yes, that’s enough to arrest him,” Investigator Orlov replied after carefully listening to the recording. “We’ll take care of this case. This is no longer just a fraud case—it’s a criminal offense.”

A month passed. Vadim couldn’t wait to receive news that Chernykh would be punished for his crimes. He continued to follow the process but still couldn’t relax until he got Polina and made sure she was safe. And then one day, when the long-awaited day came and Chernykh was put in prison, Vadim went to the psychiatric clinic.

He was ready to take Polina, who no longer faced any threats. He approached the entrance and saw Olya standing near a wheelchair, waiting for him. “Vadim,” Olya said when he approached, “everything is ready. Polina is okay, but you must remember that she may not immediately understand what’s happening. She may be confused.”

Vadim nodded, unable to hold back his tears. He approached Polina, who was sitting in the wheelchair, and took her hand. She looked at him without emotion, as if not realizing what was happening. “Now everything will be different,” Vadim said, his voice full of hope. “I promise you, I’m with you.”

Olya squeezed his shoulder and said quietly, “Vadim, take care of her. If you need help, don’t hesitate to reach out.” Vadim smiled, looking at Olya. “Thank you, Olya. Say hi to Max for me,” he said, holding back his emotions.

Sunlight refracted in the air, illuminating the street as Vadim wheeled the chair toward the exit. Polina still didn’t realize what was happening. Her eyes were dull and her gaze distant. But for Vadim that didn’t matter. What mattered was that he had gotten her back, that she was beside him again.

“My love,” he whispered, brushing tears from his eyes, “we will be happy again. I will be by your side always.”