“Aliska!” The rough, harsh voice of her stepfather echoed from deep inside the apartment. The girl felt a heavy sigh in her chest. Here we go again…
She quickly glanced around, grabbed a hoodie, threw it over her shoulders, and dashed out into the yard.
“Ali, where are you off to?” came the soft voice of her grandmother.
“Just for a little while, Grandma!”
At the entrance, two neighbors watched her with concern. “Is he causing trouble again?” one asked.
Alisa gave them a simple, harmless wave. Maybe she could avoid his morning bad mood somewhere outside for a while.
She walked slowly down the sidewalk toward the nearby store, kicking little stones along the way. Her mind kept returning to the same painful thought: If only Mom were still alive… He wouldn’t treat me this way.
Her mother, Anna, had died a year ago. A drunk driver had fallen asleep at the wheel and crashed his car at full speed into a bus stop. Anna and three others were killed instantly; several people were badly hurt. The driver only regained consciousness when the rescuers surrounded him.
After the funeral, the question arose: who would take care of Alisa? Her grandparents firmly said no.
“We’re too old to raise a teenager,” her grandmother said. “Kids nowadays are hard to handle… And our health isn’t what it used to be.” She begged her husband to say something, but he stayed silent. “We can’t manage. Let her stay with Dima — he’s already adopted her, anyway.”
Dmitry, Anna’s husband, had officially adopted Alisa since birth, but he never truly considered her his daughter. He didn’t harm her but ignored her completely. At first, little Alisa called him “Dad,” but one day he snapped:
“I’m not your dad. Call me Uncle Dima, okay?”
Alisa wanted to ask her mother about her real father, but her mother always laughed it off. After her mother’s death, Dmitry started drinking even more.
When Alisa turned seven, school began.
“More than half my paycheck goes to you,” Dmitry grumbled, throwing a new backpack filled with textbooks and supplies on the bed. “Now you need to help out. Cook for yourself, clean up — the house is your responsibility.”
Well, of course, who else but me, Alisa thought silently, nodding to avoid conflict.
Soon Dmitry started sending her to buy groceries, arranging with the cashier to not ask too many questions. At first, Alisa felt embarrassed, but she got used to it — and to the cashier slipping her treats out of kindness.
That morning, she walked the familiar path to the store, crossing the parking lot. Out of the corner of her eye, something caught her attention — a phone lying on the ground.
She picked it up, amazed it wasn’t scratched. She pressed the power button, and it lit up! The screen wasn’t locked.
Sitting on a bench, she scrolled through the contacts and found one labeled “Wife.” She dialed it.
After a few rings, a woman answered.
“Hello, I found your husband’s phone,” Alisa said calmly.
“Hello. How did you know who to call?”
“It wasn’t locked. That’s how I found you.”
“Okay, where are you now? I’ll come get him.”
“Sure, just don’t look through anything else, please!” Alisa felt a bit hurt.
“Alright, I’m on my way.”
After hanging up, the phone buzzed again. The screen showed “Shnobel.” Alisa smiled remembering a boy from kindergarten with a big nose, nicknamed “nose bug Shnobel” by her stepfather.
She answered: “Hi, this is my phone! I’m calling from a friend.”
“From Shnobel?” the voice replied.
“Yes! So you said the wife’s coming?”
“She’s almost here.”
“Wait, what’s your name?”
“Alisa.”
“Okay, Alisa. Don’t give her the phone. I’m coming soon. Where are you?”
Before she could answer, the call ended.
Alisa hid the phone under her hoodie and waited. Soon, a red foreign car pulled up and a beautiful woman stepped out. Alisa froze, impressed by her.
The woman looked around, then walked over.
“Hi, are you the one who called?”
“No,” Alisa stepped aside. “She said she’d be back in a minute.”
“Impatient,” the woman muttered, then added, “I’m in a hurry anyway.”
A mocking male voice interrupted from behind:
“Not here to get money from my card? You probably came rushing when you heard the phone was unlocked?”
The woman tried to joke, but the man’s words hit true.
He sat next to Alisa.
“Hi! Thanks for finding my phone. You’re a good girl. Tell your mom to be proud of you.”
“I don’t have a mom,” Alisa whispered, looking down.
She unzipped her hoodie and showed the pendant hanging on her neck — a small maple leaf in resin with a ladybug.
The man’s face changed when he saw it. He closed his eyes as if struggling with memories and then opened them, his whole expression tense.
“Where did you get this?” he asked coldly, carefully touching the pendant. The contact caused him visible pain, and he quickly let go. Alisa jumped back.
“My mom gave it to me when she was alive. I have to go now.”
She ran off, but the man called after her.
“Wait! I’m Roman Maksimovich. How can I thank you?”
“Nothing needed. Goodbye.”
Alisa kept wondering why the pendant had such an effect on him.
She remembered how her mom had put it on her neck when she was five:
“Foxling, may this bring you happiness, like it did me.”
“What kind of happiness?” the girl asked.
“You, silly! You are my happiness.”
Anna spun her daughter around, laughing and kissing her cheeks.
Unaware, Alisa walked on, not knowing Roman was following her at a distance. He had sent his wife home and felt a strange pull toward the girl.
When Alisa passed some grandmothers on a bench and went inside, Roman approached them.
“Good evening, can you tell me which apartment she lives in?”
“Who are you?” one asked suspiciously.
“Just returning some money — she dropped a thousand at the store and I couldn’t return it earlier. Here’s the bill.”
“Oh, then it’s okay,” they softened. “Poor Aliska, with such a stepfather… He probably caused trouble again today. Go on, give her the money.”
They shared what they knew about the family just as loud shouting and breaking dishes erupted upstairs.
“Aliska, you brat! Where have you been? I’ll break your ears!” the stepfather yelled.
Roman rushed upstairs and started knocking. The door opened by itself. Dmitry stood there, gaunt, red-eyed, smelling of alcohol.
“Who’s this? What do you want?” he growled.
Roman didn’t answer, pushed him aside, and went inside. Alisa curled up on the sofa corner, looking at Roman with warmth and hope. She stood, took his hand, and they headed for the exit.
Dmitry blocked the way.
“Where are you going?” he croaked.
Roman gently pressed his forehead, and Dmitry staggered, then collapsed.
“Did you kill him?” Alisa whispered fearfully.
“No way. He’ll sleep it off and get up. Did he hurt you?”
She shook her head. Dmitry wasn’t a villain — just a broken man who couldn’t handle his pain.
Her mother’s best friend, Larisa, had often warned her:
“If he bothers you, call me. Don’t stay home longer than necessary.”
Larisa came several times until Dmitry drunkenly confronted her, telling her to leave. Since then, she only waited outside for Alisa.
Roman’s and his wife’s home amazed Alisa — cozy, bright, stylish, unlike anything she’d seen before.
Irina greeted them casually but looked distant and cold.
“This will be your temporary home,” she said, escorting Alisa.
The word “temporary” stabbed Alisa’s heart. And then what? Orphanage? she thought, deciding she would run away as soon as she could.
The room was larger than their old apartment, with all the comforts. Sitting on the windowsill, she heard a gentle knock.
“May I come in?” Roman asked.
“Sure.”
He entered, looked serious.
“I want to know more about your mom. What was her name? What did she do? Did she have friends? Anyone who remembers her well?”
Alisa told him all she knew and gave Larisa’s number. Roman listened intently, eyes glistening at times.
“Thank you,” he said, stroking her head. “Make yourself at home. I’ll call you when dinner’s ready. Everything here is yours.”
Alisa explored the house, then overheard Roman and Irina arguing:
“Why did you bring her here? What if the stepfather calls the police?”
“We’re just helping a child. You should see where she lives. No one should live there.”
“The stepfather isn’t the father. Are you sure you want to get involved?”
“I don’t want to, but I can’t ignore it now.”
“Then make her pay for the phone and leave. Nothing else!”
“Sometimes I wonder why I married you.”
“Because I’m smart, beautiful, and practical. Someone has to think for both of us,” Irina replied coldly.
Roman changed the subject.
“I’ll go feed Alisa.”
Hearing her name, Alisa rushed back to her room, pretending she’d been there all along. One thing was clear: Irina was no friend, and she needed to be careful.
Later, Roman called Larisa.
“Larisa, it’s about Alisa and her mom. Can we meet in half an hour at a café?”
Larisa agreed. At the café, Roman told her the story he had uncovered, and Larisa confirmed the details, revealing Anna’s secret love and the pendant Roman had made.
She shared how Anna had been forced into a marriage with Dmitry, hiding the truth about Alisa’s real father, but loved the other man until her last day.
Roman was stunned.
“So… Alisa is my daughter?”
At that moment, his phone rang. It was Irina, demanding Alisa’s return and scolding Roman.
“Alisa is my daughter,” Roman said firmly.
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