— Dasha, will you take a ticket to the city? — the bus driver asked, squinting against the bright spring sun. He handed her a crumpled receipt and adjusted his worn cap.
— To the last stop, — Darya replied briefly, clutching the handle of her old bag tightly. She decisively headed to the doors, trying not to look back at the gray gates of the correctional colony.
The sun’s rays cut into her eyes, and the warm wind, smelling of fresh greenery, gently touched her cheeks. After three years of imprisonment, Darya was free again. No one was waiting for her at the gates — neither relatives nor friends. Her mother had died a year ago, and she had never known her father. Approaching the bus stop, she saw the old bus, which, like a tired old man, sighed heavily, releasing clouds of smoke. After buying a ticket, Darya took a window seat, pressed her forehead against the cool glass, and quietly cried, hiding her tears from strangers’ eyes.
Three years in the colony had seemed endless. Every day was filled with pain, fear, and humiliation — there was nowhere to escape. The term dragged unbearably long. Only work kept her sane. Darya, who had medical training, truly knew how to help people. Even inside prison walls, her skills were valued.
— Dasha, tell the administration to extend your sentence! — the prison paramedic joked, kindly patting her on the shoulder. — Without you, I’d be helpless here, honestly!
Such words frightened the girl. The head doctor of the colony was lazy and indifferent, treating inmates almost worse than animals. But Darya, faithful to her oath, remained attentive, caring, and humane. Due to a constant shortage of medicines, she developed her own massage technique that worked wonders: it relieved pains from arthritis, migraines, sciatica, and even hernias. Not only inmates queued for her treatments, but also relatives of the guards and even the wives of the administration.
But who would believe in her talent now? Who needed a former inmate convicted as an accomplice in a robbery? No one would listen that she was not a criminal but a victim of deception. No one would believe that it was all set up by Viktor — a man whose voice once made her heart beat faster.
It all began when Darya worked as a caregiver for his grandmother, Lyudmila Grigoryevna. Viktor came with gifts, spoke kindly to the grandmother, and once invited Darya to a restaurant. There, he treated her to exquisite dishes, gave compliments, and a romance ignited between them. But everything ended abruptly — police knocked on the door. They took Darya away, ignoring the cries and tears of her mother.
Only during the investigation did she learn the truth: Viktor was a swindler, thief, and gambler. He used her trust. Having access to patients’ apartment keys, which she had as a caregiver, became his key to crime. He robbed several apartments, and when caught, he blamed Darya. Her lawyer was incompetent, and the court sided with him since Viktor had connections. Darya’s life collapsed. She was on the verge of despair until she met an old inmate serving time for killing her tyrant husband.
— Don’t give up, girl, — the woman said, looking into Darya’s eyes. — Hard times cleanse the soul. Do good, don’t wait for gratitude, and life will fix everything.
These words stayed with her forever. Returning to the small rundown apartment where her mother no longer lived, Darya covered her face with her hands but did not shed a single tear. Her mother had cried from grief, poverty, and helplessness — now she was gone. In the drawer, Darya found an old note: “Daughter, hold on to kindness — it will save you.” Reading those lines, she smiled at herself in the mirror.
— It’s okay, Dasha, we’ll get through this, — she whispered. — I’ll be a cleaner, wash floors — but I won’t break.
She filled a bucket with water and started cleaning, as if washing away the past from dusty corners.
A week later, a call came from Yulia — a longtime friend and former hospital colleague.
— Dasha, you’re out? — Yulia exclaimed joyfully. — Drop everything and come to me! There’s a serious job with good pay. Don’t worry about your criminal record; it doesn’t matter there.
— Yulia, are you serious? — Darya asked in surprise. — Where did you find such a job?
— I found out you were released through mutual acquaintances, — Yulia lowered her voice. — Remember when we worked together at the hospital? I told someone about your golden hands. He’s looking for a caregiver for his son — paying well. Come, let’s talk.
At Yulia’s, Darya learned the details. A wealthy family was looking for a caregiver for Artyom — the son of the owner who was disabled after an accident. Due to his difficult character, all nurses quit, and the father, Konstantin Pavlovich, was ready to hire even a former convict if she could handle it. Yulia had long followed Darya’s fate and, upon learning of her release, arranged this opportunity, praising her healing skills. The offered sum made Darya freeze — it could cover a whole year’s living expenses and a worthy monument for her mother.
— Yulia, what if they find out about my criminal record? — Darya asked, nervously twisting her sleeve.
— Dasha, I took care of everything, — Yulia winked. — Konstantin Pavlovich knows, but your skills matter more. He said your record isn’t a problem if you manage his son.
Darya agreed. Three days later, she stood at the gates of a luxurious mansion. The guard, carefully checking her documents, let her inside. She tried to look confident, although her heart pounded with anxiety. Well-kept gardens spread around, and the house looked like a palace from TV shows about the rich. A butler led her to a spacious hall where Konstantin Pavlovich sat behind a massive table. His gaze was cold and piercing.
— I’m Konstantin Pavlovich, — he introduced himself, pointing to a chair. — My son Artyom is seriously ill. I need a patient caregiver. If you can’t handle stress or throw tantrums — go back. Can you manage?
— Yes, — Darya answered firmly, meeting his gaze.
He pressed a call button, and a neat middle-aged woman entered.
— This is Tamara Grigoryevna, our housekeeper, — he introduced her. — She’ll explain everything. Go with her.
Tamara Grigoryevna was kind and tactful. She showed Darya around the house, the servant’s kitchen, the medical office, and her room.
— Take a shower, change into your uniform, and start, — she smiled. — You’ll find everything in the closet. Call me when you’re ready; I’ll introduce you to Artyom Konstantinovich.
The room was bright and spacious, with a shower and a wardrobe full of uniforms. Nearby was a medical office equipped with the latest technology. In the evening, Tamara Grigoryevna brought Darya to the living room, which resembled a throne hall. Natalia — Konstantin Pavlovich’s wife, young and beautiful — sat on the sofa.
— Dasha, don’t be afraid, — Natalia said gently. — Artyom is not as scary as people say. Yes, he’s spoiled, and the accident broke him, but deep down, he’s not evil. I’m his stepmother, and to him, I’m the enemy, but hang in there. Can you last a month?
— I’ll try, Natalia Pavlovna, — Darya replied.
— Just Natalia, — the woman winked. — I once suffered injustice myself, so I understand you.
Artyom looked surprisingly like his father: the same sharp facial features, the same piercing gaze. He sat in a wheelchair, staring at the fire dancing in the fireplace, not even bothering to turn to the entering Darya.
— Artyom Konstantinovich, it’s time for your checkup, — she said calmly.
— And who are you to order me around? — he grunted without looking away from the flame.
Darya didn’t argue. She silently wheeled the chair to the medical office. Artyom shouted insults, but the girl, used to worse in the colony, remained unshaken. After examining him, she noted: the injury was serious, but reflexes were normal, hand movements preserved. It was a chance.
— Artyom Konstantinovich, I propose a course of massages and exercises, — she suggested. — Along with medication, it will give results.
— Go to hell! — he yelled, clenching his fists.
Without flinching, Darya rolled up his sleeve and administered a sedative. Thus began her work in the mansion. The owners rarely appeared at home, the staff did not interfere, but Artyom tried in every way to break her: throwing things, spitting in her face during examinations. Once, while checking his reflexes, Darya still brought him tea. Artyom, snorting skeptically, took the cup and muttered something. Darya remained calm and composed. After the next spit, she said quietly:
— Artyom Konstantinovich, you are really brave. Do you know, I’m a former inmate. Aren’t you afraid?
He looked at her with interest.
— What were you in for? Murder? — he squinted.
— Murder and dismemberment, — Darya answered seriously, hiding a smile.
— My father did time too, — Artyom snorted. — Seems he likes to surround himself with people like you.
From that day, he stopped humiliating her and allowed her to work by her method. Once, helping him transfer to the chair, Darya noticed how he glanced at her secretly — with gratitude. A month later, Konstantin Pavlovich called her:
— Are you staying?
— Until the course is over, I’m not going anywhere, — she answered firmly, standing tall.
— Good, — he nodded. — You remind me of my first wife. Proud, unyielding. Don’t take Artyom’s outbursts to heart. He’s not evil; life broke him.
He told how Artyom ended up in the chair. His fiancée, Ksenia, provoked him to drive drunk. He refused, suggesting to call a driver, but offended by her flirting with another man, he still got behind the wheel. The result was tragedy. Ksenia got minor injuries, but Artyom lost the ability to walk. Later, he saw her photo with a new man, which finally destroyed his trust in people.
— He won’t remain disabled, — Darya said confidently. — I promise.
Konstantin Pavlovich wiped away a tear.
— You know, girl, I caused a lot of trouble in life. My first wife died young, she couldn’t handle my affairs. This wealth is built on the blood of the nineties. Now I’m paying the price. Natalia tried to be a mother to Artyom, but he didn’t accept her. An old man in prison once told me: do good and don’t expect a reward. Maybe you’ll be like that too?
— I’ll try, — Darya replied, feeling how his words touched her heart.
— Run, you’re our angel now, — he hugged her like a daughter.
Later, in a conversation with housekeeper Tamara Grigoryevna, Konstantin admitted:
— I raised Artyom badly. Spoiled him, didn’t teach patience. I’m afraid of losing him like I lost my wife.
— You’re doing all you can, — Tamara replied, adjusting the tablecloth. — Darya is special. Give her a chance.
Darya asked for a day in the city to order a monument for her mother. She chose a beautiful cross, planted flowers, and arranged a fence at Trinity cemetery. Returning home, she found Natalia in tears, suitcase in hand.
— Goodbye, Dasha, — Natalia said, wiping her eyes. — Artyom accused me of cheating. Konstantin didn’t listen — he threw me out.
In rage, Darya stormed into Artyom and slapped him on the cheek.
— Scoundrel! — she shouted. — If Natalia leaves, I’m leaving too! Feel sorry for yourself some more!
— And I will! — he yelled, pounding his fist on the armrest. — We’ll live without you! You wasted my money!
— How dare you? — Darya gasped in indignation. — I was at my mother’s grave!
— Then tell me what you were in for! — he demanded. — What are you hiding?
Holding back tears, Darya told about Viktor, his betrayal, and the unfair trial. Artyom listened silently, lips pressed.
— I went crazy thinking you were with someone else, — he said softly. — Forgive me. I can’t live without you.
He tried to stand but stumbled. Darya froze — her method worked. He stood on his own. She helped him sit, and he hugged and kissed her.
— I love you, Dasha. You’re stronger than anyone I know, — he whispered.
— Why did you hurt Natalia? — she asked, wiping tears. — Apologize right now.
That evening, Artyom called Natalia and, in front of his father, apologized:
— Natalia Pavlovna, I acted badly. I don’t know how to make amends. Please forgive me.
— It’s okay, Artyom, — she answered gently. — You will get better and still have time to atone.
Soon Artyom confessed his love to Darya and proposed marriage. Konstantin Pavlovich blessed them. Artyom began walking with a cane, and Darya joked:
— A bad beginning, Artyom! You’ll be running yet!
Konstantin Pavlovich invested part of his fortune in a charitable clinic in memory of his first wife, who dreamed of affordable healthcare. The modern facility, equipped with the latest technology, provided free assistance. Darya was appointed manager.
A month later, Yulia informed her that Viktor was out of prison and threatened to reveal Darya’s past. Konstantin hired a lawyer, and with Yulia’s help gathering evidence, Darya achieved a retrial. Her name was cleared, and the clinic under her leadership became a salvation for hundreds.
