Veronika Sergeyevna brushed her fingers along the rigid collar of her blazer, standing before the mirror with a faint crease between her brows — everything had to be flawless.

Then, almost automatically, she donned a mask: the mask of cold, unyielding calm behind which, for fifteen years as director of the women’s prison, she had hidden her true emotions.

“I can handle this,” she thought, gazing at her reflection. Over the years, she had learned to bury her feelings so deeply that often even she didn’t know where they ended.

But today, steadiness was more vital than ever: inside, she was breaking, aching, yet she couldn’t reveal it.

She left her office and walked down the long, sterile corridor under the harsh fluorescent light. New inmates were arriving today, and Veronika always preferred to meet them personally.

She liked to look into their eyes, to see who stood before her — whether they were hardened repeat offenders or just lost souls caught in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Those who believed only men were ruthless criminals were mistaken. The files held stories chilling enough to freeze even the most seasoned staff.

Two months ago, her son, Denis, had died suddenly. So foolishly, so unexpectedly… Returning home, he had felt faint and collapsed. Seemingly a simple incident on a warm day.

But he had struck his head on a brick thrown on the street — and his life was cut short abruptly. The young man was only twenty-two. The age when everything lies ahead, but for him, there would never be anything again.

He hadn’t even introduced his girlfriend to her, though Veronika knew she existed and that it was a serious relationship.

“What’s her name?” she had once asked.

“Mom, the time will come,” he had smiled. “In a few weeks, you’ll meet her.”

“You’re just like your father,” she had sighed. “Stubborn until the end.”

Now, as she reviewed the files of the new inmates, Veronika noticed a particular dossier.

Two women — familiar “clients” of the system, but the third — very young, desperate, orphaned, foreign to this terrifying place. According to records, she had been wrongfully convicted — just the perfect scapegoat.

“We don’t need this,” the woman thought. Such inmates often brought trouble: one had attempted suicide, another sought justice where none existed.

“Put the first two in the cell, bring the young girl here,” she ordered. “I want to speak with her.”

There was an unpleasant truth — Lilia was pregnant. Strange. If there’s a child, there must be a father. Why hadn’t he protected her? Perhaps she was just another “golden child” without unnecessary burdens?

When the girl entered the office, Veronika immediately saw her fragility and fear. Her voice trembled:

“Good morning…”

The director smiled faintly:

“We don’t do good mornings here — this is a correctional facility, Lilia. We greet differently. Tell me, why were you convicted?”

“I don’t know…” the girl wept. “They said I stole a phone and money, but I wasn’t even in the room!

They put those things in my room just because a student asked me out…”

Veronika shook her head. Many things began to make sense.

“And what’s this pendant you have?” she asked.

Lilia held the charm tightly:

“Please don’t take it! It’s like a protection, a memory. My boyfriend gave it to me. We were going to get married, but he disappeared…”

“He left?” Veronika asked.

“No! He never would! Something happened… His name was Denis. He was the best…”

Veronika shivered. A thought crossed her mind. She looked at the pendant — it was eerily familiar.

Only two people wore such jewelry: her husband and Denis. Her son had worn that pendant until the end.

“Show me,” she said softly, stepping closer.

Lilia slowly released her hand. And then Veronika saw — it was her son’s pendant.

As the door closed behind the girl, the woman collapsed into her chair.

Her mind was a mess.

A little later, her friend Natasha, a doctor in the medical wing, entered:

“Nika, a moment?”

“Come in. You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“I think I did…”

“Tell me.”

When Veronika finished, Natasha whistled thoughtfully:

“Are you sure the girl is innocent?”

 

“About one hundred percent. But now the question is: what do we do?”

“Listen, maybe check who the father is?”

Veronika stood:

“Exactly! And while we investigate, she’ll stay with me. A pregnant woman doesn’t belong in a common cell.”

“Of course, bring her home. I’ll look into it too.”

“Thank you, Natasha.”

Veronika couldn’t understand why her son hadn’t spoken about the girl. Did he not know she was pregnant?

She was four months along. Maybe that was it. But… what if the child wasn’t his?

Her head felt ready to burst. The lonely suspicion brought no answers. She had to act.

After work, she went to the cemetery. She knelt by her son’s grave and whispered:

“What did you leave me, my son… so many mysteries? How will I solve them all?”

Denis’s photo on the tombstone smiled, as if it knew the answers. Veronika stood slowly, as if an invisible weight pressed on her shoulders.

Her first priority was to visit Lilia’s home. The address was in the file — a private residence. A house split in two: one side belonged to the grandmother, the other side housed others.

“Excuse me, can we talk?” she asked the grandmother.

The woman greeted her suspiciously:

“What is this about?”

“About Lilia. And Denis,” Veronika said carefully. If the young man often came here, the grandmothers should know.

“Who are you?”

“I’m the mother of my son,” Veronika said simply.

“Oh God! Where were you all this time?” the woman cried out. “The young man came here almost every day, and then… Lilia got pregnant and left. Without any help, without a word.”

“Wait,” Veronika stopped abruptly. “You must know Denis died two months ago. And he didn’t know about the baby.”

The grandmother froze, clutching her chest:

“He died?! And Lilia was just waiting… waiting for you to come get her…”

They went inside. Sitting over tea, the woman spoke at length. She loved Lilia like her own and couldn’t believe she’d done anything wrong.

“She couldn’t steal! I don’t want to believe it!

She was well-raised, sweet. I even went to the police to protect her, but they told me: ‘Go home, don’t get involved.’”

Veronika recalled the negative notes in the file and understood: the truth was far deeper than she had thought.

“Thank you,” she said, leaving.

“Wait, girl,” the grandmother gave her a package. “Here are Lilia’s things. And the album. You’ll see at home.”

At home, when she opened the bag, Veronika wept. The first photo was Lilia and Denis — hugging, laughing, happy.

She flipped through the album, searching for the one who wanted to hurt the girl. But the traitor’s face remained hidden.

The next day, she went to the university.

“Why are you interested?” the dean asked coldly.

“I want to help.”

“For theft?,” he sneered. “Only the guilty come here.”

Veronika realized she wouldn’t find justice. She left with a frozen expression when a student approached her:

“Excuse me, are you interested in Lilia? I know something. Let’s go somewhere private so they don’t hear.”

Three days later, Veronika narrowly avoided being hit by a car. Luckily, she jumped away, but the collision was fierce.

At the hospital, Natasha appeared:

“A warning, huh?”

“Yes. The car was heading straight for me. The driver saw me, and I saw him.”

“What will we do? And about Lilia?”

“For now, she’s stable. She’s beginning to understand what prison means.”

“Nika, call Olgen. You can’t handle this alone.”

Olgen was her late husband’s brother. They hadn’t spoken for years — Veronika silently blamed him for Sasha’s death because he hadn’t gone fishing with him. If he had been there… maybe nothing would have happened.

When Olgen arrived, he looked horrified:

“Why didn’t you call me immediately?”

“I just couldn’t.”

“Enough. Tell me.”

He helped.

Soon, Veronika and Natasha went to see Lilia. The girl jumped up:

“Lilia — Denis… died. It was a foolish, random tragedy.”

Lilia shouted, tears streaming endlessly:

“No! Better if he had left me, found someone else! But not this!”

Natasha quickly gave an injection. After ten minutes, the hysteria subsided.

“You carry my child — boy or girl?” Veronika began softly. “We’ll do everything to get you out of here. You’re not alone. We’ll manage.”

Three years passed.

“Nikita! Stop!” Veronika called as she caught up with the little boy.

The boy ran happily, laughing, then before them appeared Lilia. Today she had passed her final exam. With Olgen and Veronika’s help, she had completed her studies — through distance learning.

A car stopped beside them:

“Girls! It’s been so long! Especially you, Nikita!”

The little boy hesitated: mother, grandmother… he thought and ran to Olgen.

For a year now, Olgen had married Veronika. Today he had settled permanently in the city.

“I sold the apartment in the capital,” he said, embracing Veronika. “Now I’m back.”

He was outside the prison to support Lilia in her studies. Now he planned a calmer job.

Lilia announced, they hugged their son and clapped. Passersby watched with curiosity, avoiding crossing their path: they stood in the middle of the sidewalk, unwilling to leave each other’s side.

Strange? No. They had been through what no one wishes even on their enemy. And they became a family — real, alive, united. And that was everything to them.