Yulia Antonovna had been working in the Grigoryev household for many years. Vladimir and Lyudmila, the owners, were out for the day, and after finishing all her usual chores, Yulia sat down by the window to rest. Her eyes soon fell on a young boy outside. He was thin, dressed in worn-out clothes, and walking slowly along the fence, glancing around as though searching for something.

“Poor child, he must be starving,” Yulia thought with a sigh. She glanced at the large clock on the wall—there was still time before her employers would return. She stepped outside and called to the boy gently.

“What’s your name?” she asked, her tone kind.

“Vasya,” the boy replied quietly, eyeing her cautiously from beneath his messy bangs.

“Well, Vasya,” she said, “why don’t you come with me? I’ve got some warm apple pie waiting.”

The boy didn’t hesitate. Hunger had gnawed at him all day. He followed Yulia inside, and she led him straight to the kitchen. With care, she cut a generous slice of pie and placed it in front of him.

“It’s delicious!” Vasya said between hurried bites. “My mom used to bake a pie like this.”

Yulia watched him for a moment before asking, “And where is your mother now?”

The boy froze mid-chew. His eyes dropped, and his voice came out barely above a whisper. “I’ve been looking for her. She’s… gone.”

“Eat, dear. You need your strength. I’m sure you’ll find her,” Yulia said softly.

Just then, the front door creaked open. Vladimir and Lyudmila had returned. Hearing their steps, Yulia stiffened. Vladimir stepped into the kitchen and was immediately taken aback by the sight of the boy.

“Who is this?” he asked, looking sharply at Yulia.

“This boy was hungry,” she replied calmly. “He’s looking for his mother, and I gave him something to eat.”

“So now you’re inviting strangers in off the street?” Vladimir said, his voice rising. “You think our opinion doesn’t matter anymore?”

At those words, Vasya’s eyes filled with tears. “I’ll leave,” he said quietly, placing the rest of the pie back on the plate.

But Lyudmila spoke up. “Wait, don’t go. Tell me—where did you come from? How did you lose your mother?”

She had always been the more compassionate of the two. No matter how often Vladimir called her soft-hearted, he’d never managed to change that about her.

“I live with my grandfather,” Vasya said, brushing away a tear. “He yells at me a lot and sometimes hits me. I ran away.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out an old, crumpled photograph. “These are my parents. We used to live together.”

He handed the photo to Lyudmila, who took it with trembling hands. Her face went pale.

“Volodya, look—it’s Varya!” she cried, recognizing their daughter in the picture.

Vladimir took the photo, squinting. “Where did you get this?” he asked the boy.

“I took it from Grandpa. There’s an address on the back. I came here because I thought maybe my mom lived here. Grandpa always says she left me, like a cuckoo bird. But I don’t believe him.”

Lyudmila repeated the words in disbelief. Their daughter Varya had once left home with a man named Manush. She’d vanished for years and returned only briefly before dying in a tragic accident. That day had changed everything. Since then, their home had felt empty and cold.

“And your father?” Vladimir asked.

“He passed away six months ago,” Vasya whispered, wiping his eyes again.

The couple was speechless. They had a grandson—a piece of their lost daughter back in their lives. The emptiness in their home could finally be filled.

Lyudmila smiled gently. “Come, dear. Let me show you to your room.”

“Will my mom come here?” Vasya asked.

“Your mother… she’s with your father now,” she replied, her voice full of sorrow.

Vasya turned pale, understanding the truth in her words.

In time, the couple went through all the necessary paperwork to adopt the boy. The grandfather, upon learning that Vasya would be taken in by wealthy, caring people, didn’t resist.

Yulia Antonovna couldn’t have been happier. That one quiet day had changed everything. The home was no longer silent, and Vasya, once a lonely child with torn clothes and an empty stomach, now had a warm bed, proper manners, and most importantly, a family who loved him.