Alexey Smirnov stared at the latest message from his mother.
Attached was a photo of a cheerful young woman with the caption:
**“Inna’s friend’s daughter. Economist. 29.”**
He sighed. That was the *seventh* match she’d suggested in just one month.
At 35, Alexey had built a successful business, owned a spacious apartment in the city, and had a quiet countryside house. But personal happiness remained elusive—especially after a painful breakup that left him questioning people’s intentions.
Then came another message:
**“Your father and I are visiting on Saturday. You’ll meet Elizaveta.”**
He drove through the rain-soaked city streets, windows down, trying to clear his head.
At a stoplight, a man approached, asking softly if he could spare anything. Alexey, realizing he had no cash, remembered an ATM in a nearby underground passage.
Descending the stairs, he spotted a woman in a worn coat sitting quietly with her young son. They weren’t begging—they were offering something: handmade postcards neatly displayed in plastic sleeves.
The boy, around four, was quietly drawing. The mother watched over him with calm strength.
Something stirred in Alexey.
He approached.
“Excuse me… may I talk to you for a moment?”
She looked up, cautious but calm.
“We’re not asking for help. Just selling postcards.”
“My name is Alexey,” he said gently. “Could we speak at the café across the street? I have a business proposal. Nothing complicated.”
She glanced at her son.
“Kirill, want some tea?”
Turning back to Alexey, she said, “Ten minutes.”
Over hot drinks, he explained:
“I’d like to hire you and your son to play a role. Just for one weekend. My parents are coming, and I’d like them to believe I’m already married. In return, I’ll pay you fifty thousand and let you stay at my country house for two months while you get back on your feet.”
Marina hesitated.
“Why us?”
“You seemed honest. I thought this might help both of us.”
She looked at her son again.
“We don’t have clothes for that kind of setting.”
“I’ll take care of it,” Alexey said. “You won’t have to pretend long.”
She finally nodded.
“We’ll try.”
The next morning, the country house was warm and quiet. Marina looked elegant in a simple dress. Kirill was overjoyed by the space to play.
Alexey handed her a folder.
“Here’s our story. We met at an art exhibit last year. Got married six months ago. Kirill’s from your previous marriage. I plan to adopt him.”
She skimmed the pages.
“You’re very prepared.”
He smiled.
“Occupational habit.”
Suddenly, tires crunched outside.
“They’re early,” he said. “Ready?”
She took a breath and nodded.
“Kirill, Grandma and Grandpa are here!”
Irina Smirnova hugged Marina with enthusiasm.
“At last! We’ve been so curious to meet you!”
Victor, dignified and calm, shook Alexey’s hand.
“Very proud of you, son.”
Dinner was pleasant. Marina kept to their script with quiet grace.
Then Irina asked, “Do you enjoy art?”
Marina paused.
“I studied it… years ago.”
“You still draw?”
“Now and then.”
“Mom draws dragons!” Kirill piped up. “And me!”
“Dragons?” Victor raised an eyebrow.
“Kirill likes to imagine worlds,” Marina said with a small smile.
Alexey reached out, gently taking her hand.
“We like being a family,” he said softly.
That night, they stood on the terrace.
“You did great,” he said.
“Your mother is kind,” she replied. “Even if we’re pretending.”
“You seem to care deeply for Kirill,” he said. “That’s clear.”
“I do,” she said quietly. “He’s my world.”
There was a pause. She looked down.
“We had to leave our previous home quickly.”
“Are you okay now?” he asked.
“We’re managing,” she said. “This… helped.”
The next morning, Irina found a sketchbook in the guest room—drawings of Kirill, and one of Alexey.
“These are incredible,” she said.
“I don’t sign them,” Marina replied. “It’s better that way for now.”
Irina nodded thoughtfully.
Later, Alexey found Marina quietly reading at his desk.
“Looking me up?” he teased.
“Just curious. You’ve helped a lot of people,” she said. “I wanted to know who we were staying with.”
He laughed.
“Still feel like leaving after the weekend?”
“I’m not sure anymore,” she admitted.
“I’d like you to stay,” he said sincerely. “Not for the arrangement. For you. For Kirill.”
“But this was all a role…”
“It started that way,” Alexey said. “But now it feels real.”
A few days later, the Smirnovs visited again. At dinner, Victor raised his glass.
“To family—and the unexpected paths that bring people together.”
Marina blinked.
“You knew?”
Irina chuckled.
“Of course. But we also saw something real.”
Kirill looked up at Alexey.
“Can you be my real dad now?”
Alexey glanced at Marina. She smiled, eyes shining.
“Yes,” he said, kneeling beside the boy. “If you’ll have me.”
