On the street, a woman gave me a child and a suitcase full of money, and sixteen years later I learned that he was the heir of a billionaire.

She’ll come, little one. She’ll definitely come.

The other passengers looked at them curiously. A young woman with a strange child and a rickety suitcase: an unusual sight, to be honest.

All the way, I kept thinking: What kind of madness is this? Is it a joke? But what kind of joke? The baby was real, warm, and smelled of baby shampoo and cookies.

Peter was stacking firewood in the yard. When he saw me with the baby, he froze, holding a log.

“Masha, where are you from?”