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.

Although… it will require some… organizational expenses.”

By then, Misha was already adjusting. He slept in our room on Peter’s old camp bed, ate oatmeal and jam for breakfast, and followed me around the house like a tail.

He named the chickens: Pestrushka, Chernushka, Belyanka. Only at night did he sometimes whine, calling for Mom.

“What if they find his real parents?” I hesitated.

If they find them, so be it. But for now, the boy needs a roof over his head and a warm meal.