crawled forward like a tiny dot in an endless winter landscape. Inside the cabin, the rhythmic squeak of the windshield wipers, the crunching snow under the tires, and the occasional whimper of a baby in the back seat could be heard.Igor gripped the steering wheel tightly, his knuckles white. His eyes were fixed on the barely visible road through the curtain of snow. He had been silent for ten minutes. Beside him sat Tatyana, equally quiet. Her shoulders drooped, lips pressed into a thin line, eyes glassy. She didn’t just look tired—she looked completely drained. The family had moved to the countryside hoping for a fresh start, a place where Tatyana could recover her health…

Maybe we should turn on the radio?” Igor finally broke the silence, not taking his eyes off the road.

“What for?” she replied flatly, not turning her head. “To drown out the baby’s crying?”

Igor exhaled loudly.

“Here we go again…” he muttered under his breath, then said a bit louder, “I’m driving, I’m trying. In this weather, and in your car that always breaks down…”

“My car?” Tatyana repeated bitterly. “Because you spent your money on cigarettes?”

The baby stirred and started crying again. Igor jerked the wheel slightly, feeling irritation flare inside him.

“Great. We move to the village, start fresh—and right away you’re back at it. Can we just drive in peace?”

“Enough. Just… be quiet,” Tatyana whispered, resting her forehead against the window. She closed her eyes, and a tear slid down her cheek.

The car skidded a little on a turn, but Igor regained control. Through the ice-crusted trees, an old house came into view—blue, crooked, as if forgotten by time.

“There’s our destination,” he said, stopping at the edge of a field. “We made it.”

There was no road beyond this point—only snowdrifts and rough terrain.

Tatyana slowly got out, clutching the baby wrapped in a blanket. Her steps were hesitant, like someone who no longer trusted the ground beneath her.

She took a few steps—and stumbled. The snow was deeper than it looked. She gasped, falling to her knees, cradling the baby.

“What are you doing…” Igor rushed over, taking the baby from her arms. “Careful! What’s wrong with you?”

“Don’t shout…” Tatyana whispered. “Just don’t shake him…”

“I know how to hold a baby,” he snapped, helping her up. She said nothing, her eyes red as she leaned on him and walked on.

The house greeted them with silence. The creak of steps, the click of the lock, a cold gust of wind—and snow, which had to be cleared away with bare hands. The key barely fit into the rusted lock.

“Come on, don’t fail me now…” Igor muttered, jiggling the door. “Don’t give up, you old wreck…”

Finally, the lock gave way. They stepped into darkness.

The smell of mold, dust, and damp hit them immediately. In the light from the phone, scattered sacks, bits of rope, and grain could be seen. Everything was coated in a gray film of abandonment.

“Oh God…” Tatyana whispered. “We’re going to live here?”

“For now,” Igor replied shortly. “We’ll clean it up, settle in…”

He found a broom, a bucket, and began cleaning furiously. The rustle of sweeping, creaking floorboards, and banging filled the air—like the sounds of a sinking ship. But he kept working.

“We’ll make this the nursery,” he said, still cleaning. “These old radiators still work. The walls are solid. Double-paned windows.”

“And the ceiling?” Tatyana asked skeptically. “That mold in the corner?”

“We’ll scrub it, dry it out, insulate. Just hang in there, Tanya. For him. For his sake.”

She didn’t answer. She just sat on the couch, still wrapped in her coat.

The room was slightly warmer. The peeling walls were adorned with a single picture: the Nutcracker with a sword, surrounded by mice. The image sparked a thought, but Igor brushed it aside.

“Here’s your protector, Dima,” he chuckled, hammering a nail into the wall. “The Nutcracker on duty.”

Night fell suddenly, as if someone had flipped a switch. Everything turned gray and silent. Then a faint sound outside the wall made Tatyana flinch.

“Igor… Did you hear that?”

“Probably mice,” he shrugged.

“No, something’s whining. Outside.”

He listened. A thin, drawn-out sound, fading in and out, came from the blizzard.

“I’ll check,” he said and stepped out.

On the porch, in a snowdrift, sat a dog. Dirty brown, with a dark muzzle and eyes full of silent pain. She was trembling, paws tucked under, tail between her legs.

“What are you doing out here?” Igor knelt. “You’ll freeze, silly thing.”

The dog lifted her head. Her gaze was steady, as if she had come here with purpose and wouldn’t go anywhere else.

“Come on,” Igor said softly, motioning her inside.

Lada ran into the house and headed straight to the nursery. She stopped by the crib, frozen in place.

“What the hell?!” Tatyana shouted in alarm. “Get her out! She’s going to the baby!”

“Calm down,” Igor tried to reassure her. “She’s harmless. Look—she’s barely breathing. She’s just cold.”

“I’m scared. I don’t want her near him,” Tatyana said firmly.

Igor hesitated, then nodded.

“If anything happens—I’ll get rid of her. Okay? Just give her a chance.”

She turned away silently. But she didn’t sleep well that night, holding her son close while the dog lay at the foot of the bed—like a statue, unmoving, unblinking.

Morning broke bright and dazzling. Sunlight played on the frosted windows, casting strange patterns on the ceiling. A rooster crowed outside—loud and insistent, tearing through the silence of the new day. The room smelled of damp wood and something else—strange, unplaceable.

Tatyana woke first. She rubbed her eyes, feeling an odd lightness in her chest—for the first time in a long while, the coughing had stopped. She went to check on the baby. Dima slept peacefully. Beside the crib, the dog lay stretched out.

“You’re still here…” Tatyana whispered. Her voice was guarded, but something flickered in her eyes.

In the kitchen, dishes clattered. Igor was busy at the stove, in a sweater and underwear, cracking eggs. Sunlight poured through the windows, and something like life was beginning to stir in the house.

“We’re celebrating today,” he smiled without turning. “Breakfast! And guess what—we’ve got a chicken!”

Tatyana raised an eyebrow.

“A live one?”

“Yeah, bought it from old Misha over the ravine. Got some fresh eggs too.”

She sat at the table. Lada lay carefully at her feet, and Tatyana pretended not to notice.

“What did you name her, by the way?” she asked after a pause.

“Lada. After my grandma. She was a kind soul.”

“After your grandma?” Tatyana frowned. “And when were you going to tell me?”

“Well… just now. Morning, tea, eggs—family confessions.”

She sighed. Outside, the snow creaked—someone had probably passed by the house.

“Sometimes I feel like you live as if you’re alone,” Tatyana said softly, not looking up. “You make decisions on your own. The chicken, the dog… even naming her without me.”

“Tanya…” Igor sat beside her. “You know how exhausted you are. I didn’t want to burden you. I tried to handle everything myself. Honestly.”

“Tried?” She gave a bitter smile. “And her lying right next to the crib? That’s part of you trying? Aren’t you worried?”

“I am,” he leaned in. “But I see how worn down you are. The move, the illness, the cold, the baby… And this dog. Maybe she’s the only one here who really sees us.”

Tatyana said nothing. She brushed her son’s hair, then slowly got up, straightening her back with effort.

“I need to rest. The cough’s back.”

Lada followed her gaze and trailed silently behind like a shadow.

The day was busy: Igor insulated windows, sealed cracks, hunted down drafts. Soft music played from an old radio, creating an illusion of coziness. The house smelled of wood, dust, and something else—as if it were just beginning to learn how to be a home.

 

Lada never left Dima’s side. Wherever Igor carried the baby, she followed—watchful, focused, with eyes unnervingly full of awareness.

“Like she’s guarding him,” Igor muttered.

“That’s what scares me,” Tatyana replied from behind a curtain. “Dogs don’t act like that. Like she’s waiting for something.”

Igor stepped out for a smoke. The snow crunched underfoot, the frost biting at his skin. He pulled out a cigarette—when a sound made him turn. Tatyana stood in the doorway, wrapped in a scarf.

“Again?” her voice trembled. “You promised to quit.”

“Nerves,” he tried to explain. “I can’t change overnight.”

“You’re a father,” she said firmly. “And I trusted you.”

He stubbed the cigarette out in the snow. Inside, he boiled with frustration—at himself, the village, the house, the dog, who stared at him from the shadows with almost human eyes.

That night, Tatyana woke with the sense that someone was too close. Lada sat by the crib, tense as a wire. The fur on her neck was raised.

“Igor, wake up,” she whispered.

He groaned, opening his eyes.

“What’s wrong?”

“Look at her. She’s growling.”

Igor approached. Lada ignored him, staring at a corner of the room. Her ears pinned back, teeth bared.

“Lada?” he called softly. “Hey… easy now.”

The dog didn’t move.

“Oh God…” Tatyana whispered. “What does she see?”

“Maybe it’s nothing,” he tried to calm her. “Could be a mouse. Nothing serious…”

“Nothing serious?!” she cried. “She’s standing guard and growling! That’s not normal!”

Igor had no words. He placed a hand on Lada’s back—she flinched slightly but didn’t move. Gently, he led her out and shut the door.

“If you drive us crazy,” he whispered to her, “you’ll be sleeping in the barn.”

The dog looked at him and followed—no longer tense.

The days blurred together: porridge in the morning, blizzards outside, baby cries, Tatyana’s cough… And always Lada. A part of the house, like the floor or the walls.

One morning was especially grim. The snow had turned a dirty gray, as if losing its meaning. Igor stood on the porch, squeezing a rag in his hands. His eyes burned from lack of sleep, a dull ache in his chest. Something in the house felt off. Like the air had thickened, making it hard to breathe.

In the shed, he noticed something on the ground. He went over. The chicken—dead, mangled. Feathers torn out, neck broken. Large tracks in the snow. Blood.

“Lada…” he whispered.

The dog stepped out from around the corner. Tail down, muzzle smeared. Dark stains on her fur. She stood still. No growl, no whimper. Just looked him straight in the eyes.

“What have you done…” Igor breathed.

Tatyana followed him out.

“What’s going on?” she asked, then saw the carcass and recoiled. “Is that… her?”

“Looks like it.”

“God… I told you! And you defended her! Now this!”

“Maybe it wasn’t her…”

“She has blood on her face, Igor!” her voice cracked. “She growls at night, stalks our baby, and now she’s killed the chicken! What if next time it’s Dima?!”

“Tanya…”

“Today. Either you get rid of her, or I will. Do you hear me?”

She went back inside, slamming the door. A moment later, Igor heard the familiar click of her opening a bottle of sleeping pills.

He approached Lada, crouched down. She didn’t move.

“What am I supposed to do with you?” he whispered. “I don’t know, Lada. I really don’t.”

The dog refused to get into the car. He tugged, bu—