“Sorry, Sweetheart, but You’re Not Right for Us!” The Next Day, the Convicted Young Woman Was Speechless When She Saw Her Own Face in a Portrait at the Surgeon’s House
“Sorry, sweetheart, but you’re not right for us!”
The HR woman tossed the worn gray folder onto the edge of the desk. Through the half-closed door came the monotonous hum of sewing machines, while the cramped office was filled with the heavy smell of hairspray and instant coffee.
Ulyana slowly pulled her employment record book toward herself.
“You didn’t even look at my stitching samples,” she said evenly, looking straight at the woman in the strict burgundy jacket. “I’ve worked with the most difficult fabrics. I can reupholster any piece of furniture. I’m a sixth-grade specialist. I proved everything during the practical test.”
“Miss, are you having trouble hearing me?” the woman snapped, irritably adjusting her thick-framed glasses. “We manufacture luxury furniture here. Italian fittings, expensive fabrics. And what do your documents say? Convicted as an accomplice to theft. Three years in prison. And your appearance… well, let’s just say it’s rather unusual.”
Ulyana instinctively lowered her chin, trying to hide her right cheek behind the collar of her old jacket. A noticeable scar from an old injury stretched from her temple all the way down to her neck.
“I’ve had this scar since early childhood. And I served my sentence from beginning to end. Not a single violation. I’ve never stolen anything that belonged to someone else.”
“I don’t care where that defect on your face came from!” the HR woman raised her voice, turning back toward her computer screen. “Go to the exit, or I’ll have to press the panic button. The last thing we need is expensive materials suddenly disappearing from our warehouse. This conversation is over.”
Ulyana shoved her documents into the inside pocket of her jacket and walked out into the corridor.
Outside, sharp March sleet lashed her face. She trudged along the gray sidewalks, stepping over filthy streams of melting snow. The icy wind crept beneath her sleeves, but inside she felt even colder.
It was the same everywhere. The moment people saw her cheek and her release papers, doors slammed shut in her face.
She turned toward the embankment of a narrow canal. The concrete slopes were covered with a smooth crust of morning ice, while the murky water below churned heavily, carrying away the last remnants of winter snow.
Ulyana stopped beside the cast-iron railing, breathing heavily.
Suddenly, a thin, terrified scream came from the direction of the slope.
Ulyana whipped her head around.
About thirty meters away, right on the fragile river ice, a boy of about seven was struggling desperately. Apparently, he had gone after a backpack that had slid away and had fallen through a hole in the ice.
His heavy down jacket was rapidly soaking through, dragging the child beneath the water.
Ulyana didn’t hesitate for even a second.
She climbed over the cast-iron railing, tearing the fabric of her jacket on a metal spike. The slope was unbearably slippery. She slid downward, badly scraping her hands against the rough concrete.
“Don’t let go of the edge! Hold on!” she shouted, throwing off her jacket as she moved. Heavy clothing would only drag her to the bottom.
Wearing nothing but a thin sweater, she crawled onto the ice.
Cold crystals stabbed through the knees of her jeans.
The boy, nearly frozen, desperately slapped at the water, trying to grab the slippery edge, but his fingers kept sliding off.
Ulyana grabbed him by the collar of his down jacket.
The ice beneath her cracked ominously and sank.
Burning-cold water instantly flooded her boots, and her legs went numb.
With a muffled groan, she clutched the child’s jacket with both hands and pulled with all her strength, falling backward.
Together they rolled farther away from the terrifying black hole in the ice.
The boy was breathing rapidly and heavily, tears and mucus running from his nose.
“Come on, crawl upward! Don’t lie there!” Ulyana ordered, pushing him toward the concrete slope.
People were already rushing around above them.
Two men in work uniforms climbed over the railing, helped pull the child onto the sidewalk, and then reached down for Ulyana.
The moment she reached the pavement, she heard the approaching wail of a siren.
Paramedics jumped out of the vehicle and wrapped the trembling boy in a thick blanket.
“Miss, you need to get into the ambulance! You’re in bad shape!” a doctor in a bright jacket shouted. “You need to warm up!”
“I’m fine. I have to go,” she rasped, backing into the crowd.
Picking up her torn jacket, Ulyana turned and hurried away, disappearing into a maze of old courtyards.
She absolutely could not afford to run into the police.
Unnecessary questions, document checks—with her suspended sentence, it could mean hours of trouble at the station.
An hour later, she reached an old basement room where the local property management company stored its equipment.
A janitor named Aunt Zina had taken pity on her a week earlier and allowed her to stay temporarily in the cramped utility room.
The little room smelled of wet brooms, bleach, and rusty pipes, but at least the radiator was blazing hot.
Ulyana pulled off her soaking clothes, hung them over the pipes, wrapped herself in a scratchy wool blanket, and curled up in the corner of a sagging sofa.
She was shaking so violently that her teeth chattered.
The door creaked open, and Zinaida entered carrying a metal kettle.
“Drink up, heroine,” the elderly woman grumbled, pouring strong dark tea into a cracked mug. “People in the neighborhood chats are already talking about you. You’re the one who pulled that boy out of the canal, aren’t you?”
“Yes, Aunt Zina. But please don’t tell anyone,” Ulyana said, wrapping her numb fingers around the hot mug.
“Why are you hiding? The boy’s father has turned the whole district upside down looking for you. He’s searching for you with the police. People say he’s extremely wealthy, some famous surgeon. He owns a private clinic downtown. Go see him. He wants to thank you.”
“I don’t need his gratitude,” Ulyana said, turning toward the peeling wall. “I just need to find a job. And where am I supposed to go? In houses like his, they wouldn’t even let me past the gate. They’d take me for a thief.”
“What are you talking about?” Zinaida slapped her palm against the table. “You barely have enough to eat! You’re going. I got his address from our local police officer. Tomorrow you’ll go there like a good girl, or I’ll drag you there by the collar myself.”
The next morning, after somehow managing to dry her boots, Ulyana stood in front of tall wrought-iron gates in an exclusive suburban neighborhood.
Beside a brick pillar, she hesitantly pressed the video intercom button.
A stern woman in uniform met her on the porch.
Inside the spacious hall with its high ceilings, the air smelled of freshly baked pastries and expensive perfume.
Ulyana perched on the very edge of a pale ottoman, feeling completely out of place in her faded jeans.
“You came!”
Yesterday’s little boy ran into the room.
He was wearing a soft set of home clothes.
He rushed toward Ulyana but suddenly stopped halfway.
The boy fell silent, staring at the dark scar on her cheek.
Ulyana looked at him uncertainly.
Then she raised her eyes—and froze.
Above the wide fireplace hung an enormous portrait.
A young woman looked down at her from the canvas.
She had the same slightly slanted eyes.
The same shape of lips.
The same stubborn chin.
She was an exact copy of Ulyana.
Except for one thing.
The woman in the portrait had smooth, flawless skin.
And in the lower right corner of the frame hung a black mourning ribbon.
Ulyana’s breath caught in her throat.
She took an unsteady step backward.
A heavy door slammed in the entrance hall.
A tall man strode quickly into the living room.
He was loosening his tie as he walked, but when he raised his eyes and saw the visitor, the car keys slipped from his hand.
The metal struck the marble floor with a sharp clang.
“Sofia?” he whispered hoarsely, his face turning pale.
“My name is Ulyana,” the young woman said, backing toward the wall. “I’m not Sofia. I came because of Matvey.”
The man sank heavily into an armchair.
“My name is Stanislav,” he finally said, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Sofia, my wife, died a year and a half ago. A road accident. But the resemblance between you… If it weren’t for that scar, I would think I was losing my mind.”
Ulyana instinctively covered her cheek with her palm.
“I grew up in an orphanage,” she said quietly. “I barely remember my father. He drank heavily. One day, in a rage, he raised his hand against my mother. She recoiled and hit the stove. A container of hot liquid spilled onto me. The scar stayed forever.
“After that came the orphanage. I ran away. Got mixed up with the wrong crowd. The guys robbed people while I stood off to the side. We were caught, and I took the blame so the others wouldn’t be sent to prison. I served three years. When I got out, I had nowhere to go.”
Stanislav listened without interrupting.
His professional surgeon’s gaze was already studying the young woman’s face, assessing the severity of the old injury.
“This cannot be explained by simple coincidence,” he said firmly. “Sofia never talked about her early childhood. She grew up in a very wealthy family.”
“Then we just happen to look alike,” Ulyana said, nervously tugging at her jacket. “I’m glad to see that Matvey is all right. I should go.”
“Wait!” Stanislav jumped to his feet. “Come with me. Right now. We’re going to Sofia’s mother. I need answers.”
An hour later, they were sitting in the gloomy living room of another mansion, its walls covered with heavy curtains.
Tamara Gennadyevna, an elderly lady with perfectly styled hair, leaned on a cane.
The moment she saw Ulyana, the teacup slipped from her hand.
The sound of shattering porcelain cut through the tension in the room.
“Tell us everything, Tamara Gennadyevna,” Stanislav said, enunciating every word. “You always told me Sofia was your only child. Where did her exact double come from?”
The elderly woman stared at the broken porcelain on the carpet for a long time.
“My husband demanded an heir,” she finally began in a hollow voice. “He threatened to leave me with nothing. I found a solution. Through a midwife I knew at a regional hospital, I found a family. The father drank constantly. The woman had given birth to twin girls and was in complete despair. They had nothing to eat.
“I offered them an enormous amount of money. That useless man personally brought one of the babies out to me. I chose the girl who seemed stronger.”
She raised her eyes toward Ulyana.
“I took Sofia. We arranged everything secretly. I told my husband I had given birth in a private clinic abroad.”
Ulyana felt as though something had struck her from inside.
“You simply bought a child? And left me there?” Her voice trembled with barely restrained fury.
“I couldn’t take both of you! My husband would never have believed I had twins,” the old woman tried to justify herself, but immediately looked away. “Forgive me. I never imagined your life would turn out this way.”
The drive back was filled with heavy silence.
Stanislav stopped the SUV outside his house, turned toward Ulyana, and looked directly into her eyes.
“Ulyana. You saved my son. You are the biological sister of the woman I loved very much. I cannot undo what my mother-in-law did. But I can change what happens next.
“I run a center for aesthetic surgery. Your case is complicated and will require serious work. But I’ll do everything personally.”
Ulyana shook her head distrustfully.
“Why would you do that? I’m used to my face. I don’t need anyone’s pity.”
“This isn’t pity, Ulyana. It’s an attempt to make amends for the actions of someone who destroyed your life. Matvey is drawn to you. The same blood runs through your veins. Give me a chance to restore some justice. Stay with us.”
Eight months passed.
Stanislav’s house had become much warmer and more welcoming, often filled with the sound of a child’s laughter.
Ulyana stood in front of the large mirror in the entrance hall.
The last thin bandages had been removed the day before.
A beautiful, confident young woman looked back at her from the mirror.
The old scar was gone, leaving only a thin pale line that was almost impossible to see.
The door opened slightly, and the top of Matvey’s head appeared through the gap.
“Mom Ulya, are you coming? Dad said we’re going to the countryside today!”
“I’m coming, Motya,” she said with a smile.
They stepped out onto the porch.
Stanislav was waiting beside the car.
Over those months, something far greater than simple gratitude had grown between them.
It was a deep, powerful feeling that had helped them both heal.
“By the way,” Stanislav said, opening the car door for her, “I called down south. The new manager of our country house sends her regards.”
Ulyana laughed warmly.
Zinaida, who had left the damp basement behind forever, was now managing their small guesthouse by the sea, happily keeping everything in order and enjoying the southern sunshine.
Life had dealt Ulyana many painful blows.
But now she knew for certain:
Even the longest winter eventually comes to an end.