Vanya woke up earlier than usual. The room was dark and cool, with a draft coming from the window. He pulled the blanket up to his chin and closed his eyes for a moment, but sleep did not return.
Outside, it was November—gray and chilly. The village streets were deserted, and it seemed as if nature itself was preparing for winter hibernation. The wind rustled dry leaves along the road, remnants of autumn, while the sky hung low and heavy.
Vanya sighed and sat up in bed.
“It’s time to get up…”
The kitchen was quiet. Only the old floor clock ticked softly in the corner. Vanya glanced at the stove— the coals had gone out overnight, and the house had cooled down.
He carefully peeked into his mother’s room. She lay in bed, covered with an old woolen blanket. Her face looked tired, and her cough continued even in sleep.
“Mom, how are you?” Vanya whispered softly, not to wake his sister.
His mother opened her eyes and tried to smile.
“It’s okay, son… Everything’s fine.”
But Vanya saw that it was a lie. Her voice sounded weaker than usual, and sweat glistened on her forehead.
He sat on the edge of the bed and took her hand.
“Rest, mom. I’ll take care of everything.”
She sighed heavily and looked at her son.
“You’re in charge now.”
Vanya nodded. He had known this would happen. When his mother fell ill, all the household chores fell on his shoulders.
“Don’t worry about yourself. The main things are your sister and the house,” his mother added, stroking his head.
“I know,” Vanya replied quietly.
In the next room slept Ksyusha. She was six years old and still believed in fairy tales. Her blonde hair was spread over the pillow, and in her hands, she clutched an old plush bear.
Vanya quietly peeked into the room and smiled.
“Let her sleep a bit more…”
He returned to the kitchen and put on an old jacket that was too small for him.
“I need to bring in some firewood,” he thought.
Snow hadn’t fallen yet, but the frost was already gripping the ground. Thin ice crusts crunched underfoot, and his breath turned into white vapor.
Vanya took an ax and headed to the strip of forest beyond the village. The cold penetrated to the bones, but he ignored it.
“The main thing is not to get sick,” he whispered to himself.
The forest greeted him with silence.
There was almost no wind, just old pines creaking under light gusts. Vanya stopped and looked around. He knew this forest from childhood—every path, every tree.
He chose a small pine branch and began to chop it with the ax.
“This will be enough for a day or two,” he thought, gathering the branches into a bundle.
His fingers froze, and the ax seemed heavy. But Vanya continued to work. He knew that his mother and sister were waiting at home.
When the branches were gathered, he lifted the bundle onto his shoulder.
“Now, back home.”
On the way home, Vanya stopped for a moment and looked at the village. The houses stood in rows, each with a chimney from which gray smoke rose—a sign of life.
His house was the last on the street—small, wooden, with a leaning fence. But for Vanya, it was the dearest place in the world.
He approached the gate and paused for a moment to breathe in the frosty air.
“We’ll manage,” he whispered. “We must manage.”
Vanya opened the gate and entered the yard, feeling a bit older than yesterday.
The boy had even forgotten that today was his birthday.
In the morning, he got up earlier than usual. Wearing an old jacket and felt boots, he went out to the yard—to check if there was enough firewood in the shed. The air smelled of the first snow. The air was fresh, and everything around seemed quiet and peaceful.
“If only it would snow by evening,” Vanya thought, wiping his nose with his sleeve.
There wasn’t much firewood left in the shed. He took the ax and went to the strip of forest beyond the village. There was a lot of work to do, and no time to think about holidays.
When he returned home, his sister Ksyusha met him at the doorstep. She had already woken up and was fussing at the stove, trying to light a fire.
“Vanya, do you know what day it is?” she asked with a smile.
“I know,” he replied shortly, stacking the firewood near the stove.
Ksyusha came closer and looked into his face.
“Aren’t you happy?”
Vanya smiled at his sister, but the smile was sad.
“Happy, of course… Just a lot to do.”
He glanced at the stove, where the fire barely warmed, and felt his heart squeeze. His mother was still ill, and there wasn’t even enough money for medicine, let alone a festive table.
Ksyusha frowned. She felt her brother was struggling, but didn’t know how to help.
“Maybe we’ll bake a cake anyway?” she timidly suggested.
Vanya just shook his head:
“No sugar. And not much flour left.”
Ksyusha sighed and returned to the stove.
After breakfast, Vanya went out into the yard.
He walked around the shed, checked the fence, and looked into the chicken coop. Everything was in order. But the anxiety did not leave him.
“We need to hold on,” he said quietly to himself, closing the shed door. “I’m in charge now.”
Returning to the house, he suddenly noticed something strange at the gate.
“A basket?”
Vanya approached. A large wicker basket stood right on the snow. Inside were groceries: potatoes, flour, sugar. And on top—a neatly packaged cake with cream roses.
The boy froze in place, disbelieving his eyes.
“Who brought this?” he muttered, looking around.
At that moment, he noticed neighbor Baba Lyuda, who was standing by the fence and waving to him.
“Happy Birthday, Vanechka!”
Vanya froze, then stepped toward the fence.
“Was it you?”
“We all in the village decided to help you,” Baba Lyuda smiled. “We know times are tough for you. So we thought: let’s at least make the birthday joyful.”
Vanya didn’t know what to say.
“But… I…”
“Don’t be embarrassed, Vanechka,” the grandmother said softly. “You’re a good boy, taking care of your mom and sister. Now it’s time for us to take care of you.”
Tears pricked Vanya’s eyes. He quickly wiped them with his sleeve, but his voice trembled treacherously:
“Thank you… I didn’t think anyone remembered.”
Baba Lyuda stepped closer and put her hand on his shoulder.
“Good deeds are not forgotten. We all know that.”
Vanya stood by the fence for a long time, looking at the basket. He felt the ice inside him melt, realizing: even in the hardest times, there are always those ready to help.
Vanya carefully placed the basket on the kitchen table. From the outside, it seemed small, but inside there was so much needed: potatoes, cereals, flour, oil, and even a jar of honey.
But the main thing—there was a cake. A real, festive one, with cream and cherries on top.
“Look, Ksyusha, a cake!” Vanya exclaimed joyfully, tearing open the package.
Ksyusha appeared in the kitchen instantly. Her eyes lit up.
“Wow! Is this for us?”
“Of course, for us!”
She clapped her hands, almost falling from excitement.
“Can we try it right now?” she asked, jumping on the spot.
Vanya laughed:
“Of course. Today’s a celebration!”
He took a knife and carefully cut the cake into even slices. The cream smelled pleasantly of vanilla, and the cherries glistened as if they had just been picked from the tree.
“Shall we have some tea?” Vanya asked, placing cups on the table.
Ksyusha nodded, eagerly watching as he brewed the tea.
“It’s been so long since we had this…” she said quietly, sitting down at the table.
Vanya felt it too. The house hadn’t had a festive mood for a long time. They had only thought about how to make ends meet.
When everything was ready, Ksyusha bit into the first piece of cake and blissfully squinted.
“Delicious!”
At that moment, the door to the room opened slightly, and their mother appeared on the threshold. She was pale and wrapped in an old warm shawl.
“What’s all the noise?”
“Mom, look! We got a gift!”
The mother approached and saw the basket. Her eyes filled with tears.
“Who?”
“Baba Lyuda and all the neighbors,” Vanya replied. “They decided to help us.”
The mother sat at the table and, like in childhood, folded her hands in front of her.
“Thank you, guys,” she said quietly, looking at her children. “You are the best.”
Vanya looked at his mother and suddenly realized how much she had changed over the last time. The illness had taken her strength, but kindness and love still shone in her eyes.
He took her hand.
“We’ll manage, mom. Really.”
The mother squeezed his hand in response.
“I have no doubt.”
The tea was hot and strong. The cake melted in the mouth.
“If only every day was like this,” Ksyusha dreamily said, breaking off another piece.
“It will be,” Vanya said confidently.
He suddenly felt strong. It was as if the basket of food brought not only groceries but also hope that everything would get better.
“We’ll manage,” he repeated to himself, looking at his sister and mom.
The next day, Vanya, as usual, went to the well for water. The bucket was heavy, his hands froze from the cold iron, but he walked confidently.
“The main thing is that everything at home is in order,” he thought, watching the thick vapor rising from his breath.
At the well, he saw Baba Lyuda. She stood, holding a bucket, and looked a bit tired.
“Hello!” Vanya greeted, approaching closer.
“Oh, Vanechka, hello,” Baba Lyuda smiled. “And why so serious?”
Vanya lowered his gaze and said quietly:
“I wanted to thank you again.”
Baba Lyuda looked at him attentively and squinted.
“For what?”
“For not forgetting about me.”
“Ah, you,” Baba Lyuda shook her head. “We never forgot you. You’re a good boy. And goodness, Vanechka, always comes back.”
She patted his shoulder and added:
“Remember that.”
Since then, Vanya didn’t sit idle.
He carried water to Baba Lyuda and helped her light the stove. He brought firewood to lonely grandmother Maria and sometimes helped sweep her yard.
“Oh, Vanechka, I would have been lost without you,” thanked him grandmother Maria.
“It’s nothing,” Vanya waved it off, but inside it was nice to hear kind words.
Sometimes he looked after younger children while their parents worked in the field.
“You’re our real hero, Vanya,” the neighbors joked, seeing him carry two toddlers at once.
But Vanya didn’t think so.
“I’m just doing what’s right,” he said, smiling.
One day, Ksyusha approached him.
“Vanya, will you always help people?”
“Of course, I will.”
“Why?”
Vanya thought for a moment.
“Because it’s necessary,” he replied. “People should take care of each other.”
Ksyusha nodded and added quietly:
“Then I’ll help too.”
Vanya smiled and patted his sister on the head.
“That’s right. Good deeds are not forgotten.”
He remembered these words for a long time. Each time, returning home after another deed, he repeated them to himself.
And every time, opening the gate, he felt warmer inside.
“The main thing is not to forget about kindness,” Vanya said quietly, looking at the winter sky. “Because goodness always comes back.