Oleg was a successful businessman. He had built an empire from scratch, had houses in three countries, cars he barely drove, and money he couldn’t even count anymore. But none of it mattered. Not since his son, Dima, passed away two years ago in a tragic car accident.
Every Sunday, without fail, Oleg visited his son’s grave. One cloudy afternoon, as he approached the cemetery, he noticed a small boy sitting at Dima’s grave. The boy looked about ten, in worn clothes, holding a single wildflower. He was talking to the headstone quietly, as if speaking to a friend.
When the boy saw him, he jumped up, startled and embarrassed.
“I’m sorry, sir,” the boy said quickly. “I wasn’t trying to do anything wrong. I just… I come here sometimes.”
“To this grave?” Oleg asked, puzzled.
The boy nodded. “Yes. I didn’t know your son, but I talk to him. He listens.”
Oleg didn’t know what to say. The moment felt strange, but not wrong. He knelt down and asked, “What’s your name?”
“Sasha,” the boy replied, hesitating. “My mom says I shouldn’t talk to strangers. But you seem kind.”
That simple sentence hit Oleg harder than he expected.
Over the next few weeks, Oleg saw Sasha again and again at the cemetery. Eventually, he met Sasha’s mother, Marina. She was a single parent working long hours at a diner, barely making ends meet.
They spoke cautiously at first. Marina was skeptical of a wealthy man taking interest in her son. But Oleg never made any grand promises. He simply offered to take Sasha to the park on weekends or help him with schoolwork.
For Oleg, spending time with Sasha brought something back he thought he’d lost forever. Oleg showed Sasha the parts of the city he once enjoyed with Dima. And Sasha, in return, filled the silence Oleg had been drowning in.
One Sunday afternoon, while Marina was helping Sasha with homework, she turned to Oleg.
“Why are you doing this?” she asked softly. “You don’t owe us anything.”
Oleg hesitated before answering. “I think… I just needed someone to care for. Someone who reminded me that life didn’t stop when Dima died. I just want to be useful again.”
Tears welled in Marina’s eyes. She understood. Not in the way he had lost, but in the way life takes and rarely gives back.
Time passed. Marina found a job she loved, baking in a small café that Oleg discreetly helped get off the ground. Sasha thrived in his new school, became more confident, even started painting.
Oleg never forced his presence. He was there when they needed him, and quiet when they didn’t.
One day, Sasha gave him a drawing. It was of three people—himself, Marina, and Oleg—standing beneath a tree. The sun was shining, and in the sky, a boy with wings smiled down at them.
“That’s Dima,” Sasha said. “He’s watching us.”
Oleg didn’t say a word. He didn’t need to. He hugged Sasha tightly, knowing that grief never leaves—but sometimes, love returns in another form.