“Daniil Oleksiyovych,” came the high-pitched voice of the secretary through the intercom, “there’s a girl calling about a job. She says she had an interview with you.”
“Maria, I told you not to disturb me!” the man barked.
“She wants to know the result. She said you told her to call back today,” the girl persisted. “Should I put her through?”
“Tell her she’s not a good fit,” he dismissed without a second thought.
“But you didn’t even ask for her last name…”
Stavitsky had no intention of listening to his subordinate’s arguments. Ruthlessly yanking the cord out of the intercom, cutting her off mid-sentence, he leaned back in his chair and stared thoughtfully out the window.
Lately, life had been steadily going downhill. What did he care about yet another potentially talented girl persistently trying to get into ‘Megapolis’? Sure, he needed new staff, but right now, they wouldn’t save him. Nothing would save him from the changes looming on the horizon. Not necessarily bad changes, but ones that didn’t fit into his usual way of life.
Up until a certain point, everything had been going well: at twenty-eight, he owned his own business—a advertising agency that he’d slowly but surely turned into the best in the city; a top-of-the-line car from the latest model year; an apartment downtown; a house in the suburbs… Everything as it should be. Money, parties, women who came and went with regular consistency, since any hint of a serious relationship was taboo for Daniil. Many considered him cold, indifferent, cynical, but few could guess why he wanted neither a steady relationship nor a family… Nothing at all.
But what did it matter when His Majesty Fate decided to play a cruel joke, ignoring any objections and shoving a massive curveball his way? As the saying goes, you can’t escape a beggar’s freedom or a prisoner’s fate. Take that, sucker.
Tapping his fingers on the armrest, he glanced at his wristwatch. Half past one. Time to get moving, or he’d be late to the airport due to traffic.
Looked like it was shaping up to be quite a day.
Grabbing his coat from the closet, he headed for the exit. In the reception area, his eyes caught the bright, glittering tinsel everywhere—on the windows, strung around the perimeter of the room, all the way to the secretary’s desk, which was completely wrapped in garlands.
Right—today was already December 23rd. That silly, pointless holiday was creeping up fast. Daniil had noticed it yesterday when he’d had to rush to the mall for some essentials before the arrival of his long-awaited guest.
Christmas trees, ornaments, twinkling lights… Everyone, like a clueless herd, had succumbed to the pre-holiday fever, buying up useless decorations and plastering them everywhere. Even Mashka. When had she found the time?
“Maria!” the man barked, stopping at the secretary’s desk and peering at her monitor, where she was engrossed in something.
“Daniil Oleksiyovych?” She jumped in her seat, instinctively adjusting her glasses.
“What is this nonsense?” he demanded, ripping the tinsel off the computer and raising an eyebrow.
“It’s tinsel,” she confirmed the obvious.
“I can see it’s tinsel! What’s it doing here? I told you I don’t want any of this in my agency!”
“But it’s New Year’s,” the blonde shrugged, shrinking under his gaze. “I thought you’d like it. It’s pretty, gives a festive vibe and all that…” Her voice trailed off into a whisper as she lowered her eyes.
“I don’t like it. Got it?” Stavitsky snapped. “I want all of this gone by tomorrow. Do you understand?”
“Uh-huh,” the secretary agreed, standing up. “I’ll take it down.”
Nodding with satisfaction, Daniil headed for the door.
“Where are you going?” Maria called after him timidly.
Sometimes, Stavitsky felt an overwhelming urge to strangle his own secretary. The girl had been working for him for six months, yet she couldn’t seem to remember a couple of simple rules—never, under any circumstances, mention the approaching New Year, and never ask where he was going. The first could be chalked up to inexperience, but the second was starting to drive him up the wall. Bad manners—strike one; lack of professional etiquette—strike two; blatant audacity—strike three. Who was she to demand an account of his whereabouts? He’d only allow such liberties to his wife. And since a wife wasn’t in the cards—nor likely ever would be—no one got that privilege.
“I’m leaving, and I won’t be back today,” he growled through gritted teeth, waving her off over his shoulder.
“Daniil Oleksiyovych, but ‘Visti’ called. They wanted to confirm details about the ad block. If you don’t get in touch with them today, we’ll miss out on advertising next month…”
“Maria, let me decide who I contact and when. Alright?” he explained as if to a clueless child. Catching her nod out of the corner of his eye, he repeated, “I won’t be in today, so try to handle things on your own. And, if possible, don’t bother me on my cell.”
Without waiting for a response, he hurriedly left the reception area. His nerves were already shot, and if the blonde decided to argue, they might just boil over into another firing. But Daniil had no plans to fire Mashka. Sure, she could be dense at times, but she always carried out his instructions professionally.
Stepping outside, he greedily inhaled the crisp, frosty air. Snow fell in fluffy flakes to the ground, but he loved this kind of weather. The inexplicable, cold winter mirrored his state of mind perfectly. If it weren’t for the annual holiday called New Year’s, it’d be downright ideal.
Back in the day, New Year’s had been Stavitsky’s favorite and most anticipated holiday. But about four years ago, everything flipped upside down. Just four years, yet it felt like a lifetime ago. A new life, a wealthy one, but endlessly lonely.
For some reason, as he navigated the snowy streets of downtown, that loneliness felt especially acute. Colorful garlands, a towering Christmas tree in the square, and people caught up in pre-holiday chaos. So happy, so content, despite the bad weather. Because they had someone to share the joy of the approaching holiday with, someone to live for, someone to create that holiday for. Unlike Daniil…
Though, why was he getting all sentimental like some delicate damsel? After today’s trip to the airport, a lot would change for him too. He’d wanted someone to live for, a purpose greater than his own business—well, here it was, handed to him on a platter. But another wave of doubt gnawed at him—could he handle it? There was no choice; he’d have to handle it, or he wasn’t a real man.
He reached his destination quickly and practically burst into the arrivals hall just as they announced the landing of the flight from New York. Time, which had been racing like a mad whirlwind until now, seemed to freeze. Passengers streamed out. Men, women… Alone, with families, with friends… Talking, laughing, hugging those waiting for them… All so ordinary, so routine. But the one he’d come for didn’t appear…
“Daddy!”
The shrill cry of a little girl made Daniil’s heart skip a beat. Turning toward the sound, he saw with disappointment the source—a five-year-old with snowy white curls clinging to an unfamiliar man. With unconcealed envy, he watched the happy family embrace after their journey and head toward the exit, then turned back to the arrivals area.
The crowd had nearly dispersed when he spotted a vaguely familiar middle-aged woman leading a small, dark-haired girl by the hand. The child clutched a ginger teddy bear tightly to her chest. Looking dejected, she slowed her steps with every meter.
The woman accompanying her noticed Daniil and said something to the girl, but she only gave him a fleeting glance before hugging her toy even tighter, as if trying to shield herself and hide from the world.
Stavitsky grew nervous, realizing this would be harder than he’d imagined. Lina wasn’t happy to be back in her home country. More than that, she wasn’t particularly happy to see him. And what had he expected? Hardly anyone would be thrilled with a father who only fulfilled his duties a couple of times a year.
“Good afternoon,” the woman greeted, stopping a few feet away. “I’m not sure if you remember me. I’m Nina Anatoliivna, Lina’s nanny.”
“Daniil,” he nodded, crouching down beside the child, who stood with her eyes fixed on the floor. Extending an open hand, he whispered gently, “Hey there, bunny.”
“Hi,” the girl replied reluctantly, flashing him a quick look with her dark, bead-like eyes framed by thick lashes. But she didn’t take his hand.
So gloomy, so serious. Yet a real beauty. She looked so much like her mother, Lera. Not just in appearance—which promised to drive men crazy as she grew up—but in her stubborn, defiant personality. Just as Lina’s mother had once driven him crazy. She’d turned his head, made him fall in love, then left to chase a better life, taking their one-year-old daughter with her, leaving behind only bitterness and regret for what could have been…
It had been about six months since Stavitsky last saw his daughter. Even then, Lina hadn’t been particularly thrilled by his visit, despite the pile of gifts he’d brought for her fifth birthday.
Daniil remembered how she hadn’t even bothered to unwrap the gift packaging, tossing the box into a pile of similar ones given by her mother’s wealthy friends. He knew he didn’t deserve a different reaction. But he also suspected Lera had played a role in this. And the fact that flying to the other side of the world even once a month wasn’t feasible didn’t help.
The older Ellina got, the more persistently her ex-wife convinced her what a terrible father they had—someone who only cared about his business and couldn’t care less about his own daughter. Lera wanted her to see her new husband as her father. Just as, five years earlier, she’d accused Daniil of being incapable and weak-willed, unable to achieve more than he had at the time. But could he really blame Lera now? As the saying goes, speak well of the dead or not at all.
“Will I live with you now?” Lina asked naively, her speech slightly slurred but without the slightest accent.
Daniil mentally thanked Lera for, despite fleeing to America to build a modeling career, finding a Ukrainian-speaking nanny for their daughter and ensuring she learned Ukrainian alongside English.
“Yes, bunny,” Stavitsky agreed.
“And Mommy?” She looked up at Nina Anatoliivna. “You said she’s in heaven. She’s not coming back?”
“Linochka… No, Mommy isn’t coming back,” the woman explained awkwardly, pointing upward. “But she’ll always be watching over you from up there.”
“I want to go there too,” Ellina mumbled, hiding behind the nanny. “To Mommy, in heaven.”
Daniil knew his daughter didn’t fully understand what she was saying, but his heart ached painfully at the terrible confession. For the first time in a long while. So, the little girl would rather be anywhere but with him. But why be surprised? Lera was right—he was a lousy father.
“Bunny, don’t say that,” Daniil pleaded, trying to draw Lina closer. “I need you here with me.”
Reluctantly allowing him to pick her up, she frowned even more, avoiding his gaze.
“Don’t mind her,” Nina Anatoliivna said cautiously. “She doesn’t fully understand what happened to Valeria. She just needs some time to adjust. Everything will work out. I’ll stay in the country until Linochka settles in.”
“Alright,” Daniil nodded, glancing around and gesturing to the suitcase in the woman’s hand. “Is this all the luggage?”
“Yes, we brought the essentials.”
“Then let’s go,” he said, taking the suitcase and, with his daughter in his arms, heading toward the airport exit.
He wasn’t in the mood to hear words of comfort or advice, even from someone familiar to Lina. This was his daughter, and he’d figure out how to build a relationship with her, no matter what it took.
It seemed that building that relationship would take a very long time. The entire drive home, Ellina stayed silent, staring out the side window, listlessly watching the passing scenery. Any attempts to start a conversation were met with short “yes,” “no,” or “maybe.” Nina Anatoliivna shrugged, while Stavitsky pondered what he’d need to do to get closer to the girl. Besides Valeria, she didn’t take anyone seriously, and unfortunately, Lera couldn’t be brought back…
Daniil sadly recalled that less than a month ago, after another business meeting, his phone had rung with a call from America. Expecting another tirade from his ex, he was surprised to hear Lina’s nanny on the line. Between sobs and incoherent muttering, he barely made out the phrase that turned everything upside down—Valeria and her new husband had died in a car crash. Instantly.
For Stavitsky, it was a real blow. Even though Lera was long in his past, they shared a daughter, and she remained someone important to him. Flying out for the funeral wasn’t possible—his American visa had “conveniently” expired. And even with his connections and resources, renewing it would take time he didn’t have at the moment.
One thing he knew for sure back then—Lina had a father who was obligated to take care of her. He immediately started working on the paperwork needed to bring her back to her homeland. For a whole month, he lived on edge, constantly fearing something would go wrong and his daughter would be left alone in a foreign country.
But now Ellina was here. Did that make things easier? Not really.
Daniil was terrified that his daughter wouldn’t like living with him. In the last few days, after finishing the paperwork, he’d been setting up a room for her, buying everything necessary and every cute toy or item he came across. He desperately didn’t want her to feel lacking in anything after living in a big American house, now in a modest high-rise apartment. But judging by the surprise on her face as she crossed the threshold, she felt something like that anyway.
“Is this my new home?” she asked, looking back at the nanny.
“Bunny, come on, I’ve got something to show you,” Stavitsky said, picking up his daughter and heading, without taking off his shoes, to what used to be the guest room but was now Lina’s space.
He opened the door with a flourish, revealing what he thought was a true paradise for a little princess. Against one wall stood a child’s bed styled like an adult’s, with a beautifully carved headboard and a light pink canopy. Opposite was a small vanity with a mirror and storage cabinets; by the window, a desk with a laptop; nearby, a small sofa. Light pastel tones, textured natural fabrics with floral prints, heaps of dolls and toys…
“Do you like it?” he asked with a hopeful smile, looking at his daughter.
Trying to put himself in Lina’s shoes, he was certain she’d squeal with delight right away. But neither immediately nor after a few minutes of silence did any excitement come.
Squirming in his arms, the girl muttered reproachfully, “I thought there’d at least be a Christmas tree here.”
Stavitsky frowned, unsure how to respond to that remark or if he even needed to. But Lina changed the subject herself.
“Can I get down?”
Daniil wordlessly set her on the floor. She looked around with a businesslike air, walked over to the sofa, plopped down, crossed her arms over her chest, and stared blankly at a spot on the wall, clearly not in the mood to talk.
“Daniil Oleksiyovych, may I have a word?” Nina Anatoliivna called softly, touching his shoulder.
Leaving his daughter to get used to her new home, he stepped into the living room, rubbing his face in confusion. Less than an hour had passed since Ellina arrived, and he already didn’t know what to talk about with her or how to build a connection. He’d expected it to be tough, but not this tough.
“Daniil Oleksiyovych, you really should decorate the apartment, put up a Christmas tree, hang some garlands,” the woman pointed out. “In New York, the holiday celebrations are in full swing right now; tomorrow is Catholic Christmas. Lera always celebrated it, and Lina is used to that.”
“A Christmas tree?” he asked, stunned, sitting on the edge of the couch.
He didn’t want to put up a tree. He’d hated New Year’s and everything associated with it since exactly four years ago, when he’d lost his family, and until this moment, he hadn’t planned on changing a thing.
“Yes, a Christmas tree,” Nina Anatoliivna repeated. “I can see you and Linochka already have a strained relationship. She won’t forgive you if you deprive her of the holiday too. I think this is the only way not just to build a bond with her, but to bring her back to life. She’s so young; she should be enjoying life, not wishing to be in heaven. I think Lera would want to see her here, happy…”
“No, no,” Stavitsky shook his head, realizing once again that he had no choice.
If this was the only way to win Lina’s affection, he’d swallow his principles and throw a holiday celebration, no matter the cost.