My wife and I had moved to the mountains about a month earlier. We were both exhausted from city life — the constant noise, traffic jams, and thin walls letting every neighbor’s argument reach us. Here, everything was different: fresh air, the scent of pine trees, and peaceful quiet broken only by the crackling fireplace at night.
At last, our lives had found the calm rhythm we’d always dreamed of. But one day, everything changed.
For several days, we noticed strange footprints near our porch. At first, we guessed squirrels or raccoons. Then maybe foxes. But as time went on, the tracks grew larger and fresher. I hoped it wasn’t wolves — or worse, a bear. I was wrong.
That morning, I stepped outside to bring in firewood. The moment I opened the door, I froze.
Right there, on the wooden porch, stood a massive brown bear. And in her mouth — a tiny cub.
My breath caught in my throat. The bear didn’t growl or move. She just stared straight into my eyes.
I remembered the advice: don’t move, don’t scream, don’t make eye contact — but I was already locked in her gaze.
Slowly, she stepped forward. My heart pounded.
“This is it,” I thought. “It’s over.”
Then the bear did something I never expected.
She pointed at the cub with her paw. The little one whimpered softly. That’s when I noticed something — an old trap wire was stuck on its back, digging painfully into its skin.
Now I understood why they had come.
The mother growled low, warning me to be careful.
I raised my hands, showing no harm, and knelt slowly.
“It’s okay,” I whispered. “I’ll help.”
The cub trembled but stayed still. I carefully grabbed the wire and pulled — freeing it. The cub squealed in pain, and at that moment, the bear roared and stood on her hind legs.
I froze.
“I’m just saving it!” I said, trying to keep my voice calm and fearless.
The bear hesitated a few seconds more, then dropped down and looked at me again. This time, I saw trust in her eyes.
I called for my wife, “Bring the bandages! The first aid kit, quickly!”
Together, we cleaned and bandaged the cub’s wound. The mother bear stayed close, watching every move silently, only her heavy breath breaking the quiet.
When we finished, I slowly stepped back. The bear gently picked up her cub and vanished into the forest — without looking back.
