“Anna Sergeyevna, the papers are ready. Who’s coming with you?” the nurse asked gently, watching the weak woman whose pale face showed she hadn’t slept.
“I… I’ll be fine on my own,” Anna said, trying to sound confident.
The nurse looked worried. It had been a week since the tough delivery, but no one had come to be with Anna. Her husband hadn’t shown up at all — just one short call: “Don’t bother with me.”
Anna carefully picked up Liza, holding her gently in her arms. The nurse helped her with the second baby, Mitya. Two tiny babies, two new lives, now completely her responsibility. She slung a bag over her shoulder and held a pack of diapers in her other hand.
“Are you sure you can carry everything?” the nurse asked, still unsure. “Should I call a car?”
“No, it’s okay. The bus stop isn’t far.”
Not far—just a kilometer through cold, snowy February streets. She had to walk with two newborns and painful stitches, but there was no one to help. She barely had enough money for milk and bread, let alone a taxi.
She walked slowly and carefully. The cold wind blew snow in her face, her bag pulled on her shoulder, and her back hurt. But holding her babies close under the blankets, she felt their warmth—and it was warmer than any coat.
At the bus stop, Anna had to wait. People hurried by, covering their faces from the wind. No one stopped to help—just quick glances at the young woman standing alone with two babies. When the bus finally came, an older woman helped Anna get on and offered her a seat.
“Going to see your husband?” the woman asked.
“Yes,” Anna said quietly, though it wasn’t true.
Deep inside, she still hoped Ivan had just been scared. Maybe once he saw the babies, he’d change his mind. They had planned for this—talked about it when he proposed. Two years ago, he had said, “I want a son and a daughter, just like you.” And now they had both.
But home was silent and cold. The air was stale, dishes were dirty, cigarette butts filled a jar, and empty bottles were scattered around. She gently placed the babies on the couch, lining it with a clean towel, then opened a window. Pain shot through her side.
“Ivan?” she called out. “We’re home.”
She heard a noise from the bedroom. Ivan came out, tying his robe. He looked at the babies, the bags, and Anna—but his face was blank, distant. Like he was looking at strangers.
“Loud,” he said, nodding at the sleeping twins. “Bet they cried all night?”
“They’re good,” Anna said softly, stepping closer, searching for some sign of kindness. “They barely cry. Mitya only when he’s hungry, and Liza is always quiet. Aren’t they beautiful?”
Ivan stepped back. His face showed something—disgust or fear.
“I’ve been thinking…” he said, rubbing his neck. “This isn’t for me.”
“What?” Anna asked, confused.
“Kids, diapers, crying—I’m not ready.”
Anna stared at him, shocked. How could he say that? He had known for nine months that they were coming.
“But you said—”
“I changed my mind,” he said, like it was nothing. “I’m still young. I want to enjoy life, not deal with this.”
He walked past her, pulling a gym bag from the closet and stuffing it with clothes.
“You… you’re leaving?” her voice didn’t even sound like her own.
“I’m leaving,” he said, not even looking at her. “I’ll stay at Seryoga’s for now. We’ll figure out the rent later.”
“And what about us?” Anna asked, stunned.
He zipped up his bag and finally looked at her, annoyed—like she was bothering him over something unimportant.
“You stay here. The apartment’s in your name. I’m not fighting for custody. I won’t pay child support—it was your choice to have them, so they’re your responsibility now.”
He walked over to the couch. Mitya opened his eyes—dark like his father’s. He didn’t cry, just stared at the man who created him, now turning his back on him.
“I don’t want them,” Ivan said quietly. “I’m done being a dad.”
He spat on the floor next to the couch, grabbed his bag and coat, and slammed the door as he left. The windows shook from the force. Liza began to cry, softly at first, like she knew what had just happened.
Anna sank to the floor. Her chest felt empty, as if everything inside her had been taken. She was alone now. With two tiny babies. In a cold house, with just a small maternity allowance to get by.
Liza cried harder. Mitya joined her—their voices blending into one painful cry. As if waking from a bad dream, Anna pulled herself to the couch, scooped them both up, and held them tight. Their tiny, trusting bodies were all she had left.
“Shh, my loves,” she whispered, rocking them gently. “We’ll be okay. I promise—I’ll never leave you.”
Outside, the wind blew snow into swirling gusts. The sun had already set. It was the first of many nights they would face alone—without him, the man who should’ve shared this load. At 3 a.m., Mitya finally fell asleep. Liza had dozed off earlier, warm and full. Anna placed them in a makeshift crib—an old microwave box lined with a wool blanket. The fire in the stove was almost out, but she was too tired to get up and add wood.
“We’ll survive,” she whispered into the darkness, as if it were a promise. “We will survive.”
That phrase became her motto for the years ahead.
“Grandma Klava! Mitya won’t eat his porridge!” five-year-old Liza called out, running into the yard with her pigtails bouncing. “He says it’s bitter!”
“It’s not bitter,” the elderly woman said, adjusting her scarf and wiping her hands on her apron. “It’s buckwheat, sweetie. It’s supposed to taste like that. Where is he?”
“In the shed. He got mad,” Liza answered, shaking her head.
Klavdiya Petrovna sighed. Anna had gone to work the night shift at the farm, filling in for someone who was sick. The children were staying with their kind neighbor, who had become like a grandmother over the past three years. At first, the village had looked down on Anna—for not keeping her husband, for bringing shame—but over time, they saw how hard she worked and how well she cared for her children. They accepted her.
“Let’s go check on our little grump,” Klavdiya said, taking Liza’s hand.
Mitya was sitting on an upside-down bucket, poking the dirt with a stick. He was skinny, and his hair had been shaved short after a lice outbreak at school. Liza had kept her braids—she cried for days when Anna tried to cut them.
“Why are you letting your sister eat breakfast alone?” the old woman asked, sitting on a nearby stump.
“The porridge tastes bad,” Mitya grumbled. “It’s bitter.”
“Do you know what your mom wants?” Klavdiya said softly, brushing his head. “She wants you to be strong and healthy. She works hard at the farm, talks to cows, collects milk—just so you can eat. And you don’t want your food?”
The boy looked up at her, sighed, and stood up.
“Okay, I’ll eat it. But can I have some bread with it?”
“Of course—he can have it with bread, butter, and sweet tea,” Klavdiya said kindly.
That evening, Anna came home—exhausted, her eyes red from lack of sleep, but still smiling. In her worn bag were a can of milk, a loaf of bread, and a small bag of candies.
“Mom!” the kids shouted, running to her and hugging her tightly.
“My sweet ones,” she said, kneeling to embrace them. “How was everything while I was gone?”
Liza started talking right away—about the neighbor’s cat having kittens, about the new dress Grandma Klava made from her old one, and how Mitya didn’t want to eat porridge but ended up finishing it.
“There’s going to be a party at kindergarten soon,” she said, catching her breath. “For moms and dads.”
Anna froze for a moment, looking at her daughter. Liza looked back, unaware she’d said something painful.
“We should invite Dad,” Mitya added quietly. “Like the other kids.”
Anna took a deep breath, her throat tight. This was the moment she had feared. The questions were starting.
“You don’t have a dad,” she said softly.
“Why not?” Liza asked, confused. “Sasha has one, Marina too. Even Kolya—the boy who limps and fights—has a dad. Why don’t we?”
“Your dad…” Anna spoke gently but firmly. “He left when you were born. He didn’t want to stay with us.”
“So he doesn’t love us?” Mitya’s eyes filled with tears.
“I don’t know, sweetheart,” she said, stroking his short hair. “But I love you—enough for both of us.”
That night, the children cried—not because they were hungry or hurt, but because they realized something was missing. Anna lay between them, holding them close, and told bedtime stories—not about kings or castles, but about little forest animals who were happy even without a dad, because their mother bunny loved them very much.
Later, at the local office, Anna’s voice shook with anger. Her hands were clenched, knuckles white.
“What do you mean, ‘denied’?”
Alla Viktorovna, a round woman with bright red hair, nervously flipped through some papers.
“Anna Sergeyevna, please understand—there are only so many spots at the summer camp. We have to prioritize families who are really struggling.”
“That’s us! I’m raising my kids alone!”
“On paper, you have two jobs. Your income is above the minimum to qualify.”
“So what am I supposed to do now?” Anna said, nearly in tears. “Quit one of my jobs? One salary won’t be enough for the three of us!”
The administrator sighed and took off her glasses.
“Anna, I really do feel for you. But I don’t make the rules—the committee decides. Some families are in even tougher situations, with more kids or children with disabilities.”
“Their father left us. I don’t get a single ruble from him. I work nonstop just to keep food on the table!” Anna’s voice cracked.
Alla was quiet for a moment, then walked to a cabinet and pulled out a folder.
“There is one more option,” she said gently. “There are camp spots for kids from single-parent families—if the parent works at the camp. We’re short on kitchen staff.”
“I’ll take it,” Anna said without hesitation. “I’ll do any work.”
“It’s technically a vacation with your kids, but in reality, it’s tough—long hours, tiring work,” the administrator warned.
“I can do it. I’ll use my vacation days.”
That’s how Mitya and Liza saw the sea for the first time. Thanks to the camp and Anna’s hard work—washing dishes, peeling vegetables—they got to go. They came home sun-kissed and stronger. Mitya grew five centimeters, and Liza learned to swim. Most importantly, they stopped asking about their dad.
“Sidorov, are you stupid or what?” Liza stepped in front of the older boy, standing firmly. “Touch him again and I’ll knock you flat!”
Sidorov, a tall sixth-grader with a red face, smirked.
“What, hiding behind your sister, Mitya? Mama’s little baby!”
“Leave him alone,” Liza said through clenched teeth.
Mitya kept his eyes down. His face was bruised, his lip bleeding. At ten, he was still small, quiet, always reading.
“No dad, no brains,” Sidorov muttered and spat near Mitya’s feet.
Liza slapped him hard across the face. He stumbled back, stunned. Before he could hit back, Mitya lunged at him and hit him in the stomach. Sidorov bent over, wheezing. The twins took off running.
They stopped at the old water pump, faces red and out of breath.
“Why did you jump in?” Liza asked.
“I wanted to protect you,” Mitya said, wiping his lip. “He was picking on me.”
“Dummy,” Liza said with a snort. She pulled out a handkerchief, wet it, and handed it to him. “Hold this on your lip.”
They sat in silence on a rusty pipe. The sun was setting, and cows could be heard coming home nearby.
“Mom’s gonna be mad,” Mitya finally said. “She’ll scold us.”
“She won’t be mad,” Liza replied, shaking her head. “She’ll understand. She always does.”
Anna stayed calm when they came home. She cleaned Mitya’s lip, put something cold on his bruise, and listened while Liza told the story in one excited breath. Then she said,
“I’m proud of you. You stood up for each other.”
“But fighting’s wrong,” Mitya said quietly.
“Yes, it is,” Anna agreed. “But letting someone hurt your loved ones is worse.”
She hugged them—not little kids anymore, but growing teens. They were her reason to keep going. Her love, split between the two.
“Mom… was Dad really a bad guy?” Mitya asked suddenly.
Anna hesitated. It had been years since they talked about him. His memory was fading.
“No,” she said carefully. “Not bad. Just weak. He couldn’t handle being a parent.”
“Where is he now?” Liza asked.
“I don’t know, sweetie. Maybe in the city. Maybe he has a new family.”
“So he doesn’t care about us?” Mitya looked down at his shirt, playing with the hem.
“We care about each other,” Anna said gently. “And that’s what matters.”
That night, she couldn’t sleep. The kids were getting older, and soon, they’d be ready to hear the full truth. About how their father had left the day they came home from the hospital. How he spat near their crib. How he walked away and never looked back.
But they were still just ten. For now, she could protect them a little longer.
Years passed.
One day, Liza saw him first. A man was standing by the school fence, shifting around nervously, watching the students. His jacket was worn, hair messy and gray, his face red and tired. But something about him—the eyebrows, the chin—made her stomach twist.
“Mitya,” she said, tugging his sleeve. “Look.”
Mitya looked up from his book and followed her gaze. His eyes—so much like the man’s—widened.
“That’s…” he began, then stopped.
The man noticed them. His expression changed—surprised, uncertain. He raised his hand slightly, like he wanted to wave or shield himself from the past.
“Hi,” the man said in a rough voice. “You’re… Liza and Mitya, right? Anna’s kids?”
They didn’t answer. It had been ten years since he left — their whole lives without him.
“I’m your father,” he finally said, when the silence dragged on. “Ivan.”
“We know,” Liza replied coldly, stepping in front of her brother. “What do you want?”
Ivan flinched, like her words hurt him.
“I just wanted to see you… to talk. I’ve been thinking a lot.”
His voice was weak and shaky. He smelled like alcohol and smoke. His gray eyes—just like Mitya’s—looked tired and sad.
“Mom’s home,” Mitya said at last. “If you want to talk, go talk to her.”
“I came for you,” Ivan said, stepping closer. “Just to see how you’re doing. To know something about your lives.”
“Without you,” Liza snapped. “We’ve been growing up without you. Why now, after thirteen years?”
Ivan’s shoulders slumped. He hadn’t expected her to be so blunt.
“I know it’s my fault,” he mumbled. “I know I don’t deserve anything… But life’s been hard. I lost my job, my home, even my health. And now I wonder… maybe it’s not too late to at least get to know you?”
His voice shook. Mitya stared at the ground, clutching his jacket. Seeing his father like this was painful, like watching something broken still trying to stand. But Liza stood strong, unmoved.
“Well, now you’ve seen us,” she said firmly. “We’re going home. Our mom is waiting.”
“Wait,” Ivan said, reaching out. “Can’t we meet sometimes? I could pick you up from school… maybe help—”
“Do you even know what grade we’re in?” Liza shot back. “Where we live? What we like? What we’re good at? What we’re afraid of?”
Every question hit like a punch. Ivan looked down, silent.
“You know nothing about us,” Liza said, voice tight with emotion. “And you don’t get to just show up and act like you didn’t walk away. Like you didn’t spit near our crib.”
“Liza!” Mitya stepped back, wide-eyed. “How do you know that?”
“Mom told me when I asked,” Liza replied calmly, her gaze fixed on Ivan. “You left without a word. Mom stayed, alone with two babies, no money, no help. And she did it. Without you.”
“I was young…” Ivan mumbled. “Inexperienced. Scared of responsibility.”
“And her?” Liza tilted her head. “She was 26. But she wasn’t scared.”
Ivan lowered his head, his shoulders sagging under the weight of his mistakes and the years of silence.
“You’re strangers to us,” Mitya said softly but firmly. “Complete strangers.”
“You betrayed us,” Liza added, her voice hard.
They turned and walked away, leaning into each other as they always did when they needed comfort. Ivan watched them leave, and for the first time in years, tears filled his eyes.
When they came inside, Anna knew something had happened. Mitya’s pale face and Liza’s stiff posture told her everything. The smell of fresh apple pie still lingered in the kitchen, where she had just taken it out of the oven.
“What happened?” Anna asked, wiping her hands on a towel as she approached them.
“Dad came by,” Mitya blurted. “To school.”
Anna froze. That name—one they hadn’t said in years—hung in the air like a storm cloud.
“Ivan?” she whispered, barely able to speak the name. Her knees wobbled. “Why did he come?”
“He said life had crushed him,” Liza snorted. “Lost everything, now remembered us. Wanted to ‘get to know’ us.”
“And what did you…” Anna sank into a chair, her hands tightly clasped to stop them from shaking. “What did you say?”
“The truth,” Mitya met her gaze. “That he’s no one to us. That betrayal can’t be undone.”
Anna covered her face with her hands, the storm inside her raging. She felt anger at Ivan for showing up after all these years, fear for her children, and a strange sense of relief that he was still alive and remembered them.
“Hey,” Liza’s warm hand settled on her shoulder, strong and comforting, as if she were already an adult. “Don’t worry. We handled it. Said everything that needed to be said.”
“I’m sorry,” Anna said, her eyes red. “I’m sorry you had to go through that. I always feared this day, but… I didn’t think it would come so soon.”
“Soon?” Mitya chuckled bitterly. “It’s been thirteen years!”
“For me, it’s still yesterday,” Anna admitted softly. “Every day feels like yesterday. I was afraid he’d come back. And afraid he wouldn’t.”
“Did you… want him to come back?” Liza asked softly.
Anna paused for a long time, looking at their faces. She saw traces of Ivan in their features — the shape of their eyes, the curve of their chins — but their spirits were different. Stronger. Kinder. Whole.
“No,” she finally answered. “I didn’t want him back. Because without him, we became better. Stronger. A real family.”
They hugged — three hearts beating together.
“He might come here,” Anna said after a moment.
“Then what?” Mitya asked.
“Then we’ll say the same thing you did,” Anna said, standing tall. “That he’s a stranger. That we lived without him. That it’s too late.”
The next morning, Ivan came. They were having breakfast when a knock came — hesitant, awkward. Anna stood up, adjusted her blouse, and squared her shoulders.
“I’ll get it,” she said.
Ivan stood at the door — gaunt, older, with dark circles under his eyes and gray hairs mixed in. He smelled of cheap cologne, clearly having begged for a shirt and even ironed it. His cheeks were shaved, his hair combed, but the lines around his eyes and veins bulging at his temples told the truth.
“Hi, Anya,” his voice cracked like a rusty door.
Anna looked at him like he was an artifact — curious but distant. It was strange how this man had once been the center of her world, and now he seemed like just a stranger.
“Why are you here?” she asked coldly. “The kids already said everything yesterday.”
“I wanted to talk to you,” he shifted uncomfortably. “Just you, Anya. Seriously.”
“About what?” she crossed her arms.
“Everything,” he took a step closer. “About how I messed up. Wasted thirteen years. Woke up one day and had nothing — no home, no family…”
“And remembered the kids?” she raised an eyebrow. “How convenient.”
“It’s not like that!” he raised his voice, then softened. “Sorry. I mean it… I realized how badly I messed up. I want to fix it. I’ll help, send money—”
“From where?” she asked, smiling grimly. “Didn’t you say you have nothing?”
“I’ll earn it,” he stood up straighter. “I can work. I’m not completely lost.”
Anna didn’t respond, just studied him. This wasn’t the man she once knew. She could see his journey — from carefree youth to coward, to a desperate wanderer.
“They won’t forgive you,” she finally said. “Maybe I will. One day. But them — never.”
“Why?” he asked, genuinely hurt.
“Because they know everything,” Anna lifted her chin. “Not because they remember. They were too young. But I told them. I told them everything. About how you spat next to their cribs. How you said you didn’t need them. How you walked out without looking back.”
Ivan turned pale, like a ghost.
“Anya, I wasn’t thinking… I was drunk… I didn’t understand—”
“But I did,” she interrupted. “Every second of every year. When Mitya had pneumonia and I stayed awake for three nights, changing compresses. When Liza broke her arm, and I didn’t have money for a taxi, so I carried her two kilometers. When I worked multiple jobs just to make sure they had food and clothes.”
She spoke calmly, as if stating facts — what had been, what is, and what will be.
“Vanya,” she said, using his name for the first time, “you don’t belong here. I don’t hate you. I’m just tired. And… grateful.”
“Grateful?” he asked, confused.
“For leaving,” she answered. “If you’d stayed, it might have been worse for all of us. But you left. And we grew. We became better.”
“Anya, give me a chance,” he reached out. “I’ll try. I’ll help. I’ll—”
“Mom, are you okay?” Mitya asked, standing in the doorway, with Liza right behind him. They positioned themselves beside her, protecting her.
“I’m fine,” she reassured them, resting a hand on each of their shoulders. “Ivan was just leaving.”
He froze, facing an unmovable wall. A woman with lines at her eyes and two children who looked like him — the same brows, cheekbones, and eyes — but with spirits completely different from his. They stood together, forming a shield. A real family, created in hardship. Without him.
“There’s nothing to talk about,” Mitya said, his gaze steady.
“You erased us from your life,” Liza’s voice rang out clearly. “Now it’s our turn.”
Ivan lowered his head. Slowly, he turned and walked away down the dusty road — bent, aged, and alone.
Anna watched him leave, and for the first time in years, she felt free. It was like the last tie to her past had finally snapped.
“Let’s go,” she said, pulling her children close. “The pie is getting cold.”
They went inside, closed the door, and sat at the table — just the three of them, as always. Tea steamed in cups, and the scent of apple pie filled the room. Outside, rooks flew around the old poplar tree, and sunlight poured through the lace curtains.
“Mom,” Liza asked, resting her head on Anna’s shoulder, “are you sad?”
“No,” Anna kissed her daughter’s head, then her son’s. “I’m not alone. I have you. And you have me. That’s enough.”
They ate the pie and talked about everyday things — school, weekend plans, and the new calves at the farm. About their real life. The one they had built together. With their own hands.