Anna Sergeyevna, the nurse said softly, “The papers are ready. Who will be taking you home today?”
“I’ll manage on my own,” Anna replied, attempting to sound more confident than she felt.
The nurse eyed her with concern. A week had passed since Anna’s difficult childbirth, and yet, no one had been with her. Her husband hadn’t even come to visit once. Just one brief phone call: “Don’t bother with me.”
Cradling Liza, Anna lifted the baby gently in her arms, one tiny bundle nestled in her elbow. The nurse helped with the second baby, Mitya, securing him against Anna’s other arm. Two tiny lives, two new souls that now depended entirely on her. With one hand, she slung her bag over her shoulder and grabbed a pack of diapers in the other.
“Are you sure you can manage everything?” the nurse asked, still hesitant. “Shall I call a car?”
“No, it’s fine,” Anna replied. “The bus stop is close by.”
It was only a kilometer, but in February’s snow, with two newborns and stitches that pulsed with every step, it felt like miles. There was no one to help her. The little money she had could barely cover the essentials, let alone a taxi—only enough for milk and bread until the end of the month.
She walked slowly, each step careful. The cold wind whipped snowflakes against her face, and her arms, laden with babies and bags, ached with the effort. But she could feel the warmth of her children against her chest, and it was enough to keep her going.
At the bus stop, she waited, her eyes scanning the busy street. People hurried by, shielding themselves from the biting wind, casting only brief, curious glances her way—a young woman, alone, with two babies. When the bus finally arrived, an older woman helped her board and offered her a seat.
“Going to your husband’s place?” the woman asked kindly.
“Yes,” Anna answered, lowering her eyes, though the word felt like a lie.
Deep inside, she still hoped that when Ivan saw his children, he would realize his mistake, that he would finally accept them and love them. They had talked about this, had made plans. Just two years ago, when he proposed, he had said, “I want a son and a daughter, just like you.” Now, fate had given them both at once.
But when she got home, the silence hit her first—the stale air, the empty house. Dirty dishes piled in the sink, cigarette butts in a jar on the table, empty bottles scattered about. She carefully placed the babies on the couch, covering them with a clean towel, then opened a window to let in some fresh air. The sharp pain in her abdomen reminded her that it wasn’t just the house that was broken.
“Ivan?” she called softly. “We’re home.”
From the bedroom came a rustling sound. Ivan appeared, adjusting his robe, looking at the babies, the bags, and Anna as though they were strangers. His eyes were cold, detached.
“They’re noisy,” he muttered, eyeing the twins. “Bet they cried all night?”
“They’re fine,” Anna answered, trying to sound hopeful. “Mitya only cries when he’s hungry. Liza is quiet. Look, they’re so beautiful…”
Ivan stepped back, a flicker of something—disgust, or maybe fear—flashed across his face.
“You know,” he began, rubbing his neck, “I’ve been thinking. This… this isn’t for me.”
“What?” Anna froze, her mind racing.
“Kids, diapers, crying all the time. I’m not ready for this.”
Anna’s heart sank. How could he not be ready? He knew for nine months that they were coming.
“But you said—”
“I changed my mind,” he said, shrugging as if it were nothing more than returning a gift. “I’m still young. I want to live my life, not deal with diapers.”
Anna stared at him, stunned. He turned away, grabbed a gym bag from the closet, and started stuffing it with clothes—t-shirts, jeans—without any care.
“You… you’re leaving?” Her voice was barely a whisper.
“I’m leaving,” he said, not looking at her. “I’ll stay at Seryoga’s for a while. I’ll figure out rent later.”
“And us?” Anna asked, her voice trembling with disbelief.
“Just stay here. The place is in your name. I’m not dealing with custody. I’m not paying child support. You chose to have them, now it’s your problem.”
He walked over to the couch, where Mitya stirred in his sleep, his dark eyes blinking up at him, but he didn’t cry. He just stared at the man who gave him life and then walked away from it.
“I don’t want them,” Ivan muttered, turning to leave. “I’m done with this role.”
He spat on the floor beside the couch, grabbed his bag and coat, and slammed the door behind him. The sound rattled the windows. Liza began to cry softly, as if she understood what had just happened.
Anna sank to the floor, a chasm opening in her chest. Fear, loneliness, and the crushing reality of being abandoned by the man who should have been there, should have helped. But instead, she was alone. Alone with two babies in a cold, empty house with a wood stove and nothing but a meager maternity benefit.
Liza cried louder. Mitya joined in, both voices rising in desperate unison. Anna crawled to them, pulling them close. Their tiny, trusting bodies—this was her reality now.
“Shh, my darlings,” she whispered, rocking them gently. “We’ll be okay. I’ll never leave you.”
Outside, the wind howled, sending snow into swirling patterns. The sun dipped below the horizon, and the night stretched on. It was the first of many nights she would face alone, with only the children who depended on her. When the clock struck 3 a.m., Mitya finally fell asleep, and Liza followed soon after, warm and content. Anna laid them down in a makeshift cradle—a box lined with a woolen blanket. The stove was almost out, but she had no energy left to stoke the fire.
“We’ll survive,” she whispered into the darkness, her voice a vow. “We will survive.”
That phrase became her mantra.
A few years later, Liza, now five, ran into the yard, her pigtails bouncing. “Grandma Klava, Mitya won’t eat his porridge!” she cried. “He says it’s bitter!”
“It’s not bitter, sweetie,” Klavdiya Petrovna, Anna’s neighbor, replied with a smile. “It’s buckwheat. It’s supposed to taste like that. Where’s your brother?”
“In the shed. He’s upset,” Liza said, shaking her head.
Klavdiya Petrovna sighed. Anna had gone to cover a shift at the farm, leaving the kids with her. At first, the village had judged Anna harshly. She was a single mother, left by her husband, and they criticized her every step. But over the years, they came to respect her—working hard, raising her children with dignity and love.
“Let’s talk to him,” Klavdiya said, taking Liza’s hand.
Mitya sat outside on an overturned bucket, poking the ground with a stick. He was skinny, almost bald after a lice outbreak, and looked up at her with sad eyes.
“Why aren’t you eating, Mitya?” Klavdiya asked softly, sitting beside him.
“That porridge is nasty,” he mumbled. “It’s bitter.”
Klavdiya gently ran her hand through his hair. “Do you know what your mom wants? She wants you to grow up healthy. She works hard on the farm, milks the cows, earns the money so you can eat. And you’re turning your nose up at it?”
Mitya sighed and reluctantly stood.
“Fine. I’ll eat it. But can I have it with bread?”
“Of course,” Klavdiya smiled. “With bread, butter, and some sweet tea.”
Later that evening, Anna returned home—exhausted, red-eyed from lack of sleep, but still smiling. In her bag, she had milk, bread, and a bag of caramels.
“Mom!” the kids rushed to greet her, wrapping their little arms around her.
“My sweethearts,” Anna knelt and hugged them both tightly. “How was it without me?”
Liza chattered away, telling her about the kittens, the new dress Grandma Klavdiya had sewn, and how Mitya had initially refused his porridge but ended up eating it all.
“There’s going to be a party at school soon,” Liza finished, catching her breath. “For moms and dads.”
Anna froze. The words hit her like a punch to the gut. The kids were starting to ask questions about their father.
“You don’t have a dad,” she said quietly, her heart heavy.
“Why not?” Liza asked, confused. “Sasha Petrov has a dad. So does Marina. Even Kolya, the boy who always fights, has one. Why don’t we?”
“Your dad…” Anna’s voice was soft, but firm. “He left when you were born. He didn’t want to be part of our life.”
“So he doesn’t love us?” Mitya asked, his eyes filling with tears.
“I don’t know, honey,” Anna stroked his hair. “But I love you. All of you. More than anything.”
That night, the kids cried—not from hunger or pain, but from the realization of what was missing. Anna lay between them, holding them close, and told them stories—stories of little animals in the forest who were happy without a father, because they had a mother who cared for them.
“Was Dad really a bad person?” Mitya asked, his voice small.
“No,” Anna said slowly. “Not bad. Just weak. He was scared of responsibility.”
“Where is he now?” Liza asked.
“I don’t know, honey,” Anna said, her voice steady. “Somewhere out there, maybe. Maybe he started a new family.”
“He doesn’t need us?” Mitya asked, his voice unsure.
“But we need each other,” Anna said firmly. “That’s enough.”
She hadn’t slept that night. The children were growing up, and their questions were becoming harder. She knew the moment would come when they’d need to know the full truth. About how their father had abandoned them. How he had walked away without looking back.
But for now, she could protect them. Keep them safe.
Years passed.
One day, Liza spotted him first—a man standing near the school fence, shifting nervously, scanning the crowd of children. His jacket was worn, his hair messy and graying, his face flushed and unhealthy. But something about his features—the shape of his brows, his chin—made Liza’s stomach tighten.
“Mitya,” she tugged at her brother’s sleeve. “Look.”
Mitya looked up, followed her gaze. His heart skipped a beat as he recognized the man. “That’s…” he started, but the words died in his throat.
The man noticed them, his eyes widening, and then he stepped forward, raising his hand as if to greet them or perhaps to defend himself.
“Hello,” he croaked. “You’re Liza and Mitya, right? Anna’s kids?”
They stood silently. The silence was heavy, filled with thirteen years of absence, questions, and silence.
“I’m your father,” he said finally. “Ivan.”
“We know,” Liza replied coldly, stepping protectively in front of Mitya. “What do you want?”
Ivan flinched at her words, his face pale. “I… I just wanted to see you. Talk. I’ve been thinking about you both.”
“Do you even know what grade we’re in?” Liza asked sharply. “Where we live? What we like? What we worry about?”
Each question hit him like a blow. He dropped his gaze, unable to answer.
“You don’t know anything about us,” Liza continued. “And you have no right to show up now. Not after all this time. Not after abandoning us.”
“I know I messed up,” Ivan mumbled, his voice breaking. “I’ve lost everything, but I want to try to make it right. I want to be part of your lives.”
“You were never part of our lives,” Liza said firmly. “Not really. You left us. And we’ve been better off without you.”
They turned and walked away, their hands intertwined. Ivan stood frozen, watching them go. It had taken him years to come back, but it was too late.
When they got home, Anna saw the look on their faces and knew what had happened. They were growing up, and with it, their understanding of what had been lost. But they were strong. And she was proud of them.
“Mom,” Mitya said, looking at her. “We’ve been okay. Really.”
And she knew, for sure, that they had been. And always would be.