Anna stood frozen in the middle of the room, clutching an unfolded baby shirt as a fierce blizzard raged outside, blanketing the road to the city in swirling snow. Inside her womb, twin boys stirred—boys she and Pavel had long awaited. At least, she thought they awaited them together.
Then came Pavel’s voice on the phone—cold, distant, like a stranger’s. “I’m sorry, but I won’t come. You’ll have to give birth alone. Mom says I don’t need children.”
“What did you say?” she whispered, feeling the ground vanish beneath her. “We had plans… My bags are packed, I’m waiting for you.”
“I don’t want this,” Pavel replied harshly. “My mother’s right. I’m tired of this village. I’m moving back to the city to start a new life, without extra burdens.”
“Burdens?” Anna’s voice quivered. “Pavel, these are our children! Our family!”
“It was a mistake. I’m filing for divorce.”
The line went dead. The baby shirt slipped from Anna’s weakening hands. Her hospital bag, packed just the night before, lay open by the door—she had just added the last items.
Suddenly, a contraction hit. She bent over, leaning on the table. When the pain eased, she tried calling Pavel again—his phone was off.
“It can’t be…” she whispered, dialing her mother-in-law’s number.
“Yes,” came the cold reply after several rings.
“Zinaida Petrovna, Pavel… he…”
“He told you the truth. My son deserves better than the endless cries of two babies in the village. Don’t call him again.”
Another contraction gripped her body. The phone slipped and hit the wooden floor. Anna sank to the ground, holding her belly.
A knock at the door startled her.
“Anuta! Open up!” called her cheerful older sister. “I knitted socks for the babies!”
Olya burst inside but froze seeing Anna on the floor.
“What happened?”
“Pavel…” Anna gasped through pain, “left for good. Said he doesn’t want the kids. Divorce…”
Olya dropped the bag of socks.
“What?! How could he…”
“The contractions started,” Anna moaned. “Help me…”
Determined, Olya grabbed her sister’s bag and wrapped a warm coat around her.
“It’ll be alright now. Father just brought firewood to the yard. Let’s go.”
Anna leaned on Olya as they walked through the yard to the car. Her thoughts swirled.
That morning, she had dreamed of Pavel holding her hand at the hospital, bringing the babies home, starting their happy life.
“Daughter, what’s happened?” her father asked, seeing her exhausted face.
“To the hospital — now!” Olya ordered. “Pavel left her forever.”
Ivan frowned and carefully helped Anna into the car.
“Don’t worry. We’re with you. Everything will be fine.”
Olya sat beside her, holding her tightly. Anna trembled—not from pain, but from fear and loneliness.
“No one wants my children,” she whispered through tears.
“That’s not true!” Olya squeezed her hand. “We want them. Mom, dad, me — we all love them more than anything.”
The car drove through the blizzard and darkness toward the hospital—new life and an uncertain future awaited. Without Pavel.
The white hospital walls felt cold and unfamiliar as contractions intensified, stealing her breath.
The nurse efficiently filled out forms, glancing with sympathy at Anna’s pale face.
“Is the husband not coming?” she asked.
“No,” Olya answered, squeezing her sister’s hand. “I’ll stay by her side.”
“Visiting hours are limited,” the nurse said softly, though warmth flickered in her eyes. “Wait in the corridor. We’ll update you soon.”
Olya bent down.
“I called Mom. They’ll be here soon with Dad. Don’t be afraid.”
Anna nodded, holding back tears—not of pain, but betrayal.
How could Pavel do this? Just yesterday, he talked about the future, about what names the boys would have…
“Let’s go, Mom,” the midwife said, helping her onto the stretcher. “Twins don’t wait.”
The delivery room lights dazzled. Anna fought pain and fear, feeling emptiness beside her—where Pavel should have been.
“Breathe deeply,” the midwife coached. “Push! One more!”
Her vision blurred. Anna gripped the rails, gathering strength.
“That’s it! Almost there!”
The first cry pierced the silence—strong and alive. Anna felt a warm, slippery bundle on her chest.
“A boy,” smiled the midwife. “Healthy. Now for the second.”
Ten minutes later, the second arrived—smaller, but just as loud.
“Beautiful boys,” the nurse showed the twins wrapped in blankets. “What will you name them?”
“Dima and Seryozha,” Anna whispered, touching their tiny hands. “My boys.”
Something inside broke and rebuilt—motherly strength, unconditional and fierce.
“Careful, Mom,” Olya helped swaddle the babies before discharge. “Seryozha is so loud, you’ll wake him.”
Maria, the children’s grandmother, a strong woman with kind eyes, gently wrapped her grandson.
“Quiet now,” she smiled at her daughter. “Anna, how are you?”
Anna nodded. She had lost weight in the hospital, but her eyes had hardened. She didn’t cry in front of people but shed tears into her pillow at night.
Outside, the storm raged as they left. Ivan brought the car to the porch, helping his daughter and grandsons inside.
“It’ll be alright,” he said, looking in the rearview mirror. “All men are bastards. Except me, of course.”
Olya snorted; Maria patted her husband’s shoulder. Anna smiled faintly.
The trip home took nearly two hours. The car swayed on the snowy road, the babies waking and crying in turn.
Upon entering, Anna felt warmth. Maria stoked the stove, wrapped the windows to keep the cold out. On the table, cabbage soup and fried potatoes steamed.
“Eat,” her grandmother said. “A nursing mother needs strength.”
“And we’ll meet the little warriors soon,” Olya said, rocking Dima softly.
Anna ate carefully, listening to every cry. Her world shrank to two cribs and bottles—milk was still scarce.
That first night, Dima cried nonstop. Anna carried and sang to him; he only quieted briefly.
Seryozha woke from his brother’s cries and joined him.
“Let me,” Olya appeared, sleepy but determined. “You rest for an hour.”
“I can’t,” Anna shook her head. “They’re mine.”
“And mine, too,” Olya said, taking Dima. “I’m their aunt. I have the right to help.”
By morning, Anna knew she couldn’t do it alone. Thankfully, family was near.
After a week, she ventured outside. Fed and settled the boys under Maria’s care, wrapped in a shawl, she stepped onto the porch.
The sun blinded her with its light. The frosty air burned her lungs. Anna inhaled deeply, feeling something thaw inside.
“I can do this,” she whispered, looking at the snowy yard. “For them, I’ll do this.”
An idea formed. Grandma taught her to bake sweet cheese pastries—why not sell them at the market?
Nearby lived Aunt Glasha, who sold knitted socks and mittens—maybe they could join forces.
Anna smiled. For the first time in a long time, she felt not despair but determination. Her sons slept in the house—her future.
“What are you doing standing in the cold?” Olya peered out the door. “Seryozha’s awake and hungry.”
Anna smiled at her sister and stepped confidently back inside—the place where her new life began.
Seventeen-year-old Seryozha held up a drawing of their house.
“You’re talented, son,” Anna said, wiping her hands on her apron. The pastry dough rose in the bowl.
Vanilla and cinnamon scents filled the kitchen. Outside, autumn sunlight warmed the leaves of the garden planted ten years ago.
Dima tinkered with a bicycle, taking it apart and reassembling it.
Seventeen years had flown by—a span of love, work, and perseverance.
Those early years were hard. Anna rose before dawn to bake pastries that Olya sold at the market.
They counted money by coins. Word spread about her baking, and orders came flooding.
Anna now owned a small confectionery workshop with five assistants, branded boxes, and a website called “Homemade Sweetness.”
“Anna, we have company!” Olya called.
Anna turned and smiled at Nikolai—a tall farmer from a neighboring village.
Five years earlier, he had ordered a cake and frequently visited since. He taught the boys many things.
“I brought fresh eggs and sour cream as you asked,” Nikolai placed a basket on the table. “And apples for Seryozha. Does he like green ones?”
“Yes,” Anna nodded, warmly touched by Nikolai’s care.
Dima loved mechanics—Nikolai brought old parts. Seryozha painted, filling albums with colorful pictures.
“Will you stay for dinner?” Anna asked.
“I want to speak with you,” Nikolai added quietly.
Olya took Seryozha away.
Nikolai sat down, nervously rubbing his knees.
“Anna, we’ve known each other five years. I’ve thought a lot… and I believe we’re meant for each other.”
Anna froze.
“I love your boys, and I love you. Will you marry me?”
The world seemed to pause. In Nikolai’s eyes, she saw the stability and warmth she longed for.
“Yes,” she whispered.
He gently took her hand and kissed her fingers.
Suddenly, a shout came from the garden.
“Mom! There’s a man here! He says he’s our father!”
Anna gasped.
Nikolai frowned.
“What?”
They went outside. Pavel stood at the gate—older but well-kept. The boys looked wary.
“Hello, Anna,” he tried to smile. “I wanted to meet my sons. I am their father.”
“No,” Seryozha stepped forward. “A father is someone who’s near. Someone who teaches and supports.”
“Someone who builds and cares,” Dima added. “Someone who stays with you when you’re hurting.”
Pavel looked lost.
“I was young and foolish. I want to fix my mistakes. I have an apartment, a business.”
“No,” Anna replied calmly. “You left us. Our sons have a father.”
She nodded toward Nikolai.
“Who is he?” Pavel frowned.
“My future husband and father of my children.”
“But they’re my blood! I have rights…”
“You lost those rights when you said you didn’t want children. Remember?”
Pavel went pale. Olya stepped out onto the porch.
“Leave,” she said. “Or the boys will help you find the way.”
Pavel stepped back, looking at the strong, steadfast boys.
“I’ll be back,” he said.
“No need,” Seryozha answered. “We’re fine as we are.”
As the car disappeared, Nikolai embraced Anna.
“How are you?”
“Better than I thought,” she smiled. “I feared this meeting for years. Now, I feel nothing. I was strong then.”
“And you’re strong now,” Nikolai kissed her.
The wedding took place a month later—simple and warm. The boys walked their mother down the aisle.
Anna beamed in a simple, handmade dress. Nikolai looked at her with admiration.
“Mom,” Seryozha said after the ceremony, “I thought about what Pavel said. About us being his blood.”
“And what did you decide?”
“Blood doesn’t matter,” he replied seriously. “What matters is who’s by your side.”
Anna hugged her son, tears of joy shining in her eyes.
The house filled with laughter and light. The table groaned with treats prepared by the whole village.
Tomorrow is a new day: bakery, garden, school.
At night, the boys saw off guests.
Anna and Nikolai sat on the porch bench, his fingers tracing hers.
“What are you thinking?”
“About fate,” she replied. “Seventeen years ago, everything fell apart. Now it’s just the beginning.”
“Not just the beginning — the acceleration,” Nikolai smiled.
The first stars shone over the village. In the city, Pavel closed his door — alone, without family or meaning.