My name is Artyom, and for many years I believed I had the strongest family in the world. A small, cozy haven where the scent of fresh pies filled the air and laughter was a constant companion. My parents — Lidia and Viktor — seemed as unshakable as the ancient walls of the Kremlin. Dad ran a tiny auto repair shop in the village of Berezovka, tucked away somewhere in the vast Tver region. Mom stayed home, dedicating her whole life to me, her only son. Back then, I was sure it would always be like that.
But then everything fell apart. Suddenly. Without warning. Like a blizzard on a clear day. Dad lost his job. I didn’t understand all the details, but I saw the fire in his eyes dimming, his shoulders sagging under the weight. He found another job, but money was still tight. At night, I heard mom screaming, dishes breaking, doors slamming. I buried my face in my pillow, whispering for the noise to stop, for the house to become warm and quiet again.
Then came the final blow. Dad discovered mom was seeing someone else. Our home turned into a frozen wasteland — arguments, tears, slammed doors. And one day, he left. Simply walked out the door, leaving us behind.
I missed him so much it hurt. I begged mom to let me see dad, but she only yelled:
— He abandoned us, Artyom! A coward and a traitor! Forget him!
Her words cut deep, but they couldn’t erase my longing.
One frosty morning, mom came to me wearing a smile I hadn’t seen in years. A faint shadow of her old tenderness.
— Pack your things, son, we’re going to the sea! — she said.
I froze with joy. The sea! Sand, salty breeze, dreams! She hurriedly packed my belongings into a worn suitcase. I grabbed my favorite teddy bear, but mom stopped me.
— Leave it. We’ll buy you a new one, even better!
How could I not believe her? She was my mom.
We arrived at the bus station. Crowds bustled around, the air thick with diesel and wet asphalt. Mom bought our tickets and said we’d need to make a stop. We boarded an old bus and drove off to some remote place. I pressed my face to the window, imagining running barefoot on warm sand.
The bus stopped near a shabby building. Mom pointed to a bench by the entrance.
— Sit here, Artyom. I’ll bring you ice cream. Don’t go anywhere.
I nodded, sat down, and waited.
An hour passed. Then another. The sun dipped low, shadows stretching long. I kept my eyes glued to the door, hoping to see mom return with ice cream in hand. But she never came. The wind chilled me to the bone, and a lump grew heavy in my chest.
I called out to her. My cries echoed through the empty street. Inside, fear and loneliness gnawed at me. When my strength finally gave out, I curled up on the cold bench and drifted into sleep.
I awoke in an unfamiliar room. My heart raced — maybe mom had come back?
— Mom? — I whispered.
The door opened. There stood dad. Behind him, a woman I didn’t know.
I jumped up.
— Dad! Where’s mom? She went for ice cream and disappeared! What happened?
He sat beside me, took my hands in his. There was such pain in his eyes it made me want to scream.
— Artyom, your mom left you. She’s gone and she won’t come back.
I couldn’t believe it. Mothers don’t do that. I yelled and stomped, but dad just held me tighter.
— She won’t come back, son.
He wasn’t lying or sugarcoating it. He just told the bitter, harsh truth.
Years passed. Dad and I moved to Anapa, right by the sea I had dreamed of. That woman — Galina — became my second mother. A real one. She bore my tears and anger and was always there. I even started calling her mom. Then my little sister Nastya was born. For the first time, I understood what a true family means — warm, strong, and loving.
Later, dad shared the details. That night, mom called him. Coldly told him where I was and hung up. Then she lost her driver’s license. She vanished. Forever.
Life went on. I graduated school, got a good job, bought an apartment just steps from the beach. Everything seemed right.
But one cold autumn evening, I saw a woman near our building. She sat hunched on a bench, wrapped in an old shawl. When I approached, she looked up and whispered hoarsely:
— Artyom…
— I’m your mother, — her voice trembled.
I froze. Before me stood a stranger — an emaciated old woman with dull eyes.
— Why? — I choked out. — Why now?
I pulled out my phone and called dad and Galina. They arrived almost immediately. Their presence gave me strength.
Dad looked at me and said:
— It’s your choice, son. Only yours.
I stared at her — the one who left me alone on that bench that night — and felt nothing. Emptiness. Ice.
When the intercom rang, dad went to answer. She stepped inside, but I stopped her.
— You’re not my mother, — I said firmly. — My mother never betrayed me. She loved me. She was there for me. You’re just a stranger. There’s no place for you in my life.
She wept. But I stood my ground.
She left. Disappeared into the darkness, just like before.
I embraced dad and Galina tightly.
— I love you both, — I whispered. — Thank you for being here.
They were my family. My home. My truth.
And her? She remained only a shadow of the past I had outgrown.
Don’t abandon your children. They didn’t ask to be born. They deserve your love. And I, Artyom, know this better than anyone.