Returning from work, Ivan spotted his mother tending to the flowers on the balcony. She leaned over the hanging planters, carefully adjusting the leaves, her face glowing with a serene, gentle light.
“Mom, you look like a busy bee,” Ivan remarked as he removed his jacket and hugged her around the shoulders. “Back on your feet all day again?”
She smiled softly and replied, “What kind of work is this? The soul gets its rest. Just look at how everything blooms. The scent isn’t from just a balcony—it’s like a whole botanical garden around us.”
Her quiet laughter, delicate yet warm, filled the air. Ivan inhaled the floral fragrance deeply, reflecting on his childhood days when their only “garden” was a lone kalanchoe pot losing its leaves in their shared house.
Years had passed since then. Now, his mother frequently visited the countryside cottage he gifted her for a special anniversary. Although modest, the home boasted a large vegetable garden — a place where anything could be cultivated: seedlings in spring, greenhouses in summer, preserves in autumn, and the waiting for spring in winter.
Yet despite her smiles, Ivan noticed a persistent, quiet nostalgia shimmering in her eyes. This longing would not fade until her dearest dream was fulfilled: meeting the one she had awaited all her life—his father.
On an ordinary morning, his father left for work and never returned. Ivan was only five. His mother recounted how that day, he kissed her on the temple as usual, gave Ivan a wink, whispered “Be brave,” and left, unaware it was forever.
There were investigations, police searches, whispers from relatives and neighbours wondering if he had left voluntarily, found someone else, or if something tragic had occurred. However, his mother firmly believed one thing:
“He wouldn’t just walk away like that; it means he cannot come back.”
This conviction stayed with Ivan even after more than thirty years. He was certain that his father hadn’t abandoned them willingly. Simply, it was impossible.
After finishing school, Ivan chose a technical institute, although deep inside, he dreamed of becoming a journalist. He understood, however, the urgency to stand on his own feet quickly. His mother worked as a hospital aide, covering night shifts without complaints. Even when exhaustion made her legs swell and eyes redden, she’d say:
“It’s okay, Vanyo. The most important thing is that you keep studying.”
And study he did. At night, he searched through missing persons databases, sifted through archives, and wrote on forums. His hope never dimmed; it became his very essence. His strength grew because he knew he had to be his mother’s support.
- Paid off his mother’s debts upon landing a good job
- Saved money diligently
- Purchased the countryside home for his mother’s comfort
He told her, “Now, Mom, it’s your turn to rest.” She cried without shame, and he comforted her whispering, “You’ve truly earned this, a thousand times over. Thank you for everything.”
Ivan dreamed of a loving family, a home filled with the aroma of borscht and sweets, where relatives gathered every Sunday and children’s laughter echoed. Yet for now, he worked tirelessly, accumulating funds to start his own business. His hands were skilled since childhood, always fond of tinkering and odd jobs.
Within his heart blossomed a hope: his father would return one day, walk through the door and say:
“Forgive me… I couldn’t do it before.”
Then, everything would settle. Understanding and forgiveness would follow. They would embrace as a family of three, restoring truth to their lives.
Sometimes, Ivan recalled his father’s voice. The way he lifted him in his arms saying, “Ready to fly, champ?” before tossing him into the air and catching him tightly.
One night, Ivan dreamed of his father standing on a riverbank wearing an old coat, calling out. His face was hazy as if seen through mist, but the eyes—gray and familiar—were unmistakeable.
Although Ivan’s job was stable, his salary alone couldn’t fund his entrepreneurial aspirations. Evenings were spent doing computer and smart system setups, visiting two or three homes in a single night. Whether fixing printers, routers, or software updates, he was patient and clear in explaining, especially admired by elderly clients.
One day, a friend gave him a job at an affluent family’s villa outside the city. Access was controlled, the owner promised to be home after six to guide him through the work.
Upon arrival, Ivan passed the checkpoint and approached a grand white house with pillars and large windows. A slim, elegantly dressed young woman opened the door.
“You must be the technician. Please come in. Everything is in my father’s study,” she smiled lightly. “He’s away on a business trip but asked me to finish everything today.”
Inside, the house emitted a subtle scent of luxury. The living room featured a piano, framed paintings, shelves holding books and photos. The study was austere, furnished with dark wood, a green-shaded lamp, a heavy desk, and a leather armchair.
As Ivan worked on the computer, his eyes caught a photograph on the wall: a young couple, the woman in white adorned with flowers in her hair, the man in a gray suit smiling beside her.
Despite time altering their features, a strong inner voice told him that man was his father. He approached the picture, recognizing the gray eyes, familiar jawline, and a dimple near the mouth. It was unmistakable.
“Excuse me… who is this?” he asked softly.
The woman looked surprised. “That’s my father. Do you know him?”
Ivan was speechless, staring as though gazing upon a ghost. His heart pounded loudly enough that he feared she could hear it. Finally, he managed:
“I think… maybe, yes. Could you tell me how your parents met? I know it’s strange, but this means a lot to me.”
She appeared hesitant, then explained, “My dad had quite an unusual life. Once, he was an ordinary engineer. He met my mother by chance during a vacation, and they fell in love…”
Noticing his reaction, she asked, “Are you okay? Do you need some water?”
Ivan nodded, swallowed hard, and while she stepped into the kitchen, he found himself opening the computer to search.
The “Personal” folder was password-protected. Using his birthday, he surprisingly gained access. Inside were old photos, document scans, and an unnamed text file. Opening it, he read a letter:
“From the first day, I knew it was wrong. You were beautiful, intelligent, privileged, and in love. I was nobody. I lied, saying I was single without anyone else. I thought it would be brief. But everything got complicated: you introduced me as your fiancé, and we began wedding preparations. I wanted to escape, but it was too late. Your trust and your father’s money held me captive. They created new documents for me – a passport with no mention of our marriage. I’m not proud of this. I thought it would make things easier. Lida would forget. The child was too young to understand. Now, I hardly recognize myself. Living in comfort, I sip coffee each morning feeling like a traitor. And there’s no turning back…”
Tears clouded Ivan’s eyes. He leaned back, staring blankly. Emotions swirled inside: fury, disappointment, compassion?
Decades of betrayal unfolded before him. His mother had labored endlessly, saved every penny, remained unmarried, living solely for him. Meanwhile, his father dwelled in luxury, having forgotten and abandoned them, rewriting his own destiny.
Ivan completed the job swiftly, pocketed the white envelope filled with cash, and left. The journey to his car blurred in his memory. Hands trembling, he shut the door behind him.
For three days, words eluded him as he struggled to find the right way to reveal the truth. His mother sensed the turmoil at once:
“Something’s happened, Vanyo? You seem lost…”
He narrated everything — the house, the photo, the laptop, the letter.
She listened silently, never interrupting. Once, she closed her eyes tightly, clutching her fingers so hard her knuckles whitened.
When he finished, a profound quiet fell. She rose, gazed out the window toward the distant horizon, and calmly said:
“You know… it’s a relief to me.”
Ivan was taken aback. “Relief?”
“Yes. I spent years asking, ‘Why?’ I wondered if he was in trouble, ill, or something else… Each day, endlessly. Now I know he wasn’t struggling. He simply chose another life.”
Taking her seat, hands resting on the table, her eyes held no tears—only profound exhaustion that comes after a long journey.
“I no longer have to wait, Vanyo. I don’t fear losing anything anymore. I am free.”
“I’m sorry for finding this,” Ivan whispered.
His mother shook her head gently. “No apologies are needed. Everything in life is for the best, even if we don’t realize it at once.”
She embraced him like she did when he was a child who had fallen off his bike.
“You are my greatest gift. And even he…” She paused thoughtfully, “gave me the biggest present of all: you. So nothing was wasted.”
That evening, Ivan sat by the pond watching the sky blush with soft pink hues at sunset. He understood he did not want to see his father. Neither empty words nor excuses held meaning anymore.
His father belonged to childhood — a warm, pure image without excess. It was best left in memory.
To live means releasing resentment and not dragging behind a past that no longer walks beside you. Living means learning to let go.
And on that tranquil evening, Ivan finally set everything free.
Key Insight: Sometimes, the greatest strength lies in acceptance and the courage to move forward by forgiving the past.
This story vividly portrays a journey through hope, betrayal, and the ultimate peace that arises from embracing reality. Ivan’s experience showcases the resilience forged through hardship and the profound wisdom in letting go of what cannot be changed.