Triplets were born to us! It’s simply unbelievable, Ira!»
«Maxim could barely contain his emotions; his face shone with such delight as if he were witnessing a unique natural phenomenon.» – her voice came out barely audible.
The hospital room, illuminated by the March sun, seemed dazzlingly bright. Irina was half-seated on the pillows, turned away toward the window where the poplar branches scratched at the glass.
Maxim held a bouquet of tulips that had begun to wilt in his sweaty hands. Between them were three little bundles in transparent bassinets.
«Can you imagine, two boys and a girl?» he stepped closer, trying to catch her gaze. «I’ve come up with names for them, want to know?»
She was silent. Her fingers lay listlessly on the blanket, her nails with chipped polish.
Maxim sat on the edge of the bed, remembering how just nine months ago they were expecting one baby. They had planned a nursery, argued about the color scheme. Then the ultrasound revealed twins. And the fear in her eyes.
«Artem, Egor, and Masha,» he continued, trying to fill the silence. «Masha will be Daddy’s princess, right?»
At last, Irina turned around. Tears sparkled in her eyes, but not the ones he had expected.
«I can’t go on like this, Maxim,» her voice suddenly grew strong. «One child – that’s one thing. But three… It’s the end of everything. My career, our plans. Everything.»
He stood frozen in disbelief.
«What are you saying? They’re our children.»
«Your children. I’m not ready for this.»
Something clattered in the corridor; hurried footsteps of a nurse were heard. Outside, a poplar branch desperately scraped at the glass, as if warning of something.
Maxim remembered that conversation so vividly, as if it had happened just yesterday, even though many days had passed.
He stood in the middle of their apartment, holding Masha in his arms while Artem and Egor slept in carriers. The television was loudly broadcasting some talk show. The air was filled with the smell of baby formula and unwashed laundry.
«Give them up to the orphanage, I can’t live like this,» Irina said matter-of-factly as she packed her things into a suitcase. «I suggested not having the baby when we found out about the twins. You refused. Now there are three of them, Maxim. Three!»
Her hands feverishly stuffed the suitcase with blouses and jeans. On the wall, a wedding photograph from two years ago looked down with smiling faces.
«You can’t do this,» he whispered, fearing to wake Masha, whose tiny fingers clung to his T-shirt. «We’ll manage.»
«I don’t want to manage. I wanted to live. To travel. To build a career,» she closed the suitcase. «Children weren’t part of my plans. And now there are three.»
Maxim looked at her as if seeing her for the first time. The beautiful face he had kissed countless times now seemed foreign, cold, almost hostile.
«So this is who you really are,» he said.
«And you thought you knew me?» she replied bitterly with a smile. «I always said I wasn’t made for motherhood. You didn’t want to listen.»
She moved closer, pausing for a moment in front of Masha. She didn’t kiss her. Just turned her gaze away.
«Sorry,» she said, and Maxim couldn’t tell to whom it was addressed. «I’ll file for divorce and renounce parental rights. Don’t look for me.»
The door closed with a soft click. Thunder rumbled outside. A storm began. Masha started crying, followed by Artem and Egor, as if sensing they were left with a grief-stricken father.
Maxim clutched his daughter, not knowing what to do next, and suddenly felt something burst and harden inside him. The triplets were only 21 days old.
And he had absolutely no idea how to manage them on his own.
With trembling fingers, he dialed a number he hadn’t used in a long time.
«Dad,» his voice broke. «She’s gone. I’m alone with three children. Help me.»
The response came immediately, without a single question:
«We’re leaving with your mother.»
Maxim stepped onto the creaking wooden porch. It was five in the morning; the sky was just beginning to lighten over the horizon. Three months had passed since the day the family SUV took them from the city apartment. Three months of a new life.
«Finally awake, sleepyhead,» his father grumbled as he emerged from the barn with a bucket of warm milk. Steam rose into the cold air. «A cow won’t milk herself.»
Maxim only nodded, pulling on his work gloves. Hands that once only knew the keyboard were now covered in calluses.
His skin had become rough, his nails blackened from the soil. The city engineer disappeared on the day when the door of the apartment he shared with Irina slammed shut.
«Are the kids sleeping?» asked Pyotr, looking at his son with a concealed pride.
«Masha woke up once,» Maxim ran a hand over his unshaven cheek. «Mother rocked them back to sleep.»
The big log house, a family nest on the outskirts of the village, welcomed them without questions. They had a dairy farm, an apiary, and an apple orchard. Maxim’s parents, Pyotr and Lidia, seemed to have been waiting for his return. They simply said: «We have enough room for everyone.»
«Did you talk to the kindergarten director?» Pyotr said, gesturing with his pitchfork at the new cowshed. «Soon they’ll be growing up; we need to book a place in advance.»
«Not yet,» Maxim snapped, recalling how last night Masha had smiled at him consciously for the first time. Not just a reflex, but a real smile. His heart tightened. «They’ll be home a long time; they were just born.»
His father did not argue. He only winked and went off to feed the chickens.
Time passed, the children grew, and the family grew stronger.
One evening, with his hands trembling from fatigue, Maxim sat on the porch watching the sunset. His mother brought over a steaming plate of millet porridge and placed fresh flatbreads beside it.
«Eat, or you’ll collapse from exhaustion,» Lidia said as she sat down next to him. «The children are fed.»
Laughter echoed from deep within the house — the triplets adored splashing in the big wooden tub. Pyotr hummed, imitating a steamboat.
«Mom, I think we should sell the apartment,» Maxim suddenly said without taking his eyes off the blazing sky. «We need to expand the farm if we want to secure a future for the three of them.»
Lidia did not answer immediately. She ran her hand along his prickly nape, just as she used to in his childhood. «She won’t come back, son,» she finally said. «I’ve seen women like that. Once they renounce, they renounce forever.»
«I’m not waiting,» Maxim replied sharply. «Sometimes I’m even grateful. Better this way than to torment the children with your coldness for years.»
From the microwave in the kitchen came the crackle — a bottle with formula for Artem, who always woke before the others at night.
Maxim got up wearily. From the terrace, he had a view of the farm, the empty fields, the deep black forest on the horizon. His new world was harsh, demanding, but real.
And so were his responsibilities toward the three little beings who called him Dad.
«Masha, don’t even think about feeding Vasiliy semolina porridge!» Maxim caught the four-year-old daughter, who was about to overturn a bowl onto the ginger cat. «Artem, wipe your mouth. Egor, where are your boots?»
The kitchen had turned into a true testing ground. The three little ones, each with their own personality, were trying to run off in different directions. The worst part was that they had learned to cover for each other’s mischief.
«Sweetie, Dad needs to go to the market,» Lidia skillfully braided Masha’s hair. «Grandpa is already waiting in the yard.»
A three-ton truck, loaded to the brim with apples and honey, stood at the gate.
Over three years, Maxim’s farm had blossomed into a thriving enterprise: they had secured a milk supply contract with a dairy factory, expanded the apiary, and were developing new plots of land. All for the sake of the triplets, for their future. Maxim pulled on his old leather jacket, worn at the elbows, and stepped out into the yard. It was time to head to the regional market.
«Daddy, buy me a book!» Masha shouted from the doorway. «About princesses!»
«And a toy car!» yelled Artem, the most spirited of the three.
«And a candy!» added Egor, the quiet one who never asked for much.
Maxim smiled and waved. His world had shrunk to one point – this house, these children. Everything else had ceased to exist.
The market buzzed with people. The truck emptied quickly – the products from the Kravtsov farm were prized for their organic quality. While tallying the earnings, Maxim noticed her. A young woman, short, with chestnut hair cascading to her waist, was leafing through a book at a nearby stand. Her face – open, with prominent features – couldn’t be called classically beautiful.
But there was something attractive and warm about her. She looked up and smiled at him.
«Excuse me, is this your honey?» she asked, pointing to the last jar. «They say it’s the best.»
«Yes, it’s ours,» Maxim suddenly blushed, as if he were a teenager. «From the lime tree orchard.»
«I’m the new school librarian,» she said, extending her hand. «Olga.»
Her palm was rough, with ink stains between her fingers.
After a while, Maxim again shook her hand on the threshold of their home. Olga smiled, handing a book of fairy tales to Masha.
«You promised to teach me how to make paper cubes,» Masha seriously reminded her. «Origami, right?»
«Of course,» Olga knelt down to be level with the little girl. «I brought everything.»
Maxim watched as she spread out colored paper on the table, patiently showing each fold. The triplets, usually restless, sat quietly, paying close attention to her hands.
The air smelled of chebureks – Lidia had made them in anticipation of the guest’s arrival. Outside, the first snowflakes fluttered.
And for the first time in a long while, Maxim felt something new, fragile, and unexpected being born in his soul. A feeling he dared not name, so impossible it seemed after all that had happened. «Make a wish!» Maxim carried a huge cake with seven candles. The flame trembled, reflected in the eyes of the hushed children.
Eight years flew by like a single day. The triplets were finishing first grade at the rural school. Egor became fascinated with chess, Artem built complex models from construction sets, and Masha wrote stories that Olga carefully kept in a special folder.
The kitchen was filled with guests: grandfather and grandmother, several neighborhood children, and a teacher from the school. Olga stood to Maxim’s right, discreetly wiping her fogged glasses. Her eyes, too, shimmered suspiciously. «One, two, three!» Maxim commanded, and the children’s cheeks puffed out.
All the candles went out at once. The room erupted in applause.
«And now, presents!» announced Pyotr, producing three boxes from behind his back. «A compass for each. So you’ll always find your way home.»
Suddenly, Masha put her compass aside and looked into Maxim’s eyes. In the light of the festive garland, her face seemed older – not that of a little girl. «Daddy, will our real mom ever come back to us?»
The room fell silent. The sound of the ticking wall clock – brought over by Maxim’s great-grandfather – could be heard. Lidia stepped forward, but Maxim stopped her with his gaze.
«No, sweetheart, she won’t come back,» he said softly but firmly, looking into his daughter’s eyes. «Sometimes adults make choices they can’t change. But you have me. And you have…»
He faltered, glancing surreptitiously at Olga. They hadn’t spoken of it, even though over the years she had become part of their lives. Spending evenings with the children, helping with homework, and reading fairy tales. One time, she even stayed overnight when a blizzard broke out, and she stayed – first in the guest room, and then…
«And you have Mama Olya,» Egor finished for him, approaching Olga and taking her hand. «She reads us books.»
Olga trembled. Tears streamed down her cheeks.
«I only wanted to be helpful,» she whispered. «I never meant to replace…»
«Mom, don’t cry,» Artem suddenly said, hugging her knees. «You said crying isn’t shameful.»
«Mom.» A simple word that he had never been taught to say. It was born naturally, like breathing. Maxim looked at his now grown-up children, at their determined, open faces.
He remembered that day in the maternity ward – the fear, the despair, the confusion. That day when he heard the dreadful «give them up for adoption.» That day which could have broken him, but instead made him stronger.
He rose, overcoming the trembling in his knees, and went to embrace his children. The triplets who had become his salvation, his pride, his life. Behind him were years of hard work, doubts, small victories, and great joys. Ahead lay their adult lives – universities, professions, their own families.
But the invisible threads that had bound them all together on that fateful day were stronger than any blood ties. It was a true family – formed not by the chance of birth, but by the power of choice and the commitment to that choice.
«Well done,» Maxim whispered, holding all three close. «I’m prouder of you than words can express
