Barely had yet another satisfied client left the salon—leaving behind only a faint scent of expensive perfume—when Yulia allowed herself a brief pause. The next appointment wasn’t scheduled for another twenty minutes, so she decided to take advantage of the moment for a short rest. Settling comfortably into her chair, she blissfully stretched out her tired, swollen legs and dialed a familiar number.
“Hello, Dad, hi! How are you? Did you check your blood pressure today?”
“Hello, sweetheart. Today I’m feeling better—the dizziness is gone and my blood pressure is normal,” her father replied in a warm voice.
“And the pills, Dad? The ones I bought for you—are you taking them regularly?” Yulia asked with care.
“Of course, I can’t do without them now. By the way, today I planted some cucumbers—a new early variety—and sowed some parsley. I’m slowly getting back on track. And how are you?” he asked in return.
Yulia paused for a moment before answering, “Listen, Dad, you know… I recently dreamed of Mom again. I can hardly recall her face, but her hands… so soft, smelling of lavender cream, and her voice—all of it is so vivid in my memory. In the dream, she was stroking my head, and she was crying… It’s so strange…”
Suddenly, the pensioner coughed, and his voice took on an irritable tone: “Yul’, enough of stirring up old grief—for both you and me. So many years have passed! I don’t want to talk about it! Now tell me—has your ex finally given you a break? Isn’t he getting on your nerves? What a scoundrel! He thinks money solves everything! Don’t be upset—forget him! You’re smart and hardworking! A worthy man will come along!”
The young woman involuntarily wrinkled her face at the painful memories: “Everything’s fine, Dad! Okay, I have to run; I’ll call tomorrow!”
Lowering her head and closing her eyes, Yulia sank into heavy thoughts…
Yulia grew up in the small village of Shebelinka, where everyone knew everything about everyone. Her father, Nikolai Petrovich, was a wonderful man—a hardworking foreman on construction sites who devoted his entire life to his daughter. But the image of her mother… That was a deep wound that still bled in Yulia’s soul. She remembered her silhouette, her melodious voice, and the gentle hands that used to stroke her head. Yet, for some reason, her face had faded from memory.
Valentina Matveyevna worked at a sewing factory, and their family was no different from any other. When Yulia turned five, on an ordinary day off, her mother decided to go to the district center for shopping. As usual, she kissed her husband and daughter goodbye, waved, and vanished forever. Nikolai searched for his wife everywhere: he called all acquaintances, relatives, and friends, checked hospitals and morgues, even contacted the police—but all in vain. Valentina Matveyevna was officially declared missing.
Little Yulia would sit by the window for hours, staring off into the distance as if hypnotized, hoping to catch sight of a familiar silhouette. She ran to every bus arriving from the district center, peered into the eyes of its passengers, and asked if they had seen her mother. At first, the neighbors pitied the little girl, but over time they began to laugh at her naivety.
In the beginning, Nikolai turned to heavy drinking. It was unbearably hard for him—he loved Valya more than life itself and couldn’t understand how such a thing could happen. He didn’t know what to say to his daughter, how to explain her mother’s disappearance. But one day, when he came home, he found neither his daughter nor any of her belongings. Instantly sobering up, he rushed over to his neighbor, Aunt Nyura, pounding on her door:
“Nyura, open up! I’m in trouble! Yulka is missing! What should I do? Have you seen her?”
Aunt Nyura answered him sharply, “Listen, Nikolai! Yulka is with me. If you don’t get your act together, I’ll call the inspector or the local policeman! They’ll take her to an orphanage! What are you doing? The child hasn’t had a proper meal for a month! Have you even thought about her? Straighten yourself and your house out, and tomorrow you can come and pick up your daughter!”
When Yulia heard her father’s voice, she dashed into the corridor and hugged him tightly: “Daddy! I don’t want to go to an orphanage! Don’t abandon me!”
Nikolai vowed, “Not another drop of alcohol! We’ll live together, since that’s our fate! I’ll never give you up to anyone!”
And he kept his word. From that day on, he devoted himself entirely to his daughter, renouncing his own personal life. At school, Yulia was often laughed at: “Yulka doesn’t have a mom! A village orphan!”
But she was strong and always fought back: “At least I have a dad like no one else could even dream of!”
After school, Yulia left the village to start a new life. She trained as a hairdresser and, thanks to her talent, quickly gained popularity. Her ability to accurately determine which haircut or color would suit a client made her highly sought after. In just a few years of hard work, she saved enough money to open her own chair in a beauty salon.
However, her personal life did not go as smoothly. She met Maksim at work—he had come in for a haircut. They started talking and exchanged phone numbers. Maksim turned out to be the son of wealthy entrepreneurs who owned a chain of gas stations. Yulia fell in love with him immediately—this was her first serious romance. Maksim himself was charmed by her cheerfulness and beauty, which reminded him of a young Lyudmila Gurchenko.
But Maksim’s parents were categorically against their relationship. His father was particularly vehement: “Maksim! Stop fooling around! You know you’re not going to marry that hairdresser! We’ve found you someone—Anzhela, the mayor’s daughter. That will open all the doors for you!”
By that time, Maksim had indeed started to cool towards Yulia. After a conversation with his father, he firmly decided it was time to end this “circus,” as his parent put it. Yet one problem troubled him: how to break the news to Yulia? After all, no matter how you look at it, it seemed he was behaving like a total scoundrel. Then the cunning young man devised a plan that would shift the blame onto her. It seemed to him like the perfect solution.
Maksim began to display unjustified jealousy, reproaching Yulia for coming home late, and hinting at possible infidelity. She cried, tried to justify herself, but couldn’t understand what was happening or why his attitude toward her had suddenly changed. Until one day, Lera, the salon’s manicurist, opened her eyes to the truth.
“Listen, girl, are you completely blind?” Lera snapped during the lunch break. “Your Maksim was seen the day before yesterday strolling hand in hand with Anzhela, the mayor’s daughter, at the movies. I thought you two had already broken up. And here he is, playing on two fronts? What a handsome devil, I must say!”
Yulia felt the ground give way beneath her. Her hands trembled as she dialed Maksim’s number. Her heart pounded furiously, and a million questions swirled in her head. As soon as he answered, she got straight to the point:
“Maksim, be honest: are you having an affair with Anzhela? Don’t lie to me—we were seen together!”
Deep inside, she still hoped he would start explaining, apologizing, or at least denying her accusations. But Maksim’s voice came out cold and indifferent:
“So, they already told you? Well, that’s fine—even better! Yes, I’m with Anzhela. And soon we’re getting married. You should have known from the beginning that we had no future. Who are you and who am I? My parents are absolutely against our relationship. So consider that we merely had a little fun. Goodbye!”
Yulia nearly choked on his brazenness and cynicism. With difficulty, she managed to say, “You’re a real bastard!” and then hung up.
That night seemed endless. She cried until morning, unable to believe that six months of their relationship had meant nothing more than a diversion to him. Thoughts raced in her head: “How could it be? Did he plan from the start to use me? And I, a fool, believed in his love! All men are bastards!”
Yet their story did not end there. Maksim continued calling, insisting on meetings, spinning tales about how he didn’t love Anzhela and that his parents were forcing him to marry her. But Yulia firmly decided never to return to him. She changed her phone number and tried to erase this cynical major from her mind, although it was incredibly difficult.
A quiet knock at the door startled Yulia, pulling her abruptly from her memories. An elderly woman—poorly dressed but neat—stood at the threshold. She timidly asked, “Excuse me, will you cut my hair? The girls said I don’t really have the money, but I’ll pay whatever I can.”
Yulia glanced at the clock. There were fifteen minutes left until her next client, so she decided to accommodate the elderly woman.
“Please, have a seat. How would you like your haircut?”
The woman brushed her hair upward and replied, “If possible, very short. Perhaps a bob?”
After carefully examining her face, Yulia said, “You have a round face and prominent cheekbones. I’d recommend a bob cut. Shall we try it? But please remove the necklace from your neck—I wouldn’t want to accidentally cut it with my scissors.”
The woman nodded and hurriedly removed a small medallion from her neck—a delicate chain-hidden treasure—which she tucked into her bag. Yulia worked a little magic over the elderly woman, who seemed transformed, even looking younger. Glancing at herself in the mirror, the client smiled:
“Thank you, dear—you are simply a miracle worker! It really suits me; I never expected it. Here, take this!” She handed over some crumpled banknotes and a little change.
Feeling awkward as it was obvious the old lady was giving her the last of her money, Yulia smiled reassuringly, returned half the amount, winked, and said, “Today, discounts for pensioners! This will do! I’m glad you liked it!”
The old woman beamed, “Oh, thank you so much! You’ve made my day!”
Then the woman took out the medallion and began to fasten it around her neck. Yulia managed to take a good look at it. What she saw shocked her to the core! This was the very medallion that had been passed down in her family for generations through the women. She’d known it since childhood—it opened from both sides, one side displaying the image of the Virgin Mary, and on the other the inscription “Save and Protect!”
“It can’t be!” raced through her mind. Yulia felt her legs weaken, her mouth went dry, and her thoughts became muddled. “Where did this woman get my mother’s medallion? Did she steal it? Or… is she my mother?”
She tried to recall her mother’s features, the photographs where she and her father stood by the registry office. “They seem similar, but so many years have passed!”
When Yulia regained her composure and wanted to question the woman, she had already disappeared. The woman ran out into the yard, leaving Yulia to scold herself: “Oh, what a fool! How can I possibly find her now?”
In a surge of emotion, Yulia immediately called her father:
“Daddy! You won’t believe it! I just cut an elderly woman’s hair—and she had that very medallion that Mom always wore! I couldn’t be mistaken! How can I possibly find her now?”
On the other end of the line there was a long pause. Then her father answered, his irritation barely hidden:
“Yulyuchka, darling, you don’t need to go looking for anyone! You must be mistaken. I don’t want to dredge up the past and reopen old wounds! Didn’t you have a good time with me as a child? I live solely for you!”
Yulia was stunned. She hadn’t expected such a reaction:
“Dad, please don’t be upset! You’re the best—I love you so much! But Mom is still Mom! This mystery about her disappearance has tormented me all my life! Okay, I won’t bring it up if it makes you uncomfortable. Just please don’t worry!”
Yet Yulia was not ready to give up. She hurried over to the administrator, Pavel:
“Hi, Pasha! A client just left. Did you record her phone number? Did she call?”
Pavel flipped through the call log:
“Let me see… Yes, it’s Prokhorova, Valentina Petrovna. Write down the number… And why do you need it? The client is clearly poor; she probably won’t come again.”
Yulia said nothing, merely waved her hand and, mumbling thanks, returned to her chair.
The rest of the day, clients came one after another, and until the end of her shift she had no time to call that woman. But as soon as the workday ended, Yulia immediately dialed the coveted number:
“Hello, good afternoon again. You were at our hair salon today and left something from your purse. I’d like to return it to you. Let’s meet at a place that’s convenient for you.”
The elderly woman sighed heavily; her voice trembled as she provided the address of an inexpensive café on the outskirts of town before hanging up.
Without wasting a minute, Yulia rushed home. She rummaged through an old photo album, found faded black-and-white pictures of her young parents, and studied them carefully. Yes, there was no doubt—it was her, her mother! The same prominent cheekbones, that characteristic hooked nose, even the height and figure matched. “Could it be that my mother didn’t recognize me as her own daughter? Or is it just that we look so alike?” Her thoughts were in turmoil—it all seemed so strange and tangled…
Yulia took a sedative and set off to the café for the meeting. After ordering two coffees and a light dessert, she began to wait. Half an hour passed, yet the supposed mother did not appear. “Perhaps she got scared by my insistence and changed her mind! What now? How do I find her? I simply won’t be able to sleep peacefully until I know the whole truth! Could it be she won’t come?”
Finally, the old woman entered the café. Walking slowly, she approached the table and quietly said:
“Good evening again. You wanted to return something to me? Did I understand correctly?”
Unable to contain her emotions any longer, Yulia practically pounced on the woman, unleashing a torrent of undeniable facts:
“Where did you get that medallion on your neck—my mother’s medallion? Or are you actually my mother? Why are you pretending not to recognize me? Or do you have so many children that you can just forget one of your daughters? Look, I found old photos… Look at you! Next to my father! How do you explain all this?”
Yulia expected the woman to start lying, making excuses, searching for justifications, but suddenly the old woman burst into tears and softly whispered, “Forgive me, darling! Although I know that forgiveness is impossible… Of course, I recognized you, Yulyuchka… I even intended to come see you, to catch a glimpse of you and repent, but then I chickened out and ran away…”
Feeling guilty for having driven the woman to tears, Yulia hurriedly softened her tone: “I’m sorry for yelling; it’s just that knowing the whole truth is so important to me. Please, tell me everything, exactly as it happened…”
The pensioner sniffled, took a sip of her coffee, and began her story:
“We lived with your father—not badly, but monotonously: work, home, work, home… Everywhere was bleakness and hopelessness… We didn’t have children for a long time, and that was my fault. In my youth, I caught a severe cold, developed an inflammation, and for a long time couldn’t conceive. Your father knew nothing about it and kept waiting for an heir. Then, at last, I became pregnant, and my joy knew no bounds—but I had a difficult pregnancy, confined to hospitals most of the time. That very night, I gave birth prematurely—a boy, but he died. And next to me, a young woman, who wanted to give up her child because she didn’t need a daughter, was also in labor. So I persuaded the midwife to swap the babies: I got a girl, and she got the stillborn boy. Everyone was happy; your father never suspected a thing… He loved you immensely. I remember how you used to cry at night—he wouldn’t wake me, but would sit down himself, take you in his arms, whisper something, stroke your head… And you’d calm down and fall asleep immediately. And I… No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t shake the thought that you weren’t really mine! That thought kept gnawing at me from within—I was always searching for some foreign trait in you. I suppose I loved you, but not completely… And when you turned five, a commission from the capital came to the sewing factory, and one man—a businessman—fell in love with me. At first, I thought it was just a passing fancy, but the feelings overwhelmed me so powerfully that I lost my head. Of course, your father found out about everything—in such a small town, it wasn’t long before rumors spread. He shamed me, scolded me, saying that I was bringing disgrace upon him. And so I decided to simply run away… Without explaining anything to anyone! You might ask, how could I abandon you both? I don’t really know… It was as if some fog had descended—I was ready to follow Igor to the ends of the earth! If he had told me to drown, I wouldn’t have hesitated for a minute… He, too, had divorced his wife; his son, Slavic, is three years older than you. He still hates me and calls me the one who tore your family apart! But our happiness was short-lived. Though Igor was wealthy, he turned out to be utterly despotic and cruel. I spent ten years of my life with him as if in a golden cage—I walked on a tightrope, afraid even to utter a word… Then doctors discovered that he was gravely ill. We fought for three years, sold everything, mortgaged our home, but even foreign clinics and new treatments couldn’t help. A year ago, Igor died in agonizing pain. And I was left with nothing—completely alone. Now I rent a room on the outskirts, barely scraping by on a meager pension… But I don’t complain—it’s the price for all my sins…
You might ask, did I ever think of you? Did I miss you? Yes, Yulyuchka, believe it or not, I regretted, a thousand times over, that I acted so despicably and cynically towards you! I often remembered you as a little girl—how sweetly you recited that poem about clumsy Misha, how you hugged me tightly at night and whispered, ‘Mommy, I love you so much!’—and it would twist my heart, filling me with such unbearable sorrow… So I ended up punishing myself, and for many years I’ve lived with this weight around my neck… I am not a mother—I’m a cuckoo, and I deserve no forgiveness! And your father—what a true hero! He raised you, loved you, and proved to be far nobler than I ever was…”
The woman lowered her head, overwhelmed by shame, and fell silent.
Yulia was deeply moved; goosebumps ran along her body. A long, heavy silence settled…
Finally, the girl gathered herself and softly said, “I won’t go into how I spent my whole life waiting for you, hoping you’d return… I won’t talk about how I was mocked and humiliated at school, how I felt deprived of a mother’s affection and warmth… I’m just not ready to say anything at all… It hurts too much. I’m sorry—I’ll call back later, maybe…”
Yulia stood up, wiping the tears streaming down her cheeks, and began to leave. The old woman touched her sleeve:
“I understand everything… If you ever want to talk, I live on Lenin Street, number 27, on the second floor—I’ll always be waiting for you…”
Yulia said nothing, pulled her arm away, and dashed out of the café like a shot. She wandered the streets for another hour, not knowing what to do or how to make sense of everything she’d heard. She was so angry with her mother—the emotions were off the charts! “How could she leave her husband and a little daughter for some random man? Abandon the family just like that? And then go on with her life as if nothing happened…?”
The pain inside her was almost unbearable. She desperately needed to share and discuss everything. Yulia closed her station and rushed the next day to her father’s house in the village. Bursting into the house like a hurricane, she began without preamble:
“Dad, I found her! I found my mother—your wife! Can you believe it? She’s alive, healthy, and not even coughing! It turns out she just went off partying and left us! And I, like a fool, waited for her, worried, thinking something terrible had happened! And you knew and kept silent? How could you?”
Nikolai Petrovich, aware of his daughter’s fiery temperament, silently embraced her and said, “Calm down, calm down. Yes, I knew—and yes, I kept quiet… But tell me, what was I supposed to say? You were a defenseless little child! Should I have told you, ‘Your mother is bad, she abandoned us and left for another man’? Were you ready to hear that, to live with that, to hate her all these years? Do you really think you could have handled it?”
Yulia melted into his familiar, strong embrace—the same hugs from childhood when she was sick or sad—and clung to him, as if seeking protection and support. Her voice trembled when she asked:
“Dad, did you know that I’m not really yours? Mom said she gave birth to a stillborn, and I was switched—some midwife who refused to take a daughter put me down as her own… Does that mean I’m nobody to you?”
Nikolai Petrovich gently stroked her head, as he had when she was a little girl, and with tender reproach said:
“What nonsense are you talking, daughter? What does it matter to me whether you’re my blood or not? To me, you will always be my daughter—the dearest and most important person in my life! Never, ever say such things again!”
Their embrace grew even tighter, and both couldn’t hold back their tears. Yulia softly whispered, “Dad, you’re the best! I love you so much… Tell me, do you think I should meet with Mom again? I just don’t know—I’m not sure I can forgive her… It hurts so much.”
Nikolai Petrovich sighed thoughtfully, choosing his words, “Listen to your heart, daughter, and do what it tells you. As for me, I forgave her long ago, because living with resentment is too heavy—it eats you from the inside, makes it hard to breathe. Calm down, think it over carefully, and then decide.”
Yulia looked at her father and then asked another question that had long tormented her, “And you, Dad—don’t you want to meet with Mom, to talk with her?”
After a pause as if weighing every word, Nikolai Petrovich answered, “She left me on her own. She knows where I live. If she wants to come—she’ll come. If not, then that’s how it is. You can’t force love.”
Yulia was struck by her father’s wisdom, “You’re so wise, Dad! Thank you! I feel so much lighter having said it all. Come on—let me help you with the household work since you’re here, and you took the day off anyway.”
Together, they headed out to the garden to plant potatoes, never returning to that painful topic for the rest of the day…
For the entire week, Yulia was in a state of inner turmoil. Her thoughts were muddled, emotions raging: anger, resentment, hatred, sorrow, love—all mixed together in her soul. It was as if a sleeping volcano had finally awakened inside her, and streams of lava burst forth, scorching everything around.
In the end, the girl made a decision: “I spent my whole life waiting for her, hoping she was alive, loving her with all my heart. And now that she’s been found, should I turn away and hate her? Why? What’s the point? I’m no God to judge others.”
With these thoughts, Yulia bought a cake to go with her tea and timidly knocked on her mother’s door. No one answered. She waited a couple of minutes, then decided to call the neighbors. A plump, ruddy woman answered the door. Yulia asked:
“Excuse me, do you know where I can find Valentina, your neighbor? I’ve been calling and knocking—no one’s answering. Maybe she’s gone somewhere?”
The woman was surprised, “Strange… Valya should be home. At least, neither yesterday nor today did she leave—otherwise, I’d have heard something. And she wasn’t planning to go anywhere.”
A chill of anxiety formed in Yulia’s stomach. What if something serious had happened?
“Maybe we should call a locksmith to open the door? What if she’s in trouble? I’m her daughter—I’m very worried…”
The neighbor quickly said, “No need to break in! I have a spare key—just in case. Valya left it as soon as she moved in. She didn’t even know she had a daughter…”
Within five minutes, both women were inside the apartment. As soon as they stepped in, a sharp smell of corvalol and heart pills hit them. Valentina was lying on the floor in a nightgown, barely moaning. Nearby lay medicine bottles and shards of a broken cup. Yulia panicked. All the feelings of anger and hatred instantly evaporated. She began shaking the pensioner, screaming, “Mom! Please don’t die! I’ve waited so long for you! What should I do? How can I help? Where does it hurt?”
The neighbor quickly realized, “Don’t touch her! It’s most likely a stroke. Call an ambulance, and give her some nitroglycerin under the tongue—quickly!”
The emergency team arrived astonishingly fast. Valentina was loaded onto a stretcher and taken to the hospital. Fortunately, Yulia arrived in time; the doctors managed to control the episode, and the old woman soon began to recover. No complications like paralysis occurred.
Day and night, Yulia never left her mother’s bedside, caring for her as if she were a small child. She fed her warm broth by spoonfuls; they talked a lot, relearned to walk step by step, and even performed a special massage.
Valentina was endlessly grateful to her daughter for forgiving her and saving her life. She kept thanking her, “Thank you, dear! You’re my guardian angel! If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t be here today! I am so sorry for everything!”
Yulia hugged her and smiled, “Mom, enough already! What’s done is done… The main thing is that we’re together now, and my heart is warm and light! I don’t need anything more!”
A month later, when Valentina was strong enough, Yulia decided it was time to tell her the most important thing:
“Mom, you must know: Dad forgave you long ago and is waiting for you to come back. Even though he doesn’t say it openly, he still loves you… And what about you? Do you feel anything for him, or have you stopped loving him?”
The woman burst into tears and flailed her arms, “No, dear, don’t… I can’t justify myself before you, and especially not before Kolya. How could I face him? What would I say? What need is there for an old, sick woman like me now? I should have thought about this sooner… It’s too late now… I’ve always remembered him fondly, for we spent so many years together! But by my own hands, I’ve caused you both so much pain!”
Yulia took her mother’s hand, “You know what Dad told me when I was hesitating about forgiving you? ‘Listen to your heart.’ I did, and I don’t regret it one bit. So please, listen too. It’s never too late to ask for forgiveness! You’ll feel so much lighter, I promise!”
Evening fell. Nikolai Petrovich was watering the garden beds and cooking porridge for the dogs. There was a knock at the gate, and Rex barked loudly. The man went to open the door, rubbing his aching back from a hard day’s work. “Who could that be at this hour? Probably Pasha with that pump he lent last week.”
When he saw his wife—the woman who had disappeared many years ago—standing on the doorstep, he was rendered speechless. Inside, his heart sang, “She’s come! She wasn’t afraid! That means she loves me? She hasn’t forgotten?”
Valentina trembled, her tongue felt tied, and her heart nearly leapt from her chest. When she saw Kolya standing in the doorway, her legs buckled, and everything inside her fell apart—he looked so familiar. Age hadn’t spoiled him at all; if anything, it had given him an air of dignity. His beard and sideburns suited him perfectly.
He simply stood there, squinting at her, while she tried to speak, “Hello, Kolya! Forgive me, you hopeless fool. I know I’ve caused you and Yulia so much grief… I don’t expect forgiveness—I’m not here to beg it. I just want you to know: I regret what I did back then. It was like a nightmare! Thank you for raising such a wonderful daughter! Yulya and I have made peace. Please, don’t hold it against me!”
Just as she was about to leave—overwhelmed by tears and shame—a seemingly unruffled Nikolai Petrovich took her by the arm and said, “Where are you going? Come on, let’s have dinner— I’m making fried potatoes with lightly pickled cabbage! I forgave you a long time ago, Valyusha. That’s enough.”
Valentina burst into tears and clung to Nikolai… His heart warmed so much—as if those long years of separation had never existed.
Yulia couldn’t have been happier for her parents. She watched as her father seemed to have grown younger by several years—his back straightened, and his eyes shone again with that same warmth that had disappeared so long ago. Her mother, too, was transformed—her face flushed, her movements became lighter, and her voice carried a long-forgotten tenderness. Now they busied themselves together in the garden, fed the chickens, watched the news, and passionately discussed politicians. It was an ordinary family life, yet for Yulia it felt like a true miracle.
Only one unfinished matter remained for Yulia—she longed to meet Slavic, the son of the late Igor. Why? She wasn’t sure. After all, in essence he was a complete stranger, someone she had never seen. But something inside nudged her toward that step. Perhaps she wanted to talk to him as a fellow human being, to explain that if he could find it in himself to forgive his father—even after his death—it would lighten the burden. Yulia found a young man online through social media and decided to write him a message:
“Hello, Vyacheslav. You don’t know me. I’m Yulya, the daughter of Valentina, with whom your father lived after his separation from our family. It just so happened that we share a similar misfortune. My mother abandoned me when I was only five… So who else could understand your pain and resentment better than I do? I’d like to meet and talk.”
An hour later he replied, “Good afternoon. I’m not sure why you need this, but if you’d like, we can meet. But know that I have no intention of forgiving either my father or your mother!”
The next day they arranged to meet in a small park not far from Yulia’s work.
Our heroine was nervous and scolded herself for acting impulsively: “What am I going to say to him? Why did I even do this? I always do things first and think later!”
When she arrived, the young man was already waiting. He was a tall, broad-shouldered blonde with a short, stiff, spiky haircut, dressed in casual slacks and a light overcoat.
He glanced at his watch and greeted, “Good afternoon, Yulya. You’re punctual—it’s refreshing. I don’t have much time. So, what did you want to talk about? I warn you, this is a very painful subject for me, so let’s keep it brief. Although I doubt this conversation will change much.”
Taking a deep breath, the girl composed herself and began, “Vyacheslav, I also suffered deeply when my mother abandoned us. My father was hurt, too. I spent my entire childhood waiting for her, believing she would return… And when I recently found her by accident, hatred completely overwhelmed me. All my childhood resentments, all that pain—it flooded back, and I wanted to say everything to her and then never see her again. But my wise father once said something that saved me twice: ‘Listen to your heart.’ Understand—the bitterness towards a father who betrayed and abandoned you destroys you from within. I lived with that burden for many years. On the outside, everything might seem normal: home, work, friends, life. But no matter what I did, my thoughts kept returning to that pain… And you, too, are simmering in that hellish cauldron, slowly devouring yourself from the inside… If you can find it in your heart to forgive your father, you’ll feel so much lighter—trust me! Life will change and improve. And then, of course, it’s up to you to decide.”
The young man frowned and fell silent for a moment, then said, “You’re right, Yulya. This wound still bleeds, even though I’m all grown up now—I have a good job, an apartment, a loving mom. Perhaps there is some truth in your words. I’ll think about it… Since we’ve met, maybe we could go out sometime? To a café or even to the movies?”
The girl laughed, “But you just said you have very little time?”
A bit embarrassed, he replied, “Well, I didn’t know you were so attractive! Has anyone ever told you that you look like a movie star? So, how about the movies?”
They both burst out laughing and had a wonderful time, talking about life and their inner struggles. It turned out that Slavic, a budding programmer, worked for a large company and was building a career. Since childhood, he had wanted to prove to his father that he was worth something even without him—he had vowed to achieve everything on his own, and he had succeeded.
The young man was delighted, “I’m so glad you thought of meeting me! I carried that burden inside for so many years that I couldn’t tell anyone—not even my friends who had everything going well. And I didn’t want to upset my mom even more. Ever since the divorce, whenever the topic of my father came up, she would burst into tears. In fact, my father always loved me and repeatedly tried to reconnect even after the divorce. But I was a stubborn, perfectionist teenager; I considered him a traitor and cut off all contact. I wouldn’t answer his calls, and if I saw him on the street, I’d cross over to the other side! I wanted to hurt him as deeply as he hurt me and my mom when he abandoned us! Now, of course, I regret that. And overall, I’m extremely shy—meeting a girl, overcoming that shyness is a huge problem for me. But with you, talking is so easy, as if I’ve known you for years. So now I’d like to invite you on a date next weekend…”
Before long, Yulya and Slavic began seeing each other, and soon they realized they loved one another. However, remembering the painful experience with Maksim, Yulya was cautious about crossing any boundaries. She decided that intimacy should come only after marriage.
The time came for them to meet each other’s parents. Both were very afraid—after all, it was clear that Slavic’s mother hated Yulya’s mother fiercely. It was hard even to imagine what would happen if she found out who her son’s fiancée was. But the young couple was determined. Slavic reassured his beloved, “Yulya, don’t stress or worry prematurely. In the end, it’s our life—not theirs! And we’re not to blame for the tangled, broken lives of our parents! Don’t worry, I’ll never turn you down! Do you believe me?”
The girl nodded mechanically, while internally she shuddered, recalling how Maksim had once rejected her because of his parents’ whims…
Valentina and Nikolai received the news of Yulya and Slavic’s impending wedding with great joy and genuine happiness. But as expected, Slavic’s mother initially threw a fit. She shouted in their faces, “Son! You’re betraying your own mother! Immediately stop seeing that… woman—she’s Valentina’s daughter! The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree! Or do you want to repeat my fate? Are you sure she won’t treat you the same way as her mother? Will she go off with someone richer than you?”
Yulya wept, feeling humiliated for no reason…
She feared that at that very moment her fiancé might chicken out like Maksim, saying, “Sorry, we just had a little fun and that’s it…”
To her surprise, Slavic took her hand firmly and resolutely replied to his mother, “I love Yulya, and we are getting married—whether you like it or not. You’ll understand one day that you were wrong! The main thing is that it isn’t too late! You can’t judge a person by someone else’s actions! You taught me that yourself! I hope you’ll calm down and reconsider your attitude towards my future wife!”
Finally, the long-awaited, solemn, and emotional day arrived—Yulya’s wedding day! Guests congratulated the newlyweds, wishing them all the best! Despite Slavic’s efforts to hide his anxiety and join in the festivities, he couldn’t shake the feeling that his mother hadn’t come to congratulate them.
In the midst of the wedding, as guests were dancing energetically to upbeat music, Slavic’s mother suddenly entered the hall, took the microphone, and said:
“Everyone, please forgive me—I was wrong. I wish you happiness! Live in harmony, love one another, and don’t repeat your parents’ mistakes! Yulyuchka, our relationship didn’t start off well, but I hope we can fix everything and become friends! I’m looking forward to grandchildren—more, please!”
All the guests raised a toast in unison and shouted, “Kiss the bride!”
Yulya embraced her husband, kissed him, and thought, “How wonderful that I found you, Mom… My whole life has changed, and I’ve become the happiest woman ever! Thank you!”
