Elena slowly leafed through the photographs in the worn leather album she had carefully kept all these years. Her fingers trembled as they touched each picture, lingering on the ones where Olga—her adopted daughter—smiled sincerely at school parties, prom night, the first day of university, birthdays. Twenty years of motherhood had flown by in a single instant, leaving an indelible mark on her heart. She remembered every tear on those childish cheeks, every joy, every achievement of the girl who had become dearer to her than her own blood after the biological mother simply disappeared from her life, as if she had dissolved into thin air.
The crutches stood by the couch—a constant reminder of that ill-fated slip on the icy steps and the complicated knee surgery that followed. Now the whole leg was literally riddled with metal pins—simply awful to look at. The doctors promised a full recovery of mobility, but the process was dragging on much longer than anyone had initially expected. It was precisely then, when Elena was completely helpless, unable even to get up from the couch without help, that her husband—her beloved Grigory, with whom she had lived in marriage for twenty happy years—suddenly stopped spending the night at home.
At first she chalked up his absence to work. But then it dawned on her—he had someone else. Young, healthy, able to give him what she could not.
The phone rang sharply, shattering the heavy silence of the apartment. Olga’s name flashed on the screen.
“Mom. How’s your leg?” her daughter’s voice carried genuine concern and anxiety.
“Everything’s fine, my dear. Don’t worry about me. Better tell me about the wedding. Has Igor already booked the restaurant? How is the planning going?”
“Yes, everything’s set, we’ve even finalized the menu. Mom, do you happen to know where Dad is? I haven’t been able to reach him for several days in a row. The line’s either busy or he doesn’t answer at all.”
Elena fell silent. Telling the truth about her father’s mistress would mean irrevocably shattering her daughter’s last illusions on the eve of the most important day of her life.
“He… is very busy at work right now,” she lied with difficulty, hating herself for it. “You know how it gets for him at the end of a quarter.”
“I see. Mom, don’t forget—Wednesday at eleven in the registry office. I’m counting on you to be there. You will come, won’t you? Say you’ll come! I’m so nervous, I just need my mom by my side that day.”
“Of course, my sunshine. Of course I’ll come. Nothing will keep me from being with you on such an important day.”
After the call, Elena slowly sank back into the soft pillows. She still didn’t know how to explain to her daughter that her father was now living with Kristina—a twenty-five-year-old employee from his office, young enough to be his daughter.
The sound of a key in the lock made her start. Grigory came into the apartment without even saying hello and walked silently into the bedroom.
“Grigory, let’s at least talk calmly about—”
“There’s nothing for us to discuss,” he cut her off sharply without even turning toward her. “Everything’s been decided. There’s no point in dragging it out.”
Elena took the crutches with difficulty and, slowly, fighting the pain, rose from the couch.
“Our daughter keeps asking about you. The wedding is in three days. She’s waiting for her father.”
“My daughter, not yours, and I’m perfectly aware of that,” he replied coldly. “And I know exactly what I’ll tell Olga.”
“What exactly are you planning to tell her?”
Grigory slowly turned to face her. In his eyes she saw not a trace of the love that had once been there.
“After the wedding I’ll tell her honestly that it’s over between us, that I’m filing for divorce. And remember this once and for all—you’re nothing special to her; in fact, you’ve never been anyone—no real mother, just a temporary nanny who helped raise the kid to her feet. In short, you’re a stepmother who will very soon become a completely unnecessary woman.”
Elena knew—had known all along—that Olga would never be her own flesh and blood, but she was kin to her soul. Elena had dreamed of her own children all her life but could not get pregnant—this had been the main reason for her first divorce. But after Elena married Grigory, who already had a little daughter, Olga, she embraced the girl with all her heart as her own, while Olga’s biological mother had vanished without a trace and hadn’t appeared in their lives for many years.
“Don’t talk such monstrous nonsense!” Elena exclaimed. “I raised your daughter as my own. I am her mother—no one else!”
“You are not a mother!” Grigory shouted, real malice ringing in his voice. “You’re just my wife, a woman who in twenty years of marriage couldn’t even give me a child! And now you’re a cripple on crutches. Who would want you?”
This was exactly what Elena had feared most—that she would remain disabled forever and never be able to take a step without crutches.
“I loved both of you more than my own life,” she said quietly.
“Love?” Grigory laughed, nasty and contemptuous. “Your so-called love is endless pots and constant cleaning. Our daughter will understand perfectly that I’m making the right choice. I’ll have a child of my own now; I’m far from too old for that, whereas you…”
At these cruel words, Grigory spun around and went into the other room. Elena no longer had the strength or the desire to argue—and what was the point, if he had already decided everything?
The heavy days before the wedding passed in oppressive silence. Elena’s loyal friend Galina visited regularly, bought the necessary groceries, cooked simple meals in the kitchen, helped with the cleaning. Her husband only appeared at home occasionally—he slept, ate in silence, and left again, supposedly for work but in reality to his mistress.
And the day before the long-awaited wedding, Grigory declared harshly and categorically:
“You are definitely not going to the wedding. I won’t allow an old cripple to ruin my daughter’s most important celebration. Just imagine how pathetic you’ll look in all the photos! Like a shadow of the past.”
“We’ll see who’s the pathetic shadow here,” Elena replied softly but firmly.
“Don’t you even think of showing up at the wedding, or I’ll personally throw you out without ceremony.”
Grigory snorted contemptuously and went on chewing his dinner as if nothing had happened.
Late in the evening, Elena sat in her three-room apartment, which now seemed unimaginably huge and lifelessly empty. She dialed Olga’s number, her heart clenching painfully at the conversation to come.
“Mom! So, are you ready? Tomorrow—”
“Olechka, my dear, I have very bad news. I won’t be able to come to your wedding.”
“What?! Why?! What happened?”
“My leg… serious complications, it hurts terribly. The doctor strictly forbade any long trips,” she lied, her heart aching.
Her daughter’s voice immediately grew sad:
“Mom, something’s wrong, isn’t it? I think you’re crying.”
“No, my dear. I’m just very upset that I’ll miss the most important and happiest day of your life.”
“Mom, please don’t be too upset, I—”
From the next room came Grigory’s muffled but distinctly audible voice:
“Good call, sit here quietly, don’t ruin people’s celebration. You’re long since the past; the girl will forget you soon enough, and you… fine, I’ll deal with you properly later. And don’t waste time—pack your stuff and find yourself a rental. I’ll even help move your things, just don’t drag your feet. Got it?!”
Elena felt an overwhelming urge to break down and sob—twenty years of life with this man, and he treated her worse than trash he was ready to dump without a second thought. She ended the call in silence, unable to speak any longer.
The wedding day arrived—the bright spring sun poured through the windows, and joyful birdsong drifted in from outside. Grigory put on his best dark-blue suit and left early in the morning, reminding Elena once again that the wedding was his daughter’s alone, not hers, that she needed to pack her things, and that she must under no circumstances call Olga and upset her on such an important day.
Elena sat silently by the wide window, slowly flipping through the thick album of her daughter’s photographs, when the doorbell rang insistently.
Igor—her daughter’s fiancé—stood on the threshold in his wedding suit, a bouquet of white roses in his hands.
“Elena Mikhailovna, please get ready quickly. Olga flatly refuses to go to the registry office without you.”
“Igor, dear, I just can’t. You see—these awful pins in my leg, I can barely move, I’ll only spoil your celebration…”
“Elena Mikhailovna,” he interrupted gently but firmly. “Olga knows about Kristina. She knows about the impending divorce from her father and about him forbidding you to come to our wedding. She knows absolutely everything. And she wants her real mother by her side—you.”
Elena carefully rose from the couch, leaning hard on her crutches, and looked at this wonderful young man who truly loved her daughter.
“All right. Give me half an hour to get ready.”
A small group of guests had gathered at the entrance to the registry office. The warm June day invited celebration, and everyone was dressed in their finest. Holding on to the building wall so she wouldn’t collapse from weakness, Elena scanned the crowd. Her gaze stopped on a familiar figure—Grigory stood by the entrance with a young woman of about twenty-five; clearly, this was Kristina. The girl wore a bright pink dress with a deep neckline, which seemed out of place for a wedding. When she saw Elena, her ex-husband’s face instantly contorted with rage, his eyes narrowed, his lips pressed into a thin line.
“She shouldn’t have come,” he hissed in Kristina’s ear.
“And who is she anyway?” the young woman shrugged carelessly.
At that moment, Olga came out of the registry office in a stunning white dress with lace sleeves and a long train. Her face shone with happiness, her eyes sparkled with joy. Seeing her mother, she immediately ran to her, not caring that she might crease her gown.
“Mom!” she cried, hugging Elena. “I knew you would come!”
“I’m afraid I’ll ruin your photo, sunshine,” Elena said, holding her daughter tight, feeling tears well up. “But you’re simply radiant. You’re so beautiful, my dear.”
“Mom, you can’t ruin anything. You know the most important thing for me is that you’re here,” Olga pressed closer to her mother. “How are you feeling? Do you want to sit down?”
“I’m fine, darling. Today is your day, and I’ll manage.”
When Olga stepped back to greet other guests with her groom, Grigory strode up to Elena. His face was red with anger.
“So you disobeyed and dragged yourself here,” he hissed, coming very close. “All right, it’ll be worse for you. You’ll be out on the street today, got it? As soon as I get home, I’ll throw all your rags out the door. Think I was joking?”
“Grigory, don’t make a scene,” Elena answered quietly, trying not to draw the others’ attention.
“Don’t? And you thought you could spoil my daughter’s mood with your pitiful appearance? Look at yourself—a walking skeleton! You’re scaring people off!”
But then Olga walked up, having caught her father’s last words. Her face changed in an instant—joy gave way to fury.
“What did you say?” she asked, quiet but menacing.
“Daughter, I’m just explaining to your mother—”
“Get out of here!” she shouted, shoving him hard in the chest. “And don’t you dare raise your voice at Mom! Out! You miserable bastard! Mom is ill, and you turn up at my celebration with your mistress and still dare insult her! Get out! Now!”
“Olya, you don’t understand the situation,” Grigory tried to justify himself, glancing around at the hushed guests. “She’s not a mistress… She… we’re going to get married…”
“I have only one mother, and I have no father anymore!” Olga cut him off. “You’re a traitor and a coward! Get out!”
“But I’m your father!” Grigory protested, trying to take his daughter’s hand.
“Ha! Ha! Ha!” Olga laughed bitterly, jerking her hand back. “Oh, suddenly you remember! Where were you all these years, dear Daddy? Did you teach me to read? Did you take me to kindergarten? Did you go to parent-teacher meetings? Sit with me when I was sick? What did you do? Nothing! Absolutely nothing! Mom alone raised me, worked, while you just spent money and barked orders! Now get out of my wedding and don’t forget to take your woman with you! Out!”
Grigory stood open-mouthed, clearly not expecting such a reaction. His face flushed, then turned pale. Kristina, who had been standing aside, nervously biting her lip, gave his sleeve a sharp tug.
“Grigory, let’s go,” she hissed. “Don’t mess with that hysterical daughter. She’s obviously not right in the head.”
“Yes, do trot along—both of you!” Olga agreed. “And don’t you ever show up in my life again! I don’t need a father like that!”
Igor, the groom, stepped up and put an arm around the bride’s shoulders.
“It’s all right, sunshine. Don’t be upset.”
Realizing the situation was completely out of control, Grigory turned and strode quickly away from the registry office. Kristina, heels clacking, hurried after him.
“Well then, good,” Olga said, calming down. “Now we can go on with the celebration.”
After the ceremony, once the congratulations had been said and the photos taken, Olga went up to her mother and handed her a small key.
“What’s this, dear?” Elena asked in surprise, examining the key.
“It’s to your home, Mom,” Olga smiled. “While we were at the ceremony, the locksmith changed the lock in the apartment. And Aunt Valya from next door packed up Dad’s things. She said she’d be happy to help you anytime.”
Elena hugged her daughter tightly.
“Thank you, sunshine. You can’t imagine how much this means to me.”
“No—thank you, Mom,” Olga replied. “For being there these twenty years. For loving me like your own daughter. For staying a true mother even when everything was collapsing around us. For teaching me to be strong.”
“You’re the best daughter in the world,” Elena whispered, stroking Olga’s hair.
Late that evening, after Elena had taken her medicine and rested a little from the emotional day, someone began pounding insistently on her front door. At first the knocking was ordinary, but it grew louder and more aggressive, turning into a full-on drumroll.
“Elena!” came Grigory’s familiar voice. “Open up immediately! Why the hell have you locked yourself up like a rat in a hole? I’ll break this lock! Have you packed your junk? Found someplace to live? I’ll make you pay for ruining my daughter’s wedding just by showing up!”
Elena walked calmly to the door but did not open it. Instead, she answered loudly and clearly:
“No, Grigory, I haven’t packed—and I haven’t even thought of doing so.”
“What do you mean ‘haven’t thought of it’?” he roared from the hallway. “I told you!”
Grigory was beside himself with rage. An hour earlier his mistress had thrown him out after a spectacular row. Kristina had called him a loser who couldn’t even handle a sick wife and an uncontrollable daughter. They’d torn each other to shreds, and now he was all alone. And now this stubborn woman had locked herself inside and wouldn’t let him in!
“Open up right now!” he yelled, hammering his fists against the door. “This is my home!”
“No, Grigory,” Elena answered calmly, leaning against the door. “It never was yours. You seem to have forgotten that the apartment is mine. I let you live here, took you in like a stray dog, and you got so attached you started thinking it was yours. No, it’s my apartment—bought with my money, registered in my name.”
“But… but…” He was clearly thrown, and then it sank in that the apartment really did belong to his wife. “What about my things? Where are my things?”
“At the neighbor’s. Ask Aunt Valya—she’ll explain everything.”
The pounding stopped. Elena carefully went to the window and looked out. At that moment, their neighbor, Valentina Petrovna, was already carrying numerous bags and suitcases with her ex-husband’s belongings out of the entrance. Grigory was darting between them, shouting something and waving his arms, but Aunt Valya methodically continued to clear her hallway of someone else’s stuff.
“If you don’t take it in an hour,” boomed the stern voice of the neighbor’s husband, Pyotr Ivanovich, from below, “it all goes straight into the dumpsters. And what a scoundrel you turned out to be, Grigory! I thought you were a real man. Pah!” And he demonstratively spat at the feet of the enraged Grigory, who now had no idea what to do or where to go.
Elena couldn’t help smiling as she watched the scene. Justice had finally prevailed.
Her phone vibrated at that moment. A message from Olga lit up the screen: “Mommy, thank you for the best day of my life. I love you more than anything. Here are the photos from our celebration. Tomorrow Igor and I will come over, bring the wedding cake, and tell you everything in detail. Take care of yourself!”
Elena returned to the couch, carefully sank into the soft pillows, and opened her phone’s gallery. One by one, the wedding photos appeared: Olga in a snow-white dress, beaming as she stood beside Igor; the newlyweds exchanging rings; Olga tossing her bouquet to her bridesmaids; the two of them—mother and daughter—embracing in front of the registry office. In every photo her daughter shone with happiness, and that was what mattered most.
“How quickly time flies,” Elena thought, studying the images. “Only yesterday she was a little girl afraid of the dark, and today she’s a wife. But she’s grown strong and just. Which means I haven’t lived these years in vain.”
A warm, happy smile spread across her face. Despite her illness, despite all the hardships, she was truly happy. She had a daughter who loved her, a roof over her head, and now no one could take this peace away from her.
