Anna never trusted her husband. So she had to rely only on herself. That’s just how their family life had turned out.
Her husband Viktor was as handsome as a poppy in bloom. He was always the life of any party. He drank in moderation, didn’t smoke, wasn’t obsessed with soccer, fishing, or hunting. In a word: “a paragon—fit for a palace.”
Precisely because of all these positive qualities, Anna suspected her husband sought comfort outside their home. Men like that are rare, and the “huntresses” inevitably find them…
The only thing that somewhat calmed Anna’s worries was that her husband adored their little boy. Viktor doted on Styopka. He devoted all his free time to his son. So Anna believed that this fierce fatherly love was enough to hold their family together.
…At school they teased Anya, calling her “Antoshka” because of her fiery red hair and the freckles “sprinkled” all over her face.
Her mother, a real beauty, had told her since childhood: “Anyuta, you’re my Ugly Duckling. Forgive the comparison. But we must face this bitter truth. And who else will tell you the truth to your face if not your own mother? It’s unlikely anyone will want to marry you. So in life you’ll have to rely only on yourself. Study hard. And after school, build your own career. And if some good man ‘turns up,’ don’t get finicky. Be an obedient wife to him.”
Anya remembered that advice all her life.
After graduating from school with a gold medal, Anya went to university. That’s where she met her future husband. The girl had no idea what a catch like him could see in her. Later Viktor admitted she was the only girl he wasn’t afraid to approach. Anya didn’t use cosmetics at all—no “battle makeup.” She dressed modestly and didn’t know how to flirt. And when Anya realized that such a fine young man was seriously courting her, she decided to take the initiative. You don’t let a gift from fate slip by! Anya proposed to Viktor that he marry her. At first the young man was stunned by such an immodest proposal. But Anya promised to be a meek, humble, and faithful wife. “Love will come with time,” she assured her suitor. Viktor didn’t agree right away, but he eventually consented to bind his life to this plain yet brisk girl. His mother helped him decide. When Vitya first brought his future wife home, Viktoria Olegovna gave Anya a disapproving, stripping glance. The girl’s looks horrified her. Her son was a catch—brighter than the sun, handsomer than the moon. Any girl would follow him! And here was some… freckled little ragamuffin. She felt sorry for little Vitenka. She wanted beautiful grandchildren, not red-haired “Antoshkas.”
The first meeting went poorly.
Of course, Anya noticed her future mother-in-law’s displeasure. Deep down Anna understood that a handsome husband was a hindrance to family happiness. Yet she had no intention of giving up her chance. She decided to visit his mother without Vitya. She had to save her future marriage—it hung by a thread. Vitya’s mother received the girl and served her tea. This time Anya even seemed pretty. “I’m getting used to her…” Viktoria Olegovna thought with surprise. Anya promised she would be her son’s faithful and obedient wife to the end of her days. That was the argument that outweighed all the “external shortcomings” of the prospective bride.
Viktor’s mother was a lonely woman. Her husband had left her and their son long ago for a new love. True, a year later he came back—worn out and bedraggled. The family of the prodigal husband did not take him in. It was a hard time. All her life Viktoria Olegovna asked herself the same question—perhaps she should have forgiven the scoundrel? Cry over the betrayal and move on? But on the other hand, that act would have stuck in her soul like a splinter, aching and aching and aching…
Raising a son alone is no easy thing! So Viktoria Olegovna decided to approve her beloved son’s choice. She realized Anya would wait for Vitya through any journey, no matter how rough. And what more does a mother need to be happy? Viktoria Olegovna blessed Vitya and Anya’s marriage.
…A year later the couple had a son, Styopka. He was the spitting image of his handsome father, which delighted Viktoria Olegovna.
Viktor fluttered over his son like a crazy moth. Styopa became his meaning in life.
But love for his wife still didn’t take root.
Anya, too, never burned with passion for her husband. Their relationship was even and calm. Anya washed and ironed her husband’s shirts, cooked lunches and dinners, kissed him on the cheek at night. Viktor handed over his entire salary to his wife, gifted flowers on her birthday, kissed her on the cheek in the mornings, and rushed off to work. All of it looked more like ritual than love. The family was waiting for true marital feelings. Viktor and Anna knew such feelings existed—they read about them in books, and friends described them so vividly. And after five years, Viktor found that feeling—only not in his own family.
She was a girl of heavenly beauty. Her name was Bozhena. Everything about her was unearthly and alluring.
Viktor couldn’t resist the charms of such a diva. Bozhena returned the married admirer’s affection. For half a year Viktor and Bozhena met—sometimes in a café, sometimes on a park bench, sometimes at friends’ apartments. All that cloak-and-dagger secrecy wore Viktor out. He told more and more tall tales to his wife. Styopa saw his father irritated more often than kind and smiling, as before. But he had no strength to give up Bozhena.
“I won’t be your mistress,” Bozhena set her condition. “Either marry me, Vitenka, or let’s just be friends. I won’t sit around becoming an old maid…”
Viktor was at a loss. He didn’t want to lose Bozhena’s love, but his son was no less dear. As for Anna, at that moment he didn’t think of her at all—as if she were no obstacle. Styopa was five when his father packed his things and left the family.
Anna increasingly remembered her mother’s lessons. As a child, those words had hurt unbearably, made her want to die quietly of shame; but now… Now Anna realized she would survive her husband’s departure without tragedy. She wouldn’t throw herself off a bridge into a deep river, wouldn’t cry three rivers—her mother had given her a “vaccination” against life’s misfortunes.
Of course, that unsightly story chipped a little piece off her heart. That shard rolled into the very depths of her soul and waited for its fate. Well, happiness is a free bird—it alights where it wishes…
She would have to drink the cup of the abandoned wife to the dregs. At parting Anna told Viktor: “If you come to your senses, our door will always be open to you. Just don’t delay your return. Styopa loves you very much. Don’t make him suffer.”
For another six months Viktor went back and forth, torn between his son and Bozhena.
And Anna carefully kept her ex-husband’s toothbrush. It stood in the bathroom in a separate glass. Every time Viktor came to see his son and went to wash his hands, the toothbrush would gaze up at its owner like an orphan. Viktor couldn’t look at it calmly; it was a silent reproach. One day he slipped that cursed brush into his pocket. “I’ll throw it out, so it stops tormenting me.”
But on his next visit, Viktor found the same brush in the glass—only new…
In the kitchen his favorite cup with hot coffee always awaited him. And in the hallway, house slippers stood quietly and steadily, waiting for their master. All those homely little things scratched at Viktor’s soul. He tried to play with his son quickly and run out of that house. Viktor couldn’t have explained to himself why he left his family. Some unknown irresistible force drew him to Bozhena. His soul was torn in two. What to do? How not to hurt those he loved? If only someone would show him a way out of this stupid situation!
Viktor kept asking himself those questions. There were no answers.
Take Anna, for instance. She could have barred him from the threshold. She could have cursed the other woman—and Viktor along with her. But Anna remained meekly silent. And each time, when Viktor left after playing with Styopa, she calmly said, “Come by, Vitya. Don’t forget us…”
Viktor returned to Bozhena completely drained. She, like a wife, disliked “all that fuss over Stepan.” More than once she warned Viktor, “If I ever leave you, it will be only because of your darling son. You care more about him than about me.”
And so it went on for years…
Girlfriends whispered to Anna, “My God, you should’ve married someone long ago! What are you waiting for? Your Styopa needs a father—not on holidays, but every day! And you’re still young! Forget Viktor! ‘If the bush weren’t dear to him, the nightingale wouldn’t build a nest.’ He won’t leave his Bozhena. How many years has it been…?”
Anna listened to their sermons, sighed, and said nothing.
With time her friends stopped trying to persuade her. Everyone got used to her being alone.
…Time marched on.
Viktor stopped coming by to see Styopa.
Now father and grown son met on neutral ground. Stepan was finishing school. Anna finally accepted that her husband would not return. Twelve years had passed since he left—a long time.
Anna put a bold period at the end of that chapter and stopped waiting for Viktor. In the end, she still had plenty of strength and could raise a second child. It didn’t take long to arrange. Anna bought a package tour and flew to warmer climes. There she had a short holiday romance—no claims, no obligations. Just… a no-strings fling.
…Nine months later Styopa had a baby sister, Masha.
Anna’s friends were, to put it mildly, surprised by her decisive step. They stood at the maternity hospital doors waiting for Anna and the newborn.
The young mother came out tired and happy, a bundle in her arms decked with pink ribbons.
“Hi, girls! Please welcome my Mashenka!” Anna smiled.
One friend couldn’t resist a jab:
“And what’s her patronymic going to be?”
“She’ll earn the right to a patronymic when she grows up!” the young mother shot back.
But no pricks from her friends could cloud Anna’s great joy. Her whole life now revolved around raising Masha.
Styopa was her first and indispensable helper. He adored his little sister. He didn’t pester his mother with awkward questions about Masha’s father. If Mom was immeasurably happy, nothing else mattered.
When Masha was sent to kindergarten at three, her little classmates “enlightened” her. It turns out children have not only mothers but fathers too!
Ever since then Masha tried to call her brother Styopa “Papa.” It was both funny and bitter.
…One evening, the doorbell rang timidly in Anna’s apartment. Masha darted to the door, shouting, “It’s my daddy!”
Anna looked through the peephole. She saw… Viktor! She opened the door wide.
“May I come in, Anya?” the late and unexpected guest shifted from foot to foot.
“Come in, since you’re here,” Anna said, unable to hide her surprise.
Viktor set two bulging bags aside and took the backpack off his shoulders.
Masha threw her arms around the unfamiliar man.
“Mom, this is my daddy! Right?”
Understanding the situation, Anna answered her daughter with tears in her eyes:
“Yes, Mashutka, this is your daddy.”
Viktor scooped the little girl up, kissed her freckled nose, tousled her golden curls. “Hello, my little redhead!”
Then he bent to Anna’s hand and kissed it fervently.
“Endless thanks to you, Anya! Will you forgive me?” The prodigal husband was about to drop to his knees.
Anna gently but firmly took Viktor by the elbow, not letting him kneel.
“Hello, my bitter honey. You, Vitya, were ‘away’ for… 17 years. But there’ll be no reproaches or grievances. Let bygones be bygones. You can see it yourself—we need a father…” the woman sighed with relief.
Stepan stood off to the side, eyes wide with amazement, smiling…
A couple of weeks later, when Anna had come to her senses after the wave of events, she phoned her “curious” friend and said, “You wanted to know my daughter’s patronymic? She’s Viktorovna. Remember it—Maria Viktorovna! No alternatives
