Sergey slammed the door and exhaled. That was it. He’d taken him. Legally. The court had sided with him—so it must be the right thing. Dima’s briefcase stood by the refrigerator, his jacket was lying on a chair. The boy stared at the floor and stayed silent.
“Dim, well? You hungry? We’ll eat properly now.”
“I don’t want to.”
“What do you mean you don’t want to? It’s already eight, you were at school.”
“I don’t want to, Dad.”
Sergey opened the fridge. Empty. I mean, completely empty. Some old kefir, mayonnaise, dried-up sausage. He’d forgotten to buy groceries. Yesterday he’d thought, I’ll go tomorrow—but today had been all court: nerves, paperwork, lawyers.
“Listen, should we order pizza? You like mushroom pizza, right?”
Dima nodded—but weakly, without any enthusiasm. Sergey took out his phone and dialed. While they waited for delivery, the boy sat on the couch staring at his tablet screen. Silent. Sergey turned on the TV and found some action movie. Forty minutes later the pizza arrived. They ate in silence.
“Dim, why are you so sad? You should be happy. We live together now.”
“Uh-huh.”
“You wanted to live with me, remember? You said so.”
“I did.”
“Well, there you go. Now we live together. That’s cool, isn’t it?”
The boy took a bite of pizza and stared at the tablet again. Sergey looked at him and felt irritation rise. Was it really that hard? He’d tried. He’d collected documents for half a year, gone through the courts, spent money.
He’d proven he was a normal father. That the mother—she was always at work, always busy. And he was right here, ready to take care of his son every day. And now. He’d taken him. But the kid sat there, closed off inside himself.
“Alright, let’s go to bed. We have to get up early tomorrow—school.”
“Where will I sleep?”
“On the couch for now. Later we’ll buy a proper bed, with drawers.”
Dima nodded. Sergey pulled a blanket out of the closet and made up the couch. The boy lay down still fully dressed.
“At least change. Jeans are uncomfortable to sleep in.”
“I don’t want to.”
“Dima, what is it? You’re not little.”
“Dad, leave me alone.”
Sergey clenched his fists. Then he exhaled and stepped away. Fine. The kid was tired. It had been a hard day. Tomorrow would be better—definitely.
In the morning Dima woke up soaked. He’d wet himself. Sergey saw the wet blanket and froze.
“Dim, you’re already eight!”
“I didn’t do it on purpose.”
“How not on purpose? You’re a big boy!”
“I didn’t want to! I just woke up and it was already wet!”
The boy burst into loud tears. Sergey scratched the back of his head and sighed. Great. Now this too. He stripped the blanket off, tossed it into a basin in the bathroom, and handed Dima a clean T-shirt and pants.
“Come on, get dressed quickly. We’ll be late for school.”
They left the house at seven thirty. Sergey held his son’s hand tightly. At school Dima walked slowly, looking around. At the entrance he stopped and stood rooted to the spot.
“Dad, will Mom come pick me up today?”
“No. I told you yesterday—you live with me now.”
“And when will I see her at least?”
“I don’t know exactly. Later. Sometime.”
“When is ‘later’?”
“Dima, damn it, don’t whine now. Go on, get to school.”
The boy flinched and walked slowly toward the doors. Sergey stood by the entrance, lit a cigarette, then drove to the office.
In the evening he picked Dima up from school. The teacher, Maria Petrovna, stopped him at the classroom door.
“Sergey Vladimirovich, may I have a minute?”
“Yes, of course. What happened?”
“Dima had big problems today. He was silent the whole day, didn’t answer at all in class. He didn’t eat anything at lunch. And also… he was crying during the long break, in a corner.”
“I understand. Thank you very much. I’ll talk to him at home.”
They left the school together. Dima walked beside him, head down, silent.
“So what happened at school?”
“Nothing happened.”
“The teacher told me you were crying.”
“I wasn’t crying.”
“Dima, don’t lie to me.”
“I’m not lying!”
“Then what happened?”
“Leave me alone!”
The boy jerked away and ran ahead along the sidewalk. Sergey caught up fast and grabbed the hood of his jacket.
“Stop. Where are you running?”
“Let me go!”
“I won’t let you go anywhere. First explain what’s going on with you.”
“I want my mom!”
Dima broke into sobs. Sergey was completely thrown. What was he supposed to do now? How to calm him down? He crouched in front of his son and held his shoulders with both hands.
“Dim, listen to me. Your mom… she’s very busy with work. She doesn’t have time to take care of you.”
“That’s not true! She was always home with me!”
“Well… now everything is different.”
“Why is it different?”
“Because we—the adults—decided so.”
“I don’t want to live like this!”
“Dima, enough. Let’s go home, now.”
They walked in silence for about twenty minutes. Sergey felt something tightening inside him. How did it even happen like this? He’d done everything by the law. He’d proved to the judge that the mother wasn’t ideal. That he could raise him better. And now what? The child was suffering every day—and Sergey had no idea what to do next.
At home Dima lay down on the couch right away. Didn’t eat dinner at all. Sergey tried to talk to him calmly, but the boy just turned his face to the wall. An hour later he fell sound asleep. Sergey sat alone in the kitchen, drinking beer from a can. The same thought kept pounding in his head: what do I do? What do I do next?
On the third day Dima didn’t even get up from the couch. In a quiet voice he said his stomach hurt badly. Sergey got scared and called a doctor to come to the house. She arrived quickly, examined the boy carefully, and said calmly:
“Physically he’s completely healthy. But the child is under severe stress. You can see it yourself—he’s tense all the time.”
“So what am I supposed to do now?”
“Talk to him properly. Calmly find out what’s bothering him so much.”
The doctor left the apartment. Sergey sat down beside Dima on the couch.
“Alright, tell me. What exactly hurts?”
“I don’t know.”
“How can you not know?”
“It just hurts. Everything.”
“Where exactly does it hurt?”
“Everywhere… inside.”
Sergey sighed heavily. Then he took out his phone and called his mother. She arrived about an hour later. Came in, looked at Dima for a long time.
“Seryozha, what are you even doing to the child?”
“What am I doing?”
“He’s miserable here. Look at him properly.”
“I’m trying as hard as I can!”
“Then try the right way. He wants to go back to his mother.”
“Mom, don’t start this again.”
“I’m not starting anything. I’m telling you the truth. You took him out of stubbornness, and now you don’t even know what to do with him.”
“I didn’t take him out of stubbornness!”
“You did. And out of anger. You got hurt by Lena back then, so you decided to hurt her through your son.”
“That’s not true!”
“It is true. Seryozha, you’re a grown man. Think. Dima is suffering every day. He’s really unwell. And what are you doing? Proving to everyone that you’re right?”
Sergey stayed silent. Then he went out onto the balcony to smoke. Lit a cigarette with trembling hands. Heavy thoughts spun in his head. Was his mother right? Maybe she was completely right. Had he really taken Dima just out of anger—to make Lena hurt, to make her finally understand how deeply he’d been offended?
That evening his mother went home. Dima lay motionless on the couch. Sergey approached, sat down carefully beside him.
“Dim, listen to me. Do you want to go see Mom tomorrow?”
The boy lifted his head sharply and looked at his father.
“Really I can?”
“Really. Tomorrow morning we’ll go.”
“You’re not lying?”
“I’m not lying.”
Dima hugged his father tight. Sergey stroked his head slowly. Something inside him hurt—just hurt.
The next day they drove to Lena’s place. She lived two districts away. Sergey stopped the car by her building.
Dima jumped out and immediately ran to the door. Sergey followed very slowly. Lena opened quickly. Dima threw himself at her at a run. She scooped him up, held him tight, and burst into loud tears. The boy sobbed too.
“Mom, I missed you so much!”
“I missed you too, my sunshine.”
Sergey stood in the doorway, silent, watching the two of them. And suddenly he understood one thing sharply: he’d ruined it himself. Completely. He’d taken the child not because it would be better for him, but because he was deeply hurt by his wife. He’d been proving his righteousness to everyone, while Dima was just suffering. And Lena was suffering too.
“Len, can I talk to you?”
She lifted her head and looked at him. Her eyes were red from crying.
“Yes. Dim, go to your room for now.”
The boy ran off. Lena wiped her tears with her hand and looked at Sergey in silence.
“What did you want to say?”
“I… Len, forgive me for everything.”
“For what exactly?”
“For everything that happened. For taking Dima to live with me. For not thinking about him at all. And I didn’t think about you either. I just… I was really hurt by you. And I decided to prove to everyone that I’m not as bad as you said back then.”
“Seryozha…”
“No, let me finish. I was a complete idiot. I thought I could handle it alone. That I’d raise him much better than you. But in the end—I can’t even manage to buy food properly. Dima keeps crying, wetting the bed at night, not studying at all at school. I just can’t cope. And I realized one thing: he really needs his mother. He needs you.”
Lena wiped her tears again.
“You’re saying this seriously?”
“Absolutely. Len, let’s do it together somehow. Not as husband and wife like before. Just… together, raising our son properly. He’ll come to you all the time, live with you. And I… I’ll help him. Really help. Not out of anger, not to prove something to other people. Just to be a normal father.”
Lena was silent for a long time, studying him. Then she nodded slowly.
“Okay. Let’s try to do it that way.”
Sergey exhaled with huge relief. Inside, it immediately felt lighter. He went into Dima’s room. The boy was sitting on his old bed.
“Dim, listen carefully. You’ll stay living here with Mom.”
“Like… forever?”
“Well… you’ll live with her here all the time. And I’ll come regularly. I’ll take you every weekend. We’ll go гулять—walk around—go to the movies together. Are you okay with that?”
Dima nodded quickly, then hugged his father tight.
“Dad, you’re not going to leave us completely?”
“No, of course not. I’ll always be near you.”
“You really promise?”
“I really promise. Honestly.”
They hugged for a long time. Sergey suddenly felt hot tears rise to his eyes. He wiped them quickly and left the room quietly.
A week later Dima was already doing fine at school. He stopped crying during lessons. Sergey picked him up every Saturday morning. They went to the movies, walked in the park, talked about everything—calmly, normally. Without shouting, without old grudges.
One day in the park Dima suddenly asked:
“Dad, will you and Mom ever make up completely?”
“I don’t know for sure, Dim. Maybe not.”
“I’m really sad about that.”
“Me too. But you know what… sometimes adults just can’t live together нормально—normally. But that doesn’t mean they don’t love you for real.”
“I understand that now.”
“Good. That’s great then.”
They walked slowly through the park. Dima held his father’s hand tight. Sergey looked down at him and thought: this is how it should have been from the start. Not stubbornly proving things to everyone, not being offended over little things—just always being near his son. Just loving him sincerely. And then everything would truly be okay
