Christina got up at the crack of dawn this morning: she had to hurry to the store while there was still fresh bread and before her favorite curd snacks were snapped up, which, in her opinion, paired perfectly with tea. She quickly pulled on her jeans, a sweater, and on her feet—her old, comfortable sneakers. Outside, it was still gray; the summer sunrise had only just begun over the high-rises of their neighborhood.
Approaching the front door, she noticed how the hallway was strewn with her nephew’s toys, whom she sometimes babysat: a little toy car with worn-out wheels, a plastic tractor without a bucket—they had been left over from yesterday when a friend had visited with her son. Christina smiled as she gathered them onto a shelf. “It’s nice that there’s sometimes the sound of a child’s laughter in the house, even if it isn’t your own,” she thought. After all, she didn’t have any children of her own yet: there was her career and other reasons. And she didn’t have a husband either—she had recently broken up with a guy who turned out to be “not ready” for a serious relationship.
She quickly tossed her wallet and phone into her purse and stepped out onto the landing. The warm air and sunbeams promised a magnificent summer day. The girl took the elevator down, stepped out into the yard—where already grandmothers were bustling about and two students were smoking on a bench. “Everything seems normal,” Christina thought. She nodded to her neighbor:
“Good morning, Aunt Valya!”
“Hi, Christina dear, up early?”
“Yeah, I’m just out for bread.”
The neighbor smiled and adjusted her scarf. Christina headed to the nearest “Pyaterochka,” conveniently just about a five-minute walk away. After making her purchases, she filled an entire bag: bread, cheese, yogurts, fruits, a couple of cans of canned peas (just in case she wanted to make a salad). As she made her way to the checkout, she estimated that she should be out of the store in about 20 minutes. And indeed, she ended up in a short queue, but she quickly paid.
Finally, she left the store and strolled back along the cozy courtyard path. Her heart was light, for it was a day off—a day to take care of household chores at her leisure.
However, as she approached her apartment building, she noticed something strange: in the entrance, where a glass porch led in, a woman was jostling with a child in her arms, and a little further on a man was arguing with someone on the phone. Christina walked past them—these people were strangers to her, perhaps guests of someone.
She was about to step into the entrance when suddenly she heard a muffled groan or cry echoing from somewhere down the stairs. A child’s cry? She stopped and listened. The cry was barely audible, at a low tone, as if very faint. Her heart skipped a beat: “Could someone have dropped a baby?” She took a few steps inside, leaning against the cool wall.
“Do you hear that crying?” she addressed the random people who were following her in.
“I don’t hear anything,” one man brushed off.
Another woman shook her head: “Probably your imagination…”
But Christina was sure she had heard something real. She decided to follow the sound. Venturing a little deeper into the nook between the garbage chute and the stairwell—where old furniture was usually piled up—she noticed a small bundle. And from there, indeed—a barely audible little child’s voice, crying. Her heart froze; she leaned over and carefully lifted the edge of a blanket. What she saw shook her to the core: an infant, a little one, perhaps only a week old at most. Its cheeks were pale, lips blue from the cold or—God forbid—malnourishment.
“Oh my God,” she breathed, feeling her hands tremble.
The child was haphazardly wrapped in some old, thin blanket, without even a proper diaper. “This is just abandoned!” a thought flashed through her mind. “Who could do such a thing?!”
Christina felt a surge of horror and pity. She immediately dialed 03:
“Hello, ‘Ambulance’, I…I found an infant in the entrance hall. It seems he’s been abandoned. Please come quickly, the address is such and such…”
The operator clarified the details, and Christina tried to keep her panic in check: “Yes, he’s alive, but he’s crying…” After finishing the call, she crouched in front of the bundle:
“Shh, little one,” she whispered, though the baby could barely hear. “I won’t hurt you, everything will be alright…”
The infant twitched and fell silent for a moment, as if it had sensed the warmth in her voice. “Boy or girl?” she wondered. Lifting the blanket, Christina saw that it was a boy. Her heart ached with understanding: completely alone, without a name, without a mother.
Neighbors were passing by; some stopped and peered curiously when they saw the scene. Christina called out:
“Everyone, please help—can someone take off their jacket to cover him? It’s drafty in here!”
An 18-year-old girl pulled off her windbreaker:
“Wow… What a tiny one. Here, take it, cover him.”
“Thank you,” Christina nodded.
While waiting for the ambulance, an elderly woman ran over, flailing her arms: “Oh, monsters! Who abandons a child!” Her questioning only added to Christina’s mounting panic. A man in a tracksuit suggested, “Maybe we should take him into the apartment?” But Christina feared unnecessary movement: “In case the doctors need to examine him on the spot.”
After about 15 minutes, the siren wailed in the courtyard. Paramedics with a stretcher hurried to the entrance. Christina was trembling as she held the little one close, trying to warm him. A doctor, a middle-aged woman, touched him and raised her eyebrows:
“He’s alive but weak. He needs to go to the hospital immediately. Who are you—the mother?”
“No, I found him…” she swallowed bitterly. “It seems he’s been abandoned.”
“Understood,” the doctor said, pressing her lips together. “Alright, we’re taking him. Please give your contact details, as the police will get in touch later.”
Christina, automatically reciting her phone number and passport details, felt her heart pounding. The medics wrapped the baby in a special warm blanket and placed him on a small stretcher. “Boy—” the doctor murmured, “just a little one.”
Christina stepped outside after them, watching the ambulance drive away. Neighbors nearby continued to gasp: “Wow! What kind of mother is that? Terrible!”
She stood there, hands falling limply, even forgetting about the bag with bread and curd snacks she had left somewhere in the entrance hall. Her mind echoed: “Do people really act like that? Abandon a newborn in the entrance hall like trash…”
That very day, Christina couldn’t return to normal. Once home, she placed the shopping bag on the kitchen table but had no strength to cook. She called her friend Oksana:
“Oksana, can you imagine… I found an infant today. Right in the entrance hall!”
“What?” Oksana gasped. “Seriously? How could that be?!”
Christina recounted every detail in a flustered manner.
Oksana was in shock and offered, “Maybe I should come over? Are you alright?” – “I’m okay, but my head is spinning. Come, I’d be glad to see you.”
Around six in the evening, Oksana arrived with a cake, and they poured tea. Christina recounted the story once more, feeling tears welling up: “You understand, this little boy… he’s so tiny…”
Oksana pressed her hand to her chest:
“Chris, maybe the mother was just in despair, I can’t justify it, but…”
“I don’t understand how anyone can just abandon a child. Even in desperation…”
“Yeah, it’s… awful.”
“Now I keep wondering…” Christina hesitated. “What will happen to him? Will he be put in an orphanage if his parents never come forward?”
Oksana nodded: “Usually, yes. Or he’ll stay in the hospital until the child welfare services step in. And what about you… do you want to help in some way?”
Christina clasped her hands together:
“I’m not sure. Maybe visit him in the hospital, ask how he’s doing. But who am I… not a relative…”
Yet deep inside, a thought was growing: “What if… could I perhaps take him under my care?” However, the idea sounded absurd: she wasn’t married, had an average income, and her experience with children was limited to the occasional babysitting of her nephew. Still, her heart whispered otherwise.
The next morning, a woman calling herself a police captain phoned Christina: “Are you the one who found the newborn?” They needed her statement. Christina went to the station and recounted the whole story step by step. In the end, she asked, “How is the child?”
“The doctors reported that he’s in the intensive care unit, but he’ll survive,” the captain replied. “We’ll be searching for the mother, though the chances are slim: many people leave for other cities.”
“So, most likely, he’ll end up a complete orphan?” Christina whispered, feeling a sharp pain.
“Possibly. Unless a grandmother or someone else steps forward. But usually in such cases, the child is placed in an orphanage, and then foster care is arranged.”
Christina left the station in a daze. She wanted to do something more. At work, she barely managed her tasks, and her boss noticed her distraction: “Christina, is everything alright?” – “Yes, just some family problems.” She chose not to divulge any details.
That evening, she called the hospital: “Hello, this is Christina, the one who found the baby… May I ask how he’s doing?” The nurse on duty confirmed, “His condition is moderately severe but stable. If everything goes well, in a couple of days he’ll be moved to a regular ward.”
A warm relief filled her chest: “Thank God he’s alive!”
A week later, gathering all her resolve, Christina went to the hospital where the baby was. She found the pediatric department and introduced herself: “I’m the one who found this boy… May I at least see him?” They let her in, since she was an important witness, and the pediatrician—a woman of about forty—showed understanding: “If you’re this worried, you can take a look.”
She saw the tiny body in a crib, under a warming lamp. The boy was sleeping, quietly snoring. Christina’s heart clenched. She stood for several minutes, gazing at his miniature fingers, feeling an irreversible emotion welling inside: “I don’t want him to be alone. I want to…” Yet she was afraid to put it into words.
The pediatrician quietly approached:
“He’s grown a bit stronger these days,” she said with a smile. “We’re temporarily calling him Mishka. We’ll look for a guardian if no relatives come forward.”
“And how does the process of finding guardians work?”
“Well, if the mother doesn’t appear, child services will transfer him to an orphanage or directly to an adoption agency. Sometimes adoptive parents are found.”
Christina nodded, her throat tight with emotion. “And what if I become those parents?” the thought whispered inside her. But she knew: “I’m alone, without a husband, and it’s not certain they’ll allow me.”
Returning home in turmoil, she called her mother in another city:
“Mom, you won’t believe it—I found an infant…” she recounted. “He’s alive, now in the hospital. I feel so sorry for him; my heart aches.”
Her mother was silent for a long moment, then sighed:
“Darling, you’ve always had such a kind heart. But this is a huge responsibility…”
“I…I don’t know. Maybe it’s my destiny?”
“If you feel ready to be a mother, then go ahead. But keep in mind, it won’t be easy on your own.”
“I understand.”
And yet that thought kept growing in her heart.
A few weeks passed. The baby was transferred from the hospital to a specialized ward, where abandoned children were monitored, preparing for transfer to an orphanage. Christina could not sleep peacefully, thinking about him constantly. One day she went to the district child welfare service and declared:
“I’m Christina, the one who found the baby in the entrance… I’d like to find out if it’s possible for me to become his adoptive parent or guardian.”
The child services officer—a woman with kind eyes—raised her eyebrows:
“You’re single? Without a husband?”
“Yes, unmarried. But I have a stable job and my own apartment.”
“In principle, it is possible. The law does not forbid a single woman from adopting a child. But you need to go through the process: classes for prospective parents, a medical examination, income verification, a character reference, and a home inspection.”
“I’m ready,” Christina said quietly yet firmly.
The woman nodded:
“Alright, write down an application and I’ll explain the procedure. But note, if the biological mother comes forward, the situation might change.”
“I understand,” Christina replied softly. I doubt the mother will appear, she thought.
Thus began a complex journey: gathering documents, undergoing medical examinations, taking courses for prospective parents. At work, she arranged a short leave, and her boss, upon hearing the reason, though surprised, offered support: “We have a social program; we’ll help you, don’t worry.” Her friend Oksana was delighted: “That’s wonderful! You’re a real heroine!”
Of course, Christina experienced moments of crisis. Some nights she lay awake, staring at the ceiling: “What if I can’t handle it? Being a mother isn’t just about rocking a doll. Will I have enough money? And the child is growing up without a father…” Sometimes she dreamed that she couldn’t get the baby to sleep, that he cried and no one would help. She woke up in a cold sweat.
But each morning, recalling his tiny face and little fingers, a renewed sense of determination returned. “This isn’t just a coincidence. It’s fate.”
The child welfare inspections took another month. Inspectors came to her two-room apartment: a neat kitchen, a bright room, good renovations, a designated children’s corner—though not yet set up. Christina joked, “If everything works out, I’ll create a cute little corner, with bear-patterned wallpaper.”
The inspectors asked many questions: “Why do you want to adopt? Do your relatives object? How do you plan to raise him?” Christina answered honestly, sometimes blushing, but her words rang sincere. It seemed she made a good impression.
At the end of summer, she was called into the child welfare department and formally given a positive conclusion: she could become an adoptive parent. “Now we just have to wait for the court’s decision regarding this child,” explained the officer. “But given that he’s an abandoned child and the mother has not come forward, the chances are very high.”
Christina nearly teared up: “Thank you… I really want to give him a family.”
Next came the court hearing, since the child was to be declared “deprived of parental care” and transferred for adoption. The lawyer she hired said, “It’s an easy case—you’re the savior; the chances are 99%.”
While the formalities were underway, Christina received permission to visit the child in the pediatric ward. There were several infants there, each with their own story: some from drug-addicted mothers, some found in shopping centers. When she first held that particular boy in her arms, a wave of nervousness overtook her:
“How are you, little bunny?” she whispered, holding him as delicately as if he were a fragile figurine. The boy had grown a bit, looked at her with wide eyes, reaching out his little hands.
A caregiver smiled: “He needs human contact. It’s wonderful that you’re here.” Christina sat down on a chair, clutching the boy to her chest, overwhelmed by an indescribable joy. “Even if it’s just formalities for now, in my heart I already consider him my son,” she thought.
At the end of August, the court session was held: Christina, the judge, and the representative of child welfare were present. The judge read out: “To declare the child… deprived of parental care… and to grant the right of adoption to the citizen…” Christina could barely stand. When she heard, “Congratulations, the decision will take effect in 10 days,” she realized that everything had been settled.
“You may choose a name for him as you wish,” said the child welfare representative.
“I will call him Matvey,” Christina smiled. “The name symbolizes strength and courage, for he survived against all odds.”
A week and a half later, she officially received all the documents, the birth certificate in which she was registered as the mother. Emotions overwhelmed her. She hosted a small tea party with Oksana and a few friends, and even her mother arrived from another city. Everyone rejoiced, though they understood that Christina’s life was about to change.
That autumn day, when Christina picked up Matvey from the child institution, he was bundled in a blue envelope, so adorable. She had brought tiny crawlers, a little cap, yet she still felt her hands trembling. “He’s truly my son now,” she thought, cradling him close.
“Don’t worry, you’ll manage,” encouraged the caregiver. “The most important thing is love and patience.”
Christina took the baby home by taxi. The driver, a man in his forties, noticing how tenderly she held the infant, asked, “First child, I suppose?” – “Yes, adopted,” Christina replied proudly. “Oh, what a noble act,” the driver nodded respectfully.
At home, she had already prepared a little corner: she set up a crib, hung a mobile with dangling animals, and spread a soft blanket. On the dresser lay diapers, wipes, and bottles. A friend helped her compile a list of all necessities. When Christina first laid Matvey in his crib, he squeaked, snorted, and… began to cry. Gasping, she scooped him up and started rocking him:
“Don’t cry, my little one. I’m here; mommy’s right here,” she whispered, barely holding back tears of emotion.
Gradually, the baby quieted, snuggling against her warm shoulder. A unique calm settled over the room, as if the previous emptiness had vanished.
Of course, there were difficulties: sleepless nights, tummy colic, sudden temperature spikes, visits to the pediatrician. Christina could only smile: “Well, I’ve dived headfirst into motherhood.” Sometimes she would grab her phone and call Oksana in tears: “He hasn’t slept for two hours, he’s crying, I don’t know what to do!” Her friend would suggest, “Try some dill water” or “Switch the formula.”
Every morning, Christina woke up exhausted, but as soon as she saw Matvey’s smiling face (he had begun to show his very first silent smile), her soul filled with joy. “Every sacrifice is worth it,” she kept telling herself.
Christina’s mother, who came to stay for a week, helped with the chores: cooking soups, washing diapers. “Well done, dear, you weren’t scared,” she praised. Christina nodded gratefully, watching as Matvey lay on a rug, examining a rattle.
Moreover, journalists sometimes reached out to Christina (or tried to contact her): someone from the police had spread the story about the “heroic rescuer.” But she dismissed the publicity, feeling shy. She believed there was nothing heroic about it—it was merely a coincidence and her human duty.
A couple of months after the adoption, when Matvey was about 5–6 months old, Christina received a strange message in the mail. There was no return address. Inside—a note: “Forgive me, I couldn’t cope…” and that was all. It seemed it might have been from the biological mother? Or just some mean-spirited joke? Christina read those words, feeling a mix of emotions: “Maybe it’s the mother who suddenly realized her mistake?”
But it was too late—legally, Christina was the parent, and the biological mother had been stripped of her rights, if she ever even existed. The baby was growing up and had a future. Christina tossed the letter onto a table, deciding not to let anyone disturb their peace.
At work, colleagues once gathered and presented Christina with a small gift—a basket filled with baby items. She was touched: “You are so kind! Thank you!” Some grumbled, “It’s tough raising a child on your own…” But most were supportive. Her boss officially approved her maternity leave, although Christina tried to work partly remotely: “At home, when the baby sleeps, I can manage the reports in 1C.”
The neighbors in the entrance hall, who remembered the day Christina found the bundle, now looked at her with reverence: “A true mother,” they said. One of the older neighbors even offered occasionally to help: “I’m a grandfather of three; I can assist,” but Christina politely declined, afraid of burdening others.
By December, Matvey was about seven months old. He had learned to roll over and was starting to crawl. Christina decided to throw a small New Year celebration at home. She bought a tiny potted Christmas tree, decorated it with glitter. Oksana arrived with her husband, and Christina’s mother also came—everyone sat at the table, and of course, Matvey was the center of attention.
“Ah, goo!” the baby chirped cheerfully, grabbing at the tinsel with his little hand.
“Hey, careful, sweetheart,” Christina laughed, taking the sparkling garland away so he wouldn’t put it in his mouth.
Everyone raised their glasses: “To family! To miracles! To the fact that he survived and found a mother!” Christina smiled tearfully, feeling a gentle happiness flow in her soul. Despite all the hardships, she was in her element.
Recalling the moment when she had seen that little bundle in the entrance hall, Christina marveled: “I could have walked by or been frightened…” But no, something inside had compelled her to save the child. “I’m so glad I wasn’t a coward,” she repeated. Now, Matvey was growing up as her son—not by blood, but by love.
Sometimes, a heaviness settled in her heart: “What if one day the biological mother comes?” But friends and her lawyer reassured her, “Legally, the child is now yours; she’s been stripped of her rights, everything is finalized. Don’t worry.” Still, she prayed that the woman wouldn’t show up with any claims.
When Matvey turned one, Christina loved to talk to him before bed as if he understood. Holding him in her arms in the dimly lit room, she said:
“You know, little one, how we met? I was coming back from the store on an ordinary Saturday…” she whispered, recounting the events, even though the baby couldn’t grasp the meaning. “But I believe fate brought us together. Don’t be afraid, I will always be here.”
The boy gurgled, touching her hair. The woman’s heart filled with a warmth she had never known before. No man or friend could ever give her that maternal feeling.
Months passed. Matvey slowly grew, learning to walk, uttering his first words: “Ma-ma,” “Ba-ba.” Christina returned to work part-time, and a nanny came for a few hours. Her friend Oksana sometimes helped, taking the baby out for a walk.
Christina felt that her life had found a clear purpose and deep meaning. She regretted nothing. One day, an engineer named Roman from the neighboring department began to court her, hinting at outings together. Christina smiled: “Maybe when Matvey is older.” Her priorities were clear.
Summer passed, autumn arrived, and Matvey was about two years old—cheerful and mischievous. One day, they left the apartment building together, the very building where it all began. On Christina’s face was a serene joy. The neighbor, Aunt Valya, upon seeing Matvey, exclaimed with her hands: “Look at how healthy he is! I remember the day you found him!”
Christina tightened her grip on her son’s hand:
“Yes, that day changed everything,” she said softly.
The little boy gazed curiously at the street, at the pigeons. Christina leaned down to him:
“Come on, my dear. So many good things await us.”
With those words, they slowly headed to the playground. In Christina’s heart, there was no more anxiety or doubt. The story of the abandoned child had found a logical and happy ending: Matvey had found a loving mother, and Christina had gained a son who, perhaps, was destined for her to raise. And this story needed no further chapters, for it was already clear that everything had turned out as it should.