Irina raised Zhenya strictly. She brought up her son alone, not spoiling him much. Yet the boy had everything no worse than others.
The war years were behind them; in the fifties, life began to settle down, as if the country’s wounds were healing…
Irina gave birth to her son in 1951. Stanislav, a very tall handsome man who courted the young seamstress from a provincial town, disappeared as soon as he found out his beloved was pregnant. He did leave a letter, though, assuring Irina that everything would be fine. He pinned ten rubles to the scrap of paper with a note that the money was to be spent on the baby.
“If it’s a boy — name him Boris, and if a girl — Nadezhda,” Stanislav insisted in the letter, expressing hope that many years later he would meet them and they would surely understand each other.
Irina held the letter, and a lump of tears rose to her throat. She couldn’t believe that such a polite, considerate young man, who spoke so beautifully and charmingly stole flowers for her from the city flowerbed, could treat her so cruelly. Still, the letter with the pinned ten rubles clearly indicated that he was gone.
“I raised five of you on my own; you’ll manage just one, so wipe your tears, give birth calmly. I’ll help you. What else can you do if you showed weakness before marriage? What else can you do if life has already begun inside you?” her mother firmly said.
Albina Timofeevna, Irina’s mother, lived in the village. She visited her daughter working at the sewing factory in the city. Right away, Irina’s young man seemed strange — too handsome, evasive when answering questions, silent about his work. One day a geologist, the next a biologist. Most of all, he was overly polite — opening doors with a smile, letting others pass first, kissing hands. It was somewhat unsettling.
“I don’t know, mom,” the daughter hesitated, “I’m not married yet. What will people say?”
“You’ve found something to worry about,” her mother chuckled, “In the village, they’re always gossiping, guessing who’s got whose skirt in their yard, playing spies. But in the city, among so many people, nobody cares about others.”
“What if I come to visit you? I’ll bring the baby, and neighbors will start gossiping that your daughter gave birth out of wedlock! No, I’ll think about whether to keep it or not.”
“I’ll shut those neighbors up at once, as if they were sinless themselves,” Albina answered with mockery. “Stop worrying about bad things. You mustn’t worry; you’re still going to have Boris! Or Nadezhda.”
“Just not Boris!” Irina exclaimed, flashing her eyes, “I’ll name him Potap, or Fedka, or Paramon, but never Boris! If it’s a girl — I’ll name her Lyudmila.”
The girl was very upset that the young man who had abandoned her dared to give instructions about the baby’s name. So she knew that no matter what she named the child, it would be her own choice, not Stanislav’s.
Irina’s pregnancy went smoothly. Her mother visited more often, bringing fresh meat, eggs from the chickens, sour cream, and milk.
“Eat more cottage cheese and eggs,” Albina said, unloading the food from her basket. “Come on, eat up. You have a big belly, but you’re still like a little twig.”
“No need, mom, it’s hard for you to carry everything,” Irina said, enjoying a glass of fresh milk that even smelled different.
“You must, must. Here, have another egg,” her mother insisted. “Otherwise, the baby will be weak. Eat, dear, it’s good for the baby. Then go rest.”
Although on other days Irina lived a normal life — moved a lot and worked hard — when her mother visited, she felt like a child again — she slept during the day like in childhood, rested, and read books.
But as soon as her mother left, she began to feel sad for her beloved and kept asking herself why he treated her that way.
But when her mother arrived, all worries seemed to retreat, as if they scattered in fear before the strong village woman Albina Timofeevna, who stood firmly to protect her daughter.
When it was time to give birth, her mother moved in with Irina for a month or two. She left the household to her eldest son and his fiancée.
Just before labor, Irina’s health worsened frequently — blood pressure was acting up. So they admitted her to the hospital — it was safer that way.
Albina tidied the apartment — painted the walls, whitened the ceiling, cleaned the windows. She also somehow managed to get a baby crib.
Soon Irinka gave birth to a big and strong boy.
“What shall we name him, mom?” Irina asked when allowed to visit her mother briefly.
“Let the boy be Yevgeny,” Albina suggested timidly, unlike her usual self.
“Yevgeny?” the daughter was surprised. “Well, Zhenya… that’s a good name.”
Mother and baby were healthy and felt good. Irina had plenty of milk — Albina Timofeevna took very good care of that. She fed her daughter wholesome food and made sure the young mother didn’t miss meals.
The baby gained weight well, didn’t get sick, and pleased both his mother and grandmother. Albina adored her grandson. She loved all her children kindly, but life was tough — no time for tenderness and affection. During the war years, she raised five kids alone; her husband was reported dead in the first year.
So this brave strong woman had little tenderness left for her own children, but she simply couldn’t put down her first grandson. She whispered something tender to his tiny ears, kissed every finger, listened to his breathing when he slept.
“You’ll spoil Zhenya,” Irina shook her head.
“That’s what grandmothers are for,” Albina replied without letting the child go. “Look at our boy, a sight to behold.”
“Yes, a sight to behold,” sighed Irina, “If only Stas knew what kind of son he has, he’d never have left.”
Albina frowned; she didn’t like her daughter’s words. That scoundrel treated her terribly, practically abandoned her to fate. But just as she opened her mouth to sharply respond, she stopped herself.
She knew what it was like when longing eats you up and there is no strong male shoulder nearby. And especially when you have a baby in your arms — you feel like climbing a rope from how much warmth and support you want. Albina had experienced this feeling herself once. After living a while with her daughter, she returned to the village, convinced her daughter could handle things herself.
When the boy started walking, Albina began taking him to the village. He really liked chasing chickens and hugging piglets.
At first, Irina barely had time for herself. At first, the little son didn’t allow her to have a personal life, then work took all her strength.
Irina was a skilled seamstress, a leader at work, always exceeding plans. She worked efficiently, with fire and imagination.
Men glanced at the pretty single woman, but Irina didn’t like them. Though Stanislav betrayed her and hurt her deeply, no one could compare to him in her eyes. No one could speak as well as he did! No one courted her as beautifully!
One suitor was stingy with words — unlike eloquent Stanislav. Another showed no handsome deeds. And the third gave Irina warm socks knitted by his grandmother and kitchen utensils instead of flowers and sweets.
Then Stanislav returned… He appeared perfumed, handsome, with a bouquet — just as before, as if those nearly seven years had never passed. He looked at Irina as if he had no doubt she had waited for him.
“If you want to chase me away — do it, but let me see the child!” Stas spoke eloquently and passionately, as before.
“You don’t even know who was born,” Irina smiled sarcastically.
“Maybe you’ll tell me?” He averted his eyes, embarrassed.
“A son.”
“Oh… A son! I want to see him,” Stanislav brightened.
“Why do you need him? Zhenya doesn’t even know you,” Irina said surprised.
“You named him Zhenya, a good name! You didn’t want to name him Boris, well, your right…,” Stanislav sighed. “You don’t want to introduce me, you’re angry… But at least let the boy look his father in the eyes. A boy needs a father!”
“A father might be needed,” Irina replied, “one who feeds, clothes, and raises him. Zhenya and I are parents for both of us. We don’t need you, go away.”
Deep sadness showed in the man’s eyes. He bowed his head guiltily and said he could not act otherwise many years ago. He talked about a secret mission, searching for new mineral deposits, and serving the Motherland.
“Every day I thought about you and the baby, wondered who was born,” Stanislav whispered, tears frozen in his eyes, “My soul was torn to you, my loved ones, but I couldn’t leave my work.”
“You could have written!”
“I couldn’t!” he bitterly smiled. “I couldn’t!”
Though the flame in Irina’s heart had long gone out, some ember still glowed in her soul. As if Stanislav had struck a match, and the flame began to flare. Maybe the woman believed him, or wanted to believe, but the rogue managed to win her over again.
“I want to stay with you. Irina, forgive me,” he fell to his knees. “If you want, I’ll sleep on the floor, just don’t drive me away. Let me be with my son.”
“All right,” Irina nodded, “but first, you need to pick Zhenya up from kindergarten.”
The boy looked surprised at the tall mustached man in a hat who introduced himself as his father. Zhenya glanced at his mother, and Irina nodded.
“Hello… father,” the boy said politely.
Zhenya was already six at that time. Once he asked his mother about his father. But she didn’t give a clear answer, changing the subject. So the child understood with his childish mind that the topic was unpleasant for his mother.
“Probably my father is dead,” the boy sadly thought then.
With Stas as a dad, the boy felt a little awkward. His father seemed to want to please him too much. He shoved a small toy car into his hand, filled his pocket with sweets, and spoke strangely.
Zhenya’s friends’ dads looked cheerful or tired, sometimes they laughed or scolded their sons. Their hands were rough and coarse from work. His father was nothing like that.
Still, the boy decided he would get used to Stas. After all, it was a miracle — he had a father!
“How stupid you are!” Albina exclaimed in anger when her daughter told her about Stanislav’s return. “He came back after so many years of running away, and you’re glad.”
“Mom, he couldn’t act otherwise,” Irina replied. “He had a mission.”
“What kind, I wonder?” her mother mockingly asked. “Military? Political?”
“No, mom, but some secret one,” the daughter shook her head. She really wanted to believe her man. And she wanted her mother to believe it too.
“How naive and gullible you are,” Albina shook her head. “He’s feeding you nonsense. He ran away from responsibility, and now he’s come back to settle with you!”
“No, mom,” Irina objected, “he says he loves me and helps with Zhenya! He never leaves his son’s side!”
“Helps,” her mother said scornfully, “and what has he been doing all these years?”
“He’s a geologist, I told you,” the daughter answered. “Searching for secret gas fields…”
“He’s got gas in his guts!” Albina muttered angrily, offended by her daughter’s naivety.
“What’s wrong, mom,” Irina said reproachfully, “maybe not gas, but some kind of stones…”
“He was looking for stones in his kidneys!” her mother exclaimed and waved her hand. It was useless to argue with this fool. She would understand only after another betrayal from her handsome man.
Meanwhile, things were not going smoothly in Irina’s family. It was clear that Stas wasn’t going anywhere from her. But he didn’t like leaving Irina’s warm, cozy apartment at all.
“You have to take Zhenya to kindergarten,” Irina said, getting ready for work in the morning.
“Take him, since you’re already up,” Stas smiled sleepily, “and I’ll probably take a nap.”
Irina sighed and took her son to kindergarten herself. It was good that Zhenya grew up to be an independent guy. Once told to go — he was already dressed and standing.
Stas didn’t go to work. Apparently, he was waiting for another secret mission. Irina, however, was not told about his affairs. Understandable — secrets must not be disclosed.
Besides the gorgeous bouquet with which he met Irina, there were no more flowers. No toys for the child either. Stas the geologist also didn’t buy milk or bread for the house.
Whenever Irina mentioned any shopping, the man smiled charmingly, hugged and kissed her. But Irina felt not joy or happiness, but some irritation.
“Zhenya needs a father,” the woman thought, but she understood that her son only talked to Stas out of politeness. Besides, Stas rarely forced his company on the boy. He simply didn’t notice his son, only occasionally stroking his hair when he passed by.
“Grandma!” Zhenya shouted, meeting his grandmother who came from the village.
Albina Timofeevna, as always, arrived not empty-handed. She brought lard, sour cream, cottage cheese, and eggs. She gave the boy a whole basket of fresh berries — vitamins, it’s good for you!
Stas rushed to the “mother-in-law,” but the woman casually pushed his hands away. She didn’t want to be rude — after all, this was not her home. And apparently, she loved her daughter and her fancy son-in-law. Albina Timofeevna began laying out the treats on the table; Stas’ eyes lit up.
“The lard is tender, it melts in the mouth,” the man complimented but immediately stopped under the guest’s gaze.
Her gaze was hard and prickly; Stas shuddered.
“I’m not Irka, I don’t need sweet talk. Tell me better, Stasik, when will you get a job?”
“I’m waiting for an assignment.”
“What assignment?” Albina Timofeevna smiled. “Another secret one? Don’t feed me nonsense. You latched on to Irinka because you have nowhere else to live and nothing to live on.”
“You’re wrong, I love your daughter and love my son. And you, mom, better go back home, we’ll live without you.”
Albina could not bear it. She towered over the unlucky son-in-law and told him what she thought — sarcastically and contemptuously. She recalled how he abandoned her pregnant daughter and the very ten rubles he allocated to raise the son. And how she, not he, was there when Irina was pregnant and gave birth, supporting the young mother while the boy was tiny.
Zhenya loved his grandmother but knew that if she got angry, it was better not to get in her way. So he ran to his room and covered his ears. Irina also knew her mother’s stern nature well, so she did not intervene in the conversation.
“So what’s the result?” Stas sneered. “You’re raising a snot-nosed kid!”
And suddenly he said something that made Irina shudder. Maybe he said it in the heat of the moment or maybe he blurted out the truth in anger:
“Do you think I stayed with your daughter out of great love? Out of pity! Look at her — who else needs her except me? I thought we’d live differently, but she suddenly turned her nose up at me. And you’re still hauling bags around, and Zhenya doesn’t even respect me as a father.”
“Go away, son-in-law, far away,” she said sternly, “and don’t doubt that we’ll raise Zhenya well. He will be a good person, not a dressed-up scarecrow! And no need to live with my daughter out of pity; unlike you, she’s a worthy person. She only made one mistake — when she got involved with you.”
Glancing sternly at Albina, Stas went to the room and began packing his things. Irina went outside and headed toward the park. She returned only a couple of hours later.
“Forgive me, daughter, for tidying up your house,” Albina Timofeevna said. “I just couldn’t help myself. Forgive me, maybe I ruined your life…”
“You did well, mom,” the daughter replied. “I didn’t know how to drive him out. I brought him back out of old memories, thinking I loved him. And for the father, I thought Zhenya needed him.”
“He’s such a father that it’s better without him,” Albina snorted, “but don’t grieve, daughter, you and the boy will have a wonderful life.”
Albina Timofeevna was right — everything worked out well for both grandson and daughter. Soon after Stas left, Irina met a doctor from the local hospital. Mikhail became her husband, who loved and cared for her all his life.
Zhenya developed warm relations with his stepfather. He did not miss or ask about his biological father and generally didn’t remember him. When Irina and Mikhail had twin daughters, the older brother treated them warmly and tenderly.
Irina only sighed happily, looking at her son — nothing but appearance had passed down to him from Stas. She now smiled recalling the nights she longed for her “beloved” and thought that she was only young and foolish, so she believed in a “prince on a white horse.” But happiness is different — with someone like her current husband, reliable and caring Mikhail, who expresses love not with empty words but with actions and deeds.