“Mom, why are you just standing there? Everyone’s already in the hall.”
Valentina Sergeyevna adjusted the pearl necklace—a gift from Viktor for her sixtieth birthday—and gave a smirk.
“I’m wondering whether Roman will come.”
Viktor snorted.
“Why did you even invite him? You stayed silent for eleven years and everything was fine.”
She shrugged. She didn’t really know why herself. Maybe she wanted to see how far he’d fallen. Roman. The eldest. Gennady’s son—her first marriage, the one she preferred not to remember. A loser of a father, a loser of a son. чужая кровь—someone else’s blood.
“Let him see how normal people live,” Valentina Sergeyevna said as she headed for the exit. “Maybe he’ll finally feel ashamed.”
The restaurant hall was buzzing. The tables were piled high with appetizers, and waiters were pouring sparkling wine. Valentina Sergeyevna accepted congratulations and smiled, but kept glancing toward the entrance from the corner of her eye. Roman didn’t appear.
Coward, she thought with satisfaction. He was afraid to show his face.
Eleven years ago, she had thrown him out. He came to ask for money—for housing, for some kind of down payment. She refused. In front of his brothers. In front of his Ksenia, that quiet little village girl. She said everything she thought: that she was tired of dragging a loser along, that enough was enough, that he should figure it out himself.
Roman had simply turned around and left. He never called again. Disappeared.
And now she had invited him. For a laugh. To show Viktor and Denis: see, I was right—he never became anything.
The restaurant door swung open.
Every head turned. A man walked into the hall wearing a suit that was impossible to look away from—not because it was flashy, but because the cut was perfect, the fabric expensive, the fit confident and effortless. Beside him was a woman in a cream-colored dress, her hair styled like she’d stepped off a magazine cover. She held the hand of a boy around eight years old, dressed as if he were being taken to a reception at an embassy.
Valentina Sergeyevna froze. She didn’t recognize them. They looked as if they’d come to the wrong restaurant—too expensive, too high-status for her birthday party.
Viktor nudged his mother with an elbow.
“Who’s that? Did you invite one of your partners?”
The man walked straight toward their table. His gaze swept the room—calm, assessing. A watch flashed on his wrist, one that cost more than Viktor’s car.
He stopped in front of the birthday woman.
“Good evening, Mom. I’m Roman.”
Valentina Sergeyevna felt something inside her snap. Viktor froze with his glass halfway to his mouth. Denis dropped his fork.
It was her eldest son. But not that hunched, perpetually guilty boy. A man stood before her with such quiet confidence it stole her breath.
Roman turned to the woman at his side.
“This is Ksenia. My wife. And our son, Lev.”
Ksenia nodded—without shyness, without apology. She carried herself like someone used to expensive restaurants and attention.
Valentina Sergeyevna opened her mouth, but no sound came out. The guests at the table fell silent.
Viktor cracked first.
“So what do you do? Where do you work?”
Roman looked at his brother. There was no challenge in his eyes, no contempt—just calm.
“Ksenia and I run our own business. We develop payment systems for international companies.”
Ksenia added softly, but each word landed clearly:
“Roman handles the IT architecture, and I manage the product. We entered European markets last year.”
Denis gave an uncertain snort.
“Yeah, sure—startups. Everyone’s launching startups these days.”
Ksenia turned her head toward him. She smiled gently, but there was steel in her eyes.
“Not everyone, Denis. But we did.”
The silence at the table grew thick. Valentina Sergeyevna stared at her son, not understanding—how had he become this? Where did that confidence come from? Where did the money come from, the suit, this wife who was no longer a quiet village fool?
One of the guests—Valentina Sergeyevna’s neighbor—leaned toward her friend and whispered loudly:
“Now that is a twist. And she’s always been telling us the oldest one was useless.”
Valentina Sergeyevna went pale.
Roman crouched beside Maksim, Viktor’s son, his nephew. The boy looked at his uncle with awe.
“Hi, Maksim. How old are you now?”
“Ten,” the boy nodded.
Roman pulled out an embossed business card.
“If you ever want to learn how software is built or how business works—call me. Come by our office. I’ll show you.”
Viktor stiffened.
“Roman, don’t—”
“Don’t what, Viktor? Invite my nephew over?” Roman rose. “I’m not trying to steal him away. I just want to show him a different world.”
Maksim squeezed the card like a treasure. Viktor clenched his jaw.
Roman returned to the birthday woman’s table. Valentina Sergeyevna finally found her voice.
“Roman, I… I didn’t think you—”
“That I could?” he finished for her. “Yes, I remember. Eleven years ago you told me—in front of everyone—that I was a loser. That you were tired of carrying dead weight. That nothing would ever come of me.”
She turned even paler. The guests fell completely silent, pretending to be busy with their salads.
“Roman, forgive me… I didn’t mean—”
“You did,” he cut in—not rudely, just stating a fact. “And you know what? Thank you. Without that humiliation, Ksenia and I wouldn’t have understood the main thing: you can only rely on yourself.”
Ksenia rested a hand on her husband’s shoulder—not to stop him, just to show she was there.
Roman exhaled and continued more calmly.
“We left that day with nothing. We rented a room in a dorm. Ksenia worked at a call center. I wrote code at night. The first two years we counted every kopeck. Then Lev was born—it got even harder. But we didn’t ask anyone for help. Not a single person.”
He looked around the table—Viktor with his expensive watch, Denis with his smug expression, Valentina Sergeyevna with her pearls.
“Our first contract came three years later. A small one. Then another. Then investors noticed us. We built a product that solved a real problem. And it took off.”
Denis grimaced.
“Easy to talk when it already worked out.”
Roman turned to him, and for the first time steel crept into his voice.
“Easy? Denis—have you ever gone two days without sleep? Not known whether you had enough for groceries? Watched your wife stand in line for free children’s clothes while you sit in a meeting pretending you’re successful? No. Because Mom always had your back. Viktor got an apartment. You got connections. And we got nothing. And that turned out to be the best thing she ever did for us.”
Valentina Sergeyevna covered her face with her hands. Viktor stared into his plate. Alla, his wife, turned toward the window.
Roman pulled an envelope from his inner pocket and placed it in front of his mother.
“Happy birthday.”
With trembling fingers she opened it. Inside was a photo: Roman, Ksenia, and little Lev by the sea. All three smiling at each other. On the back was written: “Family is the ones who walk beside you. Even when everyone else turns away.”
Valentina Sergeyevna gripped the photo until her knuckles whitened.
“My God… what have I done… Roman, forgive me. Please. I was blind. Stupid.”
“You were afraid,” he said quietly. “That I’d be like Gennady. Weak. A failure. So you decided it was better to cut me off right away.”
“Yes… yes, I was afraid…”
“You didn’t cut off a loser, Mom. You cut off a son. I was never Gennady. You just didn’t see it.”
He paused. Ksenia took Lev’s hand.
“And you know what’s the strangest part? I’m not angry. I haven’t been for a long time. The anger disappeared the first time we were able to rent a decent apartment. That’s when I realized: I don’t need you anymore. Not your money, not your approval, not your love. Nothing.”
Valentina Sergeyevna sobbed. The guests looked away.
“We should go,” Roman said, taking Ksenia’s hand. “Lev’s tired, and it’s a long drive across the city.”
Valentina Sergeyevna jumped up.
“Wait! Don’t leave like this… I want to fix everything. Give me a chance!”
He stopped. Turned back. Looked at her for a long time. Then he held out his hand—not for a hug, but for a handshake.
“We can meet sometimes, Mom. But only as equals. No judgments, no lectures. We built our life without you—and this is our life. If you’re ready to accept that, Ksenia will give you our number.”
Valentina Sergeyevna stared at his outstretched hand. Then slowly, as if afraid he’d change his mind, she took it. Not a mother’s embrace. A businesslike handshake.
Roman nodded. Ksenia took Lev’s hand, and the three of them walked to the exit. At the door the boy turned back and waved—childlike and open. The door closed.
Valentina Sergeyevna sank into her chair. The hall fell silent—heavy, awkward. A waiter approached hesitantly with a tray, but she waved him off.
Viktor broke the silence first.
“Mom, what’s wrong with you? Have a drink, at least.”
She lifted her head and looked at her younger son—his groomed face, the confidence of someone who had always known his mother would catch him.
“Viktor, if I’d thrown you out back then the way I threw out Roman… could you have done it? What he did?”
He frowned.
“Done what?”
“Built everything from scratch. Without my help. Without money.”
Viktor hesitated. Alla looked away. Denis laughed loudly—but it was fake.
“Mom, why would you ask that? We’re family—we’re supposed to help each other.”
“Family,” Valentina Sergeyevna repeated. “Yes. Only I didn’t help Roman. I threw him away. And he became stronger than both of you.”
Viktor reddened. Denis clenched his teeth. At the neighboring table, guests exchanged looks—some with sympathy, some with poorly hidden glee.
One of Valentina Sergeyevna’s friends leaned in and whispered loudly:
“Valya, you always said he was worthless. Turns out he’s the most successful one of your sons.”
Valentina Sergeyevna gripped the photo. She didn’t answer.
The guests left quickly—some claiming they were tired, others that they had things to do. Valentina Sergeyevna didn’t stop them. She sat alone in the emptied hall, gripping the picture of Roman’s happy family.
Her phone vibrated. An unknown number. A message from Ksenia:
“Valentina Sergeyevna, Roman said we can meet. But only if you’re ready to accept us as we are. Without trying to change us or teach us. We built our life ourselves. We like it. If you understand that—come to tea on Saturday. I’ll send the address tomorrow.”
Valentina Sergeyevna pressed the phone to her chest. Tears slid down her cheeks—hot, bitter. Tears of shame and a strange, almost childish hope.
She lost her son eleven years ago. She threw him out herself. But today, maybe she’d been given a chance to know him again—not as a loser she had to carry, but as a person who achieved more than she ever expected.
The one she called “someone else’s blood” turned out to be the strongest.
Valentina Sergeyevna stepped outside. The night air was cold and sharp. With trembling fingers she typed a reply to Ksenia:
“I’ll come. Thank you for giving me a chance. I’ll try not to disappoint you.”
She sent it and stood staring at the screen until a short reply arrived:
“Okay.”
Just one word. But there was no anger in it, no triumph. Only agreement.
Valentina Sergeyevna remembered Roman standing in the entryway eleven years ago with a bag of his things, Ksenia behind him. She had shouted after him:
“You’ll come back on your knees! You’ll crawl back begging!”
He didn’t come back. He came on his own feet. In a suit she couldn’t have afforded. With a wife who no longer hid behind his back. With a son raised better than her own grandsons.
And he didn’t come to take revenge. He came to show: I made it without you. And I’m fine.
That hurt more than any revenge ever could.
Valentina Sergeyevna turned back toward the restaurant. Lights still glowed in the windows. The waiters were clearing away the tables from her birthday—the celebration she wanted to be a triumph, and turned into her own humiliation.
She invited Roman for a laugh. She wanted to see him burn with shame beside his “successful” brothers.
But in the end, she wasn’t the one laughing.
Life was. At her pride. At her blindness. At the fact that she threw away a diamond thinking it was just a stone.
She took out her phone and looked again at the photo Roman had given her. The sea. Happy faces. The family he built without her.
And below it—the words: “Family is the ones who walk beside you. Even when everyone else turns away.”
Valentina Sergeyevna ran her finger across the screen. Saved the photo. Set it as her wallpaper.
On Saturday she would go to them. Not as a mother who knows best. Not as a benefactor granting forgiveness. But as a person trying to make up for a mistake—at least to try.
Roman had given her a chance. A last one.
She didn’t know whether he would ever truly forgive her. She didn’t know whether she could become a grandmother to Lev. She didn’t know whether they would let her into the life they built without her.
But she knew one thing: she no longer had the right to make another mistake.
Valentina Sergeyevna put her phone back in her purse and walked slowly toward a taxi. Her footsteps sounded dull on the empty street. The birthday was over. Sixty years lived.
And only today did she understand who she had lost.