Here, this is for you for now. After that—handle it yourself, on your own,” Roman said. He put a few banknotes on the bedside table and started stuffing his things into a big bag. He pulled on his jacket even though it was already warm outside—the jacket wouldn’t fit into the bag anymore—and, without even looking back, said goodbye.
“Well then… bye.”
“Roma… it’s probably going to be a boy—your son. Don’t you get it? You’ll be back for dinner, right? Roma… and what about meeting your mom… we were going to, remember?” Katya mumbled after him, barely audible, but he was already racing down the stairs.
Faster, faster. What was he thinking, getting involved with some kid—didn’t even ask how old she was. Well, she’d finished school, so he figured she was normal, modern… but she turned out to be a little fool. Took his word for it that he’d introduce her to his mother and that they’d get married soon. Where do girls like that even come from?
His mother wasn’t exactly thrilled either. She kicked his bag of clothes with her foot.
“You keep hopping around—one day you’ll hop your way into trouble. You won’t even notice and you’ll be old. And if you don’t bring groceries, I’m not feeding you!”
“Oh, quit it, Mom. You raised me alone—why didn’t you get married? Don’t know? Well neither do I. I don’t know why I don’t want to get married—I guess I haven’t had my fun yet. I’m bored. And why are all women the same? At first they ‘love’ you, dress up for you. Then they start cooking borscht, training you for domestic life—house slippers, toothbrush, your own little khaki-colored towel. And then—bam—I’m pregnant. And she expects me to be happy. Isn’t that something? And then right away she’s in tears: ‘It’s probably a boy… he’ll look like you, Romochka… we’re practically a family!’”
His mother didn’t answer. Roman peeked into her room.
“Ma, you’re not listening to me?”
“What’s there to listen to? The son I gave birth to… why do I have all this? Get out. I don’t even want to see your face!”
“Fine, I’ll go. I know you’re not happy to have me,” Roman said. He grabbed his bag, slammed the door, and went out into the yard.
No one understood him—not even his own mother. Whatever. He had plenty of friends. He wouldn’t disappear.
Roman called a couple of guys. One of them—Mishka—needed an administrator at his car wash.
There was even a little couch there, and the wash was open 24/7—so both work and a place to sleep, right in his pocket. He wasn’t selling his freedom that cheap…
All spring, summer, and the beginning of autumn, Roman lived and worked at the car wash. But later he and Mishka had a huge fight over money. Mishka accused him of not logging every car from the wash and tire service, and of pocketing the cash for the work.
Roman was deeply offended. It had only happened a couple of times.
But it was already getting colder, and nights at the wash were chilly.
And now Mishka started checking up on him for everything: how many free coffees Roman drank from the vending machine, how much electricity he burned heating the back room—he just wore Roman down with his suspicions.
So Roman left without regret and went to work as Borisych’s replacement—became a night guard at a kindergarten. The job wasn’t hard, there was always something to eat, and, again, there was a place to sleep.
Borisych was a lonely man; he basically lived there all the time too. And he didn’t mind Roman sleeping in the guard booth even on his day off.
Sometimes Roman met up with cute girls. But it happened less and less, and Katya just wouldn’t leave his head. Had she bewitched him or what?
Now he kept remembering how she’d loved him, how she used to wait for him after work—back when he’d been a sales manager for sofas and mattresses. And more and more, the thought gnawed at him: what if she really did have his son and was waiting?
Katya was that kind of girl—naïve, faithful. Maybe there was a little boy growing up who was waiting for his dad. And Roman would come, Katya would throw her arms around his neck, and then Roman would scoop up his son—and the kid would hug him and say, “Daddy came!”
After all, young dads came to the kindergarten every day. All different types—there were even broad-shouldered tough guys like Roman. And they weren’t embarrassed: they dressed their boys and girls, put shoes on them, wiped their noses. Then they went home, and their wives already had cutlets and mashed potatoes waiting!
Roman started calculating—how old could his kid be? He’d left Katya in spring, lived at the wash until winter, and now spring was almost over again—summer was nearly here. Which meant…
He tried to count it this way and that, got himself all tangled up, and asked Borisych for help—Borisych was older, he had to understand.
When Borisych heard that Roman might have a son, he lit up.
“Don’t look at me—I’m already old, my courting days are done. But you—run to your Katya. Beg her. Ask her forgiveness. You’ll start living like a human being right away. When I lived with my woman, I was a man. And now look at me… a simple man has no meaning without a woman. We’re not academics—we need the simplest things: a home, a wife, and a son or a daughter!”
Borisych said it so tenderly, with tears shining in his eyes, that Roman felt it too.
And on top of that, he watched every single day as different dads brought their sons and daughters to kindergarten. Some pulled them on sleds, some dragged them by the hand, some came with scooters. They scolded them, the kids begged forgiveness—and then in the evening they stared out the window, checking if Daddy was coming for them.
And Roman could do that too.
Maybe he’d even go back to the factory—he used to earn well there. His hands remembered the work…
Roman hadn’t forgotten where Katya lived. He was only afraid she might have moved.
He steeled himself for a while, then finally decided. One day after his shift he bought a bouquet of flowers, a bottle of champagne, and a bright cube-shaped rattle. Borisych said that by his calculations Roman’s son was at most eight months old.
But that didn’t matter anymore. The time would come when the boy would talk, and Roman would hear those precious words—“Daddy!”
And Katya, surely, would wrap him in that long-forgotten warmth and coziness of home. And that was what Roman wanted more than anything in the world now…
He turned into the little square near Katya’s building and suddenly spotted a familiar figure with a stroller.
Katya wasn’t alone. Some guy was standing beside her, brazenly hugging her.
But Roman decided not to stop. He was determined to fight for his son to the end.
“Hey! What are you doing hanging around my kid?” Roman snapped, without any preface.
Katya looked at him in surprise, recognized him, but for some reason didn’t react.
“You’ve got the wrong guy, buddy!” Katya’s companion grinned insolently.
“No, you’ve got it wrong. That’s my girl and my son. Want to take a test?” Roman narrowed his eyes angrily. He hadn’t expected obstacles—some random weirdo!
Latching onto something ready-made—another man’s woman and another man’s kid!
“Roman, what are you, drunk?” Katya asked with contempt. Only then did Roman notice how she’d changed—completely different now, confident, and even more beautiful.
It made the fight feel meaningful. He was fighting for what was his. Roman clenched his fists.
“Katya, go home. I’ll be right there,” the freeloader said to her—and Roman was already picturing how he’d land a punch. His fist was strong.
But Roman got hit first. And the guy was clearly only using half his strength, which stung even more.
“Don’t show up here again, got it?” the thief said calmly, lifting Roman by the collar, and then he quietly walked home.
Roman almost choked with outrage. No one had ever thrown him aside like that. He shouted after him:
“So it’s not too much trouble for you—raising someone else’s kid?”
There was no answer…
Katya and Nikita
“That’s how they are,” Roman said, “they swear they’ll wait—and then—pffff.”
He was getting drunk with Borisych; the kids had already been picked up from the kindergarten and the sun was almost down.
“But I’ll make it happen. He’s my son—she’ll admit it! I’ll even pay child support if I have to. At least when I get old, I’ll have a son…” Roman slurred to Borisych.
Meanwhile, in a small apartment, Katya and Nikita sat by their son’s crib.
She had already forgotten about running into Roman. She had a real family now…
Back then she’d been desperate. Her mother and father were in the village, she had nowhere to go—abandoned, alone.
She couldn’t eat from stress. Then she made a firm decision to give birth—and one day she collapsed on the street from hunger.
People called an ambulance, and it turned out Katya wasn’t pregnant at all—the test had shown a false positive. Rare, but it happens.
But the ambulance doctor, Nikita Ilyich, took it upon himself to look after Katya. He treated her so gently, with such love and care, that six months later they got married.
Now Katya had a beloved husband and son, and she was glad that the man she once met—a mistake she hadn’t seen for what it was—had left on his own back then.
And thanks to that, she met her destiny…