Mom decided to go through motherhood a second time differently: she focused on early development, ditched diapers and store-bought baby purées, and cooked everything herself. And Masha thought that meant hiking was over.
But a year later her mom called and asked Masha:
“Can you watch Nika this weekend? We’ve got a training trip. Normally we take turns going to practice, but this one absolutely can’t be missed.”
“What? So you didn’t want to babysit your grandkids, but I’m supposed to be your free nanny?”
“Mash, it’s only for a couple of days. You—”
“No,” Masha said firmly. “You wanted this child—you deal with it. Or are you afraid some twenty-year-old climber girl will steal your boy?”
Her mom hung up abruptly. And Masha immediately felt guilty: when her father had asked her to look after her little brother while he and his young wife went to a friend’s anniversary party, she’d agreed.
“Do you think I should go?” she asked her husband.
“Do whatever you want! I’m sick of this. Can you think about anything besides kids and your parents?”
The words stung.
“Whatever I want? Great. I want to leave you.”
She packed a suitcase with deliberate showiness and went to her mother’s place, stopping on the way to buy a jumbo pack of diapers.
“I’ll watch Nika,” she exhaled, not meeting her mother’s eyes, “on the condition that you let me live here for a while—and that you let me put diapers on her.”
Her mom didn’t ask anything and even agreed to the diapers. She explained the feeding schedule and sleep routine, cleared out what used to be Masha’s room, and took off with her Artyom.
Veronika turned out to be a surprisingly calm baby. She wrinkled her little nose adorably when she yawned and gripped Masha’s finger with her tiny hand.
“That’s how it is, sis,” Masha would whisper, rocking her in her arms. “You can’t even imagine what a weird family you’ve got.”
At night, after the baby fell asleep, Masha sat in the kitchen and watched the moon outside the window. Somewhere out there, in a tent, was her mother; and here, in the quiet, Masha felt something like peace for the first time in a long while.
Her mom and Artyom came back a day early.
“What happened?” Masha jumped up from the armchair, where she’d just dozed off with Veronika in her arms.
“Nothing,” her mom said, carefully taking her sleeping daughter. “It’s just… we realized we don’t want to be there.”
Artyom nodded. His usually cheerful eyes were serious now.
“The mountains aren’t going anywhere. But she…” He touched Veronika’s cheek with a fingertip. “She grows every day, and none of these moments will ever come back.”
Masha looked at them—this strange, awkward little family—and suddenly felt something tighten in her chest. Not anger. Not resentment. Something else.
“Mash,” her mom said unexpectedly, holding out her free hand. “Thank you.”
And in that moment Masha understood: she still wanted a child of her own. But now—not because “everyone has one,” but because somewhere deep down she’d finally allowed herself to simply want.
Living at her mom’s place turned out to be pretty great: Masha liked helping with her little sister, and her mom was happy she could go out somewhere with Artyom. Sasha didn’t even try to get her back, so Masha went and filed for divorce. Maybe her mom was right: if she couldn’t have kids with him, then he wasn’t her man. But then who was?
Philipp showed up out of nowhere—tall, sun-bleached hair, and a habit of laughing louder than the situation required. He brought Mom and Artyom some climbing carabiners and stayed for dinner.
“You’re Masha, right?” He handed her a bottle of beer, his fingers lingering on her palm for a second.
The beer was unnecessary. Two hours later they were kissing in the elevator, and four hours after that they were watching a movie at his apartment. Masha didn’t even bother inventing an excuse to stay the night—it felt like the most natural thing in the world.
The romance took off fast, but it didn’t promise anything serious: she and Philipp had nothing in common— they didn’t even like the same movies. Still, Masha spent all the time she could with him when he wasn’t off hiking, then went back to her mom’s again. When Philipp left for three months, by the second week Masha felt an unfamiliar longing.
And nausea.
She ran to the pharmacy for a test. Now it was her turn to show her mother a plastic strip.
“Have the baby спокойно,” her mom said. “If your rock climber runs off, I’ll babysit my grandson. I’ve got experience now.”
In the next room Veronika laughed brightly, chasing the cat. Masha caught herself thinking her mom didn’t look like a grandma at all. But soon she would be.
Philipp came back three months later, tanned and smelling of wind. When he saw Masha’s belly, he froze in the doorway.
“Is that… mine?”
“No, the mountain wind blew it in,” Masha snorted, though her voice trembled.
Philipp slowly dropped to one knee. From his pocket he pulled out a ring—rough, woven from wire and mountain grass.
“I braided it at every camp,” his fingers shook. “I thought you wouldn’t say yes. But now…”
Behind him her mom shook her head.
“Well, that’s it—now we’ve got two idiot climbers in the family.”
But when Philipp hugged Masha, gently pressing his cheek to her belly, her mom turned away—as if Masha didn’t know her mother had happy tears in her eyes. And Masha finally understood that life isn’t a race where you have to do everything at once. Sometimes it’s enough to simply say “yes”—to an unexpected baby, a chance man, and a mother who turned out to be wiser than she’d seemed