A girl was born in a small village. It would seem that this event should have brought joy and happiness to the home of Varvara and Anton, but instead their family was shrouded in a shadow of discontent and condemnation. Varvara, the baby’s mother, loved her daughter. The girl was already three months old, and Varya loved her immensely, despite her unusual facial features: a wide nose, large bulging eyes and large moles on her cheek.
“What did you give birth to for me?” the husband shouted when he saw the baby’s face – and simply kicked his wife out of the house! And six months later, something incredible happened…
But at the same time, the young woman felt the cold glances of her neighbors piercing her like sharp needles. The neighbors gathered at the market, whispering among themselves, casting sidelong glances in the direction of their house. “Ugly, unworthy, not like her father” – these words echoed in her head like an ominous melody.
Varya knew that it was always like this in the village: any deviation from the norm caused gossip. It was terrible to realize that her daughter had become the subject of discussion. “How can she be like this? Neither like her mother nor her father,” the women whispered, exchanging glances.
Anton was a tall, strong man with striking features and a thick beard, while Varya had soft features and dark hair. Varya held the baby close, trying to ignore the whispers outside the window. She knew that her daughter was a miracle that she had given to life, and she could not understand how anyone could judge an innocent creature for simply being born.
“She will be special,” Varya thought, looking at her daughter’s tiny hands and fingers. But the fear for her daughter’s future did not leave her. With each passing day, Varya felt the weight of condemning glances more and more.
There was no room for weakness or shortcomings in the village. If someone was born different from everyone else, their fate was sealed: isolation and loneliness. And although Varya tried to be strong for her daughter, anxiety grew in her soul.
How could she protect her daughter from the cruel words and misunderstanding of those around her? Every morning Varya went out into the street hoping that today the neighbors would be kinder. But each time her expectations turned into disappointment. Women continued to discuss her daughter behind her back, and men looked at her with displeasure.
“Why did such an ugly woman appear in your family? Did Varka cheat on her?” they wondered. Anton walked home with heavy steps, his thoughts were occupied with work. He was tired, but his head was still ringing with the neighbors’ words about his daughter not being like him.
Rumors were spreading around the village, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was laughing at him. His soul was heavy, and he just wanted peace. As he passed an old abandoned house on the edge of the village, his attention was drawn to a local loner – Grandfather Peter.
This man was always in sight, but no one paid attention to him. He looked as if time had treated him cruelly: graying hair, wrinkled face and a crazy look.
Peter often wandered around the village, humming some old songs under his breath or asking everyone the same question: “Where is my little son?”, as if he were looking for a lost treasure. Anton winced when he saw the old man. “How strange he is!” he thought as he passed by.
But suddenly his gaze fell on his grandfather’s cheek. Two large moles, one under the other. Anton froze.
They were exactly the same as his daughter’s. “What does this mean?” flashed through his mind. He remembered the gossip and how many in the village whispered about his family.
Anger filled his soul, and he could not understand why it affected him so much. The man quickly headed towards the house, feeling a storm growing inside. When Anton entered the house, Varya was sitting on the floor with her daughter in her arms, quietly whispering something tender to her.
Seeing her husband, she raised her head and smiled, but the smile quickly disappeared from her face when she noticed his gloomy expression. “Do you know the old man, the idiot Petka?” Anton asked sharply. Varya nodded.
“He’s the local idiot,” Anton blurted out. “But you know, he has two moles on his cheek, just like our daughter.” Varya froze in surprise; she didn’t understand what he was getting at.
“What are you talking about?” she asked, confused. “Did you hear me well?” Anton shouted, his voice growing louder. “How could you cheat on me? With him? With that idiot?” “Anton!” Varya jumped to her feet, her eyes filling with tears.
“Are you crazy? I’ve never cheated on you. What about these birthmarks?” “It’s not just a coincidence,” he continued, not wanting to hear her excuses. Varya felt her heart squeeze with pain.
She didn’t understand why her husband had suddenly started suspecting her of cheating. It was ridiculous and unfair. “You just can’t accept that our daughter isn’t like you,” she shouted back.
“It’s just looks.” “Looks?” Anton was beside himself with anger. “You think it’s just a coincidence? I can’t believe you’re faithful to me.”
The argument was getting more heated with each passing second. Varya felt tears rolling down her cheeks. She never thought she would become a victim of such accusations.
Her inner world was crumbling. “I was faithful to you,” she sobbed. “You know me.”
“I know,” Anton cried. “Now I don’t know anyone. Maybe you’ve been playing with me all this time.”
Varya could no longer hold back her tears. She sank down on the floor next to her daughter again and hugged her. The little girl looked at her with her big eyes, not understanding what was happening.
“You have no right to treat me like this,” Varya said through tears. “I’ve never cheated on you. Why can’t you just trust me?” Anton stood before her, his face stone-faced.
Emotions raged inside him: anger, jealousy, and fear of losing his family. He felt betrayed and humiliated. “Take your daughter and get out of here,” he said furiously.
“I don’t want to see you anymore.” These words pierced Varya like a knife. She looked up at her husband and saw cold alienation in his eyes.
At that moment she realized that their life together would no longer be. Packing her things, Varya tried to hold back her tears and thoughts about the future. She understood that she had to leave.
But where? How to live on? Her heart was breaking with pain and misunderstanding. She put her things in the bag and looked at her daughter. Soon Varya was standing on the threshold of her house, holding her daughter in one hand and the bag with things in the other.
The wind blew coldly on her face, and she felt goosebumps run down her spine. This had been her home, but now it was a stranger. She took a step forward, and her heart sank with bitterness.
Every detail of this place reminded her of the happiness that had once been here, but now it all seemed far away. “How will I live in this village, like an outcast?” Varya thought, walking along the familiar streets. She knew that now everyone would whisper behind her back, point fingers.
Anton’s words devalued her in the eyes of her neighbors. How could she have ended up in such a situation, how could everything have changed so quickly? The sun was already setting, and the evening chill was beginning to creep under her clothes. Varya paused for a moment to adjust the hood on her head and hug her daughter tighter.
The baby slept, unaware of what was happening around her. Varya looked at her serene, amazing face and felt a surge of love. “I will do everything for you,” she thought.
Night came upon her unexpectedly. Varya found shelter under an old tree on the outskirts of the village. She settled down on the ground, spreading her jacket under her.
The cold penetrated to the bones, but she tried not to show fear. It was quiet around, only the occasional sounds of night animals could be heard. Varya pressed her daughter to herself, trying to warm her with her body.
But the warmth of a mother’s love could not completely protect her from the cold of that night. She thought about what awaited them ahead, how she would find a job, how she would feed her daughter. Thoughts about the future seemed dark and hopeless.
A feeling of loneliness grew inside her. The sound of footsteps came through the darkness. Varya raised her head sharply and saw the silhouette of a woman approaching her.
It was Aunt Tamara, a gypsy from the village, known for her kind heart and wisdom. She had piercing black eyes and long gray hair, braided into pigtails. She stopped next to her and looked at Varya carefully.
“What are you doing here, baby?” she asked softly. Varya felt relieved to see a familiar face. She told Tamara what had happened, how she had been thrown out of the house.
Aunt Tamara nodded with understanding. “Don’t be afraid, my dear. I have many grandchildren, but there will always be room for you and your girl,” she said, holding out her hand to Varya.
They headed to Tamara’s house. It was old and a little slanted, but cozy. It was noisy inside, children were playing and laughing, creating an atmosphere of warmth and joy.
Varya felt uncomfortable in the midst of this bustle, but Aunt Tamara hugged her and said: “Don’t be shy, everyone here is your own.” Varya smiled through her tears.
She had never thought that she would spend the night with a gypsy woman with many grandchildren, but now it seemed to her the only salvation. Aunt Tamara offered her some money to start with. “It’s not much, but it will help you start a new life,” she said.
Varya accepted the money with gratitude, she knew that it was only temporary help, but now it was important. In the morning Varya woke up from the noise of children playing in the room next door. She looked at her daughter, she was sleeping peacefully next to her.
After breakfast she decided: it was time to take a step forward. She had to leave the village and start a new life in the city. She knew it would be difficult, but there was no other way.
“I’ll go to town by bus,” she told Aunt Tamara. “Okay, baby, but you know you can always come back here if you need help,” the gypsy replied with a kind smile. Varya thanked her for her support and warmth and left the house with her daughter in her arms and a bag of things on her shoulders.
Aunt Tamara, watching Varya, suddenly stopped and, closing her eyes, thought. Remembering her friend, she suddenly became happy. “Varya,” she stopped the young woman, “I just remembered: I have a friend in the city, Lena, she rents out a room inexpensively. This will be a great solution for you and your daughter.” Varya looked up.
“Really? That would be great. Where does she live?” Tamara quickly wrote the address on a piece of paper and handed it to Varya. “Tell her I sent you and she’ll help you.
Lena is a kind woman, she is always ready to help, and I will call her and warn her that you are coming.” Varya squeezed the paper tightly in her hand. This was her chance.
She thanked Aunt Tamara and, having gathered her things, went outside. The sun was already rising high, and its rays were warming the earth, but in Varvara’s heart there was still a cold shadow of fear. She headed towards the bus station, her steps were confident, although emotions were still raging inside.
Her head was spinning with thoughts about how her life in the city would change, how she would find a job, whether she would be able to provide for her daughter. But now it didn’t matter, the main thing was to take a step forward. The station was in its usual bustle, people were rushing to work, children were playing next to their parents, someone was laughing loudly.
Varya went to the ticket office and bought a ticket to the city. The bag with her things weighed heavily, but she no longer felt tired. Having boarded the bus, Varya settled into the seat by the window.
She watched the landscapes rushing past, the fields, the trees, the rivers. Every moment reminded her that she was leaving her native places, but at the same time it was liberating. She understood that now she had a chance to start all over again.
Varya felt a slight thrill. She hugged her daughter close and closed her eyes. Images flashed through her head: her old life, the house with the garden, the neighbors’ ridicule.
And a new life, the bustle of the city, new faces and the unknown. The journey took several hours. Time flew by, Varya thought about the future.
She knew Lena would have many questions, but she had to be frank. She had to tell her about her past, about what had happened in the village. When the bus finally stopped at the city station, Varya stepped outside and took a deep breath of the big city air.
It was filled with sounds: car horns, the laughter of passersby, and the smells of food from nearby cafes. It all seemed at once alien and inviting. She looked at the address, written in Aunt Tamara’s hand.
It wasn’t that far, just a few blocks away. Varya gathered all her strength and headed towards her new home. As she passed the shops and cafes, she noticed people of different ages and nationalities.
Everyone was hurrying about their business, and Varya felt like she was part of this flow. Finally, she approached Lena’s house. It was a small building with several floors and bright windows.
On the ground floor there was a shop with vegetables and fruits. Varya knocked on the right door and waited. A few moments later the door opened and a middle-aged woman with kind eyes and light hair appeared on the threshold.
“Hello, are you Varya?” she asked with a smile. “Yes, I’m from Tamara. She said you could help me with a room.”
Lena nodded and invited her in. “Come in, I’m very glad to see you. Tamara told me a lot of good things about you.”
Varya entered the cozy apartment. It was warm and light inside. The walls were decorated with photographs and paintings.
Lena led her into a small room with a window overlooking the courtyard. “This will be your room. It’s not very big, but cozy.
And the price is quite reasonable.” Varya looked around the room. Simple furniture, a bed, a table and a chair.
Everything needed to start a new life. “Thank you very much!” Varya said with sincere gratitude. Lena smiled.
“You’re welcome. I understand how difficult it is to start over. If you need anything or have any questions, don’t hesitate to reach out.”
Weeks passed. The breakup with Anton left a deep wound in Varvara’s heart, but she knew she couldn’t afford to give in. She had a daughter, and she had to be strong for her.
After Varya left Anton, she managed to find remote work online. She registered on several freelance platforms and began doing small tasks, from writing texts to graphic design. Although the earnings were modest, they allowed her to pay basic expenses and feed her daughter.
Gradually, she began to feel more independent. One day, while browsing social networks, Varya came across a group dedicated to handmade jewelry. She was inspired by the idea of creating unique items and selling them.
Varya bought the necessary materials, fittings, beads, glass stones and everything that could be needed to create jewelry. She spent the first few days at the table, experimenting with designs and shapes. She created necklaces, bracelets and earrings, putting a piece of her soul into each piece.
When Varya finally finished her first works, she took photos and posted them online. The reaction was unexpected. Friends began sharing her posts, and some even offered to buy the products.
This inspired Varya to continue. Her confidence grew with each passing day. She began visiting local souvenir shops, offering her jewelry for sale.
Shop owners looked at her work with interest and often agreed to take a batch of items for sale. Varya felt a surge of strength, her efforts began to bear fruit. With each piece of jewelry sold, her financial situation improved.
She could afford not only food, but also small pleasures for herself and her daughter. Daughter Rita grew up and pleased her mother with her successes. She was a smart and inquisitive girl who attracted the attention of others with her charm.
Anton sat on the old sofa and looked out the window. The evening light gradually faded, leaving only a dim reflection of the street lamp on the glass. He didn’t know how much time had passed since Varya had left.
Each day dragged on forever, and a feeling of emptiness grew in his soul that nothing could fill. In the kitchen stood a bottle of vodka – the only way he found to numb his pain. Every evening he poured himself another drink, hoping that alcohol would help him forget what had happened.
But instead, he only made his condition worse. Alcohol brought no relief, but only added new layers of melancholy to old wounds. Work didn’t help either.
Anton threw himself into his work, trying to escape reality. He stayed at work until late in the evening, completing projects that had previously seemed routine to him. Now every task was a way to avoid thoughts about Varya and his daughter.
He tried not to think about what he had done, but the thoughts kept coming back. Why couldn’t I keep her? Why did she cheat? His neighbors wouldn’t leave him alone either. Every time he went outside, he felt their judgmental gazes on him.
They whispered behind his back as he passed. Anton knew what they were talking about: how he had thrown Varya out of the house, how she was now alone with a child. And although he himself understood that he had done wrong, it was hard for him to hear their opinions.
One evening he went outside to get some fresh air. On a bench sat his neighbors, a couple of elderly people who had always been active participants in the life of the village. Their conversations were full of condemnation.
“How could you do that to a woman?” said the old neighbor Nina, looking at Anton reproachfully. “Yes, he also says that he loved her,” added her husband Victor. “If he loved her, he wouldn’t have kicked her out.”
Anton felt a surge of rage and shame at the same time. He wanted to answer them, to express his feelings and explain his actions, but instead he simply walked past them in silence. That night he poured himself another glass of vodka and sat down on the sofa.
Thoughts of Varya filled his head again. He remembered her smile, her voice, her care for her daughter. He also remembered old Peter, that same village idiot.
Peter had always been a little strange, either simple-minded or simply clumsy in his attempts to start conversations with people. But now it seemed to Anton that Peter was the cause of his misfortune. “She cheated on me with that fool,” Anton thought bitterly.
This thought was like a knife in the heart. He could not understand why Peter. What was wrong with him? Had Varka gone mad? Or maybe he had raped her? These questions tormented his soul.
Anton left the house, unable to contain the surge of emotion. Rage and resentment overwhelmed the man, clouding his eyes more than vodka. He was drunk, but not so drunk that he couldn’t see that his life was falling apart before his eyes.
Varya left, his daughter was left without a father, and he was left without a family. This feeling of loss and betrayal was torn in his chest, and anger became his only companion. He headed towards old Peter’s house.
Peter was always a little strange. He spoke incoherently and often got his words mixed up, but Anton was sure that Varvara had cheated on him. His daughter was so similar to him, no doubt about it.
Anton wanted to let off some steam. He pounded on the door so hard that the pots inside rattled. When the door finally opened, Peter, the village idiot, stood before him.
Hatred flared in Anton’s eyes. “You!” he screamed. “You took everything from me, do you understand that?” Peter looked at him in bewilderment.
“What? I don’t understand,” he muttered, trying to close the door. Anton pushed him with his shoulder and burst into the apartment.
“Do you think you’re better than me? That you can make her happy? You’re just an old fool.” Peter began to stutter and tried to explain: “Peter is good, Peter doesn’t know, it’s not my fault.”
But Anton wasn’t listening anymore. He grabbed the old man by the collar and pushed him against the wall. “You’ll answer for everything!” he growled.
At that moment a sharp female voice was heard: “Enough! Stop!” It was the neighboring granny Marina Ivanovna. Hearing the screams, she ran out of the house in a nightgown, with her hair tied on her head with a kerchief, her face red with excitement.
“What are you doing, Anton? You can’t hit old Petka. He’s… he’s harmless.” Anton turned to her.
Grandma looked at him with such determination that he was a little taken aback. “He took everything from me!” he shouted back. “So what? You think fighting will change anything? Calm down.”
“Let him know that I don’t forgive!” Anton yelled. “Varka cheated on me with him. How did that happen? On her own? Or maybe he attacked her in a dark corner?” Marina Ivanovna sighed.
“Come to my place, Antoshka, let’s have some tea. I’ll tell you about Petka. And you, Petrusha, go to bed,” she nodded to her neighbor.
Marina Ivanovna led Anton into her house. On the walls hung old photographs that told stories about her family’s life. Anton felt a little awkward, but at the same time he was pleased that someone was caring about him.
“Sit down,” she said, pointing to a chair upholstered in colorful fabric. “I’ll make you some strong tea now, it will help you come to your senses.” Anton sat down, crossing his arms over his chest.
He would have drunk some vodka, but his head was already cloudy. Marina Ivanovna returned with a teapot and two cups. She poured the hot drink, and the steam rose up, creating a light haze in the air.
“You know,” she began, sitting down opposite him, “Pyotr isn’t as stupid as he seems at first glance. He has his own story.” Anton looked at her with bewilderment.
He had not expected to hear something like that. It seemed to him that Peter was simply a loser, sick in the head from birth. “Thirty years ago he had a family,” Marina Ivanovna continued.
“His wife became seriously ill. He did everything he could to help her, but the illness proved stronger.” Anton’s attention sharpened.
He leaned closer to his neighbor, trying not to miss a word. “She suffered for a long time,” the old woman continued. “And in the end she couldn’t cope.
This grief brought Peter down. He completely gave up and could not take care of the child. His late wife’s sister Larisa took the baby to raise and took him to the city.”
Anton froze. He couldn’t believe his ears. Larisa.
That was the name of his aunt, with whom he grew up. He remembered his aunt’s stories about how his mother had once struggled with illness. “I never heard anything more about them,” Marina Ivanovna continued.
“Nobody knew how their fate turned out. But I always felt sorry for Peter. He lost everything – his family, the meaning of life.
That’s why he became like that.” Anton couldn’t believe what he was hearing. The pieces of the puzzle began to fit together in his head.
Maybe he was that boy? Maybe he was Peter’s son? Where did the same birthmarks on his daughter’s cheek come from? Where did those same round eyes come from? “Wait,” he said quietly. “I grew up in the city with Aunt Larisa.” Marina Ivanovna looked at him with interest.
“She said that my mother lived in this village once,” Anton continued. “I never knew the details.” He shook his head, as if trying to shake off the growing sense of unreality.
Everything matched. Larisa, Peter’s story, the birthmarks. It was too incredible.
“Does that mean I’m that boy?” he asked in bewilderment. Marina Ivanovna nodded. “Perhaps.
I can’t say for sure, but everything points to it.” Anton closed his eyes and tried to concentrate. Memories of his childhood began to surface in his mind.
Aunt Larisa had always been kind and caring, but she had never spoken about his real father. He remembered only fragments of phrases about how his mother had been ill and how they had moved to the city when he was a baby. “It’s impossible,” he said. The old woman looked at him with sympathy. “I understand, boy, that it’s hard to accept, but sometimes life weaves such complex patterns that we don’t even suspect how they are connected.
“You drink some tea.” Anton picked up the cup of tea and took a sip. The hot drink burned his lips and throat, but he felt empty inside.
Thoughts about the past overwhelmed him with a wave of emotions. Fear of the unknown, regret about lost time and the desire to know the truth about his family. So Varvara had not cheated on him, and he had kicked them out into the night and cold with the baby.
“And what about Peter?” he asked suddenly. “How can I talk to him? I would ask him about the details myself, but he doesn’t understand anything.” “You try,” Marina Ivanovna narrowed her eyes.
“Although, in fact, he has long been dead to this world. He lost all desire to live after the death of his wife.” Anton woke up late, Saturday had come.
He still felt a slight headache, a reminder of the previous evening. Thoughts about the conversation with Marina Ivanovna did not leave him. He stood up, washed himself and, gathering his courage, left the apartment.
The road to Peter’s house seemed endless to him. He walked, lost in his thoughts, trying to imagine how the meeting with his father would go. His heart was pounding in his chest, and he didn’t know what to expect.
When Anton finally approached the old man’s house, he was overcome with excitement. He knocked on the door, and a moment later it opened. Peter looked tired, his face was haggard, and his eyes were full of bewilderment.
The old man’s gaze was at first full of fear, as if he had seen a ghost. “You, excuse me, I was drunk, I won’t hurt you.” “I want to talk,” Anton said, trying to calm both himself and Peter.
The old man nodded slowly and walked out onto the porch, where he sat down on the steps. Anton followed him and sat down next to him. A silence hung between them, filled with tension and anticipation.
“My name is Anton. I found out last night from your neighbor that I am the boy that Larisa took away. I am Nastya’s son, and yours.”
“I am Nastya’s son, and yours,” Anton said in a trembling voice. Old Peter looked at him with wide-open eyes. He did not say a word, but deep feelings were visible in his gaze: shock, surprise, and an inexpressible, uncertain joy.
The old man’s gaze became moist, as if he was waiting for confirmation of his words. Anton continued speaking. “My daughter Rita has moles on her cheek, like yours.
I thought Varka cheated on me with you. And you, my daughter’s grandfather.” Anton’s words hung in the air, and at that moment Pyotr closed his eyes, as if trying to comprehend the full weight of this information.
His large, bright eyes filled with tears of joy. Peter took a deep breath, but was unable to utter a word. Anton felt his own breath catch in the silence.
He saw the old man struggling with his emotions, the battle between memories of the past and the desire to be part of his son and granddaughter’s lives. “I know it’s hard,” Anton continued, trying to convey his feelings to Peter. “I didn’t come to judge or blame you, I just want to understand you, to know you.”
The old man slowly rubbed his face with his hand and looked into the distance at the trees and sky. He seemed lost in his thoughts, but there was no longer any fear in his eyes, only sadness and longing for the time when the family was whole. “Anton, my son,” Peter finally said quietly.
Anton nodded. “Yes? You don’t believe me? We’ll call Aunt Larisa in the city, she’ll confirm. Forgive me for being violent, I didn’t know.”
A shadow of a smile appeared on the old man’s face, sad and tender. He finally saw a part of himself in Anton, a part of the life he once had. This was the beginning of something new, a long-awaited meeting between father and son after many years of separation.
At that moment, an invisible thread of connection arose between them, a thread of blood and fate that could help them both heal from the wounds of the past. Peter suddenly extended his trembling hands, and Anton, without thinking, embraced him. At that moment, all fears and doubts dissolved into thin air.
They sat pressed against each other, feeling the connection between them, lost in the depths of time, begin to be restored. Peter whispered something unintelligible, and Anton only squeezed him tighter in his arms, promising that now he would always be there. “I will help you,” Anton said, pulling away and looking into his father’s eyes.
“I’m with you now, dad.” Rumors had already begun to circulate in the village that Anton was Peter’s son. Some whispered on the benches, others discussed it over a mug of beer in the bathhouse.
Anton himself understood that he needed to improve his relationship with Varvara. He couldn’t leave everything as it was. The man decided to find her and try to make peace.
Leaving Peter’s house, he headed towards the center of the village. On the street he was met by the gypsy Tamara. She stopped him, looking him intently in the eyes.
“Don’t you miss your wife and daughter?” she asked with a mysterious smile. Anton sighed, he really did miss them and he knew he was wrong. “Yes, I was cruel to Varya.
I want to make peace with her.” Tamara nodded, as if she knew what he would say. She took a small notebook out of her pocket and wrote down a phone number.
“Call her. But remember, the words must be sincere.” Anton took the number and thanked the gypsy.
Returning home, he sat down at the table and dialed Varvara’s number. Sweat broke out on his forehead from excitement when the man heard her voice on the other end of the line. “Hello?” Varya answered.
“Varya, it’s me, Anton.” There was a note of caution in her voice. “What do you want?” “I just wanted to say, I was wrong.
I understand it now. I’m very sorry that I behaved that way. Do you know why my daughter looks like Peter? I found out.
“This is my father,” said Grandma Marina. Varya was silent for a moment, and then said: “I knew too little about you, Anton.
You were a different person then. I can’t go back to the way things were.” His heart sank at those words.
“But I want to see my daughter. I’m ready to change for you.” “You can see her whenever you want.
“But here in the city I have my own happy life,” she said coldly. Anton felt all hope disappear. He tried to find words, but everything seemed in vain.
“Varya, please. I can’t stand this anymore. You threw a three-month-old baby out into the cold, into the darkness.
No, I’m fine without you.” The conversation ended and Anton hung up. He sat in silence, realizing that he had lost Varya forever.
But he knew he had to keep fighting for his daughter, for his new beginning with his father, and for the chance to right his wrongs. If he cared about his loved ones, he had to change for the better for them.
