*”Have you left your daughter with me?”* The terrible thought sent a surge of heat through Valentina’s body. *”No, it can’t be. She’ll come back. She has to.”*
Valentina returned home from work to find a short note from her daughter on the table. Her relationship with Natalie had always been strained, but she never imagined the girl would run away like this. She read the note over and over, memorising every word, yet still she feared she’d missed something vital—misunderstood some crucial detail.
Sleep wouldn’t come that night. The pillow felt too stiff, the duvet too heavy. The air was thick with stifling heat. One moment she wept, the next she argued endlessly with Natalie inside her head, replaying every fight, every fleeting happy memory…
Exhausted, she finally gave up and sat at the table, switching on the desk lamp. The note lay crumpled atop her work papers, worn from repeated handling.
For the hundredth time, she scanned the words. No, she’d understood correctly. She could almost hear Natalie’s sharp, accusing tone.
*”I’m tired of your control… You’re too strict… I need to live my own life. I’m an adult. You never would’ve let me go, so I left while you were gone. I’m fine. I’m not alone. Don’t look for me. I won’t be back…”*
No greeting, no goodbye. *”What about me?”* Valentina whispered, as though Natalie could hear. *”What if something happens to you? Where would they even send the news? Don’t you care what becomes of me?”*
Perhaps Natalie had a point. But Valentina only wanted her to get an education, build a stable life—not let fleeting passion derail her future. Were there really mothers who let their children do anything they pleased?
Valentina herself had married young, a university student swept up in love. She remembered how quickly that passion had burned out, smothered by poverty, cramped dorm rooms, unpaid bills, and exhaustion.
When Natalie was born, life became unbearable. Her husband—just as young, just as unprepared—became a stranger. They argued constantly. Maybe her mother had been right about terminating the pregnancy. But Valentina had believed love would conquer everything. Foolish girl.
Three months later, they divorced. Valentina took a leave of absence and moved back in with her parents. Oddly, her mother adored Natalie despite originally urging the abortion. She even insisted Valentina finish her degree, babysitting while spoiling the child rotten.
With her parents alive, life was easier. Her mother was there; Natalie was safe. After graduation, Valentina taught English at a local school before landing a translator’s job.
Love never favoured her, though. Her mother advised finding a stable, older man, but Valentina only met married ones offering affairs or divorced ones clinging to her like a life raft. She feared getting tangled with such men.
When her parents passed away, Valentina and Natalie were left alone. No one was closer to her than her daughter. She poured everything into Natalie—only to learn it wasn’t wanted. Spoiled by her grandmother, Natalie saw Valentina as stifling, strict. She dreamed of freedom, not education. And now she was gone.
*”I’ll wait. What else can I do? You’ll come back someday. I’m your mother—I’ll forgive you. Just don’t let anything happen to you…”* Valentina sighed, turned off the lamp, and lay down. For half an hour, she tossed before slipping into a fitful sleep.
She never truly accepted Natalie’s absence. She waited, jumping at every phone call, every noise outside. She took on extra translation work, staying up late with journals and research papers. Sleep became a luxury. The exhaustion left no room for self-pity.
A year and a half later, a knock at the door tore her from her work. Regretfully, she rubbed her tired eyes, reluctant to break focus. The knock came again, louder. She rose and opened the door.
Natalie stood there, thinner, harder, her beauty dulled. Valentina gasped, rushing forward—then stopped cold at the icy stare. Only when Natalie stepped inside did Valentina spot the child in her arms.
*”Is she yours? Let me—”* She took the baby. *”A girl?”* Joy flickered. *”I’ll put her down—get settled.”*
She carried the sleeping child to the sofa, admiring the tiny lashes, the rosebud lips. A door slammed. Valentina froze. Natalie was gone.
Silence filled the hallway. Only a plush diaper bag remained near the door, wet boot prints on the floor. Valentina yanked the door open. *”Natalie!”* No reply, no footsteps fading. She rushed to the window—no car, no Natalie below.
She returned to the baby. The little girl stirred, wrinkling her nose before fussing. Valentina hushed her, more for herself than the child. *”Mummy will be back soon…”* She changed the diaper, smoothed the tiny clothes.
Inside the bag, she found documents. The truth crashed over her: Natalie had abandoned the child.
*Irina Leonidovna Tikhova.* So Natalie had never married. The patronymic—was it the father’s name or something invented? A second note, just as cold: *”Let her stay with you. Please.”* Nothing more.
Valentina dumped the bag’s contents—a half-used bottle, a box of formula. *”Small mercies,”* she muttered, rushing to the kitchen.
A new life began. Valentina switched to full-time remote work to care for Irina. Exhausting, yes, but suddenly, she had purpose.
At one, Irina took her first steps. At three and a half, Valentina enrolled her in nursery, registering her under her own roof. *”Her mother travels often,”* she lied to the director.
Years passed. Irina, bright and thoughtful, grew attached—refusing to call her *Grandma.*
*”You have another mummy,”* Valentina corrected gently. *”That makes me Grandma.”*
But Irina persisted.
*”Call me Val,”* she finally conceded.
And so it stuck. *Val.* No *Grandma.*
Natalie never returned, never sent word. When Irina turned seven, Valentina feared school registration issues—what if they questioned a grandmother’s custody? She stalled until late August, then visited her old school. The deputy head was new—sharp-eyed, stern. But the headmaster remained. Risking everything, Valentina confessed the truth. He nodded, smoothed the paperwork, and Irina was enrolled.
Valentina adored Irina so fiercely, she now dreaded Natalie’s return. She didn’t spoil her but gave her everything—pride swelling at every teacher’s praise.
Irina, wise beyond her years, was nothing like Natalie, who’d quit piano lessons, hated reading, cared only for parties.
Spring warmed early the year Irina turned ten. Walking home from school, they lingered in the sunshine, Irina chattering while Valentina carried the heavy backpack and groceries.
*”Mum.”*
The voice spun Valentina around. Keys clattered to the ground.
Natalie stood there—polished, blonde, expensive perfume curling around her. Valentina’s joy curdled. Natalie’s presence meant one thing: she’d come for Irina.
Irina picked up the keys, handing them over, wary under Natalie’s stare.
*”You’re back,”* Valentina said flatly, nudging Irina inside.
*”Aren’t you happy?”* Natalie challenged.
*”I waited for years. Now? You look well.”*
*”I live in Spain. Married. You didn’t think I’d forget—”*
Their eyes snapped to Irina.
*”Go change,”* Valentina ordered.
*”Irina, I’m your mother,”* Natalie cut in, stepping forward.
The girl dodged behind Valentina, then fled.
*”Why rush? She needs time,”* Valentina scolded.
*”Still the expert,”* Natalie mocked, her smile brittle.
*”Is that why you left her with me?”*
*”I’m taking her. Once the paperwork’s done, we leave. You’ll have to endure me, *Mum.*”
Dinner was strained, Natalie boasting of her Spanish villa, her pool.
*”And the man you ran off with?”* Valentina prodded.
*”Why bring him up? He left me broke. That’s why I brought her to you.”*
*”So I was a bad mother, but good enough for your child?”*
Natalie flinched. *”I was unfair. I know you tried.”* A pause. *”But she’s mine.”*
*”And me? Did you think how I’d manage? She’s all I have.”*
Their conversations spiraled—biting, resentful. Yet Valentina swallowed her pride. For Irina.
The departure date loomed.
*”Is Val coming?”* Irina asked.
*”No, GrandmaShe had spent years waiting for Natalie to return, only to realize the greatest love she had ever known was the little girl who called her Val.
