“Get away from me! I never promised to marry you! Maybe it’s not even mine? So go waltz around, and Ill be on my way.” Thats what Viktor, on a business trip, told the stunned Valentina. She stood there, unable to believe her ears or eyes. Was this the same Viktor whod confessed his love and carried her in his arms? The same Vitenka who called her Valyushenka and promised her the world? Now, before her stood a slightly flustered, angry stranger. Valyushenka cried for a week, waved goodbye to Vitenka forever, and at thirty-fiveplain and with little hope of finding lovedecided to have a child anyway.
Valya gave birth on time to a loud little girl, naming her Masha. The child grew quiet, trouble-free, never causing her mother any grief. As if she knew screaming wouldnt change a thing. Valya treated her daughter decently but lacked real maternal loveshe fed her, clothed her, bought toys. But extra hugs, affection, or walks? None of that. Little Mashenka often reached for her mother, only to be pushed awaytoo busy, too tired, too much to do. The maternal instinct never seemed to wake in her.
When Mashenka turned seven, something unbelievable happenedValya met a man. Not only that, she brought him home! The whole village gossipedfrivolous Valya! The man was unreliable, not from around here, no steady job, living who knows where. Maybe a crook! Valya worked at the local village store; he unloaded delivery trucks. Their romance sparked over work. Soon, Valya invited him to move in. Neighbors judgedbringing a stranger home! Think of the girl! He barely spokemust be hiding something. But Valya ignored them. This was her last shot at happiness.
Then opinions shifted. Valentinas house, long neglected, needed repairsIgor, as he was called, fixed the porch, patched the roof, straightened the fence. Every day, he improved something. Seeing his skill, people asked for help. His rule? “If youre old or poor, Ill do it free. Otherwise, pay in cash or food.” Some paid with money, others with preserves, meat, eggs, milk. Valya had a garden but no livestockimpossible without a man. Now, their fridge held fresh cream, milk, butter. Igors hands were golda true jack-of-all-trades. And Valya, never a beauty, bloomedsoftened, glowing. Even Mashenka saw kindness. Turned out her smile had dimples.
Masha grew, started school. One day, she watched Igor workeverything effortless in his hands. Later, she visited a friend. Returning at dusk, she frozethere, in the yard, stood a swing! Swaying gently in the breeze, calling to her.
“For me?! Did you make this, Uncle Igor?!”
“Of course, Mashun! Your gift!”
She swung wildly, wind whistling in her earshappiest girl alive.
With Valya working early, Igor took over cookingbreakfast, lunch. His pies, casseroles! He taught Masha to cook, set tables. So many talents in this quiet man.
Winter came. Short days meant Igor escorted her to and from school, carrying her bag, sharing storiescaring for his sick mother, selling his apartment to help her, his brother tricking him out of their home.
He taught her to fish. At dawn, theyd sit quietly by the river, waiting for a biteteaching patience. Mid-summer, he bought her first bike, taught her to ride. When she scraped her knees, he dabbed them with green dye.
“Shell get hurt,” Valya fretted.
“She wont. She must learn to fall and rise again,” hed say firmly.
Once, for New Year, he gave her real kids skateswhite and new. At midnight, they toasted, laughed. Come morning, Mashas shriek woke them”Skates! Thank you!!!” Clutching them, tears of joy streamed down.
At the frozen river, Igor cleared snow, teaching her to skate. She fell, but he patiently steadied her until she glided without stumbling. On their way back, she hugged him:
“Thank you… for everything. Thank you, Papa…”
Now Igor criedquietly, wiping tears that froze in the cold.
Masha grew up, moved to the city. Life had its trials, but he was always thereher graduation, grocery runs so his “little Mashka” wouldnt starve. He walked her down the aisle. Stood outside the maternity ward, awaiting news. Doted on grandkids like they were his own.
Then, like all of us someday, he left. At the funeral, Masha and her mother stood grieving. Tossing soil, Masha whispered,
“Goodbye, Papa… You were the best father. Ill never forget you.”
He stayed in her heartnot as Igor, not as a stepfather, but as her father. Because sometimes a father isnt the one who made you, but the one who raised you, shared your joys and sorrows. The one who stayed.
