“Get away from me! I never promised to marry you! And maybe it’s not even mine? So, you go waltzing around, and Ill be on my way,” said Viktor, the traveling worker, to the bewildered Valentina. She stood there, unable to believe her ears or eyes. Was this really the same Viktor who had confessed his love and carried her in his arms? The same “Vitenka” who called her “Valyushenka” and promised her heaven on earth? Before her stood a slightly confused, angry stranger…
Valyushenka cried for a week, waving goodbye to Vitenka forever. But at thirty-five, plain and unlikely to find love again, she decided to have a child…
Valya gave birth on time to a loud baby girl, Masha. The girl grew up quiet, trouble-free, and caused her mother no fussas if she knew screaming wouldnt change a thing. Valya wasnt cruel, but it was clear she lacked real maternal love. She fed and clothed her, bought toys, but never embraced, cuddled, or took walks with her. Little Masha often reached out, but her mother pushed her awayalways busy, tired, or with a headache. The instinct never awakened.
When Masha turned seven, something unbelievable happenedValya met a man. Not just any man, she brought him home! The whole village gossiped. “What a reckless woman!” The man was unreliable, not from around here, with no steady job, and nobody knew where he livedmaybe a swindler! Valya worked at the village store, and he unloaded delivery trucks. Thats how their romance began. Soon, Valya invited him to move in. Neighbors judged herbringing a stranger home! What about her little girl? And he barely spokeclearly hiding something. But Valya ignored them. It was her last chance for happiness.
Yet, opinions shifted. Valentinas house, worn from years without a mans care, transformed under Igors hands. He fixed the porch, patched the roof, raised the fence. Every day, the house improved. Seeing his skill, neighbors sought his help. “If you’re old or poor, Ill help for free. Otherwise, pay in cash or food.” Some paid in money, others with preserves, meat, eggs, or milk. Valyas garden flourished, and now the fridge held cream, fresh milk, and butter.
Igor was a jack-of-all-trades, and Valya blossomedsoftened, kinder, even smiling (turns out she had dimples). Masha, now in school, once watched him work from the porch. That evening, she returned to find… a swing! It swayed gently in the breeze, beckoning her.
“Uncle Igor! Did you make this? For me?!”
“Of course, Mashun! Its yours!” The usually gruff man laughed. Masha swung wildly, wind whistling in her earsthe happiest girl alive.
With Valya working early, Igor took over cooking. His pies, casserolesperfection! He taught Masha to cook and set tables. So many talents in this quiet man.
Winter came, days grew short. Igor walked Masha to and from school, carrying her bag, sharing storiescaring for his dying mother, selling his apartment to help her, and how his brother cheated him out of their home.
He taught her to fish. At dawn, they sat quietly by the river, learning patience. That summer, he bought her first bike, teaching her to ride. When she scraped a knee, he dabbed it with antiseptic.
“Shell kill herself,” Valya grumbled.
“No. She must learn to fall and get back up,” he said firmly.
One New Year, he gifted her real ice skates”Snegurka” brand. That night, they feasted on his cooking, counting down to midnight. The next morning, Mashas shriek woke them.
“Skates! Theyre mine! Thank you!!!” She clutched them, tears of joy streaming.
At the frozen river, Igor cleared snow while she helped. He taught her to skate, holding her hand until she stood strong. When she finally glided without falling, she screamed with delight. As they left, she threw her arms around him.
“Thank you… for everything. Thank you, Papa.”
Now Igor cried. He wiped the tears, but they froze in the cold air.
Masha grew up, left for the city. Life was hard, but he was always thereher graduation, care packages (“My girl wont go hungry!”), walking her down the aisle, waiting outside the maternity ward. He adored his grandkids like they were his own.
Then, as we all must, he left. At his funeral, Masha stood with her mother, grieving. Tossing a handful of earth, she whispered,
“Goodbye, Papa… You were the best father. Ill never forget you.”
He remained in her heart forevernot as “Uncle Igor,” not as a stepfather, but as her father. Sometimes a father isnt the one who gave you life, but the one who shared your pain and joy. The one who stayed.
