“I Don’t Have a Father!” Anastasia snapped and tossed her phone aside…
On her last day at work before vacation, Anastasia tried to finish everything she had left to do. She typed reports and emails, while her thoughts kept circling around the upcoming break: don’t forget the phone charger, pack Dima’s swimming ring, leave some food in the refrigerator for Kirill for the first few days…
Spring had broken every record for unpredictable weather that year. April had brought summer heat, while in May, snow had covered the young leaves and grass. In June, temperatures close to thirty degrees alternated with heavy rain. July had also begun with rain. It was the perfect time to leave for somewhere warm by the sea, Anastasia thought with a sigh.
At a family discussion, she and her husband had decided they would not travel anywhere for their vacation that year. Her mother had not been feeling well lately. Perhaps it was the weather, or perhaps age was beginning to take its toll. Her blood pressure often rose, her legs remained swollen, and her heart had been acting up. A year earlier, she had suffered a minor stroke while Anastasia and the children were away on vacation.
Well, spending time at the country house would not be so bad either. While Anastasia, the children, and her mother stayed there, her husband could replace the wallpaper their younger son had covered in drawings. The boy was older now and had stopped drawing on the walls, so it was time to get rid of his wall art.
It was fortunate that they had a house in the village, which they called their country cottage. The house had belonged to Anastasia’s grandmother. Kirill had renovated it, and it was now comfortable enough to live in. Of course, it lacked the conveniences of a city apartment, and they had to fetch water from the well, but there was a river and a forest nearby. There was also fresh air instead of city dust, which was especially important for the children.
They could not leave her mother alone with the children at the cottage either. The eldest daughter already helped and would soon turn twelve, but they could not rely on her too much. She would run off with her friends, forget about everything, and not return home until evening. Her mother would only worry.
So that weekend, her husband would drive all of them to the country house and leave them there for a month. He would return to the city, tidy up the apartment, and handle some minor repairs. On weekends, he would come to the cottage with groceries and news.
Anastasia kept getting distracted by thoughts of the upcoming vacation. She made mistakes, and the text on the screen became covered in red lines. She sighed and began correcting the errors, but her thoughts soon returned to the trip.
“The mushrooms will start appearing soon. Dima loves bright orange chanterelles. The forest is right behind the houses, so I could take the children mushroom picking. Although, no, that might not be a good idea. There are mosquitoes and ticks…”
The moment she imagined fried potatoes with onions and mushrooms, her mouth began to water. Anastasia glanced at the clock in the corner of her monitor. There were thirty minutes left until her break. She pulled herself together, pushed all unrelated thoughts aside, and began tapping intently on the keyboard.
Then her phone rang and distracted her from work. An unfamiliar number appeared on the screen.
Since morning, Anastasia had been troubled by a vague feeling of anxiety. Everything was fine, and her vacation was ahead, but experience had taught her that whenever everything seemed to be going well, trouble was usually not far behind. Her husband only laughed at her premonitions.
“You’re constantly thinking about not forgetting anything and getting everything done. That’s why you worry so much. Think less, and you won’t have these premonitions. Whatever you forget, I’ll bring it. You’re not flying to another planet.”
It was an ordinary phone call, but for some reason it stirred up the uneasy feeling she had experienced that morning. The phone stopped ringing, only to begin again a few seconds later.
Anastasia answered.
“Hello, is this Anastasia Sergeyevna Borodina?” an unfamiliar female voice asked.
Borodina? What Borodina? She had been Shubina for fifteen years.
“Who is this?” Anastasia asked cautiously.
“My name is Yulia. Yulia Sergeyevna Borodina. I’m your sister.”
“You’re my what? Young woman, don’t waste my time,” Anastasia replied irritably. She wanted to return to work and finish her report before the break.
“I’m your half-sister on our father’s side. Sergei Ivanovich Borodin is your father, isn’t he?”
“I don’t have a father!” Anastasia snapped and ended the call.
She quickly placed the phone as far away from herself as possible, as though some dangerous virus might begin leaking out of it at any moment. Her hands were trembling.
What kind of news was this?
Yes, her birth certificate listed Sergei Ivanovich Borodin in the space marked “father,” but she did not remember him, did not know him, and did not want to know him.
He had left her and her mother before Anastasia was even a year old. At first, he had sent child support. The payments were small, but at least they were something. Then he had stopped paying altogether.
Her mother had worked two jobs. Asya saw her in the morning, when her mother took her to kindergarten, and in the evening, when she picked her up. Then her mother would leave her with a neighbor and go to her second job. Before bed, her mother would read books to her and often fall asleep before finishing the story. When Anastasia started school, she stayed in the after-school program.
Anastasia had never called the man who had merely contributed to her birth her father.
And now a sister had suddenly appeared.
The phone rang again. Anastasia grabbed it.
“Listen, I don’t have a father! Don’t call me again!” she shouted.
“Please, don’t hang up,” the woman pleaded. “Could we meet and talk? I won’t take much of your time. It’s very important.”
“All right,” Anastasia agreed after thinking for a moment. “My break starts in fifteen minutes. There’s an outdoor café beside my office building. I’ll wait for you there. The address is—”
“I know it,” the woman said.
Well, she had certainly prepared thoroughly. In the age of the internet, it was not difficult to find someone when you knew their personal information.
Anastasia realized she could no longer work and closed the file. She would have time to finish everything later.
“Dear Daddy probably has plenty of children like me and this ‘sister.’ He must have had a very eventful youth. While Mom was in the maternity hospital, he was probably busy making children with other women. Men like him should be forbidden from having children. They should be sterilized before they even reach puberty,” Anastasia thought angrily, tapping the tips of her fingernails against the desk.
The phone call had completely unsettled her. How could she not believe in premonitions after something like this?
When she approached the café, a young woman sitting at one of the tables waved to her. Anastasia was no longer surprised. Her “sister” had probably found her photograph on social media.
The unpleasant feeling stirred in her chest again.
“What could be so important that this woman, who calls herself my sister, needs to tell me? I should have refused to meet her. Our female curiosity never gives us any peace. It’s too late for regrets now. I’m already here. I need to finish this conversation quickly, forget about her, and call Mom…”
“I’m the one who called you,” the young woman said when Anastasia sat down opposite her. “I didn’t order anything. I was waiting for you.”
She smiled apologetically.
Anastasia examined her without any attempt to hide it. The woman looked rather ordinary and was dressed modestly, but she was quite pleasant-looking and slightly younger than Anastasia.
“My name is Yulia. Oh, I already told you that on the phone,” she added, embarrassed.
“What did you want to talk to me about? I’ll repeat this once again: I do not consider Borodin my father. He abandoned my mother and me almost immediately after I was born. From what I understand, you were more fortunate.”
“He left us too. I was six years old at the time, but he returned a year later. My mother loved him very much, so she forgave him.”
Yulia picked up a paper napkin and began nervously twisting it in her hands.
Anastasia waited silently for her to continue. She had always known that sooner or later, “Daddy” would somehow appear in her life.
“The thing is, he’s ill,” Yulia finally continued. “His kidneys are failing. He could die at any moment.”
She quickly glanced at Anastasia from beneath her brows, then lowered her eyes to the napkin again. It had already been torn into tiny pieces, so Yulia picked up another one.
“He needs a kidney transplant. It’s the only thing that can save his life, but the waiting list for a donor kidney is extremely long. I would give him one of mine without hesitation, but unfortunately, I’m not a suitable donor. I have kidney problems too. It seems I inherited them from him.”
Yulia fell silent for a moment.
“He also has a son, but he refused to help.”
“So you decided to come to me. Well, I refuse too. As I’ve already told you, I do not consider Borodin my father. His only involvement in my life was helping bring me into the world.
“Do you know that the word ‘alimony’ comes from the Latin word alimentum, meaning support or nourishment? That’s what Wikipedia says. The money Borodin sent us as child support was only enough to buy the cheapest, simplest groceries for a week. It certainly could not be called proper support.
“A child needs clothes, toys, and many other things to live and develop normally.”
Anastasia paused to catch her breath…
The continuation is just below, in the first comment.
“I Don’t Have a Father!” Anastasia Snapped and Tossed the Phone Aside…
On her final working day before vacation, Anastasia tried to finish everything on her to-do list. She typed reports and emails, while her thoughts kept circling around the upcoming trip: remember to pack the phone charger, take Dima’s swimming ring, and leave enough food in the refrigerator for Kirill for the first few days…
The spring weather had broken every record for unpredictability that year. April had brought summer heat, while in May, snow covered the young leaves and grass. In June, temperatures close to thirty degrees were repeatedly replaced by rain. July had begun with rain as well.
It would have been the perfect time to escape somewhere warm, by the sea.
Anastasia sighed.
After discussing it as a family, she and her husband had decided not to travel anywhere for their vacation that year. Her mother had not been feeling very well lately. Perhaps it was the weather, or perhaps her age was beginning to show, but her blood pressure often rose, her legs remained swollen, and her heart occasionally gave her trouble.
A year earlier, she had suffered a minor stroke while Anastasia and the children were away on vacation.
Still, spending time at the country house would not be so bad. While Anastasia, the children, and her mother stayed there, her husband could replace the wallpaper their younger son had covered in drawings. The boy was older now and no longer drew on the walls, so it was time to get rid of his wall art.
They were fortunate to have a house in the village, which they called their country house. It had belonged to Anastasia’s grandmother. Kirill had renovated it, and now it was comfortable enough to live in.
Of course, it did not have all the conveniences of a city apartment. They had to walk to the well for water. But there was a river nearby, a forest, and fresh air instead of city dust, which was especially important for the children.
They could not leave Anastasia’s mother alone with the children at the country house, either. Their older daughter already helped out and would soon turn twelve, but they could not rely on her too much. She might run off with her friends, forget about everything, and not return home until evening. And Anastasia’s mother would worry.
So that weekend, Kirill would drive them all to the country house and leave them there for a month. He would return to the city, clean the apartment, and take care of some minor repairs. On weekends, he would visit them with groceries and news from home.
Anastasia kept getting distracted by thoughts of the vacation. She made mistakes, and the text on her computer screen became covered in red underlines. She sighed and began correcting them, but her thoughts soon returned to the trip.
The mushrooms will start appearing soon. Dima loves those bright orange chanterelles. The forest is right behind the houses, so I could take the children mushroom picking. Although, no, maybe not. There are mosquitoes and ticks…
The moment she imagined fried potatoes with onions and mushrooms, her mouth began to water.
Anastasia looked at the clock in the corner of her monitor. There were thirty minutes left until her lunch break. She pulled herself together, pushed all unrelated thoughts aside, and began typing intently.
Then her phone rang and distracted her from work.
An unknown number appeared on the screen.
Ever since morning, Anastasia had been troubled by a vague feeling of anxiety. Everything was fine, and her vacation was ahead of her, but life had taught her that whenever everything seemed to be going well, trouble was probably approaching.
Her husband only laughed at her premonitions.
“You’re constantly thinking about how not to forget anything and how to get everything done,” he would say. “That’s why you’re anxious. Think less, and you won’t have all these bad feelings. Anything you forget, I can bring later. You’re not flying to another planet.”
It was an ordinary phone call, but for some reason, it stirred up the uneasy feeling she had experienced that morning.
The phone stopped ringing, but several seconds later, it rang again.
This time, Anastasia answered.
“Hello. Is this Anastasia Sergeyevna Borodina?” an unfamiliar female voice asked.
Borodina?
She had been Shubina for fifteen years.
“Who is this?” Anastasia asked cautiously.
“My name is Yulia. Yulia Sergeyevna Borodina. I’m your sister.”
“My what? Young woman, stop wasting my time,” Anastasia replied irritably. She wanted to return to work and finish the report before her break.
“I’m your half-sister on our father’s side. Sergei Ivanovich Borodin is your father, isn’t he?”
“I don’t have a father!” Anastasia snapped and ended the call.
She quickly placed the phone as far away from herself as possible, as though a dangerous virus might begin leaking out of it at any moment.
Her hands were trembling.
What kind of news was this?
Yes, Sergei Ivanovich Borodin was listed as her father on her birth certificate, but she did not remember him, did not know him, and had no desire to know him.
He had abandoned her and her mother before Anastasia was even a year old.
At first, he had sent child support. It was not much, but at least it was something. Then he had stopped sending it altogether.
Her mother had worked two jobs. Anastasia saw her in the mornings, when her mother took her to kindergarten, and in the evenings, when she picked her up. Afterward, her mother would leave her with a neighbor and go to her second job.
Before bed, her mother read books to her and often fell asleep before finishing the story.
When Anastasia started school, she spent her afternoons in an after-school care program.
She had never called the man who had participated in her conception her father.
And now, apparently, she had a sister as well.
The phone rang again.
Anastasia grabbed it.
“Listen to me. I don’t have a father! Don’t call me again!” she shouted.
“Please don’t hang up,” the woman pleaded. “Could we meet and talk? I won’t take much of your time. It’s very important.”
“All right,” Anastasia agreed after thinking for a moment. “My break begins in fifteen minutes. There’s an outdoor café next to my office building. I’ll meet you there. The address is—”
“I know the address,” the woman said.
Well, she had clearly prepared thoroughly.
In the age of the internet, finding someone was not difficult if you knew their personal information.
Anastasia realized that she could no longer work and closed the file. She would finish everything later.
Daddy probably has plenty of children like me and this so-called sister, Anastasia thought angrily, tapping her fingernails against the desk.
He must have had a very eventful youth. While Mom was in the maternity hospital, he was probably busy fathering children with other women. Men like that should be forbidden from having children. They should be sterilized before they even reach puberty.
The phone call had completely unsettled her.
And people said premonitions were meaningless.
When Anastasia reached the café, a young woman sitting at one of the tables waved to her.
Anastasia was no longer surprised. Her “sister” had probably found a photograph of her on social media.
Once again, an unpleasant feeling stirred inside her chest.
What could possibly be so important that this woman had to call herself my sister? I should have refused to meet her. Women and their endless curiosity. It never gives us any peace. But it’s too late to regret it now. I’m already here. I need to end this conversation quickly, forget about her, and call Mom.
“I’m the one who called you,” the young woman said when Anastasia sat down across from her. “I didn’t order anything. I was waiting for you.”
She smiled apologetically.
Anastasia looked her over without embarrassment.
She appeared simple and dressed modestly, but she was quite pleasant-looking and slightly younger than Anastasia.
“My name is Yulia. Oh, I already told you that on the phone,” she said, becoming flustered.
“What did you want to discuss with me? I’ll repeat what I already said: I don’t consider Borodin my father. He abandoned my mother and me almost immediately after I was born. From what I understand, you were more fortunate.”
“He left us too. I was six at the time, but he returned a year later. My mother loved him very much, so she forgave him.”
Yulia took a paper napkin and began nervously twisting it between her fingers.
Anastasia waited silently for her to continue.
She had always known that sooner or later, “Daddy” would somehow appear in her life.
“The truth is, he’s ill,” Yulia finally continued. “His kidneys are failing. He could die at any moment.”
She glanced quickly at Anastasia from beneath her brows, then lowered her eyes to the napkin again.
It had already been torn into pieces, so Yulia picked up another one.
“He needs a kidney transplant. It’s the only thing that can save his life. But the waiting list for a donor kidney is extremely long. I would have given him one of mine without hesitation, but unfortunately, I’m not a suitable donor. I also have kidney problems. Apparently, I inherited them from him.”
Yulia paused.
“He has a son as well, but his son refused to help.”
“And so you decided to come to me. Well, I refuse too. As I already told you, I don’t consider Borodin my father. His only contribution was helping to bring me into the world.
“Do you know where the term ‘alimony’ comes from? It comes from the Latin word alimentum, which means support or nourishment. That’s what Wikipedia says.
“The money Borodin sent us as child support was barely enough to buy the cheapest and most basic groceries for a week. It could hardly be called support.
“A child needs clothing, toys, and countless other things in order to live and develop properly.”
Anastasia paused to catch her breath.
“Then he stopped sending money altogether. My mother had to work two jobs just so we could make ends meet. She ruined her health because of it.
“And Daddy never sent a single extra coin. Not even a birthday present.”
Anastasia took a deep breath.
“I’m not going to save him. He got what he deserved.”
She tried to speak calmly, but anger boiled inside her.
She wanted to shout. Obscene words threatened to burst from her mouth, but she forced herself to remain composed.
“That’s what I expected,” Yulia said. “But my mother… She asked me to find you and speak to you.”
Yulia had already destroyed the second napkin. The torn scraps lay in a small pile in front of her.
A waitress approached their table, but after seeing the women’s expressions, she decided not to interrupt and walked away.
“You came here for nothing. You wasted your time. Don’t call me again.”
Anastasia stood up and walked away from the café terrace.
Yulia did not call after her or follow her.
She never called Anastasia again.
As Anastasia walked, questions filled her mind—questions she had wanted to ask Yulia but had not.
Where had her “father” been when she and her mother had needed him?
Why had he abandoned them but lived with another wife and another daughter?
Why had he not tried to call Anastasia himself?
The questions buzzed inside her like a swarm of wasps.
She did not notice Kirill until she nearly collided with him at the entrance to her office building.
“Where were you? At the café? I stopped by especially because I wanted to have lunch with you,” he said.
“Let’s go. I haven’t eaten yet.”
Anastasia tried to smile.
They returned to the café.
Yulia had already left, and even the crumpled, torn napkins had been cleared from the table.
They sat at another table and placed their order.
“What happened? You don’t look like yourself.”
Kirill watched his wife with concern.
Anastasia told him everything.
“You know, I have this terrible feeling. Maybe I should have… I don’t know…”
Anastasia could not find the words to describe how she felt after meeting Yulia.
“You don’t owe anyone anything,” Kirill said. “You did the right thing. Your father abandoned you, forgot about you, and threw you out of his life. Then, when he got into trouble, he suddenly remembered you.
“A kidney transplant is a serious operation. We have two children. They need a healthy mother, and I need my wife.
“That’s it. Forget about him.”
At that moment, their food arrived.
But before Anastasia began eating, she called her mother.
“Sweetheart, everything is fine here,” her mother said. “Agniya and Dima are playing outside. I’m packing our things for the country house. What should I make for dinner?”
Her mother’s voice, so familiar and dear, restored Anastasia’s sense of peace.
For her mother, Anastasia would have given not only a kidney, but everything she possessed.
“You should rest, Mom. I’ll come home, and we’ll pack everything together.”
“Are you going to tell your mother?” Kirill asked after the call ended.
“Of course not. Why worry her?”
“That’s the right decision.”
Kirill picked up a lettuce leaf with his fork and put it into his mouth.
“Kirill, I’m so happy that I have you. That we have you. That our children have you. I’m so lucky to be with you.”
Overwhelmed by emotion, Anastasia gave a small sob.
“Come on now. You should be happy. Your vacation begins tomorrow, and you’ve decided to cry. Everything is all right, my love. I will never leave any of you. I adore all of you.”
At the end of life, everyone receives what they deserve.
When men abandon their wives and children, do they ever think that one day they will have to answer for everything?
Probably not.
Every father who abandons his child will eventually receive a just punishment.
I believe that.
Someone once said that children are the only investment that never loses its value, as long as you invest your soul in them and not merely child-support payments.