At first, Genka believed that his mother had merely gained some weight—though it was peculiar. Her waistline had gently expanded, yet the rest of her figure remained unchanged. He hesitated to ask about it; the fear of offending her held him back. Meanwhile, his father remained silent, observing her with a tender gaze, and Genka chose to pretend he had noticed nothing unusual as well.
Before long, it became apparent: her abdomen was unmistakably growing. One day, while passing his parents’ room, Genka caught sight of his father gently caressing her stomach and whispering softly to her. Her smile radiated joy. This intimate moment made Genka uneasy, and he quickly moved away.
“Mom’s going to have a baby,” Genka suddenly realized. The thought didn’t just surprise him—it unsettled him deeply. His mother was undoubtedly beautiful, even more so than many mothers of his classmates, yet the idea of her being pregnant at her age filled him with a complex blend of rejection and embarrassment. Although he had long understood where babies come from and imagined more, he couldn’t reconcile the thought of his own parents in that role. After all, they were his mom and dad.
One day, feeling braver, he asked his father directly, “Dad, is Mom expecting a baby?”
Talking to his father felt easier than confronting his mother.
“Yes. Mom has been hoping for a daughter for a long time. Maybe it’s silly to ask which you’d rather have—a brother or a little sister,” his father replied.
“Do women give birth at her age?” Genka asked hesitantly.
“At what age? Your mother is only thirty-six, and I’m forty-one. Do you oppose this?”
“Did anyone ask me?” replied Genka, a bit sharply.
His father looked at him thoughtfully.
“I hope you’re mature enough to understand our choices. Your mother longed for a daughter. When you were born, we were renting, Mom stayed at home with you, and I was the sole breadwinner. Money was tight, and having another child wasn’t feasible. Then Grandma passed away, and your grandparents left us her apartment. Do you remember Grandma?”
Genka shrugged.
“We renovated and moved in. As you grew older and Mom returned to work, finances improved. I bought our first car. We kept postponing having a daughter, thinking we had time. But it never happened. And then, when all hope seemed lost…”
“I hope it’s a girl, like Mom wants. Of course, she’s young but not a young woman anymore. So, please, try not to upset her or make her worry. Think carefully before reacting or speaking. If anything’s on your mind, talk to me, deal?”
“Yeah, I understand, Dad.”
Soon they learned the baby was, in fact, a girl. Pink items began appearing throughout the house, which to Genka looked diminutive and doll-like. A crib was set up. His mother often seemed lost in thought, sitting quietly as if listening to herself. His father’s concern grew, prompting him to frequently check if she was okay. This anxiety affected Genka as well.
Genka wasn’t particularly interested in the baby, especially if it was a sister. What could he possibly want with diapers and mess? His sole focus was on Yulya Fetisova. If his parents wanted another child, that was their affair. It even had its perks — they might be preoccupied with the baby and nag him less.
- Concern about childbirth risks at his mom’s age
- Adjustment to welcoming a new sibling
- Feelings of alienation and acceptance within his family
“Is it dangerous to have a baby at her age?” Genka inquired.
“Every pregnancy carries risks. It’s certainly more challenging for Mom now compared to when she was expecting you—she was thirteen years younger then. But we live in a major city with advanced hospitals and skilled doctors. Everything will be fine,” his father assured him tiredly.
“When is the baby due?”
“In about two months,” came the reply.
However, Mom delivered a month early. Genka awoke to noises — groans and hurried footsteps just beyond his bedroom wall. Bleary-eyed, he went to his parents’ room. His mother sat on the unmade bed, rocking slightly and murmuring in pain. His father was nervously packing things.
“Don’t forget the important documents,” Mom managed, squeezing her eyes shut.
“Mom,” Genka called, wide awake now and catching the tense atmosphere.
“Sorry to wake you. Where is that ambulance?” Dad asked, looking around.
The doorbell rang, and Dad quickly opened the door. Two paramedics rushed in and began asking questions:
- “How long have the contractions lasted?”
- “How frequently?”
- “Has your water broken?”
When another contraction struck, Dad answered on her behalf. Ignored, Genka slipped away to get dressed. When he returned, his parents were leaving. Mom wore her robe and slippers. At the door, Dad glanced back.
“I’ll tidy up here—won’t be long.” He tried to speak further but Mom clung to his arm, moaning.
Listening to the silence that followed, Genka stared at the door for a while before retreating to his room and checking the time. He had two hours left to sleep. Quietly, he folded out the sofa and began tidying the scattered items before moving to the kitchen. Dad came home as Genka readied for school.
“So, did she have the baby?” Genka asked cautiously, looking for signs in his father’s expression.
“Not yet — they didn’t allow me in. Pour some tea,” Dad murmured.
Genka prepared tea and sandwiches.
“Should I go to school?” he asked.
“Go ahead. I’ll call when there’s news,” Dad reassured.
Genka arrived late.
“Mr. Kroshkin, please explain your tardiness,” the math teacher demanded.
“We called an ambulance for my mom, and they took her to the hospital,” Genka replied.
“Understood. Sit down,” the teacher said compassionately.
“His mom’s having a baby!” Fyodorov joked, triggering laughter.
“Quiet! Kroshkin, sit already. What’s funny about that?”
During the last class, Dad called.
“May I be excused?” Genka raised his hand.
“Are you in need of the restroom? There are twenty minutes left — hold on. And put your phone away,” the Russian teacher ordered.
“His mom’s in the maternity ward,” Fyodorov whispered loudly again. This time, no one laughed.
“Go,” the teacher permitted.
“What is it, Dad?” Genka asked in the hallway.
“It’s a girl! She weighs three kilos and one hundred grams! Whew,” his father exclaimed, relief audible in his voice.
Back in class the teacher probed, “So?”
“Everything’s fine — a girl,” Genka replied automatically.
“Now Kroshkin will be the babysitter,” Fyodorov joked once more. The classroom erupted with laughter, drowning out the bell.
Firsova caught up with Genka as he left school, walking beside him.
“How old is your mom?” she asked.
“Thirty-six.”
“No offense, but I’m genuinely happy for you all. A little sister is wonderful. I’m an only child; my parents didn’t want more kids.” They walked and talked, and for the first time, Genka felt glad about having a sister.
Three days later, Mom came home from the hospital.
“What a beauty!” Dad said, admiring his daughter.
Genka didn’t share that impression. The baby was tiny, wrinkled, with a reddish face, a tiny mouth, and a button nose. To him, Firsova remained the standard of beauty. Then the infant yawned and squeaked, turning as red as a tomato. Mom took her into her arms, rocking and softly whispering, “Shhh.” It was strange realizing his mother was now someone else’s mother too.
“What will we name her?” Dad inquired.
“Vasilisa,” Mom responded.
“That sounds like a cat’s name. Kids will call her Vasya at school,” Genka snorted.
“Then Masha, like Grandma,” Dad offered.
Life quickly revolved around little Mashenka, as Mom affectionately called her. Attention focused on her needs, while Genka was asked to run errands, take out the trash, and hang laundry. He helped willingly.
However, when Mom requested him to take the stroller out for a walk as she cleaned the floor, Genka resisted. It was better Mom got fresh air herself; he would handle the cleaning.
“I’m not going. What if the guys see me? They’ll laugh,” he muttered.
“She’s already dressed warmly. You should bundle up too; it’s chilly. If you catch a cold, you could pass it to Mashenka, and she’s too small and fragile,” Mom reasoned.
While pushing the stroller around the yard, Genka spotted Firsova. Previously, she would have ignored him, but now she approached directly, cooing, “Mashenka! She’s adorable!” Neighbors exchanged smiles. Genka felt unsure where to look, embarrassed.
- Family dynamics adjusted to the new baby
- Genka’s feelings of awkwardness and acceptance
- Support from friends like Firsova softening his apprehension
In the evening, Mom sang lullabies while rocking Mashenka to sleep. Genka listened and drifted off unnoticed.
Yet Mashenka became ill. Her fever soared overnight, dipping briefly with medication only to rise again. She struggled to breathe, prompting Dad to call an ambulance.
No one accused Genka, but he felt an overwhelming sense of guilt and stayed mostly in his room.
“She gave us quite a scare,” Dad sighed after the ambulance took Mom and Mashenka to the hospital.
“Will she be okay?” Genka asked tentatively.
“I hope so. There are effective medicines now, antibiotics,” Dad assured.
Genka hadn’t imagined he would worry so much. At school, he barely focused, slipping through his lessons with mediocre grades. At home, Dad sat quietly, staring at one spot, stirring unease in Genka’s heart.
“Dad, why are you home? Are you sick?” he asked.
After a long silence, Dad sighed.
“Our Mashenka is gone,” he said.
For a moment, Genka thought his father was delirious, but the painful truth sank in.
“It happened too quickly. They couldn’t save her.” Dad covered his face, overcome with grief.
“Dad…” Genka approached, uncertain of what to say.
His father embraced him, and for the first time, Genka saw him cry. The boy himself broke down, tears streaming like a small child’s.
He wished to vanish, aching that he should have been the one gone, not Mashenka. When Mom returned from the hospital, she seemed a mere shadow of herself. Silence and gloom fell over the apartment despite the bright daylight outside. Genka’s heart shattered with sorrow, both for his mother and the little sister lost, and burdened by his own guilt.
After the funeral, Mom sat for hours by the vacant crib, sometimes waking at night, rushing to it. In her dreams, she heard Mashenka’s cries. Dad struggled to lead her back to bed during these episodes. Days blended into weeks and then months, with the arrival of spring doing little to lift the heaviness. Joy and laughter appeared to have fled their home forever.
“Listen, before the roads thaw and turn muddy, we need to move the crib and baby’s things to the dacha. Otherwise, Mom might lose her mind,” Dad said one Saturday. “I’ll disassemble the crib; you gather the toys and clothes. Bags are over there.”
“What about Mom?” Genka asked.
“She went to Aunt Valya’s—she can’t face this yet.”
Along the highway, snow lingered under a gray sky. One moment, Genka suddenly realized that Mashenka would never experience spring’s warmth, never squint in the sun, never hear thunderstorms. Tears welled up, and he trembled with silent sobs. Suddenly, Dad pulled over.
“Stay here; I’ll check if anyone needs help.”
Genka noticed cars stopped ahead near police officers. He stepped out and approached a damaged red car. A man slumped on the truck’s step repeated, “I only closed my eyes for a moment.” One officer held a baby carrier, pink inside. Genka stepped closer and recognized a girl roughly Mashenka’s age, sleeping peacefully.
“Can you believe it? Parents died, but she’s unscathed,” a young officer said.
A siren sounded nearby. The girl awoke, crying like Mashenka had. The officer appeared helpless, unsure what to do.
“Give her to me. I had a little sister…” Genka stammered.
Though hesitant, the officer handed over the carrier. Genka cradled the baby, and miraculously, she calmed instantly.
“How did you manage that?” the policeman asked, amazed.
“The girl from the car? Let’s go,” another officer called, leading Genka to the ambulance.
“Are you her brother?” the doctor asked. “Here, give me the baby.” Genka stepped back.
“Will she be taken to the hospital?”
“Yes, for evaluation. Afterwards, she’ll be placed in a baby home or orphanage.”
Genka gave his father a look filled with reproach. His father understood without words.
“Could we adopt her? My wife and I recently lost a daughter around her age. My wife is devastated—this child might be her healing.”
“You must apply at the guardianship office. If no relatives emerge or no one claims her, then you can adopt. The process must be official. Don’t delay,” the doctor instructed.
Reluctantly, Genka handed the baby back.
“What’s her name?” he inquired.
“Vasilisa, according to her documents.”
He exchanged a meaningful glance with his father.
“Let’s go,” Dad said, leading toward the car.
“To the dacha?” Genka asked, sitting in the front seat.
“No, home. We still have those things to deal with,” Dad replied.
Genka felt calmer, surprised by how much he cared for a child not his own.
“Dad, what if Mom refuses to keep Vasilisa?”
Mom sat on the couch, staring at the empty corner that once held the crib.
“Back already? The roads were impossible?” she asked without much emotion.
“Mom, we met Vasilisa,” Genka said quickly, struggling to contain his excitement.
“Who?”
“Vasilisa.” He and Dad began recounting the accident.
Mom remained silent for a long time, then decided to visit the hospital tomorrow to learn more.
“Hooray!” Genka and Dad called out cheerfully.
“It’s heartbreaking,” Katya said sadly. “What is childhood without parents?”
Though she tried to accept that orphanages were sometimes necessary, she couldn’t fully believe such a grim reality. It was strange how most people remained unfazed by the haunting atmosphere filled with the silent pleas behind children’s eyes—pleas to be taken home.
Every adult, unlike a child, faces choices. These decisions are seldom simple—they are often complex, filled with uncertainty and anguish. Yet, they hold the power to create hope.
In conclusion, this family’s story reflects profound themes of unexpected joy, fragile hope, and devastating loss. The arrival of little Mashenka brought new life and changed relationships. Her sudden illness and passing cast shadows of grief but opened the door to compassion and healing through the possibility of adopting another child in need. Through sorrow, the family discovers resilience and the enduring power of love.