Stopping suddenly on my way to the station, I caught my breath at a faint sound. A thin, persistent sob came from the left, carried by the chilly February breeze that nipped my neck and fluttered the edge of my coat. Turning toward the railway tracks, my eyes caught an outline of a small, deserted switchman’s hut standing stark against the shining snow.
Near the rails, a heap lay covered in a soiled, ragged blanket, from which a tiny hand peeked out.
“Oh, dear God…” I whispered as I gathered the fragile bundle from the cold ground.
Inside was a girl, possibly just under a year old. Though her lips were tinged blue from the cold, she managed faint breaths. The sound of her crying was barely audible — she seemed too weak to make more noise.
Without hesitation, I opened my coat and held her close, letting my body heat offer her some comfort, then hurried back toward the village to find Marya Petrovna, the local feldsher.
“Zina, where did you find this little one?” Marya asked gently as she took the child into her care.
“Right by the tracks. She was just lying there in the snow,” I answered.
“Abandoned,” Marya murmured. “We should contact the police.”
“The police?” I replied, clutching the girl tighter. “She’ll freeze before they arrive.”
Marya sighed and retrieved some baby formula from her cupboard.
“This will sustain her for now. But what are your plans after that?”
I gazed at her fragile face. The crying had stopped, and she nestled her nose into my sweater.
“I’ll raise her. There’s no other choice.”
Behind me, neighbors whispered disapprovingly: “She lives alone, thirty-five years old, long overdue to marry, and now she’s taking in a stranger’s child.” I ignored their murmurs.
- Some kind souls later assisted me with the necessary paperwork
- She was named Alyona — a new life dawning bright and hopeful
The initial months were sleepless — feverish nights, colic pains, teething woes. I rocked her through till dawn, humming lullabies taught by my grandmother.
“Ma!” she exclaimed for the first time at ten months, reaching her small hands toward me.
Joyful tears welled in my eyes. After years of solitude, motherhood came unexpectedly.
By age two, Alyona was chasing our cat Vasya around every corner of the house.
“Baba Galya, see how smart my girl is!” I boasted proudly to my neighbor. “She recognizes every letter!”
“At two? Really?”
“Come see for yourself.”
Galya pointed at letters one by one, and Alyona named each flawlessly before softly narrating the tale of the Hen Ryaba.
At five, she began kindergarten in the neighboring village. I arranged rides daily to take her there. Her teacher was amazed at her fluency in reading and ability to count to one hundred.
“Where did such a brilliant child come from?” the teacher asked.
“The entire village nurtured her,” I laughed.
At school, she wore braids flowing to her waist, each morning tied neatly with ribbons matching her dress. During the first parent-teacher meeting, I received high praise.
“Zinaida Ivanovna, your daughter is exceptional. Children like her are rare.”
My heart soared. This was my daughter, my beloved Alyona.
Years flew by. Alyona blossomed into a graceful young woman — tall, slender, her eyes as blue and clear as the summer sky. She earned accolades at district Olympiads, earning warm recognition from teachers.
“Mom, I want to study medicine,” she declared proudly in tenth grade.
“That’s expensive, dear. How will we manage the city, the dormitory?”
“I’ll earn a tuition scholarship,” her eyes gleamed. “You’ll see!”
Her determination proved true. During her graduation, tears of happiness and apprehension streamed down my face. For the first time, she would journey far to the regional center.
“Don’t cry, Mommy,” she hugged me goodbye at the station. “I’ll visit every weekend.”
Of course, life caught up with her — visits became monthly, then sporadic. Yet she called daily.
“Mom, anatomy was tough today, but I aced it!”
“Well done, dear. Are you taking care of yourself?”
“Yes, Mom, don’t worry.”
In her third year, she fell in love with Pasha, a fellow student. He came to visit us at the village — tall and steady, he greeted me with a firm handshake and steady gaze.
“A good man,” I thought. “As long as studies don’t suffer.”
“Mom!” Alyona retorted. “I will graduate with honors!”
After completing university, she was offered a residency in pediatrics — determined to care for children.
“You once saved me,” she said over the phone. “Now it’s my turn to save others.”
Her visits became fewer due to shifts and exams, but I never begrudged her youth and new experiences.
One evening, she called unexpectedly, her voice strained.
“Mom, can I come tomorrow? I need to talk.”
“Of course. What’s wrong?”
“I’ll explain in person.”
Sleep eluded me as worry gnawed at my heart.
She arrived pale, eyes hollow, shaking as she poured tea.
“Mom, some people came to see me — they claim to be my biological parents.”
The cup slipped from my hand, shattering on the floor.
“How did they find you?”
“Through connections and acquaintances. The woman was young and scared back then; forced by her parents to give me up. She’s carried guilt all her life and has been searching for me.”
I remained quiet, both expecting and dreading this moment.
“What did you say to them?”
“I told them I needed time to think. Mom, I don’t know what to do! You’re my real mother, the only one I’ve ever known, but they suffered as well…” she broke down in tears.
I comforted her gently, stroking her hair as I had in her infancy.
“Suffered, did they? But who abandoned you in winter, by those tracks? Who dared not check if you could survive?”
“She said she left me there hoping the switchman would find me, but he was ill that day.”
“May mercy be upon us…”
We sat in silence as dusk deepened, my cat Vasya brushing against my legs, meowing for his supper.
“I want to meet them,” Alyona said a few days later. “Just to talk and understand.”
I nodded despite the knot tightening in my chest.
“You deserve to know, daughter.”
The meeting was arranged in a café in the city. I waited nearby while she talked for two hours. When she emerged, her eyes were swollen but her expression calm.
“How was it?”
“They’re ordinary people. She was seventeen at the time. Her parents threatened to disown her. My father didn’t even know about me. She kept it hidden, eventually married, and had two more children, but never forgot me.”
We walked through spring air perfumed with lilacs.
“They want to be part of my life, to introduce me to my siblings. My father is alone and cried when he found out about me.”
“And your decision?”
Alyona stopped and took my hands.
“Mom, you will always be my mother — the one who raised, loved, and believed in me. That won’t change. But I want to understand them as well, to find more of myself.”
Tears stung my eyes, but I smiled.
“I understand, my love, and I’ll support you.”
She embraced me tightly.
“She thanked you for saving me and raising me. She said I became more than she could have offered — a scared girl with no one to turn to.”
“That’s not the point, Alyona. I simply loved you — every day, every moment.”
Now Alyona has two families. She met her brothers — one an engineer and the other a teacher. She remains in contact with her biological mother through calls and occasional visits. Forgiveness was difficult, but my daughter’s strength prevailed.
At Alyona and Pasha’s wedding, the woman who once left her in the cold and I sat side by side, tears streaming as we watched the couple’s first dance.
“Thank you,” she whispered. “For our daughter.”
“Thank you,” I replied. “For trusting me with her future.”
Today, Alyona works at the regional children’s hospital, caring for young patients. When her own daughter was born, she named her Zina — after me.
“Mom, will you babysit?” my daughter laughs, placing the baby in my arms.
“Of course. I’ll share stories and sing lullabies — just as I did for you.”
The tiny Zinochka curls her tiny fingers around mine and smiles with her toothless grin, mirroring Alyona’s smile decades ago when I first held her. In that moment, I realized this was fate.
Love does not select who belongs to it — it simply exists, limitless as the sky over our village, warm like the midsummer sun, enduring like a mother’s unwavering heart.
In essence, this journey reveals the power of love and acceptance beyond birth ties, showing that family is defined by care, sacrifice, and unwavering devotion.