The spacious, elegant lobby of the maternity ward was packed. The air was electric with celebration, mingled with a touch of nervous anticipation. Loved ones bustled around—tearful fathers bearing massive bouquets, excited new grandparents, friends, and acquaintances. Laughter pierced through the chatter.
[Image depicting a person, a child, and a hospital]
Everyone was holding their breath, waiting to meet the newest family members.
“We had a boy! Our first child!” a young grandmother whispered, tears of joy in her eyes, clutching sky-blue balloons.
“And we have a baby girl! Two at once, can you imagine?” exclaimed her friend, arms full of pastel-pink gifts.
“They already have an older sister—so that’s three girls! Like a fairy tale!”
“Oh my, twins! How rare! Congratulations!”
In the midst of all that celebration, no one noticed the tiny young woman struggling to open the heavy entrance door. Her hands were full of plastic bags—baby supplies.
“What is that… a baby?” muttered Igor, a young man there to pick up his sister and nephew, stunned. Nestled against her forearm and body was a tiny bundle wrapped in a blanket.
“How can this be? Where are her relatives? Her friends? Is there not a single kind soul in this city to welcome a new mother like her?”
His own family had prepared so thoroughly for his sister’s and nephew’s arrival. Such a momentous, joyous event! He couldn’t imagine anyone experiencing it any other way.
Igor rushed to help the stranger. He pushed open the massive door, held it for her, and slipped beside her.
“May I carry your bags to a taxi?” he offered.
“Thank you, it’s not necessary,” she replied, smiling. Sadness and despair flickered in her eyes. She settled the baby more comfortably and headed for the bus stop.
“She’s really going to take the minibus with a newborn?” thought Igor, horrified. He started to follow to offer her a ride—but he was called away by his own family. The moment passed.
Irina had always tried to be the perfect daughter. Her mother had had her late and she’d never known her father—rumored to be the result of a summer fling. They lived together in a small, cramped home at the village’s edge.
Irina aimed to make her mother happy. From a young age, she helped with chores, studied hard, and obeyed without question. With her mother’s meager grocery store salary, life was modest. After her mother retired, their financial situation worsened.
Irina dreamed of growing up quickly, studying, and getting a well-paying job so their small family would never go hungry again—not having to choose between buckwheat or meat at the checkout.
She devoted herself to studying, taking extra courses. Her friends went to appointments, movies, dance parties—while she stayed with her books.
“You should get out more!” her mother said.
“I have exams,” Irina replied. “I must get top marks. It’s our only chance!”
Irina’s hard work paid off: she passed her exams and was accepted into a prestigious capital city university’s education program. She was overjoyed—but her mother worried:
“Where will you live? How will you afford it?”
“Don’t worry,” Irina said. “I’ll work nights as a cleaner, and students from the provinces get dorms—I’ve already called and will be assigned a room!”
Everything went according to plan. She moved into a dorm, sharing with another student, and worked part-time in a bar near campus.
At the bar, she met Maxime, a regular patron. She was near the end of her studies, diploma almost there. He visited every weekend, chatting and laughing with friends. Irina noticed the dimples on his cheeks from afar.
One evening, he caught her eye. She blushed and looked away. He began to pay closer attention—smiling often, tipping generously, asking her questions. After work one night, he waited outside her dorm and said,
“I’ve been watching you for some time… I really like you. Would you let me get to know you?”
Irina—simple countryside girl—accepted. Maxime, an economist at a big bank, was attentive, intelligent, and joyful. Soon, he invited her to move into the two-room apartment given to him by his mother after graduation.
His comfortable lifestyle was evident: car, stylish clothing, stories of foreign travels. But he wasn’t arrogant. He knew Irina’s humble background and delighted in surprising and pampering her.
They traveled to Thailand—a first exotic journey for Irina, who’d never left her region. The landscapes amazed her, and she felt like a queen. Maxime seemed right at home.
A few weeks later, Irina noticed a late period. She took a test and froze—two lines.
She worried to tell Maxime—would he think it manipulative?
He surprised her:
“I was about to ask you to marry me! And now it’s the perfect excuse. We must wed before it shows, so you’ll be a beautiful bride—even though you’re beautiful as you are.”
Irina feared his parents’ reaction—her father ran a dairy business. But they welcomed her wholeheartedly.
“Call me Hélène,” her future mother-in-law said. They bonded over wedding preparations, café breaks, and tailoring fittings. Hélène made Irina feel at home.
The wedding was lavish—with fireworks and a trendy ceremony host. Irina confessed her worry to Hélène.
“Don’t worry,” said Hélène. “We can afford it. You’re family. Relax.”
Irina couldn’t believe her luck. She had heard horror stories of in-law dramas. Not here—only joy and pride.
Then the pregnancy got complicated: a miscarriage risk, long hospital stays, morning sickness severe enough to keep her from work. Hélène stayed by her side, cooking, cleaning, even scolding Maxime for leaving dishes unwashed.
Irina was exhausted and couldn’t return to work. In the hospital, her joy dimmed as Maxime distanced himself—coming home late, disappearing with friends, preoccupied solely with medical updates.
He wanted a robust son for fun, not endless hospital visits. He found comfort elsewhere—an affair started with a student at the bar. He hated the responsibility of a sick child.
He feared his parents finding out, especially Hélène, eager to be a grandmother. So he lied.
A month early, labor came. Irina endured intense waves of pain until she heard her baby cry.
Then the staff rushed the baby away—something was wrong.
“What’s happening? Let me see her!” she demanded.
“We must examine her,” said the doctor gently. “We’ll bring her soon as we can.”
She was sent to a private room, alone with exhaustion and dread, unable to sleep.
The next morning, the head of the unit entered and revealed the diagnosis: the baby had Down syndrome—undetected by scans.
“You’re young,” he said. “You could have a healthy child later. This one might be better off in a specialized institution.”
Irina refused. She demanded her baby—and longed to look at her daughter’s tiny face. She knew the road would be hard—but believed they could overcome with love and Hélène’s support.
Then her phone rang: Hélène.
“I know everything,” she said. “Don’t worry, we’ll manage.”
“I never doubted you,” said Irina, relieved.
Moments later, Hélène called again, suggesting therapy—and hinting Irina should forget this little one and have another baby.
“Forget?!” Irina gasped. “No idea what you’re talking about?”
“No, dear,” Hélène said, “they’ve said it’s too much…” followed by pressure to abandon the child or lose family support.
It was the final blow. No family support—and Maxime refused to accept their daughter.
“Why can a mother abandon a sick child but a father can’t?!” he shouted. “I’m young—can’t handle this burden!”
Hélène issued an ultimatum: if Irina didn’t give up the baby, she had no place in their family.
Irina realized she would raise her daughter alone, and hoped Maxime might change.
After weeks in the hospital, they were discharged. At home, exhausted, Irina had no money for a taxi—only a bus ride with her newborn.
Back at her apartment, she saw feminine coats and heels in the hall. Stepping into the kitchen, a young woman in a Maxime-branded T-shirt blocked her.
“Who are you?” she asked.
“I’m the wife of your lover,” replied Irina, gathering her belongings.
Meanwhile, under a canopy of pink tulle, Alenka—their daughter—slept in a luxury cradle surrounded by expensive gift sets. Irina refused them all.
In that luxurious setting, Alenka lived—but with no real love around her, except from her mother.
Irina returned to her mother’s home in the village. Her grandmother, shaken by the events, found strength. She comforted Irina, encouraged her, and let her cry.
Despite medical predictions, Alenka grew into a sweet and—unexpectedly—very talented little girl. She walked… (story continues)
