Irina and Grigory divorced when their daughter, Anya, was only two years old. Grigory simply couldn’t stand living with his wife any longer. She was constantly dissatisfied, always angry. Some days she complained that he didn’t earn enough, other days that he wasn’t home enough, or that he never helped with their child.
Grigory tried his best to please her, but nothing ever worked. Many of their relatives believed Irina might be suffering from postpartum depression, that she needed to see a doctor, maybe even get treatment.
But Grigory doubted it. She had never been an angel before the baby was born, and now it was as if she had completely lost her mind.
He couldn’t even remember the last time he had seen her smile. Even with the baby, irritation was always written on her face. Sometimes it made Grigory want to take his daughter and hide her away from all of it.
He suggested she see a psychologist, but her reaction was explosive.
“What? You think I’m crazy? Hysterical, maybe? How could I not go crazy living with you?!”
After that, Grigory had had enough. He announced he would file for divorce. Out of spite, Irina took their daughter and moved to another city. She never asked for child support and never gave him their new address.
Grigory searched for his daughter for a while, but eventually gave up. He loved Anya and wanted to be her father, but the thought of facing his ex-wife again drained him of all strength.
Irina, meanwhile, was consumed with rage. Rage that never left her. She blamed her ex-husband for everything, convinced he had left her for another woman. She refused to believe she herself could be at fault.
That bitterness spilled over onto her daughter.
She never hit or physically abused Anya, but the girl grew up surrounded by an atmosphere of pure negativity.
At home, nothing was ever celebrated. Anya only discovered that birthdays existed when she went to kindergarten.
“Mama, guess what? It was Antoshka’s birthday today! Everyone congratulated him, and he even got a present! Will I ever get one too?”
“No. That’s nonsense. There’s nothing to celebrate. I’m the one who gave birth to you — if anyone deserves congratulations, it’s me. Don’t ever ask me that again. It’s a waste of money.”
New Year’s was ignored too. Luckily, Father Frost came to kindergarten to greet the children — that was the only holiday Anya ever experienced. On New Year’s Eve at home, she and her mother ate a simple dinner and went to bed as usual.
Irina couldn’t stand laughter. Perhaps because she herself had forgotten how. If Anya laughed at a cartoon, her mother would scold her instantly:
“Why are you laughing like a horse? There’s nothing funny about that!”
So Anya learned that smiling was wrong. Laughing was wrong. She had to be serious and sad, just like Mama.
Nobody knows if Irina truly suffered from mental illness. She never saw a psychologist, believing it was a waste of money. To her, life wasn’t about joy. People who were happy were simply fools.
Anya tasted her very first piece of candy at kindergarten, during someone’s birthday. It was delicious.
At night, she dreamed that one day, when she grew up, she would buy herself an entire bag of candy. That thought warmed her heart, and sometimes, against the rules, a secret little smile would appear on her face.
No one knows what might have become of her had she continued living with her mother. Each year, Irina grew harsher, more bitter. Even the neighbors avoided her. Some elderly women crossed themselves when they passed her, whispering that only the devil could live inside someone so cruel.
But in the end, all that rage cost her dearly. She was diagnosed with cancer. Distrusting doctors, she only ended up in the hospital when it was already too late.
A neighbor took Anya in while Irina was hospitalized. Before leaving, Irina gave the neighbor her ex-husband’s name, surname, and the city where he lived — proof that, deep down, she still cared for her daughter.
Irina never came back from the hospital. At first, no one even told Anya her mother had died. The girl was already so scared, she hardly dared to speak or do anything.
The neighbor contacted social services, and they quickly tracked down Anya’s father.
By then, Grigory had remarried six months earlier. When he was called, he told his wife he would never abandon his daughter. He had, after all, once searched desperately for her.
His new wife, Natasha, was understanding. She knew how much Grigory had suffered being separated from Anya. She told him simply, “Go and bring her home.”
Anya didn’t remember her father. She was afraid, certain life with him would be even worse.
When Grigory arrived, she was still at the neighbor’s. Social services had decided to leave her there until her father came, to avoid traumatizing her further.
On his way, Grigory bought a big stuffed cat and a bag of candy.
When he walked in, Anya froze, frightened. But her eyes were immediately drawn to the plush toy. Then she spotted the candy.
Her heart softened at once. She thought: people who bring candy can’t be bad. After all, Father Frost brought candy at kindergarten — no one else ever had.
As Anya explored her new toy, the neighbor told Grigory:
“They say you shouldn’t speak ill of the dead… but honestly, she was not easy. She never greeted anyone, never smiled. She cursed anyone she disliked. And poor Anya… always scared, always closed off.”
Grigory’s heart ached. He regretted not fighting harder to find his daughter. He should have kept searching. But his fear of facing Irina had paralyzed him — and because of that, his little girl had suffered.
Once all the paperwork and funeral matters were settled, Anya left with her father for a new home.
“Your birthday is coming soon,” he said with a smile, trying to put her at ease. “What would you like as a gift?”
Anya stared at him, surprised. Grigory didn’t understand why she looked so puzzled.
“I don’t know. Mama never gave me a present. We never celebrated birthdays.”
“What?” he gasped.
“She said it was nonsense. That I didn’t deserve to be congratulated.”
“That’s not true… Everyone deserves to be happy on their birthday,” he whispered, his throat tight.
“Could I maybe just have… a bag of candy? I really love candy.”
Grigory nodded. Words failed him.
Later that night, after putting Anya to bed, Natasha found him in the kitchen, a glass of wine in his hand.
“She never celebrated her birthday…” he muttered, tears in his eyes. “Do you know what she asked me for? Candy. Just candy, the way all children have… My God, how could I let this happen? Even if Irina had no money, why do that? She robbed our daughter of every bit of joy, just to hurt me…”
Natasha wrapped her arms around him.
“Don’t judge her too harshly. Life already punished her enough.”
“I’m not judging her,” he whispered. “I’m judging myself. I convinced myself they were fine. That I didn’t need to worry. And now… I see a little girl who’s afraid to be happy.”
“You know what?” Natasha said gently, smiling. “We’ll throw her the most amazing birthday party. For every birthday she never had.”
The birthday came a week later. By then, Anya was already getting used to her new family.
What surprised her most was that her father and Aunt Natasha actually smiled. They laughed! She had thought adults didn’t know how to do that.
And in the mornings, breakfast wasn’t just tasteless porridge anymore. Aunt Natasha made syrniki, pancakes, cottage cheese with fruit and berries — so many delicious things.
But the most incredible part? There was always candy in the house. Her father told her she didn’t even have to ask before taking some. He only asked her not to overdo it, so she wouldn’t get a stomachache or hurt her teeth.
On the morning of her birthday, when Anya opened her eyes, she thought she was still dreaming.
Her whole room was decorated with balloons. At breakfast, there was a cake — with candles to blow out!
Then they went to an amusement park, and she received seven gifts — one for each year of her life.
Children adapt quickly, especially to happiness. Within a month, Anya was laughing out loud, shouting with joy, throwing herself into her father’s and Natasha’s arms. Her mother had never liked that; she never liked when Anya clung to her.
Anya started school, and her life completely changed. Sometimes she couldn’t even tell whether certain memories of her past were real or imagined. But she knew one thing: she was lucky to have joined her father’s family. And even though she still felt sorrow for her mother, she understood that life with her would have been much harder.
And a year later, for the first time, Anya called Natasha “Mom.” Because, as sad as it was, Natasha was the one who had truly earned the name.
