Pasha’s world fell apart when he was just five years old.
His mother had gone. He stood in the corner of the room, immobilized with confusion: what was going on? Why was the house full with strangers? Who were they? Why were people so quiet and odd, conversing in whispers and obscuring their faces?
The boy had no idea why no one was smiling. Why were they imploring him, “Hold on, baby,” and cuddling him like he’d lost something important? But he just didn’t see his mother.
The father spent the entire day somewhere far away. He never approached her, hugged her, or said a word. He simply sat to the side, sad and odd. Pasha approached the casket and gazed at his mother for a long time. She was utterly different than usual: no warmth, no smile, and no nighttime lullaby. Pale, chilly, and frozen. It was frightening. And the boy no longer dared to get closer.
Without Mom, everything changed. Gray. Empty. Two years later, Father remarried. Galina, the new woman, did not settle into his life. She was irritated with him. She moaned about everything, looking for reasons to be furious. And Father remained silent. He didn’t stick up for himself. He didn’t interfere.
Every day, Pasha felt the pain he had hidden inside. The pain of loss. Longing. And with each passing day, he desired more and more to return to the life in which his mother was alive.
Today was a special day – Mom’s birthday. Pasha woke up in the morning with one thought: he needed to go to her. To her grave. To bring flowers. White calla lilies – her favorite. He remembered how they were in her hands in old photographs, how they shone next to her smile.
But where to get money? He decided to ask his father.
– Dad, can I have some money? I really need…
Before I had time to explain, Galina jumped out of the kitchen:
– What the hell is this?! Have you already started demanding from your father?! Do you even understand how much work goes into a salary?
The father glanced up and attempted to stop her.
– Gal, wait. He didn’t have time to explain why. Son, can you tell me what you need?
— I’d like to buy flowers for my mother. White Calla Lilies. It’s her birthday today.
Galina snorted while crossing her arms over her chest:
– Oh, well! Flowers! Money for them! Perhaps we should take her to a restaurant. Take something from the flowerbed and you’ll have a bouquet!
“ They’re not there, ” Pasha answered quietly but confidently. “ They’re only sold in the store.”
The father looked thoughtfully at his son, then turned his gaze to his wife:
– Gal, go make lunch. I’m hungry.
The woman snorted discontentedly and disappeared into the kitchen. The father returned to the newspaper. And Pasha understood: he would not give money. Not another word was said.
He quietly went to his room, took out an old piggy bank. Counted the coins. Not enough. But maybe that’s enough?
Without wasting any time, he ran out of the house and ran to the flower shop. Already from afar he saw snow-white calla lilies in the window. So bright, almost fairy-tale-like. He stopped, holding his breath.
And then he resolutely entered inside.
– What do you want? – the saleswoman inquired, examining the boy. – You’ve probably come to the incorrect spot. There are no toys or sweets here. Only flowers.
– I’m not exactly like that… I really want to buy. Callas… How much does a bouquet cost?
The salesperson stated the price. Pasha took all of his monies out of his pocket. However, the amount was just half enough.
He begged, “Please…” “I’ll work it off!” Come every day to help clean, dust, and wash the floors. Please lend me this bouquet.
– Are you even normal? – The woman snorted, clearly irritated. – Do you think I’m a millionaire to hand out flowers here? Go away! Or I’ll call the cops; beggars are not allowed here!
But Pasha was not going to give up. He needed those roses today. He began asking again:
– I’ll give everything! I promise! I will earn as much as is necessary! Please understand…
– Oh, look at this artist! – the saleswoman exclaimed so loudly that passersby turned around. – Where are your parents? Perhaps it’s time to contact social services. Why are you hanging around here alone? I’m telling you for the last time: get out before I call!
Then a man approached the business. He unintentionally witnessed this scene.
He entered the flower shop just as a woman was yelling at an agitated youngster. This upset him; he could not tolerate injustice, especially toward youngsters.
“Why are you shouting like that?” he asked the saleswoman, sharply. “You’re yelling at him like he’s stolen something. But he’s only a boy.
– And who are you, anyway? – the woman demanded. – If you don’t understand what’s going on, don’t interfere. He nearly stole the bouquet!
– Of course, “stealed a little,” said the man, raising his voice. – You assaulted him yourself, like a predator stalking his prey! He needs assistance, and you threaten him. Have you entirely lost your conscience?
He glanced to Pasha, who was crouched in the corner, rubbing tears off his cheeks.
– Hello, buddy. My name is Yura. Tell me why you’re upset. You wanted to buy flowers but didn’t have the money?
Pasha sobbed, wiped his nose with his sleeve, and spoke in a hushed, shaky voice:
– I wanted to purchase calla lilies. To my mama… She had a strong fondness for them. Three years ago, she died away… Today marks her birthday. I wanted to go to the grave and deliver her flowers.
Yura felt his heart constrict within. The boy’s story struck him deeply. He squatted down beside him.
– Your mother can be proud of you. Not every adult buys flowers on an anniversary, but at eight years old, you remember and want to help. You will grow into a real person.
Then he turned to the saleswoman.
– Show me the calla lilies he chose. I’d like to buy two bouquets: one for him and one for me.
Pasha pointed to a display case filled with snow-white calla lilies that shined like porcelain. Yura paused a little; these were the flowers he had intended to collect. He didn’t say anything out loud; instead, he asked himself, “A coincidence or a sign?”
Pasha was quickly leaving the store with the prized bouquet in his hands. He held it as if it were his most valuable possession, and he couldn’t believe how everything had worked out. Turning to the man, he made a modest suggestion:
– Uncle Yura. May I leave you my phone number? I will absolutely refund the money. I have the honor.
– I had no doubt that you would say so. But you don’t have to. Today is a special day for one woman who is dear to me. I have been waiting for a long time to tell her about my feelings. So I am in a good mood. I am glad that I was able to do a good deed. Moreover, it seems that our tastes coincide – both your mother and my Ira adored these flowers.
He was silent for a second, his thoughts wandering far away. His eyes looked through space, remembering his beloved.
He and Ira were neighbors. They lived in opposite entrances. They met stupidly and by chance – one day she was surrounded by hooligans, and Yura stood up to protect her. He got a black eye, but did not regret a minute – that’s when sympathy arose between them.
Years passed, and friendship developed into love. They were inseparable. Everyone nearby said, “This is the perfect couple.”
When Yura turned 18, he was drafted into the army. It was a blow to Ira. Before leaving, they spent their first night together.
Everything was fine at work until Yura sustained a severe head injury. He awoke in the hospital with no memory. He couldn’t even recall his name.
Ira attempted to call, but the phone was mute. She suffered, believing that Yura had abandoned her. She eventually changed her phone number and tried to forget about the anguish.
After a few months, his memory began to recover. Ira appeared in his mind once more. He started calling, but to no avail. Nobody knew that the parents had covered the reality by telling the girl that Yura had abandoned her.
When Yura returned home, he wanted to surprise her with calla lilies. But he saw a quite different picture: Ira was strolling arm in arm with a man, pregnant and happy.
Yura’s heartbroke. He didn’t comprehend how this was possible. Without waiting for an explanation, he fled.
Eight years passed. One day, Yura realized: he can’t live with emptiness inside any longer. He has to find Ira. He has to tell her everything. And here he is again in his hometown, with a bouquet of calla lilies in his hands. And it was there that he met Pasha – a meeting that could possibly change everything.
“Pasha… that’s right, Pasha!” Yura remembered, as if waking up. He was standing by the store, and the boy was still patiently waiting nearby.
“Son, maybe I should give you a ride somewhere?” Yura suggested softly.
“No, thank you,” the boy gently said. “I know how to ride a bus. I’ve visited my mother previously. “Not for the first time.”
With these remarks, he hugged the bouquet hard against his chest and dashed to the bus stop. Yura observed him for a long time. Something about this child triggered memories and elicited an inexplicable connection, almost kinship. Their paths crossed for a reason. Pasha seemed disturbingly familiar.
When the youngster left, Yura went to the courtyard where Ira had previously lived. His pulse was hammering like a drum as he approached the entryway and cautiously asked the elderly woman who lived there if she knew where Ira was.
“Oh, my dear,” the neighbor sighed, looking at him sadly. “She’s gone… She died three years ago.”
– How? – Yura suddenly recoiled, as if he had been hit.
– After marrying Vlad, she never came back here. She moved in with him. A kind soul, by the way, he took her pregnant. Not every man would dare to do that. They loved each other, took care of each other. Then their son was born. And then… that’s it. She’s gone. That’s all I know, son.
Yura slowly walked out of the entrance, feeling like a lost ghost – late, lonely, forever late.
“Why did I wait so long? Why didn’t I come back at least a year earlier?”
And then the neighbor’s words surfaced: “…pregnant…”
“Wait. If she was pregnant when she married Vlad, could the kid have been mine?
His head was spinning. His son might be living elsewhere in this city. Yura felt a flame burn within him; he needed to find him. But first, he needed to find Ira.
He instantly discovered her grave in the cemetery. His heart plummeted in sorrow as love, grief, and regret all merged into one. What surprised him even more was what appeared on the tombstone: a fresh bouquet of white calla lilies. Those are Ira’s favorite flowers.
– Pasha…, Yura muttered. – It is you. We have a son. Our child.
He gazed at the portrait of Ira, who was peering out of the stone, and quietly said:
– Forgive me…for everything.
Tears flowed from his eyes, but he did not hold them back. Then he turned suddenly and sprinted, needing to return to the house Pasha had pointed out while they were standing at the store. This was his chance.
He hurried into the yard. The boy sat on the swing, thoughtfully rocking. It turned out that as soon as Pasha got home, his stepmother punished him for his long absence. He couldn’t handle it any longer and ran out into the street.
Yura approached, sat down next to him, and hugged his son warmly.
Then a man emerged from the entrance. He halted when he saw a stranger standing next to the child. Then he recognized him.
– Yura… – he said practically without surprise. – I have long given up hope that you will come. I believe you recognized Pasha is your son.
“Yes,” Yura nodded. “I understand. “I came for him.”
Vlad took a long breath.
– If he wants it, I won’t stand in his way. After all, I never actually became Ira’s husband. And I wasn’t Pasha’s father either. She has always loved just you. I knew. I figured it would pass with time. But before she died, she confessed that she wanted to locate you. To tell you everything: about her son, her emotions, and you. But she did not have time.
Yura remained mute. His throat clenched, and ideas raced through his head.
He seized Pasha by the hand. They approached the automobile.
Forgive me, son… I didn’t realize I had such a wonderful boy…
Pasha stared at him and calmly stated:
– I’d always known Vlad wasn’t my true father. When my mother mentioned me, she was talking about something quite else. About a separate individual. I knew we’d eventually meet. And so we met.
Yura took his son in his arms and began to cry – from relief, agony, and immense, terrible love.
– I am sorry I had to wait so long. I’ll never leave you again.
