I found a little girl abandoned by the railroad tracks and raised her, but after 25 years, her birth family suddenly appeared.
— What’s that? — I paused halfway to the station, listening closely.
From the left came a faint but steady crying. The chilly February wind brushed my neck and fluttered my coat’s edge. I turned toward the railway, where an old, dark switchman’s hut stood out against the snowy landscape.
Near the rails lay a small bundle—an old, grimy blanket with a tiny hand sticking out.
— Oh my God… — I whispered as I picked it up.
It was a girl, maybe around a year old or younger. Her lips were blue, but she was breathing, crying faintly with barely any strength left.
I opened my coat, held her close, and hurried back to the village—to the paramedic, Marya Petrovna.
— Zina, where did you find her? — she asked gently, taking the child.
— By the tracks. She was just lying there in the snow.
— Then she’s been abandoned. We must inform the police.
— What police? — I held the girl tighter. — She’ll freeze before we get there.
Marya Petrovna sighed and fetched some baby formula.
— This will do for now. What do you plan to do next?
I looked at the tiny face now nestled in my sweater, silent.
— I’ll raise her. There’s no other choice.
Neighbors whispered behind my back: “She’s thirty-five, unmarried, and now taking in a stranger’s child.” I ignored their gossip.
Some friends helped with the paperwork.
I named her Alyona. This new beginning filled me with hope.
The first months were exhausting—fevers, colic, teething. I rocked her, singing old lullabies my grandmother taught me.
— Ma! — she called at ten months, reaching out to me.
I cried—after so many lonely years, I finally became a mother.
By two, she was running around, chasing the cat Vasya, curious about everything.
— Baba Galya, look how smart my girl is! — I boasted to my neighbor. — She knows all the letters!
— Really? At three?
— See for yourself!
Galya pointed to letters; Alyona named them flawlessly and even told the story of the hen Ryaba.
At five, she started kindergarten in the next village. I gave her rides when I could. The teacher was amazed—she read fluently and counted to a hundred.
— Where did such a clever girl come from?
— The whole village helped raise her, — I laughed.
She started school with long braids I carefully tied every morning, matching ribbons to her dresses. At the first parent meeting, the teacher approached me.
— Zinaida Ivanovna, your daughter is extraordinarily gifted. Such children are rare.
My heart soared with pride—my daughter, my Alyonushka.
Years passed quickly. Alyona blossomed into a tall, graceful beauty with blue eyes like a clear summer sky. She won awards and received warm praise from teachers.
— Mom, I want to study medicine, — she told me in tenth grade.
— That’s expensive, dear. How will we manage the city and dorm?
— I’ll get a scholarship! — her eyes sparkled. — You’ll see!
And she did. At her graduation, I cried with joy and fear. She was leaving for the regional center for the first time.
— Don’t cry, mom, — she hugged me at the station. — I’ll visit every weekend.
She didn’t. Her studies took over. Visits became rare, but she called every day.
— Mom, anatomy was tough today, but I passed with flying colors!
— Well done, honey. Are you eating well?
— Yes, mom. Don’t worry.
In her third year, she fell in love with Pasha, a serious young man. She brought him home; he shook my hand confidently.
— He seems like a good one, — I said. — Just don’t forget your studies.
— Mom! — Alyona laughed. — I’ll graduate with honors!
After university, she chose pediatrics for her residency.
— You once nursed me back to health, — she said on the phone. — Now I want to help children.
She came home less and less—busy with shifts and exams. I understood; youth and a new life awaited her.
One evening she called unexpectedly. Her voice was strange.
— Mom, can I come tomorrow? I need to talk.
— Of course, dear. What is it?
— I’ll tell you when I arrive.
That night, I barely slept. My heart sensed trouble.
When Alyona arrived, she looked pale and tired. Her hands trembled as she poured tea.
— Mom, some people found me. They say they’re my biological parents.
The cup slipped from my hands, shattering on the floor.
— How did they find you?
— Through connections and mutual acquaintances… The woman cried, saying she was young and scared when she gave me up, pressured by her parents. She regretted it all her life and searched for me.
I was silent. I had feared this moment for years.
— And what did you say?
— I told them I’d think about it. Mom, I don’t know what to do! — Alyona cried. — You’re my real mother, but they suffered too…
I held her close, stroking her hair as I used to when she was a child.
— They suffered? Then who left you alone in the snow? Who didn’t care if you lived?
— She said she left me near the switchman’s hut, hoping he’d find me, but he was sick that day…
— My God…
We sat holding each other as dusk fell. Vasya rubbed against my legs, asking for dinner.
— I want to meet them, — Alyona said days later. — Just to talk, to understand.
My heart ached, but I nodded.
— That’s right, daughter. You have the right to know.
The meeting was at a city café. I waited in the next room.
After two hours, she came out with red eyes but calm.
— How was it?
— Ordinary people. She was only seventeen, hiding her pregnancy because her parents threatened to kick her out. Her father didn’t know. She married someone else and had two more kids but never forgot me.
We walked through the spring streets filled with lilac scent.
— They want to be part of my life. Introduce me to my siblings. My biological father is alone and cried when he heard about me.
— And what will you do?
She stopped, took my hands.
— Mom, you’ll always be my mom—the one who raised me and loved me. That won’t change. But I want to understand them, not replace you—just to know myself better.
Tears welled up. I smiled.
— I understand, darling. I’m here for you.
She hugged me tightly.
— They thanked you. For saving me, for raising me better than they could have.
— That’s not important, Alyonushka. I just loved you, every day, every minute.
Now Alyona has two families. She met her brothers—an engineer and a teacher—and stays in touch with her birth mother. Forgiveness was hard, but my daughter is strong.
At Alyona and Pasha’s wedding, the birth mother and I sat together, both crying as we watched them dance.
— Thank you, — she whispered.
— Thank you, — I replied. — For trusting me with her.
Alyona works at the regional children’s hospital. When her own daughter was born, she named her Zina—after me.
— Mom, will you babysit? — my granddaughter laughed, handing me her.
— Of course! I’ll tell stories and sing lullabies—just like with you.
Little Zinochka grabbed my finger, smiling toothlessly, just like Alyona did when I first held her and realized: this is destiny.
Love doesn’t choose—it simply is, vast as the sky, warm as summer sun, and endless as a mother’s heart.
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