Alyonka had always known that her story wasn’t like everyone else’s. She grew up in a small town in Russia, under the loving gaze of Zinaida, the woman who had raised her as her own. Although the truth was never hidden from her, the question about her origins followed her like a silent shadow, growing ever more burdensome as she grew older.

Zinaida was a widow, a simple woman, with hands weathered by harsh winters and a heart overflowing with tenderness. She never spoke ill of Maria, Alyonka’s biological mother. She simply said: “Your mother loved you, but she couldn’t take care of you.” And that was enough, at least for a while.

But when Alyonka turned 18, the need to know the truth became unbearable. She had had a happy, but incomplete, childhood. One night, after dinner, she plucked up her courage and asked:

Mom… Can I meet her?

Zinaida, who had never really felt she had the right to deny him anything, nodded with a sadness only mothers know. She gave him an address written in ancient handwriting, as if it were a piece of the past that had been stored away for years.

Maria lived in a nearby town, in a small but clean apartment. When Alyonka knocked on the door, a thin, tired-looking woman opened it with surprise and trembling eyes.

-¿Alyonka?

The young woman nodded, and in that moment, the lost years seemed to crumble into silent tears. Maria didn’t speak immediately. She invited her in, offering her tea that cooled in their cups as they both looked at each other, trying to recognize each other.

Maria had been a teenage mother, alone and unsupported. Her family had rejected her, and she had endured hunger, nights on the streets, and finally, the heartbreaking decision to give up her daughter for a better life. She never forgave herself.

I thought about you every day. Every birthday. Every Christmas. I never stopped loving you.

Alyonka listened with a heavy heart. She had come for answers, but she found pain and humanity. She didn’t know if she could forgive, but she couldn’t hate either.

For weeks, Alyonka visited Maria regularly. She told her about her childhood, her dreams, her fears. Maria, for her part, wasn’t looking to replace Zinaida; she just wanted to be a part of her daughter’s life.

One day, Zinaida fell ill. Alyonka returned to the village to care for her. In the silence of the night, she told her everything she had experienced. Zinaida listened with a warm smile, without a hint of jealousy. She knew her love was irreplaceable.

You didn’t lose me, Mom. I just found another part of myself.

Over time, Zinaida improved. Maria traveled to the village, and for the first time, the two women met. The atmosphere was tense, but Alyonka gently mediated.

I love you both. You gave me life, in different ways.

There were tears, silence, and finally, a heartfelt conversation. Maria thanked Zinaida for raising her daughter with such love. Zinaida said softly:

I just did what any mother would do.

That meeting marked the beginning of a discreet but respectful relationship. The two women didn’t become friends, but they shared a deep bond: their love for Alyonka.

Years passed. Alyonka became a social worker specializing in adoptions. She founded an emotional support program for adopted children and their biological parents. Her personal story became a source of hope for others.

Maria found peace. She continued working as a seamstress, and with each dress she sewed, she felt she was weaving a bit of redemption.

Zinaida, now grown, spent her days in the garden, reading or watching her daughter work passionately. She sometimes murmured:

It was worth every sleepless night.

The day Alyonka received the National Human Merit Award, the two women sat next to her on stage. The press asked who her mother was, and Alyonka, without hesitation, took both of her hands and said:

Both.

And so, the girl who was born amidst doubts and absences became a bridge, a voice, a home for many.

Because sometimes, life isn’t about choosing between two loves, but about building a heart big enough to hold them both.