“These aren’t my children,” the husband screamed, shaken to the depths of his soul, “Lada, they’re… dark-skinned! Who gave birth to them? Are you chea:ting?! Don’t come back to my house, don’t even try to cross the threshold! And don’t count on any material support – there won’t be any!”
Lada had an unlucky life.
She grew up in an orphanage where she had almost no friends, and those people who came to choose a child for adoption never drew attention to her. The only close person for Lada was her nanny Vera Pavlovna, who tried with all her might to find adoptive parents for Lada.
Right before graduation, Vera Pavlovna decided to tell Lada the story of her arrival at the orphanage.
“You were about a year old when you were brought here,” Vera Pavlovna said softly, looking at the shelter building.
“I remember that day as if it were yesterday. It was spring, the snow had just melted, it was getting warm. We were cleaning the yard, collecting leaves, and suddenly a police car arrived. Whether this is true or not is unknown, but for some reason no one found you. And you stayed here.
She fell silent and looked at Lada:
– And that’s all? – asked Lada, – you don’t know anything about my parents?
Vera Pavlovna sighed heavily and lowered her head.
“Nothing at all,” she agreed, “nothing about parents or other relatives. It’s as if you fell out of the sky.”
After leaving the shelter, Lada studied in medical school.
She was given a small apartment in a new building, and she got a job as a nurse at the regional hospital to blend her studies with work. It was there that fate brought her together with Anton, a therapist who immediately attract her attention.
There were old rumors that before Lada appeared, he had a romantic relationship with endocrinologist Kristina, a real beauty of the hospital. However, he loved Lada.
– What did he see in her? – asked Lera, one of Anton’s most persistent fans, – you can’t look at her without tears! Skinny as a stick, and dresses anyhow. Whoever undresses her starts crying!
“She’s from an orphanage,” giggled Nastya, her former rival, “everyone there is so weird, so silly.”
Lada heard these words, but pretended not to understand who they were talking about.
“Girls, get to work,” “and I have important news for you.”
After waiting until the nurses were out of sight, he continued:
— We’re having dinner at my parents’ tonight. It’ll be something like an introduction. Do you understand?
Lada was taken aback: already?! If Anton decided to introduce her to his parents, it meant that their relationship was progressed to marriage.
In the evening, Anton took Lada, dressed in a smart dress, to his parents.
“So you grew up in an orphanage,” Anton’s father said
“that’s bad. Very bad. The absence of parents has an extremely negative effect on the formation of personality.”
Anton’s mother, Ida Vitalievna, a former cardiologist, supported her husband:
“Yes, it’s really not good,” she added, “and why, if it’s not a secret, has no one adopted you?”
“I don’t know,” she muttered, trying to hold back her tears, “it didn’t rely on me.”
“Excuse me, I have to go,” Lada couldn’t resist, “coursework…”
He walked her to the entrance and offered to give her a ride, but Lada refused.
“I’ll get there by taxi,” she muttered, greedily inhaling the cold air, “see you tomorrow.”
“Don’t pay attention to my old people,” he said, trying to calm her down, “they sometimes drive me crazy too. They both have difficult personalities.”
She wanted only one thing – to be as far away from this house as possible.
Fortunately, Anton no longer invited her to her parents. Soon he proposed to her and moved her in with him.
The wedding happened a month after the proposal, when Lada was two months pregnant.
After the wedding, Lada continued working at the hospital, but when the baby began to grow, Anton suggested that she leave her job.
Three weeks before her due date, Lada gave birth to twin boys. When the midwife showed them to her, Lada froze in surprise: the children were dark-skinned, as if someone had dipped them in chocolate. The doctors were also surprized, and the doctor tried to calm Lada down.
“You know, my child was also born dark-colored,” the doctor said, “but after a few days everything went away, the skin color became normal.”
“If everything is okay with them, you won’t be able to hide them for long,” the doctor warned, “it’s better to prepare it in advance.”
And that’s what Lada did. She was ready to take a DNA test.
“So these are definitely my children?” Anton exclaimed when he saw the twins.
“If this is someone’s joke, it’s not funny at all!”
“I never expected you to be capable of something like this,” Anton said when they were alone. “I, a fool, believed you! I ran around the shops, got ready, and you… What a snake you are, Lada!”
– These are your children! What are we even talking about if I was always in your sight?
“Your parents were right about you,” he said slowly. “And I kept standing up for you. I don’t know who got you pregnant, but now seek help from him. I won’t live with you anymore!”
Vera Pavlovna came to pick up Lada from the hospital and took care of them at her home.
– Listen, why are your children like that? – Vera Pavlovna asked one day
– You’re white, Anton too. And they’re black. It’s somehow strange.
“Well, there you are too,” she drawled in a pained voice. “I thought that at least you would believe me…”
“Yes, I believe you, I believe you,” she smiled. “It’s just really amazing.”
But Lada had no time to be surprised. Anton had abandoned her and she could forget about work and school, as well as her previous life.
“It’s okay, we’ll manage somehow,” said Vera Pavlovna.
Vera Pavlovna took care of Igor and Sasha – that’s what Lada named the twins. She fussed over them as if they were her own grandchildren, and hardly let Lada near them.
“Rest,” Vera Pavlovna said every time Lada approached the children
“I thought about it a bit and decided this,” Vera Pavlovna said one evening, sitting in her chair with a newspaper.
“Maybe your ancestors were dark-skinned? That happens sometimes. Dark-skinned people have light-skinned children.”
Lada looked up from the keyboard and grinned.
“My ancestors? Dark-skinned?” she responded skeptically. “Where from? That’s nonsense.”
Vera Pavlovna put the newspaper down with a terrible expression and asked to call a taxi. Putting on her glasses, she began to read aloud.
The article shared the story of an elderly local woman who had lost her daughter. According to her, she had drowned in a river when she was just over twenty, and she left behind a small child who was with her mother at the time of her passing. By the time rescuers and the police arrived, the child was gone. The woman asked anyone who knew anything to come forward.
– And why did you read this to me? – Lada got angry at Vera Pavlovna. – What does this have to do with me?
“Maybe it’s you she’s finding for,” she suggested cautiously.
“You were found near this river, after all. Did you hear who the missing girl was meeting? I think you should visit this woman and find out everything.”
Lada looked at the newspaper again.
“Lidiya Fyodorovna,” she read the woman’s name and patronymic. “She lives not far from here, on the next street.”
After waiting a few days, Lada decided to meet Lidiya Fyodorovna.
“You look so much like my Sveta,” she said as soon as Lada entered. “I’ve been waiting to hear from you for a long time…”
“Here, look,” she said, handing it to Lada. “They really are similar, aren’t they?”
Lada looked at the photo and it seemed to her that she was looking in the mirror. It was her in the photo, only her hair was light and her hairstyle was short.
“This is Sveta, my daughter,” explained Lidiya Fyodorovna.
“Tell me everything,” she asked, trying to speak more gently. “It’s very important to me. For me and my children.”
“It’s a long story,” she said.
“I don’t remember everything anymore, it was so long ago. Listen.
Lada’s mother was an average student at school, and then entered the university in the architecture department. During her studies, she met a guy. His name was Vincent, he was dark-skinned and came from France to study. Sveta helped him learn Russian, and eventually fell in love with him. Vincent also fell in love with her, and they planned to move in with him.
Lidiya Fedorovna and her late husband Pavel tried their best to dissuade their daughter from marrying a foreigner. But Svetlana, stubbornly shaking her head, insisted that after completing her studies she would follow her lover.
Pavel, hearing this, became furious and insistently demanded that his daughter terminate the pregnancy. But Svetlana resolutely refused. In the end, her father kicked her out of the house. Svetlana left, and her parents never saw her again until one day her body was found in the river, and the official version was that she committed sui:cide.
“I knew that Svetlana had a girl,” said Lidiya Fyodorovna, her gaze fixed on one spot and her half-turned face towards Lada.
“Pavel passes away almost immediately after these events, he had a heart att.ack,” continued Lidiya Fyodorovna, lowering her head, “and I was paralyzed… Now I have not been able to walk for almost twenty years.
“Here,” she held out a tattered notebook, “is all that remains of your parents.”
Lada took the book and carefully hid it in her pocket.
Lada spent many years searching for her father. She sent out letters, posted ads on the Internet, made acquaintances with French people, hoping to find at least some clue.
Lada begged the woman to give him her contacts, and she agreed. Soon Vincent wrote, and then called. That’s how their communication began.
As it turned out, Vincent ran his own business successfully in France.
“I didn’t start a family, and so I remained alone. I found out that your mother was no longer there when I was already back home. You look amazingly like her! You know, daughter, now for the first time in many years I feel happy. I know that I’m not alone. I have you and my grandchildren.”
Even after returning home, Vincent did not forget about his daughter. One day he called and asked her for her bank details. The woman immediately called her father back. Vincent explained:
– I want you to have everything you need! This amount will be enough for you to start your own business. You are a goal-oriented girl, I am sure that you will succeed.
Lada spent a long time choosing the direction for her business, and the choice fell on a private medical clinic. Thanks to the professionalism of the doctors, clients came in droves. In a few years, Lada won all competitors and achieved financial well-being.
There was no action of Anton during this time. He never called or buy something for the children. The divorce was finalized, and Lada did not continue to meet her husband, who did not believe her.
My First Love and I Agreed to Travel the World Together After Retirement — But When I Arrived at the Meeting Spot, a Man Was Waiting for Me
When John returns to the bench where he and his first love once promised to reunite at 65, he doesn’t expect her husband to show up instead. But when the past collides with the present, old promises give way to unexpected beginnings… and a new kind of love steps quietly into the light.
When I was 17, Lucy was everything to me.
We had it all. From secret notes folded into squares and passed under desks, first kisses under the bleachers, promises whispered like prayers into the dark. And one of those promises was simple.
A young couple | Source: Unsplash
“If we can’t be together now, let’s meet at 65, when we’re well into our lives. If we’re single, then let’s see where we’ll go. If we’re married, then we’ll catch up about our spouses and children if we have any… Deal?”
“Deal,” Lucy had said, smiling sadly.
We picked a place. A little park with a pond on the edge of a quiet city. A wooden bench, nestled beneath a pair of sprawling old trees. No matter what.
Life, of course, pulled us apart the way it always does. Her family moved across the ocean. I stayed, put down roots, lived a long and full life.
I did it all.
A bench in a park | Source: Unsplash
Marriage, two kids, a messy divorce, five grandkids who now tower over me. But through it all. Birthdays, holidays, years stacked on years… but on Lucy’s birthday, I thought of her.
And when I turned 65, I packed a bag and went back to the city, and checked into a motel. I felt like 17 again.
Suddenly, life was bright again. Full of possibilities. Full of hope.
The exterior of a motel room | Source: Pexels
The air was crisp, the trees dressed in golden jackets, and the sky hung low and soft, like it was holding its breath. I followed the winding path, each step slow, deliberate, like I was retracing a dream I wasn’t sure was real.
My hands were jammed into my coat pockets, my fingers curled tight around a photograph I didn’t need to look at anymore.
I saw it. The bench. Our bench. Still nestled between the two ancient trees, their branches reaching over like old friends leaning in close. The wood was darker than I remembered, worn smooth by time and weather… but it was still ours.
A bench in a park | Source: Unsplash
And it wasn’t empty.
A man was sitting there. Mid-sixties, maybe a bit older. He had neatly trimmed gray hair and wore a charcoal suit that didn’t quite match the softness of the afternoon. He looked like he’d been waiting, but not with kindness.
He stood slowly as I approached, as if bracing himself for a confrontation.
“Are you John?” he asked, his voice flat.
“Yeah, I am,” I said, my heart inching into my throat. “Where’s Lucy? Who are you?”
An elderly man sitting on a bench | Source: Pexels
His eyes flickered once, but he held his posture. He looked like every breath cost him something.
“Arthur,” he said simply. “She’s not coming.”
“Why? Is she okay?” I froze.
He took a sharp breath, then let it out through his nose.
An elderly man looking down | Source: Pexels
“Well, John. Lucy is my wife,” he said tightly. “She’s been my wife for 35 years. She told me about your little agreement. I didn’t want her to come. So, I’m here to tell you… she’s not.“
His words landed like sleet. Wet, sharp, and unwanted.
And then, through the trees, over the sound of leaves skipping along the path, I heard footsteps.
Trees in a park | Source: Pexels
Quick. Light. Urgent.
A figure appeared, weaving through the golden blur of the afternoon. Small, fast, and breathless. Silver hair pulled back in a loose knot that bounced with every step. A scarf trailed behind her like a forgotten ribbon.
Lucy.
My Lucy.
“Lucy! What are you doing here?” Arthur spun around, startled, his eyes wide.
An elderly woman standing outside | Source: Pexels
She didn’t slow down. Her voice rang out. She sounded like herself but more… determined.
Clear. Controlled. Sharp as frost.
“Just because you tried to keep me locked up at home, Arthur, doesn’t mean I wouldn’t find a way out! You’re ridiculous for pulling that stunt!”
The exterior of a home | Source: Pexels
She must’ve left right after him. Maybe she’d waited until he turned the corner. Maybe she watched him walk away and made her decision the moment that door clicked shut.
Whatever it was, the sight of her now… bold and defiant, stirred something in me. Something fierce. Something young.
Lucy stopped in front of me, chest rising and falling. Her cheeks were pink from the cold, from the sprint, maybe even from nerves. But her eyes, my God, those eyes, they softened when they met mine.
A close up of an elderly woman | Source: Pexels
“John,” she said gently, as though no years had passed at all. “I’m so glad to see you.”
Then she hugged me. Not out of politeness. Not for show. It was the kind of embrace that reached all the way back through time. One that said I never forgot about you. One that said you mattered all along.
Arthur cleared his throat behind us, sharp and intentional. And just like that, the spell broke.
An elderly couple embracing at a park | Source: Pexels
We ended up at a coffee shop nearby. The three of us, sitting in a triangle of awkward energy. Arthur scowled into his coffee. Lucy and I talked, haltingly at first, then like old friends who’d been on pause too long.
She showed me a picture of her daughter. I showed her my grandson’s graduation photo. Our voices filled the silence with old stories and echoes.
Then, suddenly, Lucy leaned across the table and brushed her fingers over mine. My body almost recoiled at her touch… Arthur was right there.
People at a coffee shop | Source: Pexels
“John,” she began softly. “Do you still have feelings for me? After all this time?”
I hesitated. I didn’t know how to answer this question. Maybe… maybe I did have feelings for her. But maybe they were just for the memory of who we were.
“Maybe a little,” I said. “But mostly, I’m just happy to see that you’re okay.”
A close up of an elderly man | Source: Pexels
We parted ways without exchanging numbers. There were no grand declarations. No lingering stares. It was just a quiet understanding. Closure, I thought. The kind that aches but doesn’t… bleed.
Then, a week later, someone knocked on my door.
It was late afternoon. The sun was dipping low, casting long shadows across the living room floor. I wasn’t expecting anyone. I shuffled to the door, still in socks, a mug of lukewarm tea in my hand. When I opened it, I blinked.
A person standing on a porch | Source: Pexels
Arthur.
He stood stiffly on my porch, hands shoved deep into his coat pockets. His posture was defensive, like a man bracing for a swing.
“Are you planning on stealing my wife, John?” he asked bluntly, his eyes fixed somewhere over my shoulder.
“Excuse me?” I stared at him.
“She told me that you used to be in love with her,” he said. “Still might be. So, I’d like to know.”
I set the mug down on the side table in the hallway, my hands were suddenly unsteady.
A mug of tea on a table | Source: Unsplash
“I couldn’t steal Lucy even if I tried, Arthur. She’s not someone to be taken. She’s her own person. And she loves you. That’s enough for me. I was just honoring a promise that we made decades ago. I didn’t go to the park with any expectations other than to see Lucy all happy in her old age.”
Arthur looked like he didn’t know what to do with that. He rocked slightly on his heels, eyes scanning the floorboards.
“We’re having a barbecue next weekend, John,” he said after a moment of silence. “You’re invited, okay?”
An elderly man sitting on a porch step | Source: Pexels
“Seriously?” I blinked.
“She wants you there,” he said, dragging each word out like it tasted bad to him. “And… Lucy wants to set you up with someone.”
The air between us thickened. He looked like he wanted to evaporate.
“And you’re okay with that?” I laughed.
“No, but I’m trying. Honestly, I am,” he sighed.
A smiling older woman reading a magazine | Source: Pexels
“How did you even find me?” I called after him as he turned to leave.
“Lucy remembered your address. She said that you never moved and told me where to find you.”
And just like that, he walked off down the street, leaving behind silence and something unexpected: the sense that maybe this story simply wasn’t over yet.
An elderly man walking away | Source: Pixabay
After Arthur left, I felt a surge of energy. It wasn’t about Lucy. It was true, what I’d told her husband. I didn’t have any expectations about Lucy and us rekindling what we’d had in our youth.
If I was truly honest with myself, I wasn’t sure about being in a relationship again. At my age, was it worth all the drama? I was fine with just being a grandfather.
I went about my day making French toast and humming to myself. I didn’t know who Lucy wanted to set me up with, but the thought of getting out of the house felt good.
A plate of French toast | Source: Unsplash
The next weekend, I showed up with a bottle of wine and low expectations.
Lucy greeted me with a hug and wink, the same way she used to years ago when we snuck off during school breaks. Arthur gave me a grunt that was more bark than bite. And before I could fully step into the backyard, Lucy looped her arm through mine.
People in a backyard | Source: Pexels
“Come help me pour drinks,” she said.
We walked into the kitchen, the clink of cutlery and hum of laughter drifting behind us. She opened the fridge, pulled out a pitcher of lemonade and handed me a glass.
“She’s here, you know,” Lucy said, pouring another glass of lemonade. “The woman that I’d like you to meet.”
“Really?” I asked, already knowing.
A glass of lemonade | Source: Unsplash
“Grace, that’s her name,” Lucy smiled. “She’s a friend from the community center. She lost her husband six years ago. She reads like it’s a full-time job, volunteers at the library and she’s got a thing for terrible wine… and even worse puns. Seriously, John, she’s the kind of woman who remembers your birthday and shows up with carrot cake before you even ask.”
I glanced through the kitchen window. Grace was outside, laughing at something Arthur said, her sunhat slightly askew, earrings swinging. She looked comfortable.
The interior of a library | Source: Unsplash
Open.
“She’s kind,” Lucy added, softer now. “The kind of kind that doesn’t need a spotlight, you know?”
“Why are you telling me all this?” I asked, sipping the lemonade.
Lucy looked at me for a long moment.
A smiling older woman | Source: Pexels
“Because you’ve loved well, John. And you’ve lost hard… And I think it’s time you met someone who might just understand both.”
Back outside, Grace smiled when I approached her. We walked over grilled corn and folded lawn chairs, our conversation easy and light. She teased Arthur. She called me out for trying to win a card game by bluffing.
She laughed with her whole chest, head thrown back like the sky was in on the joke.
Corn on a grill | Source: Pexels
After six months of letters tucked into books, long walks, and sunrise breakfasts at quiet coffee shops, Grace and I were officially dating. It wasn’t electric.
But it was true.
One day, the four of us took a trip to the ocean. A rental cottage. Seafood dinners. Late-night poker games.
A seafood boil on a tray | Source: Pexels
Arthur eventually stopped treating me like a threat and started calling me by my first name. Without ice in his voice. That was progress.
On the last day, I sat beside Lucy on the sand, warm light pouring over everything. Grace and Arthur were wading out into the water, half-challenging the waves.
“You don’t have to cling to the past, John,” Lucy said gently. “You’re allowed to move forward. But never forget what the past gave you. Never forget what Miranda gave you… a family. All of that is why you are who you are…”
Birds flying over the sea | Source: Unsplash
And in that moment, watching the two people we had grown to love splash in the sea, I realized she was right.
Lucy and I weren’t each other’s endings. But we’d helped each other begin again. And that was more than I’d ever hoped for. Maybe I needed more than just being a grandfather…
As the sun dipped lower, Grace walked back toward me, barefoot and glowing, a seashell cupped in her palm.
A seashell on the beach | Source: Unsplash
“I found this,” she said, holding it out. “It’s chipped. But it’s also kind of perfect, don’t you think?”
“Like most good things,” I said, taking the shell and tracing the ridges with my thumb.
She sat beside me, her shoulder brushing mine. Neither of us spoke for a moment. The tide whispered its rhythm, slow and steady.
An elderly couple standing together | Source: Pexels
“I saw you with Lucy,” Grace said softly. “I know you have history.”
“We were young,” I nodded. “But it was important.”
“And now?”
“Now I’m here, with you.”
An elderly couple embracing | Source: Pexels
She didn’t look at me right away. Instead, she reached for my hand and laced her fingers through mine. Her skin was warm and familiar in a way that felt like it had taken a long time to earn.
“I don’t need to be your first,” she said. “Not at our old age anyway. But I just want to be someone who makes the rest of the story worth telling.”
I looked at her then, really looked, and felt something settle in my chest. A kind of peace I hadn’t known I needed.
“Oh, Gracie. You already are.”
An elderly couple holding each other | Source: Pexels
What would you have done?
If you’ve enjoyed this story, here’s another one for you:
Easter was always my favorite—floral dresses, big hugs, and the smell of Mom’s roast filling the house. So when I called to say I’d be home, I didn’t expect my mom to tell me I didn’t have a family anymore. I froze. But nothing could’ve prepared me for the real reason that made them all turn on me.
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