“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.
Woman Told Her Daughter Her Father Had Died – Years Later, the Girl Discovered a Heartbreaking Truth
When Cassie returns from a getaway with her husband and son, she walks into her home to see a cryptic message from her mother — telling her to watch a video. As Cassie presses play, her entire life changes. In the end, she’s left wondering which of her parents are worthy of forgiveness.
In my eyes, my father could do no wrong. He was everything I needed him to be and more. He was a businessman who was always traveling, but he ensured that he made enough time for me.
“You’re my little girl, Cassie,” he would say, bopping my nose with his index finger. “You’re the most special.”
A father carrying his daughter | Source: Pexels
My parents always went out of their way for me — ensuring that despite their busy schedules, we would have family dinner almost every night.
It was the one thing that kept me grounded while both of my friends from school were in the middle of their parents’ messy divorces.
“I think it’s trendy now,” I told my mother as she cut slices of banana bread for me after school one day.
Sliced banana bread | Source: Unsplash
“Cas, you cannot think that divorce is trendy,” she laughed. “It’s devastating and traumatic, and very few families actually keep things civil.”
“I’m just saying that it’s trendy because a lot of kids live between two homes,” I explained to her. “It’s one of those things we were talking about in class today.”
I was fourteen, and the world seemed more dramatic than it should have been.
A smiling girl in a hoodie | Source: Pexels
But what I didn’t know was that my words seemed to be an incantation that settled over our home.
A few weeks after that conversation, my father went away on a business trip. A few hours after he had been gone, there was news of his passing.
“How?” I asked. “How did he die?”
“I don’t know what to tell you, Cassie,” she replied. “I’m just saying what the paramedics told me.”
Two paramedics standing | Source: Pexels
“So what will we do next?” I asked.
“What do you mean?” she asked, puzzled by the question.
“For the funeral?” I asked. “Aren’t we going to have one?”
“I don’t think so,” my mother replied. “Dad wanted to be cremated and have his ashes spread at the beach. Let’s do that instead.”
A black and white urn | Source: Pexels
I couldn’t fathom why my mother would want to do that — but at the end of the day, she knew my father best. And the longer I thought about it, the more beautiful and sentimental a private ceremony at the beach felt.
“Don’t be difficult, Cassie,” my mother said when she saw me thinking about my next move.
“I’m not,” I said. “Really. I was just thinking about it. It’s a great idea, Mom.”
A pathway to the beach | Source: Unsplash
I could have fought her for a send-off that I thought would have been more appropriate. But what use would it have been? At the end of the day, we had both lost him.
The months following the beach ceremony felt weighted, and I knew that I was becoming deeply depressed — my father had been our world. And his absence was felt more than anything.
But, with time, I learned to live with it.
A girl sitting on the floor and looking out the window | Source: Pexels
Last week, I decided to book a cabin in the woods for a little family vacation. My son was adamant that camping was the new best thing, and I knew that despite the wonders of nature, I wasn’t going to camp in a tent without a bathroom in sight.
Instead, I thought that a cabin would be the best option — my husband, Derek, could camp outside with Drew, our son, if he insisted on it.
A cabin in the woods | Source: Unsplash
We had a dog, therefore, I asked my mother to house-sit for the week so that we could be at peace, knowing that Romeo was taken care of.
A week away was more than enough to restore my mind — and eventually, when we went back home, I was surprised to see that my mother wasn’t there. In fact, it looked like she had never been there.
A dog lying on the grass | Source: Unsplash
But there, on the coffee table, was a note beneath the TV remote.
Watch this, Cassie. I’m sorry. — Mom
I didn’t know what was in store for me, but while Derek got Drew into the bath, I put the TV on and began to watch whatever my mother had planned.
The TV flickered to life, and there he was, my father, his voice a long-lost melody, his image aged but still, unmistakably him.
A person holding a TV remote | Source: Unsplash
Tears streamed down my face as the realization that he was still alive enveloped me in a mix of joy and disbelief.
The video message was nothing short of unpredictable.
My dear Cassie, I’m still here, alive. I’m so sorry for the pain that you must have felt from my loss. But it was needed. I needed to be removed from your life because of the sordid truth of my past. Your mother knows everything, please ask her for the truth.
My health is on a steady decline, and I would love to see you and explain it all.
Love you, Dad.
An old man | Source: Pexels
Without telling Derek or Drew anything, I grabbed the car keys and ran out. I needed my mother to explain.
“So, I bet you’ve got questions for me,” she said, opening the door.
“Explain it all,” I said.
“Cassie, it’s heavy. You look tired from your trip; are you sure you want to do this now?” she asked.
I nodded. It was now or never. I needed to know why my father faked his own death to get out of our lives.
My mother made us some tea and took out some shortbread.
Shortbread cookies on a plate | Source: Unsplash
“Darling,” she said. “I’ll understand if you don’t forgive me, but there’s so much about that time that I need to tell you.”
I sipped my tea, trying to figure out what my mother was about to tell me.
“I remember that you were telling me about your friend’s parents getting divorced. Do you remember that?” she asked.
I nodded. Of course, I did. It was the strangest thing, but it was so common when I was in school.
“Well, your father and I were not legally married. So when I told him about our conversation regarding divorce, he was actually relieved. Without being married, there would be no divorce.”
A marriage certificate | Source: Unsplash
“What’s the big deal?” I asked.
“Then I found out that the real reason that we didn’t get married was because your father was already married to another woman.”
“What?” I exclaimed, almost dropping my cup. “To who?”
“To a woman in the town where he always had his business trips.”
“You didn’t know?” I asked, unable to believe her words.
A couple showing off their wedding rings | Source: Unsplash
“Of course not!” she exclaimed. “But when I pressed him about it, he decided to choose that family over us. So, I told him that the story was going to be his death.”
We were both silent for a moment.
Turns out that my mother told him that she would never tell me the truth, not when he was my favorite person. She couldn’t burst my bubble in that way. And she refused to let him see me one more time.
“It was better for you to think that it was an accident,” my mother said. “It just made more sense.”
Now, I understood why we didn’t have a funeral for him.
“What did we throw into the sea, then?” I asked.
“Dust,” she replied with a straight face.
A cloud of dust | Source: Unsplash
My mother had spoken to him twice over the years. The second time being a day ago.
During their meeting, my father confessed his imminent death due to illness and requested that she give me the recording. My mother, torn by guilt and love, chose to write me the note and have the recording all set for me to watch.
“I would have taken the secret to my grave,” she said. “But knowing that he was ill and wanted to see you just struck something in me.”
A cemetery | Source: Pexels
Compelled by a need to confront the reality of my father’s existence, I traveled to the state where he lived with his other family.
I spent a few weeks with my father — going in and out of hospitals, watching him take an array of different medication, and growing weaker by the day.
Sitting at his bedside, I listened to his stories, the regrets, the moments of joy, and the love he had for all his children — myself included.
When things started to go downhill, I asked Derek to fly over with Drew. It was going to be a fleeting moment, but at least I’d know that my son had met my father.
A sick old man | Source: Pexels
A few days later, my father died.
Even now, I don’t know if I’ve forgiven him for the lie of having a double life. I just know that when it came to it in the end — I wanted to spend time with him. I had shoved my feelings aside, hoping for memories that I could figure out later.
But now that the dust has settled, I’m trying to figure out if I should forgive my mother for lying.
Flowers on a grave | Source: Pexels
What would you do?
Here’s another story for you | After Celine’s father dies, she is left with having to navigate the weight of her grief. Everywhere she turns, there are pieces of her father. On her many trips to the cemetery, she finds that there are always fresh flowers left.
This work is inspired by real events and people, but it has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
The author and publisher make no claims to the accuracy of events or the portrayal of characters and are not liable for any misinterpretation. This story is provided “as is,” and any opinions expressed are those of the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.
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