Alex always knew that his biological father was a traitor, a scoundrel, and a villain.
Of course, he didn’t want to think that way, but he was constantly reminded of it. Once a month, an elderly mail carrier, Aunt Kate, with a heavy bag slung over her shoulder, would enter the house without taking off her shoes, sit in the kitchen, and start counting out money. After handing over the required amount, she would sigh and ask with sympathy:
— So, how are you all holding up?
Then Alex’s mom and grandma would start loudly complaining about life. The conversation inevitably turned to how everything was Tom’s fault. He abandoned his child, they said, the wretch, and now lives for his own pleasure. Meanwhile, the boy, with a living father, considers himself an orphan.
But Alex vividly remembered his real dad. He often recalled his quiet, calm voice and sad, thoughtful eyes. Truth be told, he never mentioned this to his family, knowing it was better to keep silent. Otherwise, his mom would have a meltdown, and his grandma would scold him harshly, maybe even hit him.
So he learned to pretend. When they called his father a traitor, he would nod and angrily say he wanted nothing to do with him. His grandma would shed a tear, pat her upset grandson on the head, and gently murmur:
— My poor little orphan. Don’t worry, don’t think about it. You’ll see, everything will be alright.
Year after year passed, and Alex moved up to seventh grade. But nothing changed. His father never reached out, and his family never stopped discussing him in the kitchen. The boy had long grown used to these conversations and rarely paid them any mind. But one evening, he overheard his mother’s outraged cry:
— What? He’s come back here with her? With that snake, that homewrecker? No, it can’t be!
— Sweetie, I’m not making this up. Mrs. Nancy said the Petersons sold their house to them.
— Well, I’ll be. Sounds like things didn’t work out for them up north.
— Exactly. And can you imagine the kind of salary he’ll have here? This isn’t the north! What kind of child support will we get now—just pennies.
— Mom, why do you keep going on about money? My heart’s heavy, don’t you get it? It’s not about the money.
— Look at you! You’ve got a child to raise! Have you thought about Alex?
From this conversation, the boy realized his father had finally returned. And maybe, just maybe, they’d see each other soon. That night, he couldn’t sleep, tossing and turning in bed. By morning, he suddenly fell ill. His grandma placed a hand on his forehead and realized he was burning up. She called his mom, and together they fussed over him, giving him tea and rubbing sheep fat on his chest while speaking kind words. The strange fever gripped Alex for three whole days, but then he started to recover. His family breathed a sigh of relief and told him to be more careful, to always protect himself from colds. It never crossed their minds that the fever might have been triggered by nerves.
They didn’t tell him anything about his father. But Alex knew exactly where the Petersons used to live. And now his father, whom he hadn’t seen in so long, was living there. Alex often wandered the neighborhood, circling the house, peering hopefully into the yard. But he never saw anyone, and the lights stayed off in the evenings.
Weeks passed like this. One weekend, while riding his bike, Alex, as usual, approached the seemingly empty house. A car was parked by the fence, and a man was bustling about, unloading suitcases and bags.
Alex hopped off his bike and stood there, carefully studying the man.
— Dad, that’s my dad. I’ve waited so long for this moment.
Feeling the boy’s intense gaze, the man set a large suitcase on the ground and looked at him questioningly. Then, laughing, he said:
— What’re you standing there for? Wanna help or something? These suitcases are heavy, you know.
The flustered boy didn’t know what to say, so he lowered his eyes and nervously gripped the bike’s handlebars. The man kept joking, but then his expression changed, and he fell silent.
— Alex, it’s you, isn’t it? How did I not recognize you right away?
The boy let his bike fall to the ground and took a hesitant step forward.
— Dad…
— Dad, — echoed a small, clear child’s voice, — Dad, who’s that?
A little boy peeked out from the gate, looking alarmed, but the father seemed not to hear him. Finally, poor Alex couldn’t take it. He turned away, picked up his bike, and slowly wheeled it through the grass. That evening, he eavesdropped again on the angry kitchen conversations. His grandma launched into her usual rant about the scoundrel, the villain, the traitor. His mom nodded along, sobbing and sighing.
Fearing loud arguments, Alex stopped riding to his father’s house. One evening, his father came to them, but his grandma pushed him away, slammed the door, and hissed:
— Good thing Alex didn’t see.
But Alex had caught a glimpse. Still, he didn’t go out to meet his father. Why upset his grandma? Besides, his dad had a new kid now, and Alex wasn’t needed.
On September 1, Alex went back to school and was deeply upset. Instead of their old teacher, Mrs. Dorothy, they had a new literature teacher, Ms. Susan, who also took over as their homeroom teacher. The other kids were nervous at first too. Of course, their beloved Mrs. Dorothy was long overdue for retirement. The elderly woman tired quickly and often mixed up her words. But the kids valued her kindness, sincerity, and fairness, so they tried not to upset her and behaved well in class.
Luckily, Ms. Susan turned out to be kind and understanding too. She gave the kids interesting books to read, explained lessons clearly, and held discussions about what they’d read. Everyone, even the C-students who didn’t care much for school, looked forward to literature and language arts classes. Ms. Susan was also a big fan of theater and often had the kids act out famous scenes from plays. The students loved this amateur theater and performed successfully at school concerts.
Before the New Year holidays, Ms. Susan approached Alex after class and handed him a small package.
— Here, Alex, I know you love to read. I hope you have a great time over the winter break.
When he got home, Alex tore open the wrapping paper and nearly jumped for joy. It was a Jules Verne book, one he’d dreamed of owning. His mom and grandma never gave him books, so he relied on the library.
Alex devoured the book and was still buzzing with excitement after the break. So, after class, he followed Ms. Susan, eagerly telling her about what he’d read. As they parted, she mentioned she was about to visit a struggling student, Johnny.
— I’ll stop by and talk to his parents. He’s a bright kid, but for some reason, he doesn’t want to study.
— Do you visit a lot of kids?
— Well, yeah. It’s part of my job. I’m the homeroom teacher, after all.
— Why don’t you ever visit me?
— Well, you’re doing great in school, and I figure everything’s fine at home.
— How do you know? Maybe I’m an orphan.
— Alex, are you joking? — she asked seriously.
— My grandma calls me that all the time. She’s kind of mean, — he replied sadly.
— Alright, don’t be too hard on an old lady. Want me to come visit? I can talk to your grandma.
— Yes, yes! — Alex’s mood lifted instantly, and he even clapped his hands.
A few days later, Ms. Susan did come over. His grandma served tea and launched into her old spiel, talking about the no-good traitor, pitying her deceived daughter, and calling her grandson an orphan. Then his mom came home from work, saw the lingering guest, and for some reason immediately grew somber. Ms. Susan quickly said goodbye and left, saying she had a lot to do.
After that, a loud argument erupted in the kitchen, and Alex sat listening.
— Listen, sweetie, don’t be mad at me. How was I supposed to know? What a sneaky woman!
— She wormed her way into our home and listened. And I, naive fool, served tea and spilled everything.
— Oh, Mom, Mom… Didn’t her last name tip you off?
— How was I supposed to know her last name? I only knew her first name and patronymic.
That’s when it hit Alex. Their last name, Smith, was common, and so was the new teacher’s. He hadn’t thought much of it, assuming she was just a namesake. Well, now there was nothing to talk about with her.
The next day, he left the book on the teacher’s desk in the classroom. Seeing that he’d returned her gift, Ms. Susan was upset and asked him to stay after class to talk.
— Please, hear me out. I’ll tell you everything.
— Sorry, but we’ve got nothing to talk about. I’m leaving.
— Wait! Why did you return my gift? That’s rude, impolite. I gave it to you from the heart!
Alex bolted out of the classroom and hurried down the school hallway. At the exit, Ms. Susan caught up with him and quietly repeated her question:
— Why did you return my gift?
— You didn’t need to butter me up.
— I told you, it was from the heart. I wanted to make you happy. Why are you treating me like this?
— I don’t believe you! You treated us terribly. It’s because of you I’m an orphan now!
— Oh, come on! It’s not my fault! — her voice carried genuine hurt. — I don’t know why your parents split up. Your father and I met after the divorce. Why they separated, I don’t know. But I do know your dad loves you very much. He writes you letters, sends you gifts, talks about you all the time. It’s always been that way. And our little Mikey can’t wait to meet you. We moved here specifically to be closer to you. Understand? Please, don’t push us away.
— And who’s Mikey?
— Your little brother.
Back home, Alex lay in his room, staring sadly at the ceiling. Seeing he was upset, his mom and grandma started questioning him. Then he burst into tears and, sobbing, said:
— Why did you hide Dad’s letters and gifts from me?
— What letters, honey? — his mom asked, genuinely surprised, but then she understood and looked at his grandma.
— Why are you looking at me like that? — the old woman shouted. — Your mail’s in the stove. I was only trying to do what’s best. I was worried about your future.
— Our mail? — his mom asked, confused. — You mean he sent me letters too?
— Yeah, he wrote to you pretty often. Even came here by taxi once, said he wanted to take you both with him. But I sent him packing. Alex was in the hospital then, and you were with him.
— Mom, am I understanding this right? Do you realize what you’ve done?
— What I’ve done? I gave you a good, peaceful life. You go to work, buy whatever you want. The kid’s always fed and looked after. The house is in order. You’ve got free time—watch TV, rest, whatever. Do married women live like that? Is it so bad living with your own mother? What else do you need?
— You stole my happiness, took away my love. And I’m supposed to thank you for it?
— Ungrateful! Think about it—would you have been happy bouncing around dorms? You’ll be the death of me with this attitude! How dare you scold an old woman. I’m going to my room. My poor heart might not take it.
With that, his grandma stormed off, slammed her door, and even locked it. The next morning, she refused to come out. Alex and his mom ate sandwiches for breakfast.
— I’m so sorry, sweetheart, please forgive me. How could I believe Grandma? I thought your father was a traitor and turned you against him. Forgive me, please.
— Don’t worry, Mom, it’s okay. You didn’t know the truth.
— Tell me, did your dad tell you about the letters?
— No, Ms. Susan did. Can I go visit them? You won’t be upset?
— Of course, go, honey. And I’m going to the movies tonight—someone’s been asking me out for a while, — she said with a mysterious smile. — But it’s a secret for now, so please don’t tell Grandma.
Alex made up with Ms. Susan, took back the book, and said he’d visit them soon. What a joy to know he now had a dad, a little brother named Mikey, and a wonderful homeroom teacher. His mom was doing great too, heading out on another date soon, happy and smiling. The only problem was still Grandma. She marched around the house, barking orders, thinking she knew best. But no one listened anymore!
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