Snowflakes strike the window and slide down the glass like tears of rain. An eight-year-old boy sits on the windowsill of a hospital ward, watching their sorrowful dance.
He feels deeply sad and wants to cry. His brown eyes and dimpled cheeks come from his mother, his hair and upturned nose from his father. A charming, fidgety, and restless patient, he quickly won the hearts of the children’s ward staff where he was admitted.
The nurses fed him extra treats and pitied him. But his mother hadn’t visited once in three days. Still, Daniel was certain—she would come soon.
His mother often drank and disappeared somewhere for a couple of days. Then she’d return, kind and affectionate, buying candies and something tasty.
Strangers had brought the boy to the hospital. They said they’d treat him and promised to send him home. Daniel didn’t know then that a long and difficult journey awaited him.
Emma, the boy’s mother, was born into a large family. Raising five children was no easy task for her parents. She was the middle child, with an older brother and sister and two younger brothers.
Emma grew up hardworking and kind. By her teenage years, she had mastered all the household skills. She cooked well, tended the garden, kept the house tidy, and did the laundry. In a big family, everyone had their chores.
— She’ll make someone a fine wife, — the neighbors would say.
Emma didn’t delay marriage. At seventeen, she found true love. Her suitor, James, was older—twenty-five. He didn’t care that she was just finishing school or came from a poor family. One day, he brought her to his parents and declared:
— Here’s your daughter-in-law and my wife.
They had a wedding, though James’s parents were staunchly opposed to the match. They disapproved of a bride with no dowry or education. Both his father and mother held prominent positions, enjoyed wealth and respect in town, and were ashamed of their uneducated daughter-in-law.
No matter how hard Emma tried, she never felt at home in this wealthy, refined family. Her homemaking skills went unappreciated. In their household, young women weren’t expected to linger by the stove.
James’s grandmother, still hale and hearty, handled the cooking and cleaning. Whenever Emma entered the kitchen to help, the older woman eyed her suspiciously and later complained to her daughter about the disobedient daughter-in-law.
One day, Emma couldn’t hold back. While the grandmother was at the market, she decided to surprise the family with her signature brine cookies, a recipe she’d always made at home to everyone’s delight. The cookies turned out delicious, crisp, and melt-in-the-mouth. This infuriated her mother-in-law.
“There’s only room for one woman in this kitchen!” she shouted, hurling insults at Emma. The girl didn’t dare ask what happened to the cookies, but they never made it to the table. Likely, they were thrown out, deemed unworthy.
Soon, Emma became pregnant, and Daniel was born. Life grew even harder. Her mother-in-law and grandmother constantly criticized her—swaddling the baby wrong, feeding him wrong.
Then James started coming home late, tipsy. His mother blamed Emma for everything, calling her son to her room for long talks, supposedly to “set him straight.”
The only one who showed Emma any kindness was her father-in-law. He occasionally defended her, but the women always overpowered him, and he fell silent. Emma held her tongue, hoping that one day things would change, and she’d be accepted.
Years passed, and nothing improved. Emma endured for her son’s sake, clinging to hope. But one day, she broke. The final straw was when James raised his hand against her, perhaps to assert himself. The pain wasn’t from the blows but from the realization that she was utterly disrespected, even by the man she loved.
When Daniel was just a year old, Emma quietly took her son and left for her parents’ home while no one was around. She understood she’d never be accepted in that grand, alien house.
Her mother looked at her daughter and grandson with worry. Perhaps she sensed then that Emma’s life would unravel after fleeing her husband.
— I’ll raise my boy on my own. I can’t live like that anymore, — Emma said firmly as she crossed the threshold of her childhood home.
James called that evening. He didn’t ask but demanded she return, threatening consequences if she disobeyed. Emma silently hung up, vowing to herself never to cry again or let anyone trample her.
A week later, officials arrived at her parents’ home to inspect the child’s living conditions. At the time, Emma, her son, her two younger brothers, and older sister were all living with her parents.
The officials scrutinized the faded wallpaper, the mold creeping in the ceiling corners. They peered into the nearly empty fridge, where a lone jar of pickled cucumbers and some leftover boiled potatoes sat. The final blow was the family’s large utility bill debt.
— The conditions are unsuitable for a child. The boy cannot stay here, — declared the child welfare commission, ignoring the young mother’s tears as she fell to her knees, clutching their legs and begging them not to take her son.
A court hearing followed. James’s family produced witnesses who claimed Emma was unreliable, drank, and neglected her child.
The court didn’t deliberate long: with no suitable living conditions in Emma’s large family, Daniel was to stay with his father. As they left the courtroom, James’s smug mother shot her former daughter-in-law a venomous look:
— Well, what now? You’re left with nothing! Don’t even think about coming near us. You’ll never get the boy!
And so it was. Emma fought for justice, pleading at least to see Daniel, but their connections and money outweighed her tears and entreaties.
For months, she wept and suffered. Then she pulled herself together, taking two shifts at a factory and washing stairwells at night. She desperately wanted to earn money, fix up her home, stock the fridge, and try to reclaim her son.
Six months later, Emma met a man who seemed kind. Michael had recently arrived in town and ran his own business. He was understanding of the grieving young mother and promised to help her buy a home.
— That’s impossible, — Emma said, unable to believe she’d found someone she could rely on.
— It’s possible, — Michael smiled mysteriously. — I deal in real estate. There’s a chance to buy a rundown little house in a forgotten village for pennies. I’ll help with repairs, and in six months, we’ll make it a gem. We’ll get married, and then you can confidently petition the court to restore your parental rights.
Emma was over the moon. She tirelessly thanked God for sending Michael, who took her troubles into his hands and found a way out of what seemed a hopeless situation. She lived for this man, believing her life was finally turning around.
Soon, Michael, as promised, bought her a crumbling shack in a remote village, but Emma was thrilled, rejoicing like a child over her new home.
Days later, her ex-husband unexpectedly returned Daniel. He curtly explained that he had a new wife and a new life with no place for his son. His beloved didn’t like children, and Daniel would be better off with his mother. He even promised to help with custody and paperwork.
Emma leapt with joy, thanking James for coming to his senses and returning her son. By spring, Michael, Emma, and Daniel moved to the village.
Michael worked in the city, returning home late and often leaving for weeks on business trips. Emma never reproached him for spending little time with the family. She reveled in her newfound happiness, believing everything would be fine.
Now, Michael pulled up to the rickety fence and honked. Emma ran out with Daniel to greet her beloved.
— Finally! — she exclaimed. — You were gone nine days, but it felt like a year.
— What can I do, darling? Work keeps me busy, — Michael smiled.
At that moment, a sleek foreign car pulled up, and a striking, confident woman stepped out. Michael’s face fell, his shoulders slumped, as if he wished to vanish.
— I knew it! — the stranger shouted, glaring at the couple. — You’ve got a side piece and even a kid! Do you know, you tramp, that my husband has three children and a wife he loves despite everything?
— Tamara, he’s not my kid. Emma’s just a friend of a buddy. I’m helping her while he’s away, — Michael stammered, making excuses.
Emma’s world crumbled. She slowly grasped that her fairy tale was over, replaced by a harsh new reality. She’d been betrayed and crushed again.
Michael jumped into the car and drove off after his lawful wife. Emma entered the house on shaky legs, put Daniel to bed, and grabbed a grocery bag Michael had forgotten. She pulled out a bottle of cognac.
She’d never drunk hard liquor, but now she gulped the burning liquid without tasting it. It didn’t ease her pain, but it dulled the ache, leaving an empty void in her soul.
Leaving the house, Emma staggered to the neighbors, known for their frequent drinking. Their yard was lively, music blaring, and cheerful laughter ringing out.
Emma returned home two days later. Sobering from her drunken haze, she remembered Daniel waiting at home and rushed to her son.
In time, Emma learned to live with her grief, helped by her beloved boy, for whom she tried to hold herself together.
She grew close to her troubled neighbors, often visiting them. Daniel waited, understanding by then that his mother needed to step out for a few days but would return cheerful and lively.
One evening, unexpectedly, Michael returned. Emma was at the neighbors’. He paled when Daniel told him his mother was drinking again and wouldn’t be back soon.
Michael went to fetch Emma, brought her home, and knelt before her.
— Forgive me, my love, if you can. I can’t live without you and Daniel. Yesterday, I had a serious talk with Tamara. For the first time, I found the courage for a bold move. I’m divorcing her. I don’t care if I lose my business or job. I want to be with you always. Nothing else matters.
— You have children, — Emma said, her gaze clouded.
— They’re Tamara’s kids. She’s a real beast in a skirt. I didn’t even notice when she ensnared and married me.
— Alright. I forgive you, — Emma slurred. — Let’s drink to celebrate our reconciliation.
— Fine, — Michael agreed, noting to himself that if this continued, Emma might need professional help. Her growing reliance on alcohol was clear.
The next morning, Emma woke to strange noises in the house. Clutching her aching head, she dropped a heavy, treacherous poker. The house was filled with people, uniformed officers moving about importantly.
— What’s happening? Where’s Michael? — Emma whispered, looking at her frightened son, huddled in a corner.
— Why did you do it so brutally? — an officer asked sternly.
— Emma, why’d you kill a good man? — a terrified neighbor asked.
— Is this yours? — the officer continued, holding up a ornate poker stained with dark spots.
— No. Where would I get something so fancy and expensive? I’ve never had such things, — Emma mumbled, not yet fully grasping that her life had split into before and after.
At the trial, seeing Tamara, Michael’s widow, smirk, Emma understood. Tamara had likely sneaked into the house at night, settled the score with her husband, and framed Emma. She tried to convince the judges she was innocent, that she couldn’t go to prison because her son needed her. But no one listened.
Guided by cold facts, unwilling to dig deeper or find the real culprit, the court let Tamara’s hired lawyer secure Emma a near-maximum sentence.
Years later, Emma stepped out of the prison gates, where she’d spent her best years, lost and unsure where to go or what to do.
Returning to her parents’ home, she faced her older sister’s judgmental stare. Her sister curtly informed her that their parents were dead, the house no longer hers, and shut the door, making it clear she wanted nothing more to do with Emma.
Emma went back to the village. She thought of finding her now-grown son but couldn’t bring herself to face him.
In the old house, she often had the same dream: standing alone in a snow-covered field, no tracks or paths in sight. A blizzard howled, the cold piercing her bones. She didn’t know where to go.
Waking one night from the nightmare in a cold sweat, her heart pounding, she glanced out the window at the snowy field and saw a lone figure in the distance, approaching quickly.
Rushing outside, their eyes met. Those brown, familiar eyes Emma had never forgotten. They haunted her dreams every night, year after year. Her son stood before her, grown, handsome, with a kind smile.
— Hello, Mom, — Daniel said, stepping toward her hesitantly.
— Forgive me, my son, — Emma whispered, trembling, and hugged him tightly, still unable to believe this wasn’t a dream, that she was home with the dearest person in the world, who would likely never hurt or betray her.
— There’s nothing to forgive. Many have hurt you, but I won’t let anyone do that again. Everything will be alright, Mom, — Daniel said confidently, embracing his mother.
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