He stood motionless in the corner of the room, his small head lost in thought. The house was full of strangers—faces he didn’t recognize, voices hushed to whispers, eyes averted from his. Why was everyone acting so strangely? Why wasn’t anyone smiling? Why were they hugging him as if some catastrophe had occurred?
No one explained anything to him. They simply said things like, « Be strong, my little one, » in voices full of pity and sadness. But all Pasha knew was that he hadn’t seen his mother. And that was all that mattered.
Her father, once a reassuring presence, now seemed like a ghost in his own house—always absent, distant even when he was there, sitting silently, lost in thought. No more hugs, no more bedtime stories, not a word.
When Pasha was brought before the coffin, he stood there for a long time, staring. His mother lay there, motionless and pale, nothing like the warm, smiling woman who used to sing her lullabies. She looked like a porcelain doll. Cold. Lifeless. It terrified him. He never went near the coffin again.
Everything changed after his death. The world became grey. Empty.
Two years passed, and his father remarried. The new woman, Galina, never tried to enter Pasha’s world. She could barely stand him. Her voice was always sharp, her eyes full of irritation. She scolded him for trifles, always looking for an excuse to yell at him. And his father? He said nothing. He never defended him.
Pasha learned to keep his pain to himself. The absence of his mother, the nostalgia for his former life — all of this lived inside, silently, like a secret.
And today, that pain burned more intensely than ever.
It was his mother’s birthday.
Pasha woke up with only one thought: he had to go to her grave. He had to bring her flowers—white calla lilies. His favorites. He remembered them from old photos, where they always appeared in her hands, radiant beside her smile.
But flowers cost money. And he didn’t have any.
He approached his father, hesitating.
« Dad… can I have a little money? Just a little, please… I really need it. »
Before he could explain why, Galina burst out of the kitchen like a storm.
« More about money, huh?! Do you know how much your father works?! He’s not a vending machine! »
The father raised his hand, trying to calm her down.
« Gal, wait. He didn’t even say why. Go on, son. What do you need? »
Pasha lowered his eyes and said softly,
« I want to buy flowers. For Mama. Today is her birthday… white calla lilies. »
Galina burst out laughing contemptuously, her arms crossed.
« Oh, how touching! Flowers, nothing but flowers. Perhaps you’d like some champagne too? Go pick something from the garden if you’re so desperate! »
« There aren’t any in the garden, » replied Pasha, gently but firmly. « You can only find them in the store. »
His father stared at him for a moment, then turned to Galina.
« Gal, go prepare lunch. I’m hungry. »
She sighed loudly and went back into the kitchen. Her father resumed reading the newspaper, without adding a word.
And Pasha understood: there would be no money.
Silently, he returned to his room. He took an old piggy bank and emptied it. He carefully counted the coins. There weren’t many… but perhaps it would be enough?
Without wasting any time, he ran to the flower shop.
From a distance, he saw them—white calla lilies in the window. Exactly like in the photos: elegant, splendid, almost luminous. He paused to catch his breath, then went inside.
The woman behind the counter looked at him coldly.
« What do you want? This isn’t a pastry shop. We don’t have toys—only flowers. »
« I know, » Pasha replied softly. « I’d like to buy some calla lilies. How much does a bouquet cost? »
She told him the price. Pasha took out all his coins. They didn’t even amount to half the sum.
« Please, » he murmured. « It’s for my mother’s grave. Today is her birthday. I can work for you! Clean, sweep, anything. But let me bring her the flowers… I swear I’ll pay you back. »
The woman’s face hardened.
« Are you completely crazy? » she snapped. « Do you think this is a charity? Flowers aren’t free! Get out, right now. Or I’ll call the police. We don’t tolerate begging here. »
But Pasha didn’t want to give up. He had to have those flowers.
« I will pay them, I swear! I will find a way to earn the money! Please, try to understand… » he begged, his voice breaking.
« Oh, listen to this little actor! » the florist shouted so loudly that passersby turned around. « Where are your parents, huh? You’re wandering around all alone like that? Maybe I should call social services! Last warning, kid—out, right now! »
At that moment, a man approached the store. He had witnessed the scene.
He entered just as the woman was screaming at the child. He could not bear this injustice.
« Is this really necessary? » he asked in a calm but firm voice. « You’re treating him like a thief. He’s just a child. »
« And who exactly are you? » the woman retorted. « Mind your own business. He almost stole a bouquet! »
« Failed, » the man repeated, raising his voice. « You pounced on him as if he were a criminal. He needs help, not threats. Do you even know what a conscience is? »
Then he turned to the boy, huddled in a corner, wiping away his tears with a trembling hand.
« Hey, kid. I’m Yura. What’s going on? You wanted to buy flowers but you didn’t have enough money, is that it? »
Pasha nodded, sobbing.
“I wanted to get some calla lilies… for Mom. She loved them so much. But… she died three years ago. Today is her birthday. I just wanted to bring her some flowers to the cemetery…”
A knot tightened in Yura’s chest. The child’s silent pain touched him deeply. He crouched beside him, looking him straight in the eyes.
« You know what? Your mom would be proud of you. Even many grown men don’t remember important dates, and you, so young, want to make such a tender gesture. It says a lot about the man you’ll become. »
Then he stood up and said to the florist,
« Which calla lilies did he want? I’ll take two bouquets—one for him and one for me. »
Pasha pointed to the flowers in the window, gleaming like porcelain. Yura hesitated for a moment: these were exactly the flowers he had come to buy. A coincidence? Or something more?
A few minutes later, Pasha left the shop clutching the bouquet to his chest like a treasure. He couldn’t believe it.
« Uncle Yura… can I give you my phone number? I’ll pay you back, I promise. »
Yura burst out laughing.
« I knew you’d say that. But it’s not necessary. Today is a special day for me too. There’s a woman I’ve been waiting to say something to for years—and today I’m finally going to. Helping you has made this day even more beautiful. You know… it seems like your mother and my Ira had the same favorite flowers. »
His smile faded, and memories took him back…
Later, at the cemetery, Yura found Ira’s grave. On the headstone, next to his name, was a bouquet of fresh white calla lilies. The same flowers that Pasha had been wearing.
« Pasha… » he murmured, trembling. « It’s you. Our son… »
Tears began to flow, but he did not wipe them away.
He ran over to him. In the yard, he saw him sitting on the swing. He sat down next to him and hugged him tightly.
Pasha did not back down.
Then a man came out of the house. It was Vlad. He stopped, looked at them, and said:
« Yura… I didn’t think you’d come back. But I suppose you’ve understood—Pasha is your son. »
Yura nodded. « I know. And I’m here for him. »
Vlad sighed. « If that’s what he wants, I won’t oppose it. I was never really his father. Ira… always loved you. Before she died, she wanted to find you again. But she didn’t have the time. »
Yura lowered her eyes. « Thank you. For being there for him. Now, I just want to stay by his side. I’ve lost eight years. I won’t waste another second. »
He held out his hand.
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