Vitaly Was Just Three Years Old When He Lost His Mother

22October2025

Dear Diary,

I was only three when my mother was taken from me. I still see the flash of her crimson dress as the roaring motorbike barreled past us, the screech of metal, and then nothing but darkness and silence. The doctors did what they could and I opened my eyes, but the world felt hollow, as if a part of me had been ripped away.

For months I said nothing. Everyone feared the day I would finally call out for my mother, but I kept my lips sealed. It wasnt until one night, in a dream, that a shrill Mum! tore through the gloom, and the memory of that red dress flared again in my mind.

By then I was a resident of the StMarys Childrens Home on the outskirts of Manchester. I never understood why I had been placed there. I developed a habit of standing for hours at the big sash window that looked out over the main road and the elmlined promenade, staring into the distance as if waiting for a signal.

Why do you linger there, lad? grumbled MrsMaggie, the nightshift matron, as she swished her broom across the hallway.

Im waiting for Mum. Shell come for me, I replied.

She sighed, Oh, youll get nowhere standing about. Come, have a cuppa; itll warm your bones. I nodded, but after the tea I would slip back to the window, flinching whenever a passerby approached the gates.

Day after day, month after month, I kept my vigil, hoping that one grey afternoon a woman in a scarlet dress would appear, stretch out her arms and proclaim, At last Ive found you, my son! The thought kept me anchored, even as MrsMaggie wept for me, feeling a tenderness for my misery that she could not ease.

The staff nurses, psychologists, social workers tried to convince me not to wait forever, insisting there were games, friends, lessons to occupy me. I would nod politely, then rush back to the window the moment they left. MrsMaggie often watched me through the glass, unable to count how many times she waved goodbye as I returned to my post.

One evening, after my shift, MrsMaggie took the long way home across the railway bridge. A young woman stood there, watching the tracks below, her shoulders tense. She made a sudden, almost imperceptible gesture, and I sensed she wanted to speak.

Dont be daft, she said, stepping closer.

What did you say? the stranger asked, her eyes dulled by hard living.

Daft, I say! Do you realise what youre doing? Its a grave sin to deny yourself a life. You didnt choose this, nor should you be the one to end it.

But what if I cant go on? the woman shouted, desperate. What if theres no strength left, no purpose?

Then come with me. I live just beyond the footbridge. Well talk there. Theres no point standing here.

MrsMaggie slipped away without looking back, her breath held tight. The womans footsteps faded, and I felt a surge of relief that shed made it in time.

Whats your name, love? the woman asked.

Ethel, I whispered.

Ethel my dear, that was my daughters name. She died five years ago, ill and burned out within a year. Ive been alone ever since no husband, no children, no grandchildren. Im called Maggie, by the way. Come in; my flat isnt a palace, but its mine. Ill freshen up, set the table, and well have tea. Everything will settle.

Ethel smiled gratefully at the elderly woman. Thank you, Aunt Maggie.

Maggie chuckled, Oh, youre welcome, love. Lifes a hard road for a woman, isnt it? Tears and trials are endless, but you mustnt throw yourself into the abyss.

Ethel wrapped her cold hands around a steaming mug. Im strong, you know. Its just this madness thats taken hold of me.

I learned then that Ethel had grown up in a Norfolk village, sheltered from grief until age seven. Her parents adored her as their only child, but everything collapsed when her father abandoned them for a second family. Her mother, crushed, turned to drink and unleashed her fury upon Ethel. In a twisted revenge, she began bringing strangers home, neglecting the house, and leaving all responsibilities to the young girl. Soon, the mothers drinking companions stripped away what little remained of the fathers legacy.

Left with no one, Ethel took odd jobs for neighbours weeding gardens, fetching water in exchange for food. She fed her own mother, receiving no gratitude, and realised a normal family would never be hers. Her father never phoned; rumours whispered hed moved abroad, and Ethel accepted she would never see him again.

Poverty barred her from friendships; boys avoided the daughter of a drunken mother, and she became a pariah in a relatively welloff village. At fifteen, a drunken guest of her mother stumbled into her bedroom. By a miracle she escaped through the window, fleeing the imminent disaster.

She spent the night beneath a crumbling shed, then, when the house fell silent, slipped back, gathered her papers, a few coins from a hidden stash, and fled without looking back. By evening, her father Ivan, a longhaul lorry driver, arrived, horrified at the scene. He searched the village, interrogated neighbours, and finally learned of Ethels harsh life. He wept in his expensive sedan, cursing his own tardiness.

Ivan had once met a wealthy single woman, Gillian, during a freight run. She repeatedly requested his services, and he grew fond of her. Over years they had two sons, then she announced she would leave England. If you want to live with us, come. If not, return to your wife. I love you, Ivan, and I dont want to force you, she said. He chose her, abandoning his daughters mother, whose jealousy and drinking grew worse.

One day, while Ethel was at school, Ivan returned home to find his wife with another man. That was the final straw. He left, telling their daughter that her father had abandoned them. Desperate, Ethel left for Manchester, where an elderly lady named Zenaida rented her a tiny room. Ethel paid three months rent in advance. When the lease ended, Zenaida, grateful for Ethels hard work, offered her free board in exchange for caring for her. For five years Ethel tended to Zenaida, who later became bedridden. Upon Zenaidas death, Ethel, moved by compassion, discovered she had inherited the modest flat on the citys edge.

Later, Ethel met Yuri, a welldressed banker. She thought fate smiled upon her, but two years into their marriage she caught him with another woman. He never apologised; he threw the lover out, then beat Ethel so hard she ended up in hospital. She never managed to tell him she was pregnant; the baby was lost, and doctors warned she might never conceive again. She was left with no husband, no homeYuri even sold the flat shed inherited and bought a flashy car.

After discharge, Ethel wandered aimlessly until she found herself at a railway bridge. MrsMaggie, ever the listening ear, heard her story without interruption and said, Its not the end, love. Youre still young; life still holds love and happiness. Stay with me for a while; I work all day and only come home at night.

Ethel spent two weeks in Maggies modest cottage, gaining a flicker of hope. Soon a local police constable, Graham, visited the neighbourhood. Maggie was out, so Graham chatted with Ethel, promising to return when the matron was back. He did, and over time became a dear friend to both Ethel and Maggie.

One afternoon Graham called Ethel. Do you know Ivan Savelyev?

Yes, she replied, thats my father.

Hes been looking for you for years, he said.

With that, everything turned. Her father, overjoyed to have found his daughter, bought her a proper house, opened a respectable bank account, secured a respectable job, and promised frequent visits.

When Ethel later visited Maggie with some treats, she found the elderly woman ill, feverish and weak.

Somethings got me down, love! Maggie croaked. Im afraid I wont make it.

No, Aunt Maggie, Ive called an ambulance; theyll be here soon. You believe me?

I do. Listen, I work at the childrens home. Theres a little boy, Victor, just turned five. I want to leave my flat to him, a deed on the shelf. Keep it safe for me.

What boy? How will I know him?

Youll see. Hes the one who has been standing by the secondfloor window for two years, waiting for his mother in a red dress

The ambulance whisked Maggie away to the hospital, then to a convalescent home, all expenses covered by Ethel. When Maggie returned to work, the window was empty; Victor had been adopted. Rumours swirled that his mother finally arrived. One crisp morning, as Victor kept his post, a silhouette in a scarlet dress appeared on the path. He gasped, his heart thudding, and the woman raised her hand, smiling.

Mum! he shouted, racing towards her, fearing she might vanish. She opened her arms, rushing to meet him.

Mother! Mother, I knew youd come! Ive waited so long

Ethel wept, cradling the thin boy, resolved to shield him from any more sorrow. Time has passed since then. Ethel, Graham, and Victor now live in a spacious house, preparing Victor for school and awaiting the arrival of a younger brother. Maggie, now fully recovered, lives with us, eternally grateful for what Ethel and Graham have done. Our quiet happiness rests on the love we share each day.