To avoid shame, she agreed to live with a hunchbacked man… But when he whispered his request in her ear, she knelt down…

—Vasja, is that you, my dear? —Yes, Mom, it’s me! Forgive me for coming home so late…

His mother’s voice, trembling with worry and fatigue, came from the dimly lit hallway. She stood there, in an old robe, flashlight in hand—as if she had been waiting for him her whole life.

—My little heart, where have you been so late? The sky is already dark, the stars shine like the eyes of animals in the forest… —Mom, Dima and I were busy studying… I lost track of time. I’m sorry I didn’t warn you. You sleep so poorly… —Or maybe you were with a girl? —her eyes narrowed suspiciously. —You’re in love, aren’t you? —Mom, what nonsense! —laughed Vasja, taking off his boots. —I’m not the kind of boy girls wait for under the garden gate. Besides, who would want me—a hunchback, with monkey arms, and a dandelion head?

A flash of pain crossed his mother’s eyes. She didn’t see a monster, but the son she had raised alone, in misery, cold, and loneliness.

Vasja had never been handsome. He was barely 1.60 meters tall, with a hunched back, long arms almost reaching his knees. His head was large, framed by messy curls like dandelions. As a child, he was called “little monkey,” “spirit of the woods,” “nature’s wonder.” He grew up, becoming more than just a man.

When he was ten, he and his mother, Galina Petrovna, moved to this kolkhoz, fleeing shame and poverty: his father had been jailed, his mother had abandoned him. Only the two of them were left, facing the world.

—That boy won’t last long, —grumbled old Tataia, looking at him with disdain. —He’ll sink into the earth and leave only a shadow.

But Vasja didn’t disappear. He clung to life like a root in stone. He grew, worked tirelessly. And Galina—a woman with a heart of steel and hands worn by the bakery—provided bread for the whole village. Ten hours a day, year after year, until she collapsed, exhausted.

When she truly fell ill, Vasja became her son, daughter, doctor, and nurse. He washed the floors, cooked porridge, read old magazines aloud. And when, on a silent morning, she passed away, he stood by the coffin, fists clenched, unable to shed a tear—he had none left.

The village didn’t forget: neighbors brought food, warm clothes. Then, little by little, people came to him. First, boys passionate about radios: Vasja repaired radios, fixed antennas, soldered wires. His hands, though seemingly clumsy, were golden.

Then came the girls. At first, to have tea, taste some jam. Then they stayed longer, laughed, talked.

One day, he noticed that Arina, one of them, was always the last to leave.

—Aren’t you in a hurry? —he asked one evening, when everyone else had gone. —I have nowhere to go, —she replied softly, eyes downcast. —My stepmother hates me, my three brothers are mean and drunk, my father drinks, and I’m a burden… I’m staying at a friend’s, but it’s not forever… Here, I don’t feel alone.

Vasja looked at her, and for the first time in his life understood he could be needed by someone.

—Come live with me, —he simply said. —My mother’s room is empty. You’ll be the lady of the house. As for me… I won’t ask anything of you. Not a word, not a glance. Just be here.

Gossip spread: “A hunchback and a pretty girl? How ridiculous!” Yet time passed. Arina cleaned, cooked soup, smiled. And Vasja worked, silent, attentive.

When she had a son, the whole village marveled: —Who does he look like? —they asked. Little Denis looked at Vasja and said, “Papa!”

Vasja, who had never imagined being a father, suddenly felt a sun rising in his chest. He taught Denis to fix sockets, to fish, to read. And Arina would say: —You should find a wife, Vasja. You’re not alone. —You’re my sister, —he replied. —First, I’ll marry you to a good man. Then… we’ll see.

An honest young man from a neighboring village came. They married, and Arina left with him.

But one day, Vasja met her on the road: —I want to ask you… give Denis back to me. —What? —she was surprised. —I know taking in a child changes everything, but Denis… he’s not really yours. You’ll forget him, and I… I can’t. —I won’t give him to you! —I’m not taking him away, —he replied softly. —Come see him whenever you want. Let him live with me.

Arina hesitated, then called her son: —Denis! Tell me, do you want to live with Mom or Dad? The boy ran to him and answered, eyes shining: —Can’t we stay as before? With Mom and Dad together? —No, —Arina said sadly. —Then I’ll stay with Dad! And you, Mom, come visit me!

So it was: Denis stayed. And Vasja became a real father.

Then Arina returned: —We’re moving to the city. I’m taking Denis. The boy screamed, hugged Vasja: —I don’t want to go! I want to stay with Dad! —Vasja… —murmured Arina. —He’s not really your son. —I know, —he replied. —I’ve always known. —I’ll still come for him! —Denis sobbed.

He ran away again and again. Each time he was taken, he returned. Finally, Arina gave in: —Alright, —she resigned. —He’s made his choice.

Then a new story began. Neighbor Macha had lost her husband, a violent drunk. They had no children, no love.

Vasja came for milk, fixed the fence, mended the roof. Then he’d sit for tea and conversation. They grew close, slowly, cautiously, like adults.

Arina wrote: a little sister for Denis was born, Diana. —Bring her, —Vasja wrote to her. —Family should stay united.

They returned a year later. Denis never left his sister’s side: he carried her, sang lullabies, taught her to walk. —Denis, —Arina asked, —do you want to live with us in the city? There’s a theater, school, opportunities… —No, —Denis shook his head, —I won’t leave Dad. And Aunt Macha, I already consider her my mother.

Then came school. When children boasted of fathers who were drivers, soldiers, or engineers, Denis would proudly say: —My dad? He can fix anything, he understands the world. He saved me. He’s my hero.

Another year passed. Macha and Vasja, sitting by the fireplace with Denis, announced: —We’re going to have a baby. —You won’t send me away? —Denis whispered. —Of course not! —exclaimed Macha, hugging the boy. —You’re my son at heart!

A few months later, Slava was born. Denis cradled him like a precious treasure: —Now I have a sister, a brother, a dad, and Aunt Macha.

Arina kept inviting her son, but Denis always replied: —I’m already home.

Years passed. The gossip stopped. When Denis became a father, he told his children and grandchildren the story of the best dad in the world: —He wasn’t handsome, —he’d say, —but he had more love than anyone.

Every year, on remembrance day, the whole family gathered: Macha’s children, Arina’s, grandchildren, great-grandchildren. They drank tea, laughed, and remembered the one who, despite everything, had been a true, unique, and unforgettable father.