— No, I don’t regret it. The truth is always better than a lie, even if it’s painful.
— And your mother? She did what she thought was right at that moment. But people change, circumstances change. And you always had the right to know your father.
He told Anna more details about his meetings with Roman.
— You know what impressed me the most? He still remembers everything about you and your mother. What her favorite flowers were, what music she listened to, what you looked like as a child. And he also said that every year on your birthday, he buys a cake and puts it on the table, celebrating your holiday alone.
— That’s sad, – Anna said quietly.
— Yes. But now he has a chance to change everything. If you want him to, of course.
On Friday evening, Anna was packing for her trip. She chose her most beautiful outfits, wanting to make a good impression on her father. Aunt Valya Alekseenko came to say goodbye:
— Don’t worry, girl. Everything will be fine. And if anything happens, call me, I’m always here for you.
— Thank you, Aunt Valya. For everything. For helping mom, for supporting me now.
— Oh, don’t mention it, dear. We’re neighbors, practically family by now.
On July 22, early Saturday morning, Anna boarded the train to the capital. The journey from Voznesensk to the capital took about three hours. She was alone in her compartment; her father had indeed bought a first-class ticket. The whole way, she couldn’t sit still from nervousness. She read a book, looked out the window at the passing fields and forests, but her thoughts constantly returned to the upcoming meeting. What does her father look like now? Does he resemble the photograph? Has he changed? Will they find common ground? And most importantly, will he be disappointed in her? After all, he had dreamed of this meeting for 18 years, and she was just an ordinary provincial girl with no special talents or achievements.
The train arrived in the capital right on schedule. The station was noisy and crowded, with people rushing about their business. Announcements blared over the loudspeakers, and music was playing somewhere. Anna got off the train with a small bag in her hands and began to look around.
And then she saw him. A tall man in an elegant gray suit stood at the exit with a bouquet of white roses in his hands. Anna recognized him immediately, although he had aged noticeably since the photograph was taken. His hair had turned completely gray, and wrinkles had appeared on his face, but his eyes remained just as kind and attentive.
— Anya! — He approached uncertainly, as if afraid it was a dream.
— Dad! – she said quietly, and he carefully hugged her, as if afraid she would disappear.
They stood in the middle of the bustling station, embracing and crying: both understood that this was the moment they had been waiting for for so many years.
— You’re so beautiful! – Roman whispered, pulling back and looking at his daughter. — Just like your mother in her youth. The same eyes, the same smile.
— And you look just like the photograph, only a little older! – Anna smiled through her tears.
— Yes, — he smiled sadly. — But the main thing is that we’ve finally met.
On the way home, Roman showed his daughter the capital: the Central Square, the streets, the museums. He talked about the city’s history, about his work, about the theater. Anna looked out the taxi windows and couldn’t believe she was in the capital, that her father, whom she thought was dead, was sitting next to her.
— And now for the most important part, – Roman said as they pulled up to a beautiful old building in the center. – I want to show you your home. I hope you’ll like it.
Roman Zakharov’s apartment in the center amazed Anna with its size and decor. Four rooms, high ceilings, parquet floors, antique furniture. The walls were hung with theater posters, photographs with famous actors, diplomas, and awards.
— This is your room, – he said, opening the door to a bright room with two windows. – I prepared it many years ago. I always hoped you would come here someday.
The room had beautiful light-wood furniture, a bed with a carved headboard, a writing desk, and bookshelves filled with classical literature. On the walls hung reproductions of famous paintings, and on the dressing table were photos of her mother at different ages.
— Where did you get mom’s pictures? — Anna asked, surprised.
— Your uncle Andrei sent some, and I had the rest from our marriage. — Roman smiled sadly. — You know, I’ve loved your mother all this time. Despite everything. I understand I have no right to forgiveness, but what happened was the biggest mistake of my life.
He went to the closet and opened it. He took out a bag of children’s clothes: little dresses, sweaters, a coat.
— These are your things from childhood, — he said quietly. — When your mother left, she said you wouldn’t need them anymore. But I couldn’t throw them away. They’ve been here all these years, reminding me of you.
— I remember that pink one, — she whispered. — Mom showed me a picture of me in that dress.
— I have an album with our family photos, — Roman said. — Do you want to see it?
They spent the next hour looking at photos. Anna saw herself as a baby: being bathed, fed, taking her first steps. She saw her happy young parents who adored their daughter.
— You were so funny, — Roman laughed, showing a photo where one-year-old Anna had chocolate smeared all over her face. — And so smart. You were already saying ‘mama’ and ‘papa’ at one year old, and speaking in sentences at eighteen months.
— Mom told me I started talking and reading early, — Anna said. — But she never mentioned that you taught me.
— We taught you together. Every evening we read fairy tales, played educational games. You were the center of our universe.
Over lunch at a cozy restaurant near the house, Roman talked about his work at the theater, the plays he directed, the actors he worked with. Anna listened with interest: the world of theater seemed so distant and inaccessible to her.
— Would you like to connect your life with the theater? — he asked. — Do you have any creative inclinations?
