The son kicked his father out of the house at his wife’s insistence… But a chance encounter in the park turned everything upside down…
He was sitting on a cold iron bench, his name was Nikolai Andreevich. A pensioner, a widower, the father of an only son, and, as he used to think, a happy grandfather. But all of that collapsed one day.
When his son brought Olga home, something inside Nikolai went cold. Her energy was too sharp, her gaze too icy — masked only by a charming smile. She didn’t yell or cause scandals — instead, she quietly and systematically pushed out everything in the man’s life that didn’t suit her. And Nikolai felt it right away.
First, his belongings disappeared, then came the hints: “Dad, maybe you should go out for walks more often? Fresh air is good for you.” And soon after, came the suggestion outright: “Maybe it would be better for you to stay in a retirement home or with Auntie in the village.”
With a heavy heart, Nikolai packed his few remaining possessions and left without protest. He wandered the streets, invisible to the bustling city around him, until he found solace on a familiar park bench—the same one where he had once watched his son take his first steps.
Then, on one particularly cold day, when the frost pinched his face and his eyes blurred from the cold and sorrow, a voice called out:
— “Nikolai? Nikolai Andreevich?”
He turned around. A woman stood before him in a warm coat and scarf. He didn’t recognize her at first, but memory helped — Maria Sergeyevna. His first love. The one he lost because of military service, and later forgot after marrying Lidia.
In her hands were a thermos and a bag of homemade pastries.
— “What are you doing here? You’ll freeze out here…”
That simple question, filled with genuine care, warmed him more than any coat ever could. Maria sat down next to him, as if no time had passed between them, only paused.
— I sometimes walk here, — she began gently. — And you… why are you here?
— Just feels like home, — he smiled slightly. — My son took his first steps here. Remember?
Maria nodded. Of course, she remembered.
— And now… — Nikolai sighed, — he’s grown up, got married, got his own place. His wife said, “Choose — me or your father.” He chose. I don’t blame him. Young people have their own lives to live.
Maria remained silent, just looked at his reddened, cracked hands from the cold — so familiar, and yet so lonely.
— Come to my place, Nikolai, — she suddenly offered. — It’s warm, we’ll eat, tomorrow we’ll figure out what’s next.
He didn’t move for a long time. Then he quietly asked:
— And you… why are you alone?
Maria sighed. Her eyes turned glassy.
— My husband died a long time ago. My son… he was gone before he was even born. Then life followed — work, retirement, a cat, knitting. Everything on repeat. You’re the first person in ten years I’ve had tea with who wasn’t just myself.
They sat there for a long while. The passersby thinned out, and the snow fell softly, as if trying to hush their pain.
The next morning, Nikolai didn’t wake up on a bench, but in a cozy room with daisy-patterned curtains.
Days passed. Then weeks. Nikolai seemed to come back to life. He fixed chairs, helped around the house, told stories about work — how he once saved a colleague from a gas explosion. And Maria listened. Cooking him childhood soups, washing his socks, knitting a scarf — she gave him something he hadn’t felt in a long time: care.
But one day, everything changed.
Maria was coming back from the market when she noticed a car at the gate. A man got out. It was Valery, his son.
— Hello… Excuse me… Do you know if Nikolai Andreevich lives here?
Maria felt her heart clench.
— And who are you to him?…
“I’m his son. I… I made a terrible mistake.“
Maria studied him for a moment before inviting him in. Inside, father and son faced each other, the weight of unspoken words hanging heavy in the air.
“I’m sorry, Papa. I let someone come between us.“
Nikolai looked at his son, his eyes filled with a mix of pain and hope.
“It’s never too late to make things right.“
