I came home from my shift early and saw my ten-year-old daughter on her hands and knees, scrubbing the floor with a rag. She was alone. “Grandma said I needed to learn discipline,” she whispered, tears streaming down her face. “They took Alice to the movies.”
That was the moment I knew I was done.
My name is Marina. I worked long, grueling shifts as a nurse to provide for my daughter, Varya. She’s a quiet, gentle girl, ten years old, with a fragility that always made me want to shield her from the world. We lived with my second husband, Igor, and his parents in their large, comfortable apartment.
Igor was a good man, or so I thought. He was caring, attentive. But he had a blind spot the size of Siberia when it came to his family. He also had a daughter from his first marriage, Alice.
Alice was Varya’s opposite: loud, confident, bright. And she was the undisputed princess of the household. Igor’s parents adored her. She was their “blood,” their darling.
I understood that Alice wasn’t to blame. She was just a child receiving love. But the disparity… it was poison. It was in the way Grandma Lyuba always gave Alice the biggest slice of cake and Varya the smallest. In the way Grandpa praised Alice for every breath she took, while Varya’s drawings and good grades went unnoticed.
Varya felt it. Late at night, she’d ask me, “Mommy, why don’t they love me?”
It broke my heart every time. “They love you in their own way, sweetie,” I’d lie, hating myself for it.
I tried to talk to Igor. I really did. I’d bring it up gently. “Igor, I think Varya feels left out.”
He’d just wave it off. “You’re exaggerating, Marina. Varya is just shy. She needs time to adjust.”
Time passed, and nothing changed. Varya just withdrew further into herself.
The Breaking Point
That Tuesday, my shift ended early. I was excited to have a quiet evening with Varya, maybe read a book together.
I opened the door. The apartment was strangely quiet. Usually, Varya would run to greet me.
I walked into the living room. Igor was sprawled in his armchair, watching football. Alice was on the sofa, flipping through a magazine. Neither of them looked up.
“Hi,” I said.
Igor grunted. Alice gave a tiny nod.
Where was Varya?
I walked to the kitchen and heard a faint splashing sound.
There she was. My little girl, on her hands and knees, scrubbing the linoleum with a gray rag. Her face was red, her hair plastered to her forehead with sweat.
“Varya?” I gasped. “What are you doing?”
She flinched. “I… I’m washing the floor, Mom.”
“Who told you to do this?”
She looked down. “Grandma Lyuba. She said I needed to help around the house. She said I needed discipline.”
“And where is Grandma now?”
“She… she and Grandpa took Alice to the movies.”
The rage that filled me was so intense my vision actually blurred. They took their “real” granddaughter to the movies and left my daughter—my sweet, quiet, well-behaved daughter—home to scrub floors like Cinderella.
Lyuba walked in then, seeing me.
“Oh, you’re home early,” she said, unbothered.
“Why is my daughter scrubbing the floor while everyone else is at the movies?” I demanded, my voice shaking.
“Discipline never hurt anyone,” she sniffed. “She’s too spoiled. Besides, we only had three tickets.”
“Three tickets,” I repeated. “For you, your husband, and Alice.”
“Well, Alice is our flesh and blood,” she snapped, the mask finally slipping. “Varya is… well, she’s here, isn’t she?”
I didn’t scream. I didn’t yell. I just helped Varya up, washed her hands, and sent her to her room.
Then I walked into the living room and stood in front of the TV.
“Igor, we need to talk. Now.”
He sighed, annoyed at missing his game. “What is it, Marina? You’re always so dramatic.”
I told him everything. The floor. The movies. His mother’s words.
“Mom is just old-fashioned,” he said, eyes still darting to the screen. “She loves Varya in her own way.”
“She doesn’t love her at all, Igor! She treats her like a servant! And you let her!”
“You’re overreacting,” he said, turning the volume back up.
That night, Varya couldn’t sleep. She crept into my bed, clutching her teddy bear.
“Mommy,” she whispered, “they said I’m a stranger here.”
I held her tight, tears streaming down my face in the dark. “You are not a stranger to me, baby. You are my everything.”
I knew then what I had to do.
The Escape
I waited until morning. I packed our things quietly while Igor was still asleep. Just the essentials. Clothes, documents, Varya’s favorite toys.
I wrote a note and left it on the kitchen table: I’m leaving. I don’t need a family that humiliates my child.
We walked to the bus station in the gray dawn. It was terrifying. We had nowhere to go, really, but I knew we couldn’t stay there another minute.
We went to a small town where my old friend, Natasha, lived. She took us in without hesitation.
Slowly, Varya began to heal. In her new, small school, nobody compared her to Alice. She made friends. She started drawing again. The haunted look left her eyes.
I found a job at a local clinic. We rented a tiny one-room apartment. It wasn’t much, but it was ours. It was safe.
The Return
Six months later, I was coming home from work when I saw him.
Igor. Standing by our building, looking lost and broken.
He saw me and his face crumpled. “Marina… oh god, Marina, I’m so sorry.”
I just looked at him. I didn’t feel the old love, just a weary sadness.
“I was blind,” he said, his voice cracking. “I didn’t see it. I didn’t want to see it. But when you left… the silence was unbearable. I realized what I’d lost.”
“Don’t apologize to me,” I said. “Apologize to her.”
He went to Varya. He knelt before her on the dusty pavement.
“Varya,” he whispered, tears in his eyes. “I am so, so sorry. I was wrong. I let them hurt you. Can you ever forgive me?”
Varya looked at him. She was stronger now.
“I can forgive you,” she said quietly. “But I won’t forget. And if you ever let them do that again, we’re leaving forever.”
He sobbed. He promised.
I don’t know if we’ll get back together. Trust is easy to break and hard to rebuild. But he comes every weekend now. He takes Varya to the movies—just the two of them. He’s trying.
And for now, that’s enough. I saved my daughter. I taught her that she is worth protecting. And that is more important than any marriage.