Fedorova Stepanovna always felt that fate tested her harder than others. Her husband left when their son was only five, choosing a wealthy woman and a comfortable life over his own family. From that day on, she lived with one purpose — to raise Ivan as a decent man, nothing like his father. She believed hard work, honesty, and real love would protect him from temptation.

When her son first brought home Alexeevna, Stepanovna felt relief for the first time in years. The girl was exactly what she had dreamed of for him: genuine, kind, and without an ounce of arrogance. Their wedding was modest, but it overflowed with sincerity and joy. For a moment, Stepanovna believed life had finally smiled on her — Ivan seemed more serious, more responsible, transformed by love.

But happiness was short-lived. Illness suddenly struck Alexeevna, draining her strength day by day. At first, Ivan supported her, but soon irritation crept in. He began spending less time at home, snapping over small things, and then, one day, he was simply gone. His phone disconnected, his clothes removed from the closet, his presence erased from their lives.

Stepanovna was crushed, but she could not abandon the girl. Alexeevna lay helpless, and the elderly woman became her only caretaker. She spoon-fed her, changed her sheets, cooled her fevered body, and sat through endless nights by her bedside.

Doctors gave little hope: recovery would be long and painful. But in those dark weeks, Stepanovna realized something profound — she loved her daughter-in-law as if she were her own child. The betrayal of her son stung, but the devotion she felt toward this fragile young woman gave her strength.

Slowly, Alexeevna began to recover. She learned to stand, then to walk again. The day she managed to smile over a cup of tea, Stepanovna’s heart leapt with joy. For the first time, she believed that light had returned to their home.

Then came the day that shattered everything.

Returning from the market with a bag of groceries, Stepanovna put her key in the lock. The door resisted — bolted from the inside. Her breath caught. Could it be? Had Ivan returned? She pushed harder, and the door opened.

What she saw made her legs give way.

Ivan was inside. But he wasn’t alone. A young woman with heavy makeup sat beside him, surrounded by glossy shopping bags and perfume boxes. They were laughing, drinking wine. On the couch lay his old belongings, tossed carelessly as if nothing had happened.

Stepanovna froze. Her entire life — years of sacrifice, nights of worry, endless patience — collapsed in an instant. Ivan didn’t even rise to greet her. Coldly, he muttered:
— I’ve decided to start a new life. Alexeevna isn’t my problem anymore. I’ll have a new family now.

The words cut deeper than any blade.

Stepanovna’s chest tightened as she stared at the stranger who now occupied her son’s world. In that moment, something inside her broke. She whispered through trembling lips:
— You are no longer my son.

From that day forward, she chose her path. She remained with Alexeevna, helping her regain her strength, loving her as the daughter fate had sent.

As for Ivan — he disappeared completely. Years later, Stepanovna heard whispers of his downfall: the woman who had stolen him away cast him aside just as easily.

But by then, it no longer mattered. Stepanovna had long since found her true family — in the one who never betrayed her, the one she once called her daughter-in-law.