My childhood was filled with challenges. When I was just 10 years old, my father passed away, leaving my mother to raise my younger sister, Jane, and me on her own. Even as a child, I had a streak of disobedience, which made life tougher for my mother. However, after my father’s passing, I made a conscious effort to be there for my family. I took on the role of looking after Jane while my mother worked tirelessly to support us.
I held a deep affection for my little sister; she was like a beacon of hope in our difficult circumstances. My mother faced frequent bouts of illness, but she never forgot about us. We cherished our daily trips to the park, where we picnicked on the lush green grass. I enjoyed fruits, while my mother fed Jane baby food. Together, we laughed and played on the playground. In the evenings, my mother wove enchanting bedtime stories for us, usually conjured from her imagination. Jane and I eagerly anticipated these nightly tales, a cherished part of our routine.
Then came the fateful day when my mother left for the store and never returned. Her last words were etched in my memory: «Stas, I’m going to the store for groceries. Take care of your sister. I’ll be back soon.» At that time, she was struggling with a severe headache. As the hours turned into days, panic consumed me. I took on the responsibility of caring for Jane, feeding her, bathing her, but after two weeks, our food supplies dwindled, and my sister fell ill. With a high fever, she incessantly called for our mother. I felt helpless, unable to provide the necessary medicine as I didn’t know what she needed or the correct dosage.
In desperation, I made the difficult decision to call an ambulance. I knew they wouldn’t leave us home alone, but I was determined to prevent Jane from ending up in an orphanage. They permitted me to visit her every week, but eventually, I received the news that she had been adopted. I was overjoyed for her but also heartbroken by the separation.
Several years passed; I completed my education, got married, and had a daughter whom I lovingly named Jane, in memory of my lost sister. When little Jane turned three, I enrolled her in daycare. To my astonishment, a young woman welcomed us there, and I recognized her immediately as my long-lost sister. «Svitlana, is that you?» I asked, barely able to believe my eyes. «Stas!» She exclaimed, rushing towards me with open arms. It turned out she had never forgotten me and had spent years searching for me without success. She had always harbored the dream of reuniting with me. I introduced her to my family, and my daughter was absolutely thrilled to meet her aunt.
