When my sister Maya went into labor, I was on the other side of the region, at a motorcycle rally. She begged me not to cancel the trip, saying that everything would be fine, that she still had time.It turned out that no.
Three wonderful babies were born – and she herself did not survive.I still remember holding those tiny, wiggling bundles in the neonatal ward.
I still smelled of gasoline and leather. I had no plan, no idea what to do. But I looked at them—Rita, Bella, and Kirill—and I knew: I wasn’t going anywhere.I swapped night rides for night feedings.
The guys from the workshop covered for me so that I could pick up the kids from kindergarten on time. I learned to braid Bella’s hair, calm Rita down during hysterics, and persuade Kirill to eat at least something other than pasta with butter. I stopped going on long trips.
I sold two bikes. I built bunk beds with my own hands.Five years. Five birthdays. Five winters of flu and stomach viruses. I wasn’t perfect, but I was there.
Every. Damn. Day.And then he appeared.Biological father. He was not on the birth certificates. He never visited Maya while she was pregnant. According to her, he said triplets did not fit into his lifestyle.But now? He wanted them.And he didn’t come alone.
He brought a social worker named Marina with him. She took one look at my oil-stained overalls and declared that I was “not an appropriate long-term developmental environment for these children.”I could hardly contain myself.Marina walked through our small but clean house. She saw the drawings on the refrigerator. The bicycles in the backyard.
The little boots lined up by the door. She smiled politely. She made notes. Her gaze lingered too long on the tattoo on my neck.The worst thing is that the children didn’t understand anything. Rita hid behind me. Kirill started crying.
Bella asked: “Is this uncle our dad now?”I said, “No one will take you away. Not over my dead body.”And now… the hearing is in a week. I have a lawyer. A good one. Crazy expensive, but worth it. My shop is barely afloat because I’m the only one doing it, but I’d sell my last wrench to keep them.I don’t know what the court will decide.
