Lida grew up under a cloud of doubts and unanswered questions. The accident she suffered as a child had marked her in ways no one could fully understand — not even herself. Her face, scarred by burns, was a constant reminder of the tragedy that had shaken her life. Despite the physical and emotional pain, her mother, Elena Vasilievna, never allowed Lida to feel lesser than anyone else.

“Everything will be fine, my dear,” she would say with a warm smile as she stroked her daughter’s hair, though the sadness in her eyes never truly faded. Elena had devoted her life to her daughter, saving every ruble she could in the hopes that Lida might one day undergo reconstructive surgery — a dream that seemed forever out of reach.

Lida, however, did not share her mother’s optimism. She knew her mother would give everything for her, but what truly terrified her was the thought of never being seen for who she truly was. She didn’t just feel invisible because of her scars, but also because of the absence of her father — the man who had disappeared without a trace when their family needed him most.

“Where is Dad?” Lida would often ask, but her mother always gave evasive answers, speaking of him as if he were still a fresh memory.
“Maybe he’ll come back someday,” Elena would say, clinging to hope.

But that day never came.

As Elena’s health began to deteriorate due to a serious lung condition, Lida sank deeper into sadness. Her mother’s unconditional love, her tireless effort, her unshakable belief in a better future — all of it was fading along with the health of the woman who had always been her rock. Lida, now an adult, lived through her mother’s final years without knowing that the most painful truth had yet to be revealed.

One day, after Elena’s passing, Lida found a worn notebook among her mother’s belongings. Inside its pages, she found words she never imagined reading. In the last entry, her mother had written:

“Lida believes that Vitya abandoned us. That thought cuts through me like a knife. But perhaps he had another reason. He had a son — Artyomka — in a nearby village. Maybe he simply started a new life without us. But I couldn’t tell my daughter. Every child needs to believe their parents love them. And once, he loved us very much.”

Her mother’s words left Lida frozen. A son — Artyomka — someone she had never heard of. A child never mentioned, whose existence had been carefully hidden. Her father’s betrayal, his disappearance, was more complex than Lida had ever imagined.

That very day, as she tried to process the painful discovery, her aunt Zhenya — her mother’s closest friend — handed her a torn photo she had found in Elena’s wallet. It was an old photo, taken when Elena and Vitya were young. In it, a dark-haired young man embraced a gray-eyed woman with a shy smile. In the background, another figure appeared — a girl with a thick braid and gray eyes. It was Lida, though no one would have guessed it at first glance.

“Your mother asked me to give this to you, Lida,” Zhenya said, her voice trembling. “She always tried to protect you from the truth… but she couldn’t keep it hidden forever.”

Lida stared at the torn photo — her mother’s youthful, hopeful face — and her words echoed in her mind: “Maybe he had another reason…”
The revelation hit her like a blow to the chest. She finally understood that her mother’s love was never blind, but deep and heartbreaking. Elena hadn’t spoken of Artyomka — the son Vitya had with another woman — because she feared her daughter would feel betrayed, just as she herself had been.

Fate, cruel and twisted, had taken away her mother when she needed her most. And yet, it had also left her with one final gift: the truth about her father, the man who had taken their dreams and vanished.

But Lida chose not to let that truth destroy her. Instead of drowning in pain, she rose with new determination. The face she had always seen as a curse, she now viewed as a testament to her strength. She knew she could still be a mother, that she could love in spite of her scars — and that she didn’t need anyone else’s approval to feel worthy.

In time, Lida returned to the restaurant where she had worked in her youth — a place that had always felt like her second home. The owner, a serious and reserved man, had never paid her much attention. But one day, while going through the wallet of one of the dishwashers, he found a torn photo among the man’s belongings. It was the same photo Lida had seen — but this time, something in the man’s expression changed.

He turned pale. The connection that had never been imagined was now undeniable — captured in an image that joined more than just faces.

And there, in the restaurant where fate had brought her, Lida began to understand that her story wasn’t written solely in the scars on her face,
but in the strength of her heart.