Sanka had personally seen that document.
When she found out that her son had been born with disabilities, his mother officially gave him up eleven years ago.
That very statement — the “renunciation” — Sanka had seen with his own eyes.
He stumbled upon it while delivering personal files to the infirmary.
The nurse handed him the folders and asked him to follow her, but then the phone rang.
She waved toward the office and rushed off to take the call, leaving him alone.
She had no idea that, upon seeing his own last name in the file, the boy simply wouldn’t be able to pass it by.
He opened the folder and read something that was supposed to stay hidden.
In the orphanage, all the children wait for their parents.
But Sanka had stopped waiting.
And he had stopped crying too.
His heart had turned to stone, covered in a thick armor — protection against pain, loneliness, and indifference.
In this orphanage, like in any other, there were traditions.
Before New Year’s, the children would write letters to Ded Moroz (Grandfather Frost).
The director would send these letters to sponsors who tried to make the children’s wishes come true.
Sometimes these letters even reached the air force unit.
Most often, the kids asked for just one thing: to find a mom and dad.
And the adults, reading them, were at a loss — what kind of gift could ever replace love?
One day, Sanka’s letter ended up being one of those.
It was received by the flight engineer, Major Chaikin.
He carefully tucked the letter into his uniform pocket, deciding to read it at home and discuss with his family what gift they could give the boy.
That evening, over dinner, he remembered the letter, pulled it out, and read aloud:
“Dear Adults! If you can, please give me a laptop.
You don’t need to buy toys or clothes — we have everything here.
But with the Internet, I’ll be able to find friends and maybe even relatives.”
Signed: “Sanka Ivlev, 11 years old.”
— “Just look at that,” said his wife. “Kids are so smart these days.”
And it was true — through the Internet, he could find anyone.
Their daughter Anya reread the letter carefully and looked thoughtfully at her father.
— “You know, Dad, he doesn’t really believe he’ll find his parents.
He’s not even looking — because they don’t exist.
For him, the laptop is a lifeline from loneliness.
Look: he writes, ‘to find friends or relatives.’ Even strangers can become family.”
— “Let’s take the money from my savings jar, buy him a laptop, and give it to him ourselves.”
New Year’s at the orphanage went as usual: a tree, a play, children dancing around Ded Moroz and Snegurochka (Snow Maiden).
Then the guests and sponsors handed out presents, sometimes taking a few children home for the holidays.
As always, Sanka wasn’t expecting anyone.
He had long figured out that people mostly chose girls.
Nobody paid attention to boys.
He wrote the letter more out of habit — everyone was doing it, so he did too.
But today, among the guests, he noticed a man in a pilot’s uniform.
His heart skipped a beat, but Sanka looked away and sighed quietly.
After receiving his usual candy bag, he limped slightly as he headed toward the exit.
— “Sasha Ivlev!” — he suddenly heard his name and turned around.
Behind him stood that same pilot.
Sanka froze, unsure what to do.
— “Hi, Sasha!” — the man said kindly. — “We received your letter and want to give you a gift.
But first, let’s get acquainted. I’m Andrei Vladimirovich — you can just call me Uncle Andrei.”
— “And I’m Natasha,” added the woman beside him.
— “And I’m Anya,” the girl smiled. — “We’re almost the same age.”
— “And I’m Sanka the Cripple,” he answered a bit awkwardly.
The girl was about to say something, but the man handed him a box:
— “This is from us. Come on, we’ll show you how to use it.”
They went into an empty classroom where kids usually did homework.
Anya explained how to turn on the laptop, log in, go online, and register on social media.
Her father sat nearby, offering occasional help.
Sanka felt warmth, strength, and care.
Anya chatted non-stop, but Sanka noticed: she wasn’t dumb, knew a lot about tech, and went to a sports club.
As they said goodbye, the woman hugged him.
The light scent of her perfume tickled his nose and brought tears to his eyes.
Sanka froze for a moment, then pulled away and walked down the hallway without once looking back.
— “We’ll definitely come back!” — the girl shouted after him.
And from that day, Sanka’s life began to change.
He stopped paying attention to teasing from other kids, stopped getting upset at nicknames.
Online, he found things he genuinely enjoyed.
He especially became interested in airplanes.
He learned that the first mass-produced military transport aircraft was the “An-8” developed by Antonov, and the “An-25” was its modification.
On weekends, Andrei and Anya visited him.
Sometimes they went to the circus, played arcade games, bought ice cream.
Sanka often declined such outings — he felt awkward that the guests paid for everything.
But one morning, he was summoned to the director’s office.
To his surprise, he saw Natasha there.
His heart clenched. His throat went dry.
— “Sasha,” the director began, “Natalya Viktorovna asked to take you for two days.
If you agree, I’ll let you go.”
— “Today is Aviation Day,” the woman explained. — “There’s a big celebration at your Uncle Andrei’s base.
He wants you to come. Will you go with us?”
Sanka nodded eagerly. The words stuck somewhere inside.
— “Excellent,” Natasha smiled and signed the necessary papers.
The happy boy left the office, holding her hand.
First, they stopped at a large clothing store. Bought jeans, a shirt.
Noticing Sanka’s worn-out sneakers, Natasha took him to the shoe section.
It took some effort — his feet were different sizes.
— “Don’t worry,” she reassured him. — “After the holiday, we’ll go to an orthopedic salon and order you special shoes.
You’ll limp less, and no one will notice at all.”
Then they went to a hair salon, and afterward picked up Anya from home.
Sanka stepped into a real apartment for the first time.
He had never seen how regular families lived.
Everything smelled of warmth, comfort, something familiar.
He timidly entered the room, sat on the edge of the couch, and looked around.
Right in front of him stood a large aquarium with colorful fish swimming — he had only seen such things on TV before.
— “I’m ready,” Anya announced. — “Let’s go, Sanya, Mom will catch up.”
They took the elevator down and walked to the car.
By the sandbox, a boy was yelling loudly:
— “Limp-lady! Limp-grandpa!”
— “Wait a second,” said Anya and confidently walked over to him.
Sanka saw her sharply turn around, and the boy landed in the sand with a yelp.
— “I was just joking!” — he mumbled, lying there.
— “Joke somewhere else,” the girl replied and returned to Sanka.
The airfield was decorated with flags and banners.
Uncle Andrei met them and led them to his plane.
Sanka held his breath — he had never seen such a giant machine up close.
His heart swelled with admiration.
Then the air show began.
Everyone looked up at the sky, waving and cheering.
When Andrei’s plane appeared, Anya shouted:
— “Papa’s flying! Papa!”
Sanka, usually so reserved, began jumping and shouted loudly:
— “Papa! There’s Papa flying!”
He didn’t even notice that Anya had gone quiet, watching her mother, who wiped invisible tears from her eyes.
Later that evening, after dinner, Andrei sat next to Sanka and wrapped an arm around his shoulders.
— “You know,” he said gently, “we believe every person should live in a family.
Only in a family can you learn to love, care, protect, and be loved.
Would you like to become part of our family?”
A lump caught in Sanka’s throat. His breath hitched.
He pressed against the man and whispered:
— “Dad… I’ve waited for you for so long…”
A month later, the happy boy said goodbye to the orphanage.
He carefully and proudly stepped off the front porch, holding his new father’s hand, and walked toward the gates, barely limping.
They stopped near the entrance.
Sanka turned back, slowly looked at the building, and waved to the children and caretakers standing on the steps.
— “Now we’ll step across a line,” said his father, “and on the other side begins a completely different life for you.
Forget all the bad things that happened here.
But always remember those who helped you survive.
Gratitude is the greatest virtue.
Cherish those who once reached out their hand to you.
