“I am 42 years old, my son is 8 years old. I don't have a husband and never have. We met with my son's father for two months, then we peacefully parted ways. I don't even know where he is now, I don't care. I deliberately gave birth to a child for myself.
There is no shortage of male attention and upbringing in the family: there is my father and my two brothers. Financially, I am also not dependent on anyone, I provide my child with a decent standard of living. My son and I have a friendly and trusting relationship, and it always seemed to me that we are good together.
Until now, the child hadn't really thought about where his dad was. When the kindergarten had a party for dads, either his grandfather or uncles would come. They would receive congratulations from him.
Everything changed when the school decided to celebrate Father's Day. My son came home from school looking gloomy – the class was preparing gifts for dads. And those who didn't have dads were solving math problems.
I joked about how mathematics was to blame. But this incident was a turning point.
My son started asking if he would ever have a dad, citing as an example some friends who have 2 dads. Recently I asked a colleague who brought me documents if he was married. It was very awkward.
And now he wrote a letter to Santa Claus. I read it and cried. He promised that he would never ask for anything again for any holiday in his life. Just let a real dad appear and never go anywhere. It seems that in a month my boy will stop believing in miracles… and it hurts a lot.
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