— What? — Viktor rasped.
— I would have said that I’ve felt obligated my whole life. Obligated to be the best, successful, strong, because our father accepted me even though I wasn’t his son. I found out when I was sixteen. I overheard my parents talking. And since then, every step I took was an attempt to prove that I was worthy of his love. You think it was easy for me? You think I didn’t see you looking at me with envy? I saw it. And you know what I wanted to do? To hug you and say that you are my real brother, even if we have different blood. But I couldn’t. Because I was afraid you would turn away if you knew the truth. I was afraid of losing the only person I considered family.
Viktor sat and looked at his brother with wide-open eyes. Tears streamed down his cheeks, but he didn’t wipe them away.
— Igor! — he whispered.
— You’re an idiot, Vitya! — Igor said again, and now his voice trembled. — You could have died from this disease, and I wouldn’t have even known. And you know what? That would have been the greatest loss of my life. Because you’re the only person I truly love. Not my wife, not my business partners, not my friends. You. My younger brother.
Viktor covered his face with his hands and sobbed like a child. Igor knelt before him and hugged him, awkwardly, tightly. Victoria stood to the side, tears also streaming down her face. The nurses turned away so as not to watch the scene.
Pavel felt a sting in his own nose. He left the operating room and leaned against the corridor wall, closing his eyes.
— God, — he muttered, — what a day.
He stood like that for a few minutes, collecting himself, when he heard footsteps. He opened his eyes and saw Victoria in front of him. She was wiping her tears with a handkerchief and looking at him with gratitude.
— Doctor Romanov. Thank you. If it weren’t for you, we would never have known about Viktor’s illness. And Igor and Viktor would have continued to live in this hostility.
Pavel smiled tiredly:
— Don’t thank me. Thank the Gypsy woman.
— What Gypsy woman?
Pavel remembered Zara and realized he now had to tell the whole story. He briefly recounted to Victoria how a young Gypsy woman with an infant had stopped him the previous evening and told him to check Belov’s tests. Victoria listened with wide eyes.
— A Gypsy woman? With an infant? And she said the child was Igor’s daughter?
— Yes. Though now it sounds absurd, considering…
— No, — Victoria interrupted him, and her face turned pale. — Not absurd. Listen, doctor. I have to tell you something. It’s… it’s about Igor. And me. And our marriage.
Pavel felt that the day was bringing him ever new surprises.
— I’m listening.
Victoria glanced around, checking that no one was nearby, and began to speak softly:
— Igor can’t have children. We found out two years ago when we started planning for a baby. The doctors said he has a congenital condition, practically zero chance of conception. It was a blow to him; he had always dreamed of a big family. And me? I accepted it. We decided we would live together and maybe adopt a child later. But six months ago, Igor suddenly started acting strangely. He would go somewhere in the evenings, not answer his calls. I thought he had a mistress, I almost filed for divorce. And then he confessed. He said that a year ago, even before we found out about his infertility, he had a brief affair with a woman. A Gypsy woman who told fortunes near his office. He says it was a moment of madness: he was drunk after a deal, she was beautiful, and… well, you understand. One night. He forgot about her. But six months ago, this woman found him and said she had given birth to his child. A girl. And that he needed to acknowledge her.
Pavel listened without interrupting, and a picture began to form in his mind.
— And what did your husband do?
— He didn’t believe her, — Victoria clenched the handkerchief in her fist. — He said she was a fraud, that doctors had confirmed his infertility, so the child couldn’t be his. He sent her away. But the woman didn’t give up. She came to his work, wrote letters, even came to our house once. Igor threatened to call the police if she didn’t leave us alone. The last time he saw her was a month ago. She brought the infant, asked him to at least look at his daughter. He refused. And she hasn’t appeared since.
— Until yesterday, — Pavel said quietly.
— Apparently so. — Victoria looked at him pleadingly. — Doctor, do you think this child is really Igor’s? But how is that possible if he…?
— Medicine is not an exact science, — Pavel replied. — A diagnosis of infertility is not always absolute. There are cases where the probability of conception is minimal, but not zero. Perhaps that affair happened at that rare moment when it became possible. Or the diagnosis was wrong from the start. To know for sure, a DNA test is needed.
Victoria nodded, wiping away new tears:
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