— Leave, — Yelisey said quietly, but firmly. — And don’t show up again. Not to me, not to Matvey. We don’t want to see you. You are an empty space to us. Understood?
— But I’m your father, — Grigory whispered.
— Biologically, yes, — Yelisey agreed. — But in essence? In essence, you are nothing. A father is someone who raises, loves, protects. You did none of that. You just gave us life. Matvey paid you back in kind — he saved your life. Now we’re even. And you owe us nothing more. And we owe you nothing either.
Grigory stood there, swaying on his feet. His strength had left him. He turned and slowly walked towards the exit, limping, leaning on his cane. Yelisey watched him go, not moving from his spot. At the door, Grigory stopped and turned around.
— You grew up to be good men, — he said quietly. — Better than me. Much better. Your mother would have been proud.
Yelisey didn’t answer. He just remained silent. Grigory nodded and left, closing the door behind him.
Yelisey returned to his office, sat down at his desk, and buried his face in his hands. Everything inside him was churning. Anger, pain, pity, relief. It all mixed into one big knot. He thought a meeting with his father would leave him indifferent. But it didn’t. It hurt. It hurt a lot.
In the evening, he called Matvey and told him about the visit.
— He asked for help, — Yelisey said. — Not forgiveness. Help.
Matvey listened in silence.
— And what did you say? — he finally asked.
— I refused.
— Let him live with it.
The brothers fell silent. Each lost in his own thoughts. About their mother. About the past. About how they had gone through hell and survived. And their father? Their father got what he deserved. Justice had been served. Cruel, but just.
Grigory walked down the street, limping, leaning on his cane. It was cold. A light autumn rain began to fall. He was in no hurry. He had nowhere to go. No one was waiting for him at home. No one was waiting for him anywhere. He sat down on a bench in a small park, placing his cane beside him. He watched the passersby: families with children, couples in love, elderly people holding hands. None of them were alone. They all had someone. But he was alone. Completely alone. And that was the price of his choice. The price of betrayal. The price of selfishness.
He closed his eyes and began to cry quietly. Right there, on the bench, in the light rain. No one paid him any attention. Just a lonely, sick man crying. There are many like him. The city is indifferent to the sorrows of others.
And somewhere in another part of the city, Matvey and Yelisey met, hugged, and went to have dinner together. They were together. Always. Just as they had promised their mother. And that gave them the strength to live on.
Another two years passed. Matvey turned 32. He had become one of the leading surgeons in the city. His name was known not only in the hospital but beyond its walls. Patients came to him from other regions, trusting him with the most complex operations. He had saved hundreds of lives, given people back their hope, health, and future.
He had recently married a general practitioner named Anna, a kind, intelligent woman who understood his work and supported him in everything. They met at the hospital and grew close gradually, without rushing. Anna knew about his past, about his mother, about his father. She never pressured him, never demanded to meet Grigory, never spoke of forgiveness. She was just there for him, loving him for who he was. They had a daughter. They named her Larisa — in honor of Matvey and Yelisey’s mother. He held the tiny girl in his arms and felt a warmth spread through his body. This was happiness. Real, simple, human happiness. Something he had been deprived of in his childhood. Now he had given it to his daughter. And he always would…
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