Grigory stood up, took a step forward, wanting to call out. But he stopped. Matvey didn’t see him. They walked past, got into a car, and drove away.
Grigory stood there, watching them go. He understood: they didn’t need him. Not at all. They had their own lives, their own families, their own happiness. There was no place for him there. There never was, and there never would be.
He turned and slowly walked away, leaning on his cane. Passersby went around him, paying no mind. Just a sick man. There are many like him.
Another year passed. Grigory grew very weak. His pension wasn’t even enough for food. He lost weight, became gaunt, and aged even more. He moved with great difficulty, spending most of his time in bed. An elderly woman who was his neighbor in the communal apartment sometimes brought him soup and bread. Out of pity, nothing more. She would say, “Eat. Or you’ll die.” Grigory would thank her silently. He ate greedily. He was almost always hungry.
Another year passed. One day, Grigory was walking down the street, not paying attention to where he was going. He reached a small park near the hospital and sat on a bench. Nothing had changed. He was still alone. Still unwanted. He sat, watching the passersby. Families, couples, children. They were all hurrying somewhere, to someone. They all had a purpose, people waiting for them. But no one was waiting for him. Anywhere.
After a while, Matvey walked by. He was walking fast, talking on the phone, smiling. He didn’t notice his father on the bench. Or maybe he did, but didn’t let on. Grigory watched him go. Matvey was tall, strong, confident. Successful. Happy. He had become who he wanted to be. He had built his life himself. Without a father. In spite of his father.
Matvey turned a corner and disappeared from view. Grigory remained seated. He understood: his son would never stop for him again. Never ask how he was doing. Never extend a helping hand. Was it fair? Yes. Was it painful? Unbearably so.
But it was his choice. Fifteen years ago, he had chosen freedom over responsibility. The easy path over the right one. Himself over his family. Now he had the result of that choice. Loneliness. Poverty. Oblivion.
Fate makes everyone pay their dues. No exceptions.
Grigory closed his eyes. He remembered how Matvey, a 15-year-old boy, had told him back then: “I will never forgive you for this.” And he hadn’t forgiven him. He kept his word. And Grigory was left alone. Just as he had once left his sons.
The circle was complete.
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