Something hard, cold, and unbending grew in Matvey’s chest. Not anger. Not hatred. Resolve. An iron, unshakeable resolve. He made a silent vow to himself. He would become the kind of man his mother would be proud of. He would never abandon his brother. He would work, study, and achieve success. He would never become like Grigory Cherdantsev. Never. Under any circumstances. Even if he had to go through hell.
Five years had passed since that terrible day when Grigory slammed the door and walked out of his sons’ lives. Five long, difficult years that changed everyone.
Matvey had turned twenty. He had grown into a tall, strong young man with a serious gaze and confident movements. After high school, he enrolled in medical university. He studied diligently, greedily absorbing knowledge. At the same time, he worked wherever he could: mopping floors in the hospital, working as an orderly, taking night shifts in the emergency room. Money was always needed: to help Maria Pavlovna and Yevgeny Petrovich, who were already spending their last savings on them, to pay for textbooks, to buy clothes for his younger brother.
Yelisey, a fifteen-year-old teenager, was in the ninth grade. He was a straight-A student and dreamed of becoming a lawyer. He often told Matvey: “I will defend those who were abandoned, like us. I will help people fight for their rights.” Matvey was proud of his brother. They lived in their mother’s apartment, with Maria Pavlovna and Yevgeny Petrovich living next door, helping them with everything. The brothers shared everything, supporting each other through tough times.
Once a month, the brothers went to their mother’s grave. They brought flowers, tidied the grave, and stood in silence, remembering her voice, her hands, her smile. And each time, Matvey would repeat his vow to himself: “Mom, we won’t let you down. We will become people you would be proud of.”
Life was not easy, but they managed. Maria Pavlovna had become almost a mother to them, and Yevgeny Petrovich a father. They asked for nothing in return, simply loving the boys as their own. Matvey understood what a blessing it was to have such people in their lives. He knew that many children left without parents were far less fortunate.
And somewhere in another part of the city lived Grigory Cherdantsev. His life had taken a very different path. The first year after leaving his family seemed like paradise to him. He moved in with Viktoria, a beautiful young woman of 26 who worked as an administrator at a private clinic. She was vibrant, cheerful, and didn’t ask too many questions. Grigory felt free. No sick wives, no crying children, no responsibility. Just him, Viktoria, restaurants, entertainment, and a carefree life.
He spent money left and right. Gifts for Viktoria, expensive clothes for himself, alcohol in the evenings. It seemed to him that life had finally worked out. He forgot about Larisa, about her death, about his sons. Or rather, he tried to forget, pushing the thoughts away whenever they surfaced. Grigory slept soundly and peacefully. He went to work at ten, after Viktoria had already left. He was in no hurry; his job was stable, his salary came regularly, and his superiors didn’t demand overtime. He would have breakfast at a café near his home, read the news on his phone, and drink coffee. Then he would go to work, put in his required hours, doing the bare minimum.
In the evening, he would meet Viktoria, and they would go out to have fun. Restaurants, movies, clubs, bars – all this became their usual pastime. Viktoria was pleased; he spent money on her generously, without regret. He bought her perfumes, jewelry, dresses, and bags. She would laugh, kiss him, and say, “You’re the best, Grisha.” Grigory felt young, free, needed, desired. On weekends, they would travel out of town, rent hotel rooms, take walks, and take pictures. Once, they flew to the seaside for a week, spending almost all his savings, but he didn’t regret it. No hospitals, tears, reproaches, or sick wives. No responsibility, children’s cries, or sleepless nights. Only pleasure, ease, and carelessness. It seemed to him that it would always be like this. That he had finally found his happiness.
But fate does not forgive betrayal. A year and a half after he left his family, the company where he worked as an engineer announced layoffs. Grigory was fired. He wasn’t an indispensable employee, not the best. He was simply let go, given a severance package, and sent on his way.
At first, Viktoria said that everything would be fine, that he would find a new job. But months passed, and Grigory couldn’t find anything suitable. The offers were either low-paying, far from home, or generally dubious. He turned them down, hoping for something better. The money dwindled, and Viktoria began to change. She became colder, more irritable. She stopped cooking dinners and stayed late at work more often. And then, one fine evening, she announced:
— Grigory, I’ve met someone else. He’s successful, well-off. I’m sorry, but I’m leaving.
She packed her things and left. Quickly, without a scene, without tears. She simply turned around and walked out the door.
Grigory was left alone in the rented apartment that he could no longer afford. He fell into a depression. He stopped looking for work, stopped taking care of himself. He drank cheap wine, sat at home, and watched TV. The money ran out completely. He had to move into a room in a communal apartment on the outskirts of the city – dirty, small, with alcoholic neighbors.
Another two years passed. Grigory finally found a job as a loader in a warehouse. Hard physical labor for little money. He accepted; he had no choice. He worked from morning till night, carrying boxes, crates, and sacks. His back ached, his hands were sore, but he endured.
At the warehouse, he met Yelena Terekhova. She was 35 and worked there as an accountant. A woman with a tough character, demanding and practical. She had no illusions about life or men. She was looking for someone who would provide, work, and not drink. Grigory fit the bill. Six months later, they were married.
Grigory agreed quickly. He needed stability, a roof over his head, some semblance of a family. Yelena didn’t drag it out either. They got married and moved into her one-room apartment. Yelena immediately showed her character. She was bossy, demanding, and controlled every penny. Grigory worked, gave her his entire salary, and received a small amount for pocket money. He resigned himself to it. He had nowhere else to go.
A year later, Yelena gave birth to a daughter, Kamila. Three years after that, a son, Pavel. Grigory loved his children, but raising them was difficult. Yelena raised them strictly, with no tolerance for tantrums, demanding obedience. Grigory tried to be softer, but Yelena would pull him back: “Don’t spoil them. They’ll grow up entitled.”…
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