Matvey nodded silently. The emotions came flooding back. A wave crashed over him. He left the operating room, removed his mask, and leaned against the wall. He had saved his father. The man who had abandoned him and his brother. Who had said, “Put them in an orphanage.” Who hadn’t come to his mother’s funeral. He had saved his life. Why? For what? Because he had taken an oath. Because he was a doctor. Because he was not like Grigory. He doesn’t abandon people, even if they abandoned him.
Grigory regained consciousness a day later. Slowly, gradually. He opened his eyes, saw the white ceiling, and felt pain all over his body. He tried to move but couldn’t. His body wouldn’t obey. A doctor in a white coat was sitting beside him. Young, with a serious face. Grigory didn’t recognize him at first. Then his gaze fell on the name tag on his chest: “Cherdantsev, Matvey Grigoryevich. Surgeon.”
Cherdantsev. Matvey. His heart stopped. His son. This was his son. A grown, accomplished doctor. A surgeon. He had grown up. Become someone. Without him.
— Matvey? — Grigory rasped. His voice was weak, foreign. — You… you saved me?
Matvey sat motionless, looking at his father. His face was calm, unreadable.
— Yes, — he replied evenly. — But that doesn’t make us family.
Grigory felt tears welling up in his eyes. He hadn’t cried in years. He thought he’d forgotten how. But now he couldn’t hold them back.
— I was a fool, — he whispered. — I ruined my whole life. Mine, yours. Forgive me. Please, forgive me. Son.
Matvey was silent. He looked at his father and saw a pathetic, broken man. Gray-haired, thin, with wrinkles etched by suffering. This wasn’t the smug Grigory who had slammed the door and left, laughing. This was a shadow of that man.
— No, — Matvey said quietly, but firmly. — I will not forgive you.
Grigory sobbed.
— But I’m begging you… I’m alone. I have nowhere to go. Stay with me. You and Yelisey. You’re my children.
Matvey stood up. He looked down at his father.
— You gave me life, — he said. — I saved yours. Now we are even. Forgiveness is not an obligation. It’s a choice. And my choice is no.
— Matvey, please… — Grigory reached out, trying to grab his son’s coat.
Matvey took a step back.
— You walked away many times, — he continued. — From us, from responsibility, from pain. Now it’s your turn to be left alone. To feel what it’s like to be abandoned.
He turned and walked out of the room. The door closed behind him with a soft click. Grigory was left lying alone, staring at the ceiling. Tears streamed down his face, but he didn’t wipe them away. He just lay there and cried. Silently, bitterly.
Matvey walked down the hospital corridor feeling an emptiness inside. Not relief. Not satisfaction. Just emptiness. He had done what he had to do. Saved a life. But refused forgiveness. It was right. It was logical. But why did his heart feel so heavy?
He took out his phone and dialed his brother’s number.
— Yelisey, — he said when his brother answered. — I need to talk to you.
That evening, the brothers met at Matvey’s apartment. He told him everything. Yelisey listened in silence, his face pale. When Matvey finished, the younger brother was silent for a long time.
— You saved him, — Yelisey finally said. — Why?
— Because I’m a doctor, — Matvey replied. — And because I’m not him. I can’t leave a person to die, even if that person is him.
Yelisey nodded.
— And forgiveness?
— No, — Matvey said firmly. — Never. He doesn’t deserve it. Mom died alone. We grew up without him. He chose his path. Let him walk it to the end.
Yelisey went to the window and looked out at the night city.
— You know, I always thought that if I ever met him, I would hit him, — he said quietly. — Or yell at him. Or tell him how much I hate him. But now… now I just don’t care. He’s a nobody to me. An empty space.
— Exactly, — Matvey agreed. — An empty space. And let him stay that way.
The brothers stood by the window, silently gazing at the city lights. They had been through so much. They had lost their mother, grown up without a father, survived thanks to strangers, and forged their own paths in their studies and careers. They had become who they wanted to be. Strong. Honest. Worthy. And somewhere, in a hospital room, lay Grigory Cherdantsev, realizing he had gotten what he deserved. His son had saved his life but denied him forgiveness. And that was fair. Cruel, but fair. Fate was preparing one last lesson for him. The most bitter one.
Grigory spent three weeks in the hospital. His condition stabilized, his fractures began to heal, but the consequences of the trauma were severe. The doctors said a full recovery would take months, maybe years. He would be able to walk, but with difficulty. Physical labor was unlikely. Disability was inevitable…
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