Matvey visited him only as part of his medical duties. He would come in, check his condition, give instructions to the nurses, and leave. No personal conversations. No emotions. Only professionalism. Every time, Grigory tried to talk to him. He would ask him to stay, to talk, to listen. Matvey would respond curtly, “I have other patients to see,” and leave. He wasn’t being cruel. Just detached. As if the man lying before him wasn’t his father, but just another patient.
One morning, Grigory asked a nurse to call Matvey. He said he wanted to have a serious talk. The nurse relayed the request. Matvey came during his lunch break and sat on the chair by the bed.
— I’m listening, — he said evenly.
Grigory lay there, staring at the ceiling. It was hard to speak — not physically, but emotionally. The words got stuck in his throat.
— Matvey, — he began hoarsely, — I know I have no right to ask you for anything. But I want you to know. All these years, I’ve been keeping an eye on you and your brother. From a distance. I found out how you were living, what you had achieved.
Matvey frowned.
— Keeping an eye? — he asked with disbelief.
— Yes, — Grigory nodded. — I asked the old neighbors. Sometimes I saw you from afar at the cemetery when you came to visit your mother. I knew you became a doctor. That Yelisey is a lawyer. I… I was proud of you.
— Proud? — Matvey’s voice turned colder than ice. — You have no right to be proud of us. You have nothing to do with our success. We became who we are in spite of you, not because of you.
Grigory closed his eyes. His son’s words cut like a scalpel.
— I know, — he whispered. — I know everything. I’m not asking for forgiveness. I just want… I want to see you both. You and Yelisey. To talk. Just once.
— Why? — Matvey asked. — What will that conversation change?
— Nothing, — Grigory admitted. — But I need to tell you. To tell you how sorry I am. How much I regret what I did. How I’ve spent all these years in a hell of my own making.
Matvey stood up.
— Your regrets are your problem, — he said harshly. — You made a choice fifteen years ago. You chose freedom, an easy life, another woman. You chose to abandon your dying wife and two children. Now live with that choice. Alone.
— Matvey, please… — Grigory tried to sit up in bed, but a sharp pain shot through his body. He groaned and fell back onto the pillow.
Matvey stood motionless, looking at his father. Something stirred within him — pity, compassion. But he suppressed those feelings. No. He had no right to feel sorry for this man. No one felt sorry for his mother. No one felt sorry for him and his brother.
— When you’re discharged in a week, you’ll get a certificate. Go and apply for disability, — Matvey said matter-of-factly. — You’ll be able to receive a pension. It will be enough for a modest life. That’s all I can do for you as a doctor. The rest is not within my competence.
He turned and headed for the door.
— I’m alone, — Grigory whispered after him. — I have nowhere to go. Help me. Son.
Matvey stopped at the door but didn’t turn around.
— You left us alone when we were children, — he said quietly. — We had nowhere to go either. But we managed. Now it’s your turn to manage. You’re a grown man. You’ll figure it out.
He walked out, closing the door behind him.
Grigory was left lying there, staring into space. Tears streamed down his face again. He cried silently, bitterly, hopelessly…
