The hall went quiet. I felt my eyes burning, but I held back. This wasn’t about tears. This was about the truth.
Ivan Petrovich continued:
— Sergey took this money. Hid it in his account, didn’t spend it, but didn’t give it to Inna either. He made her feel unworthy, lazy, dependent, pretending to be a caring father. He lied to us all.
Aunt Galya, sitting in the corner, gasped, covering her mouth with her palm. My cousin, Dima, blinked, his face turning serious as if he finally understood what was happening. Dad shifted in his chair, his fingers gripping the napkin, but he looked at no one. Ivan Petrovich turned to him.
— You betrayed us both. From this moment on, you will not receive a penny of my inheritance. Everything will be rewritten to others. And you will answer to everyone.
He pulled a folded sheet from his jacket pocket and placed it in front of Dad.
— Read it. Aloud.
Dad looked at the paper like poison. His hands trembled when he unfolded the sheet. His voice cracked on every word, and I saw how hard it was for him.
— To my family. I stole from my daughter, Inna. I took money intended for her future and hid it. I wronged her, my father, and the honor of our family. I take full responsibility and will return the full amount within six months. I sincerely regret it.
When he finished, silence fell. No applause, no gasps, only heavy breathing, as if the whole room exhaled at once. I looked at Dad and for the first time didn’t feel small. I felt that I was seen, that my pain, my years of struggle were finally acknowledged.
That night, standing on the porch of Ivan Petrovich’s house, I looked at the stars. The city slept, its lights twinkling in the distance, and the sky was so clear it seemed one could touch the stars. Grandfather stood nearby, his coat buttoned up to the top, hands hidden in pockets.
— I still can’t believe you never asked for anything, — he said quietly, his voice soft, almost guilty.
— I got tired of asking, — I replied, looking at the stars. — I thought if I worked harder, if I proved I was worth something, someone would notice.
— But no one noticed. Except you.
He nodded, his gaze fixed on the horizon.
— Forgive me for not checking sooner. I should have made sure the money reached you.
— And I don’t regret it, — I said after a pause, and my voice was firm. — If things were different, I wouldn’t have known who is really for me. Now I know.
He smiled faintly, his eyes glinting in the light of the lantern.
— You won’t return to that semi-basement. I found you a place. In the center, with wooden floors, with real windows. With a view of the river.
I laughed quietly, and that laugh was light, genuine.
— That already sounds like a palace.
— You deserve it, — he said, and there was such conviction in his voice that I believed him.
Maybe I really did deserve it. But most of all, I deserved to stop fighting for crumbs, for the right to be heard…
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