Fyodor was in the cool office of a private clinic, his fingers clenching each other so tightly that they turned white from the tension. Every word the doctor spoke, delivered with that particular caution that only appears when issuing the gravest of verdicts, seemed to drive another nail into the coffin of his fate.
An invisible hand clenched his throat, robbing him of the ability to speak. Only when the doctor finally fell silent could Fyodor take a deep, ragged breath.
«I have money. A lot of money,» his usually confident voice trembled, exposing his desperation. «Maybe abroad? In the best clinics in the world, could there be a solution?»
The gray-haired doctor slowly shook his head, and this simple gesture said more than any words could.
«In your case, even financial resources won’t help. All that remains is to hope for a miracle, but as you understand, they do not exist,» the doctor’s voice sounded almost apologetic.
«I would recommend spending the remaining time with loved ones, in comfort. The environment matters. Here is a list of medications, take them strictly as prescribed.»
Fyodor stepped outside and mechanically walked to his black Maybach, hesitating before opening the door. Life continued to bustle around him: people rushing somewhere, children laughing joyfully, birds chirping. But for him, everything had changed forever.
How strange—just a few months ago, he hadn’t even considered the finiteness of life. He made plans, expanded his business, dreamed of a new villa on the coast. And suddenly—this ridiculous fainting spell right during an important meeting.
He, always impeccably composed, was carried out of the room under the astonished gazes of his partners. The doctor insisted on a full examination, and now the result.
«Why did I even agree?» Fyodor bitterly smiled, starting the car. «I could have continued living, knowing nothing.»
He sat in the car for a long time, his gaze fixed on one spot. He reflected on how he had always rushed somewhere, proving something—to himself, to those around him, to the whole world. He hurried to earn as much money as possible, and now…
Now he realized—there was no one around. Yes, there was capital, but it couldn’t be hugged, talked to, and it certainly couldn’t offer sympathy. Heartless papers that now seemed utterly useless.
At sixty-five, he found himself absolutely alone. The luxurious mansion, more resembling a medieval castle, became a mockery of fate. So much effort had been spent on its creation!
He organized a real competition among architects, personally oversaw every detail. The house was equipped with modern technologies: intelligent management systems, climate control, multilevel security… And now what? Who would inherit all this wealth?
It took a whole week to prepare all affairs. He wrote a will, determined the future of his company—the buyer had long shown interest. He chose an elite home for affluent singles, just like himself. All that remained was to decide what to do with the house.
That day, Fyodor decided to take a walk in the park. The weather was splendid, few people around. He was even glad about it—he didn’t want to spoil the mood of others with his gloom. However, suddenly his temples began to throb, and he had to sit down on the nearest bench.
«Excuse me, do you have a little change?»
He turned at the weak voice. A woman stood nearby with a skinny girl about seven years old. The little girl looked emaciated, but her eyes shone with remarkable determination, as if she was ready to protect her mother from the whole world.
«Why do you look at me as if I’ve already refused?» Fyodor unexpectedly asked.
The woman flinched, as if awakening.
«Because most refuse,» she replied quietly, as if justifying herself. «And I just don’t know how to ask. So I immediately perceive everyone as hostile.»
«Why ask then? Maybe try to find a job?» he suggested.
She indifferently waved her hand, clutching her child.
«It seems simple from the outside. In reality, everything is much more complicated. I would have ended it all if not for Anya. She’s the only thing keeping me going.»
Fyodor only vaguely understood what was happening, but one thing was clear—this child needed food.
«Come with me. I’ll feed you, and if you want, you can tell me your story.»
The woman looked at him suspiciously: «Are you sure you’re not some kind of maniac? I don’t care anymore, but Anya…»
Fyodor unexpectedly burst into laughter—the first in many days.
«Oh, no one has ever called me a maniac before. And are there really maniacs of retirement age?»
Within half an hour, they were seated at the table in his huge house. The housekeeper had been fired, but she left the refrigerator stocked with food and promised to come every three days. The girl ate neatly, though quickly—without greed, but with obvious hunger. Natasha, introducing herself as the mother, initially hardly touched the food, as if embarrassed.
Her story turned out to be both typical and astonishing. Orphanhood among living alcoholic parents, an unfortunate marriage to a gambler, debts, threats, escape… Now they lived on the street, without hope for better.
Fyodor offered them to stay overnight. He himself tossed and turned all night, thinking. By morning, the decision was ripe:
«Natasha, I’m transferring this house to you and Anya. I don’t need anything else. I’ll be living in the home.»
To calm the shocked woman and show he was in his right mind, Fyodor told her about his diagnosis. Natasha cried:
«You are such a good person. There must be something that can be done!»
«The doctors say only a miracle can help, but as it turns out, miracles do not exist,» he bitterly replied.
«They do,» she firmly argued. «Today you proved it. I believe you will get better.»
The home was of the highest standard—cleanliness, comfort, attentive staff. For such money, it could not be otherwise. The director invited him over in the evening, examined the documents:
«Why didn’t you start treatment immediately?»
«Why? The doctor said it was all pointless.»
«That doctor? That’s not a doctor! Any professional fights for a patient until the end. May I see your medical chart? I have a specialist friend; I would show it to him.»
The next day Fyodor went home for the documents. He also decided to see how Natasha and Anya were settling in—it was time to start transferring the house. But the door was unlocked, which alarmed him.
Inside, he immediately noticed a tearful girl.
«Anya, what happened?»
«Mama… She’s sick and isn’t responding to me…»
Fyodor hurriedly entered the room. Natasha lay on the couch, pale, sweating. She was feverish, mumbling something incoherent. His heart clenched with familiar fear—when you see a loved one ill, and you can’t help.
Wait. A loved one? When did he start considering them his own? But there was no time to think. He immediately called an ambulance, insisted on hospitalization in one of the best private clinics, provided all his details for registration.
Anya quietly sobbed in the corner. Her weak cry cut through his soul. Fyodor knelt in front of the girl:
«Don’t cry, everything will be fine with Mama.»
«And you won’t leave?» she whispered.
«Of course not. How could I leave you? Tomorrow we’ll definitely go to see Mama, she’ll get better.»
That evening, he cooked for the first time in many years. Later, he and Anya had dinner together. Before bedtime, they called the hospital—they reported Natasha was better, but her body was very weakened, and she would have to be treated for some time.
He called the home, warning that he could not return for the time being. He felt an extraordinary surge of energy. He was needed by someone! And not just his money, but he himself. These two—a little girl and her mother—really needed him.
Two weeks flew by unnoticed. They regularly visited Natasha, walked together, shopped, even went to the theater. The girl joyfully showed her mother new dresses and toys. Fyodor watched them and felt… something unusual. He couldn’t quite define his feelings, but inside, a new, previously unknown emotion was warming him.
He felt like a father, perhaps a grandfather. But one thing he knew for sure—he had become so attached to this little girl that he simply couldn’t imagine his life without her.
When Natasha was discharged from the hospital, he didn’t go to the home, but to the very clinic where they had given him the grim diagnosis.
«Excuse me, but I would like to undergo additional examination. Very thorough. The fact is, I’ve found a reason to live. I want to stay for them,» his voice trembled. «I need as much time as possible.»
Two weeks later, Fyodor returned for the results. The doctor looked embarrassed:
«Strange… This is the first time in my practice this has happened. The clinic and I personally owe you an apology. It seems the tests were mixed up. You don’t have any serious disease. There are just some issues with blood pressure, but that’s entirely treatable. And your fainting spell, which started it all, was indeed caused by a spike in blood pressure.»
The doctor continued talking about compensation and the clinic’s reputation, but Fyodor no longer heard. He stood up and, obeying a sudden impulse, hugged the doctor:
«I don’t need anything! You don’t even realize how important life is to me right now. And I have it again. And you say miracles don’t happen!»
On his way home, the man stopped by a pastry shop.
«Please, the best, the most beautiful cake. The very best!» he asked the salesgirl.
The girl smiled, handing over the box: «Is it your birthday, perhaps?»
Fyodor paused for a second, then replied: «Exactly. It really is my birthday.»
Natasha and Anya sat on the couch, greeting him in silence. He saw their anxiety and understood that they were worried about him—a feeling he rarely experienced. These people really cared about his fate.
«Grandpa, they will cure you, right?» Anya asked for the first time, calling him that. «They will definitely cure you, right?»
Fyodor, hearing this word, picked up the girl and twirled her around.
«I’m already cured! And we will live together for a long, long time. At least until you get married.»
Anya looked at him seriously: «I don’t want to get married. I want to be with you always.»
Natasha also stood up: «What are you planning? Speak plainly.»
Fyodor put Anya down and smiled: «The doctors were wrong. I’m healthy. There’s no disease.»
Natasha burst into tears, embracing him: «I knew it! I knew everything would be fine.»
A few days later, Natasha began packing. Fyodor watched her perplexed: «Where are you going? What’s happening?»
«You’re healthy now,» she faltered, lowering her eyes. «We shouldn’t continue to impose on your hospitality.»
He sighed: «You’re not going anywhere. Don’t even think about it. Anya will soon go to school, and you’ll study or work. You know what, Natasha? I never had children, but now… it seems I have a family. May I call you my daughter?»
She looked at him for a long time, then burst into tears: «Thank you. Thank you so much. You’ve done more for us than my own father.»
Fyodor kept his word—twice. First, he married off Natasha, then his charming «granddaughter» Anya. Those who didn’t know their story were sure: Natasha was his real loving daughter, and Anya was his granddaughter.
Frankly, Fyodor now thought so too. The past? It seemed distant and unreal, like a dream that no one remembered.
