The sterile cleanliness of the private clinic room struck the eye like a temple of soulless medicine, where every corner was polished to a flawless shine. The air was saturated with a barely perceptible scent of disinfectants — bleach, medicines, and something else, elusive and cold, as if even the smell here was not allowed to be warm. Arkady Ilyich lay pinned to a perfectly ironed sheet that bore not a single crease — as if even his soul was being smoothed, adjusting to this impeccable but frightening smoothness. He listened to the rhythmic buzzing of the machines, counting down his time, as if the machines had replaced himself.
The wall opposite blurred in a lazy fog of consciousness, as if the world around had become too heavy to stay clear. Arkady slightly opened his eyes, gazing at the ceiling tiled with modular panels, as if an answer to some unspoken question was hidden there. Knock-knock-knock — his heart seemed to be tapping out a Morse code. But what message was it sending? And who, honestly, was ready to receive it?
He pondered. Half a century of life — that’s not so little, but suddenly it turned out that age is not measured in years but weighed on invisible scales, where every day is a weight pulling down. Money, signatures, endless meetings, tasks, projects, negotiations — all this became a mountain of useless bustle, under which he almost perished. Now, in this cold, almost marble-like stillness, it suddenly became clear to him: everything he had accumulated, everything he had created — was empty. Nothing remained except the silence, echoing his own thoughts.
He was alone. Truly alone. No employees calling, no friends long reduced to mere names in an address book, no sincere love that slipped away time and again like water through fingers. He had built his world out of paper, signatures, and contracts but forgot about the soul, about warmth, about life. And now, when everything around had become white, cold, and facelessly sterile, he realized he had become a hostage of his own loneliness.
Suddenly, the door creaked open, breaking the snow-white illusion of peace. A thick, cloying scent of expensive perfume burst into the room — as if someone had sprayed a drop of luxury into the air to leave a trace. Svetlana entered. Beautiful, tall, with that flawless appearance, as if she had just stepped off the cover of a fashion magazine. She didn’t walk in — she glided, like a queen who knows the ground beneath her feet is her domain.
“Oh, Arkasha, it’s so stuffy in here!” she exclaimed immediately, rolling her eyes. “Again, this smell of your medicines…” Svetlana set her crocodile-skin handbag on the chair by the window, and looking around the room, curled her lips with slight disdain. “Alright, tell me, did they drag you to the doctors again? By the way, I’m late for my manicure. Do they understand here how much my time costs?”
Arkady struggled to find the strength to smile — not from joy, but rather as a sign of surrender.
“Svet, sit down a bit, talk to me. The last few days feel so blurred… as if reality has become… unreal.”
She, without taking her eyes off the phone screen, started scrolling through the news feed.
“Oh come on, baby, whining again? The doctors said you’ll stay until the weekend? I can’t hang around here all the time.” She snorted and added with lazy condescension: “I do love you, but… honestly, hospitals aren’t my thing.”
“You always say that,” Arkady whispered, his voice fragile like glass. “I’d take your worries… just be near me.”
Svetlana shrugged, as if shrugging off an unnecessary burden.
“What’s the point? Your money won’t go anywhere, the business is under control. Everything’s fine. Just don’t make me your nurse. I don’t think that suits me…”
Inside Arkady, like a rustling sheet of paper, a memory stirred. He recalled their first trip — a March honeymoon in Italian Abruzzo. Back then, he couldn’t have imagined that one day he’d lie like this — powerless, unwanted, lonely. He remembered her smile, his young beautiful wife, sunlit slopes, promises of the future, and hope for the native laughter of a new little person. But when he spoke about children, she laughed and changed the subject to the aromas of grapes and the price of the terrace room. And now she didn’t even need to pretend selflessness — everything was clear already. Everything had long become a formality.
Svetlana couldn’t bear the silence, cast a quick glance at her husband:
“Alright, dear, I have to go. Manicure and then a meeting about your new car. I’m making sure everything’s delivered to you on time,” irony slipped into her voice. “At least appreciate that. Get well.”
He just shook his head. The door closed. The room grew colder — and not because of the air temperature. Arkady stared at the ceiling, realizing: now there was a deaf glass barrier between them. Money, a network of business relations, and absence of the real — that was the result of the life he had painstakingly built.
When Arkady nearly sank into his despair-soaked peace, the door quietly creaked again. At the threshold stood a very young nurse with fluffy light hair, hastily adjusting her gown.
“Sorry, I… I think I’m in the wrong room,” she stammered. “Third floor — Sector B, right here?”
“No, this is Sector A,” Arkady smiled slightly. “You go left down the corridor.”
The girl blushed.
“Oh, excuse me. It’s just…” She looked at him a bit more confidently now. “It’s my first day alone on shift, I’m afraid I’ll mess everything up.”
“Don’t worry, it’s not so scary here,” Arkady encouraged.
She suddenly lingered by his bed, as if something made her stay.
“I… I always dreamed of working in a hospital. My mother was treated since she was six — a rare disease, just the two of us… That’s probably why I chose medicine.”
He felt something tremble in his soul, as if a warm ray of light had slipped through a crack in the wall.
“That’s… very noble,” Arkady honestly admitted.
“Oh, it’s nothing,” Alyona blushed. “You know, my mom and I are used to doing everything ourselves. We manage somehow. I’m used to helping.”
Later, in the evening, when the room again sank into semi-darkness, the door opened slightly again.
“I just wanted to check — are you alright?” Alyona cautiously peeked in.
Arkady smiled slightly — sincerely for the first time in a long while.
“All is well, thank you, Alyona.”
“That’s good. If you need anything — call me. I’m nearby.”
It seemed the darkness in the room had retreated a step.
Over the next days, Arkady increasingly caught himself eagerly awaiting Alyona’s brief visits and her lively, laughing eyes. She helped him more than once with small household requests, and gradually between them grew a trust, warm and unexpected, like a ray of sunshine on a cloudy day.
One morning Arkady mustered courage:
“Alyona, I have an unusual request.” He paused, choosing his words. “If Svetlana — my wife — comes today, could you pretend to be my daughter for a minute? I just… want to test a hypothesis,” he bitterly smiled.
“Daughter?” Alyona was surprised.
“Yes. Just play a small role. I’ll explain — it’s important for me to understand how she reacts to such things. Do you mind?”
She looked at him attentively:
“I… honestly, I don’t usually participate in plays,” the girl confessed. “But for a good cause… why not? Just no money. No gifts — I don’t need them.”
He felt a surge of respect.
“Thank you. You really don’t need extra complications, and I just…”
“Don’t worry!” Alyona spread her hands. “If it helps you get out of depression — I’m in.”
Arkady explained the plan: as soon as Svetlana appeared, he would call Alyona so she could come in a few minutes later.
That very day, Svetlana appeared like a thundercloud:
“Arkady, I demand an explanation why you’re staying in the ward? I’m the one controlling everything, and you act like a little child! The manicure got ruined because the doctor needed a report!”
“Svetlana,” Arkady calmly replied, “have you thought what will happen if I suddenly… won’t be here?”
Svetlana laughed loudly — half-quietly, through clenched teeth:
“Oh, come on! You’re invincible! And even if not, I can always support myself. Your business runs pretty well.”
He looked at her closely.
“What if I suddenly had heirs?”
Svetlana tensed slightly.
“What heirs? You said — no children.”
“Life happens. Maybe it’s worth planning… for the future.”
“We’ll see,” Svetlana cut him off.
“Perhaps it’s time to start the play,” Arkady thought.
A few minutes after their conversation, the door swung wide open, and Alyona confidently entered the room, holding a bag and wearing a sunny smile.
“Dad, I brought you some oranges! Moroccan ones, like you like,” she cheerfully said and hugged Arkady.
Svetlana dropped her purse on the floor, her mouth opened in surprise.
“What circus is this?!” she shouted.
Alyona looked at her puzzled, and Arkady, trying to stay calm, said:
“Svet, I never told you: I have a daughter. This is Alyona. We only recently reconnected. Now the business, the apartment, everything will be shared. Seems it’s time to be honest.”
There was a moment of heavy silence, then a storm broke out.
“Are you kidding?!” Svetlana shouted, barely catching her breath. “Your whole new ‘family’… is this your way of throwing me out?! I’ve suffered for years, spent my youth on this invalid, and here suddenly some girl turns out to be your daughter?!”
“I don’t want to hurt you, but I need everything to be fair,” Arkady said evenly.
Svetlana got more and more worked up:
“You… You! If I had known you had a daughter — I would never have… ” She sharply stopped, looked at Alyona with hatred, “and such an insolent one!.. God… I’ll make your life hell, old clown!”
“Svetlana, it’s not worth it,” Arkady said calmly. “Maybe it’s really better if you leave?”
“Leave? You’ll regret it!” the wife yelled. “It’s a shame I wasted time!” She slammed the door, and her heels clicked anxiously down the corridor.
The ward fell into deafening silence. Arkady looked intently at Alyona — and for the first time felt a long-lost sensation: next to him was a reliable, bright person.
Arkady made his decision quickly. Closed all of Svetlana’s accounts, called the head of security:
“Sergey, from today Svetlana has no access to the accounts. Let her take her things, return the car to the company. Understand?”
“Understood, Arkady Ilyich,” Sergey replied briefly.
Arkady hung up, and for the first time in a long while breathed freely.
Alyona, sitting on the windowsill, thoughtfully turned over a small book with a yellow cover in her hands.
“I keep thinking… what is happiness? My mom and I have long had nothing extra. This spring we bought a ticket to Baikal — saved for five years, we’ll watch the ice together. Sometimes we laugh to tears at silly things and are happy at lunch just because mom is near. You can want a lot, or you can find joy in the simplest things.”
Arkady sighed:
“I forgot what a home without luxury is. I got lost.”
“You know, I decided: I’ll give you my favorite book. It helped me not to be afraid of changes.”
“Thank you, Alyona. I wish I had such simplicity…”
Arkady opened the book: on the first page, under a neat inscription “If you ever get lost, find the light inside you,” was a gift inscription… in his own handwriting, dated almost thirty years ago.
His heart skipped a beat.
The evening was gloomy and quiet. Arkady studied the inscription inside the book. Memories flooded in a wave.
“N.” — a short signature, a familiar handwriting. Arkady remembered: once he gave this book to a girl from his youth named Natalia — his first, true love. Then he left her, scared of the future, dreaming only of business and career heights.
Alyona entered the room with a thermos.
“Do you happen to know where you got this book from?” he asked carefully choosing words.
“My mom found it before graduation, always keeps it. She says it was a gift from the only one she ever loved.”
Arkady trembled inwardly.
“What is your mother’s name?”
“Natalia.”
He felt dizzy. The date of the gift inscription and Alyona’s birth date… Everything matched. Memories flashed: Natalia — slender, light-haired, always with a book. Their arguments over his work, her tears; the fateful silence and letter he never replied to. He dreamed of a world where he would be master of his fate but ended up losing the most precious.
“Alyona, how old are you?”
“Twenty-three this autumn, why?” the girl wondered.
He nodded, barely holding back tears.
“You look so much like your mother…” was all he could say.
A new meaning was born in his chest: there was still a chance not to miss love and family he once let slip away. It was still possible to fight and return to the real.
“I will recover,” Arkady promised himself, “for Alyona’s sake, for Natalia’s sake. For the life that only now — finally — became real for me.”
Three months later, Arkady was confidently on his feet. A slight limp after surgery gave way to a brisk step. In his hands — a huge bouquet of daisies and blue irises.
He stood on the threshold of a small tidy apartment in a residential district. His heart pounded like a boy’s. He inhaled — and rang the doorbell.
Natalia opened. For a moment, they froze, looking carefully at each other. Natalia had the same piercing gray eyes that once reached to the depths of his soul. Arkady barely managed:
“Hi… May I come in?”
“Come in,” she said simply, but trust — or perhaps hope — sounded in her voice.
Alyona appeared in the living room with cups:
“Dad, take note: tonight’s dinner is chef’s pureed soup and a detailed health report!”
Awkward silence was replaced by light laughter. Arkady, gently touching Natalia’s hand, said:
“Natalia, I… I realized a lot. Forgive me for what I did then. If you can — let’s start over. I’m ready to change. I don’t want to live alone anymore.”
Natalia visibly softened. She looked into his eyes, shook her head:
“Maybe I was partly to blame too. I was afraid to admit to myself that I wanted to be with you no matter what. We were both stubborn, foolish. None of that matters now. The important thing is — we met again. Life gave us a second chance.”
Alyona smiled, first at her mother, then at her father:
“Well, dad, don’t let our women’s legion down! Now together!”
The evening passed with a home-cooked dinner, memories, and laughter. Arkady felt for the first time in many years part of something real — a caring, loving family. As if the heavy husk of years of loneliness and disappointment was lifted from his soul. He realized: wealth is not in accounts and cars, but in the simple happiness waiting behind the door of a modest apartment.
A new path began quietly — with a humble tea party, smiles, and supportive glances; with a small but real miracle called family.
“Thank you,” Arkady said quietly. “I really have come home.”
