Ruslan stood in the middle of the hospital room, his hands buried in the pockets of his expensive Italian shoes, staring with disgust at the peeling walls. Everything here felt wrong, imperfect—just like he felt in this place.“I’ve prepared everything,” his voice was cold, businesslike, without greeting,
without a question. This was how he spoke to construction managers who had missed deadlines. “Here’s the relinquishment form for the child and the divorce papers. Sign now, you’ll get a settlement. Enough to rent a room. If not, you leave empty-handed, just like you came.”
Dascha stared at him. For three years, she had barely dared to breathe around him. Ruslan, the powerful owner of a car dealership chain, the man who had pulled her from her simple life into the glittering world of the big city, now seemed like a stranger. He had once forbidden her cheap clothes,
cut her off from her family, molded her into a perfect, silent doll for social events.“Ruslan… but this is our son… Timur,” she whispered. Her lips trembled, her throat dry. “The doctors said he has a special condition, but nothing serious. There are so many methods nowadays.
We have enough resources to make him strong…”“‘We’?” Ruslan’s face twisted as if he had bitten into a lemon. “There is no ‘we,’ Dascha. I have a reputation. Healthy business, healthy family. I need an heir, not…”—he gestured vaguely toward the hallway—
“I will not bleed in front of my business partners because I’m dragging a disabled child behind me.”He stepped closer, leaned over the bed. His expensive cologne smelled of tobacco and cold leather. It used to make her dizzy; now it made her nauseous.
“Take your defect and leave!” he hissed. “Two days. The apartment is paid until Monday. Then I change the locks. And give the car keys to the driver. Walking is healthier.”He turned abruptly and slammed the door behind him.Dascha was left alone.
Only the drip of water in the sink and the hum of a fly at the window accompanied her.“What a bastard…” a rough voice said.Dascha jumped. Behind the curtain appeared Larissa, a sturdy woman in her mid-forties from the market.“The child isn’t to blame,” Larissa said later.
“Special? So what? God only tests us as far as we can bear it.”They went to the children’s ward. Timur slept peacefully, dark fuzz covering his head. Suddenly a bright smile crossed his face. Pure, innocent, incorruptible.“A defect?” Dascha thought. No. He wasn’t a mistake. He was a gift.
Back in the room, she dialed her father’s number, her hands trembling.“Dad… it’s me.”“I know,” he grunted. “What happened?”“I have a son. Timur. And Ruslan kicked us out.”A brief pause.“Wipe your tears, Darja. You’re home. Your room is still there. When’s the discharge?”
“The day after tomorrow, at ten.”“We’ll come.”On the day of the discharge, Ruslan stood with his black SUV in front of the hospital.“Well?” he held out his hand. “The keys. The relinquishment form.”“There won’t be any,” Dascha said firmly. “I’ll claim child support in court. You’ll get the divorce there.”
“You’ll go under!” he shouted.“Tone it down!” a new voice said.A shiny SUV stopped in front of them. Her brother Sascha stepped out, tall as a mountain. Behind him followed her father, Pjotr Nikolayevich, calm and resolute.Her father gently took the baby in his arms.
“Well, welcome, Timur Petrovich. You can tell our blood immediately.”Ruslan wanted to strike back, regain control.“She’s my wife—”“Was yours,” Sascha said calmly. “Now she’s under our protection.”Dascha threw the keys into a puddle at Ruslan’s feet.
“This is your value,” her father said. “Metal. We have family.”Five years passed.They lived quietly in the village of Lesogorsk. Dascha worked at the children’s center. Timur developed more slowly, but his smile warmed everyone who saw it.
One autumn day, they ran into Ruslan in the park. Shabby, aged, without the aura of the man he once was.“Maybe… we can talk? I’m his father. Alone now…”Timur held out a caramel candy to him.“Here, uncle. Don’t be sad.”Ruslan’s hands trembled.
“Take it,” Dascha said calmly. “And go. Timur has a father. Mine. You made your choice back then, in that puddle, with the keys.”They walked down the sunlit alley. Ruslan remained behind, the cheap candy in his hand, as if it were the most precious thing he now possessed—and realized that this train had left forever.