“Sorry, but with this diagnosis, surgery is essential,” the doctor said irritably, spreading his hands as if Sergey had asked for the illness himself.
Sergey felt something boil inside him. How many times had he heard this?
How many offices had he visited, hoping to hear something different?
And this one—like he was reading from the same tired script.
The man sharply turned toward the door, ready to slam it shut, but a sudden pain twisted his body as if invisible steel tongs were crushing his insides.
He grabbed the edge of the desk, his vision blurred, and in the next moment—darkness.
Thick, sticky, bottomless.
And he dreamed of his mother… and Galya.
“Seryozha! Seryozhenka! I think I’m pregnant!” young Galina chirped happily, bustling around the kitchen as she packed her husband’s lunch.
She glowed with joy like a sunbeam and didn’t notice that Sergey wasn’t reacting to her words.
“Can you believe how lucky we are? Some struggle for years, and we—this is real happiness!
We have an apartment, steady jobs.
All we needed was a child to complete our family. We’re so lucky, Seryozha!”
“Galya, let’s confirm first, then celebrate,” his mother said sternly, slapping her palm on the table.
She’d come with a purpose—her son had promised to move a wardrobe—but stumbled on news that made her heart freeze.
“Foolish girl,” the woman thought. “Just because the test is positive?”
Out loud, she said nothing—didn’t want to upset her daughter-in-law.
But she’d be having a talk with her son. He had to decide.
And it was serious. Sergey’s factory had started talking about layoffs.
How could they manage a baby now?
But that evening, looking into his wife’s glowing eyes—she’d already seen the doctor and confirmed the pregnancy—he couldn’t bring himself to speak against it.
“Well… we’ll manage somehow,” he muttered indifferently, immediately wrapped in Galina’s arms as she kissed him with tears of joy.
“If it’s a girl—let’s name her Anzhela.
If it’s a boy—Timofey, after your father.”
Sergey waved it off—name it Vaska if you want, it didn’t matter to him.
He hadn’t imagined that their second year of marriage would bring a child.
Before that, they lived quietly, first with his mother, then got a small apartment as a young family.
Galina was a good wife—smart, cheerful, hardworking. A golden catch!
Just a bit too independent. Her mother had raised her alone—Galina never knew her father, he died before she turned three.
She grew up strong-willed and decisive.
At first, she did everything herself around the house, not letting Sergey help.
“Galya, sit down! Stop fussing! Let Sergey fix it, take a break,” her mother-in-law would grumble.
But Galina would blush, embarrassed, and insist:
“No, I’ll do it. I said I would!”
Eventually she relaxed, grew happier—finally not alone.
She had always dreamed of a child—and then, one day, it happened. Like magic.
They lived well, in love and harmony. They set up a nursery—well, a corner of one-bedroom apartment.
Bought a crib, Sergey assembled it himself, set it near the couch.
Got a stroller through friends—imported. His mother gifted socks, vests, a warm blanket.
Galina sewed diapers, bought baby shirts, accepted gifts from family.
She worked right up until the birth—never took maternity leave.
Her pregnancy was easy, though her belly grew fast. Sergey even joked:
“Alright, wife, give birth to a warrior! Maybe twins?”
“Don’t say that!” she’d laugh, crossing herself. “You’ll jinx it! Let’s just raise one properly.”
“We will, Seryozhenka,” she believed in him absolutely. “We’ll manage, together.”
That’s who she was—a real support. And he… he betrayed her trust. Deeply disappointed her.
Labor started in winter, during the first snow.
Galina went to the maternity ward calm and steady—unlike her husband and his mother, who were a mess.
She just got into the ambulance and said gently:
“Serёzha, just take care of yourself. Keep the place clean, eat properly, and don’t overdo it, alright? I know how you guys party.”
She left, and he sat under the hospital windows for nearly a day. Waiting for news.
“You’re a father of twins! Two healthy girls!” the nurse cheerfully announced, unaware of the blow she’d just dealt.
Sergey turned cold. Twins? Galina had hinted, but he thought it was a joke. Now…
“Oh my God! How are we going to handle two?” his mother cried.
“That’s one mouth too many! In times like these! And girls, no less… disgrace! No benefit, no support!”
When they finally let him see Galina, Sergey decided to be honest:
“Galya… we can’t raise two. Think about it. It’s too much.
One child—maybe. But the second… better to leave her. She won’t be lost.”
Galina turned pale, as if old age struck her in a moment.
Her eyes filled with tears and pain. Sergey expected screams, begging, hysteria… but she just turned and walked away.
“Then I’ll manage alone,” she said into the empty air and disappeared behind the ward door, where her tiny daughters awaited their first meeting with their mom.
He didn’t believe her, of course.
When he came to take her home, she was gone—discharged early with both girls.
The hospital staff was clearly on her side: they gave him side glances, stayed silent, didn’t greet him.
“Well, of course, father,” one doctor muttered, shooting him a glance full of contempt.
Sergey didn’t know where she’d gone. She didn’t return home, didn’t visit his mother.
Her mother slammed the door in his face—wouldn’t even speak to him.
Two weeks later, a court summons arrived. Divorce. Just like that, no words.
Galina didn’t look at him once during the hearing.
She signed the papers, came without the children, filed for child support, and left—proud, firm, cold.
“What an idiot!” he spat after her. “You’ll see I was right. And don’t come begging—I won’t take you back!”
But she never begged. He never saw her again.
Not her, not his daughters. As if they vanished.
Galina’s mother stayed silent. Friends just shrugged.
The crib, folded clothes, baby shirts, diapers—all stayed in that old apartment.
One day, Sergey got drunk and decided to get rid of it all.
Grabbed the bundle, went to his ex-mother-in-law’s, and tossed it:
“Take it! I don’t need it anymore!”
Life went on. He worked, married, divorced, tried to start over…
But a hollow feeling grew inside, one he could never fill.
Then came illness. Maybe it had developed long ago, maybe it hit suddenly.
Didn’t matter. What mattered—he had no money for treatment, let alone surgery.
His mother was long gone. Maybe better—she didn’t see her son fading.
But most of all, he thought of Galina.
What would life have been if he hadn’t been so selfish?
If he hadn’t driven her away…
He woke in a bright hospital room. Dizzy, thoughts tangled.
A nurse fussed nearby:
“Oh, you’re awake? Great! Now rest—you’ll need your strength.
The surgery went well. Recovery begins now.”
Sergey struggled to sit up:
“But I couldn’t afford this… I have no money for surgery.”
The nurse shrugged:
“Who said you paid? It’s been covered. There are still kind people in the world.”
“Who? That can’t be!” he said.
“Oh, it can,” she smiled. “She happened to walk by.”
Sergey nearly fell out of bed but made it to the door, leaning on the wall.
In the hallway stood a young woman, stylishly dressed, speaking with a doctor.
She turned—and Sergey’s heart stopped.
It was Galina. No, not exactly—her face was younger, but those features… His Galya.
“Galya?!” he blurted out.
The woman raised her brows in surprise, whispered something to the doctor, and walked over.
“Sorry, I think you’re mistaken. That was my mother’s name.”
Sergey nodded awkwardly. Of course. Not Galina.
So—this was his daughter.
“I’m sorry… the nurse said you paid for my treatment. Why?”
She tilted her head slightly:
“Because I could. Sometimes I support people with your condition.”
“Do you have a sister?”
“Yes. Tanya.”
His heart skipped. It was them. His daughters.
And this woman—Anzhela. The very one he had once said: “Keep one, forget the other.”
“Do you… know who I am?” he asked, barely hoping.
“I do. Mom showed me your photo. But I didn’t help because you’re my father.
I helped because I could.”
“And Galina…?” his voice trembled.
“Mom’s been gone two years. That’s when I started helping patients like you.”
The surgery went well. Sergey began to recover.
A few months later, tests showed—he was healthy.
Anzhela took him to the cemetery where Galina lay.
She placed flowers, stepped aside—gave him time alone with the past.
Sergey stood before a simple grave, stared at the photo of a young woman, and wept like a child.
He fell to his knees and begged for forgiveness—from whom, he didn’t know.
Only that there was no turning back time.
To his daughters, he was a stranger. Anzhela spoke with him kindly, but Tatyana wouldn’t let him near her doorstep.
And that was her right—he wouldn’t judge.
Both girls were the image of Galina. A living reminder of what his selfishness had cost him.
He laid roses on the grave and slowly walked away.
Anzhela walked beside him.
Sergey couldn’t look her in the eyes.
Suddenly, her hand touched his.
A gentle, warm gesture.
“Not all is lost… Thank God.”
