The walk to the hospital room was a blur, as were the sympathetic glances from the medical staff. Every ounce of energy went into keeping it together, acting normal, resisting the urge to bolt or snap at someone.
At the door, Alex paused, but he didn’t get a chance to catch his breath. One of the orderlies swung it open before he could brace himself.
And now, he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the frail, withered old man on the bed, ravaged by illness and treatment. Thin, jaundiced, and somehow broken from the inside. Deep wrinkles carved into his face, making it sharp and distorted. His fingers looked like spider legs. A thin blanket clung to his bony legs, twisting the already grim picture into something even worse. Only the faint glimmer in his eyes hinted that this body wasn’t some botched sculpture by an amateur artist, but a living person. And this was his once-handsome father, who, in his prime, had women falling at his feet by the handful...
Every step toward the bed echoed in Alex’s ears. He heard the soles of his new shoes scuffing against the floor, the rustle of his coat adjusting to his movements, the creak of the chair as he sat. He focused on the throbbing pain in his head—anything to drown out the sound of the ragged, unfamiliar breathing coming from the bed.
“You came.”
Alex flinched at the tired but firm voice. Seeing his father look so calm and composed somehow gave him strength.
“I’m here,” he replied, not breaking eye contact.
The memory of lounging in a warm bed with a hot girl just thirty minutes ago lodged in his throat like a bitter lump. He hadn’t known his father was here. He just... didn’t know. But what if he had?
“I didn’t tell you about the illness, but cancer’s been gnawing at me for a while now.”
Alex couldn’t find the words to respond. What could he say? They’d never been close, and honestly, if he were the one sick, he probably wouldn’t have shared it either. They only saw each other once a year, on his birthday. Boris would stop by for a drink, drop off a gift, and, for the last two years, some childish drawings—from the younger brother and sister Alex had yet to meet.
That thought made it worse. He swallowed hard, but the damn lump in his throat tightened its grip. He had to press his fingers against his neck just to force a breath.
A year ago, his father had looked healthy. Then came the accident with his wife. Alex hadn’t gone to her funeral. Alice was three years older, and there’d never been any warmth between them. From the moment they met, she’d pegged him as a spoiled mama’s boy who got everything handed to him on a silver platter, while he saw her as a gold-digging tramp who’d latched onto his father. After that, they’d kept their interactions to a bare minimum.
Maybe his father had really loved that witch, because her death seemed to break him...
“Sasha, please, take care of my kids!”
A crooked smile crept across Alex’s lips without him meaning to. His father hadn’t said “younger” kids. It was as if they were his only ones. But the sting of resentment quickly gave way to a heavier thought: “My father is dying.”
Boris’s eyes glistened strangely, and a moment later, Alex realized he was crying. A sharp pang of sadness stabbed at his chest.
“Varya and Dani are only four! It’s just been a year since Alice left them, and now I’m leaving too.”
A new lump formed in Alex’s throat, a small, bitter knot. It felt like any second he might throw up right there on the floor by the sickbed. And his father was looking at him with hope. What could he say? That he’d take care of the kids after he was gone? Thoughts of the future loomed over him like heavy, black storm clouds. Any moment now, lightning would strike and shatter his life into tiny pieces. The whole world had shrunk to the sterile white walls of this hospital room, and nothing outside them mattered.
“I hear you,” he managed to choke out, but now that lump had slid from his throat into his chest, lodging there.
It felt strange sitting in this room with someone who, in essence, was a stranger. So distant, yet the closest person he had. Alex stared into his father’s eyes, at the exhausted face that somehow glowed with a terrible, weary beauty, and he couldn’t stop himself from memorizing him like this.
“There’s one more thing I wanted to talk to you about.”
Alex could only muster a nod. Then his father reached out, covering Alex’s hand with his own and squeezing it tightly.
“Alice has a younger sister, Nana. She’s only twenty-one. A very unusual girl, and with that uniqueness, she’ll struggle on her own. Take them all in. Nana will help you with the kids!”
Alex heard the words, but he couldn’t grasp why, in this room with just the two of them, in his father’s final moments, he was talking about complete strangers. The sticky claws of resentment wrapped around his shoulders, squeezing hard, digging under his skin.
A soft knock interrupted. Boris slowly pulled his hand away. The spot where his fingers had touched burned like fire.
The door opened quietly, and a girl stepped into the room. The first thing Alex noticed was her eyes. Light green, almost translucent. So large that every other feature of her face seemed to fade into the background.
“Sorry...” she said softly, then smiled.
It seemed impossible to smile at a moment like this. In a room heavy with the presence of death, among people with such complicated ties. How could this simple, carefree smile fit here?
The girl walked in and stood on the other side of the bed. Without hesitation, she took the sick man’s hand, covering it with her other one as if trying to warm it.
Now Alex could take in her other features. Long, thick chestnut hair tied into a messy ponytail, barely held together by a bright red elastic. Thick, straight eyebrows, a small, even nose, a scattering of freckles across her cheeks, sharp, smooth cheekbones, and slightly pink, full lips. She wore no makeup at all. She looked so young, yet somehow carefree and even happy. That last part didn’t fit the situation at all.
A minute later, she shrugged off a large blue scarf onto the bed near the sick man’s feet, followed by a swamp-green winter jacket. Underneath, she wore an oversized, chunky-knit brown sweater, black jeans, and, oddly for winter, red sneakers.
Alex stood there, noticing every detail, because he couldn’t explain how someone so unlike him and his father could appear in this confined space.
The girl glanced up at him. For a moment, Alex thought her eyes had changed shade. Now they seemed transparently amber.
“Nana,” she introduced herself with a slight hesitation, then quickly turned back to the sick man, as if unnerved by his intense stare.
So this was the sister of the woman who’d taken his father away from their family? She seemed so young to Alex, and so full of life. Like if he touched her, she’d spark like a fountain.
It took him a full minute to realize he hadn’t responded. But she didn’t look at him again.
He caught his father’s thoughtful, slightly tense gaze and returned it with one of his own. What do you want from me? To take care of a whole group of your kids?
Alex thought his father had said everything he needed to, but he couldn’t bring himself to leave the room. Because this was the last time. Truly the last...
His gaze shifted from the sick man to his hand, held in the girl’s small palm, and he was struck by how pale her skin was. Suddenly, she shuddered, and only then did Alex notice his father wince and arch in pain. A moment later, the pain seemed to ease, and his father relaxed, but the girl swayed, barely staying on her feet. She sat down on the edge of the bed, near his feet.
“Don’t, Nana. I’m fine...”
The girl kept smiling, though now her eyes were moist. Strangely, Alex didn’t feel out of place. In this room with these two, early in the morning after an especially grueling month at work, he felt like he was exactly where he was supposed to be.
“Sasha,” his father struggled to get the words out.
Now that Alex understood with stark clarity that the end was near, a strange calm settled over him. His chest still ached mercilessly, but his father’s appearance no longer frightened him.
“This is the last chance to say it... I love you, son!”
That, he hadn’t expected. He thought his father would ask for promises or oaths, but a simple confession of love was enough to knock the ground out from under him. Good thing he was sitting. His hands, clasped together, tightened into fists. He wanted to reply, but the words wouldn’t leave his mouth. Another lump clawed at his throat.
He missed the moment the girl got up from the bed. But when her fingers lightly rested on his shoulders, a dizzying wave of relief flooded his soul and body. A moment later, he heard her quiet whisper near his ear:
“Tell him. Now! You won’t get another chance...”
As if in a trance, he stood. He noted, surprised, that his shoulders didn’t want to part from her slender fingers. He approached the bed to embrace his father one last time. His hand slid over his father’s shoulder easily. The man’s weakness imprinted a bitter seal on Alex’s mind, leaving his thoughts bouncing around like empty balloons.
“I love you, Dad...”
Alex never thought that saying those words, which he’d spent thirty-two years building the courage to utter, would be so easy. The old man let out a quiet groan, and the girl lay down beside him on the bed, gently hugging him.
“Don’t,” came his father’s weak protest again, followed by a relieved sigh.
Alex returned to his chair. The girl stayed lying on the bed with the sick man, and Boris began to breathe more evenly, calmly, as if her presence soothed him.
Alex didn’t know how long he sat there. The sun had been peeking through the window for about ten minutes when his father stopped breathing altogether. The girl was asleep beside him.
Alex stood. He could have called out to her, but disturbing the peace in this room felt like a crime. He couldn’t look at his father anymore; he’d already memorized every detail of his disease-ravaged body. If his father had asked him to look after the kids, and this girl too, then that’s what he’d do. First, he needed to get her out of here.
Nana didn’t even stir when he lifted her into his arms. He draped her scarf around his neck and covered her sleeping form with her jacket, so nothing would get in the way as he carried her out of the hospital. He didn’t even consider waking her. This night hadn’t been easy, especially for her, practically a child.
He drove Nana to his place without much thought. Alex was exhausted too. The weight of the last few hours hit him like a sledgehammer when he got home with his burden and realized this long night was over. An equally long day had begun.
Food didn’t even cross his mind. All he wanted was sleep.
He carried the girl to the guest room and laid her on the bed. The elastic had slipped off completely, and her long, tangled hair spilled across the pillow. Like a small child, she curled her legs under herself and tucked a hand beneath her cheek.
Looking at her was hard. Now, he fully grasped who this girl was, whose sister she was, whose aunt. Covering her with a blanket, he left the room, shutting the door firmly behind him. He wanted to wall her off from the rest of the house, as if she were a cancer cell. If he didn’t do something, she’d spread through his entire system, causing irreparable damage.
He wanted to wash off the past night, but he didn’t have the energy for a shower. He changed into pajama pants, collapsed into bed, and immediately sank into a heavy, deep sleep.