“Sir… please take my little sister… she hasn’t eaten in so long.” The voice sliced through the morning street noise, jolting Igor Levshin to a sudden halt.
He stopped as if colliding with an invisible wall.
“Sir… I beg you… she’s so hungry…”
The child’s whisper, laden with pain and despair, pierced the hum of cars and chatter of passersby.
Igor had been rushingno, flyingdriven by the thought that only work mattered anymore. Today, a million-dollar deal hung in the balance, the contract resting on his presence.
Ever since Ritahis love, his purpose, his rockvanished, he only truly lived while working.
But that voice…
It forced him to stop. Before him stood a boy around seven, thin, in wrinkled clothes, dull eyes streaked with dried tears. Cradled in his arms was a tiny girl wrapped in a tattered blanket.
She whimpered weakly. The boy held her protectively, as if shielding her from the world.
Igor hesitated. His mind screamed, *Keep moving.*
Yet the boy’s eyes, that desperate *please*… unraveled something long locked away inside him.
“Wheres your mother?” Igor crouched down, voice soft.
“She said shed be back soon… but its been two days. I keep waiting… just in case.” The boy trembled, words quivering like leaves in wind.
His name was Maksim; his sister, Taisia. Left aloneno note, no warning. Just a frail hope this child clutched with everything he had.
Igor suggested food, the police, child services.
At *police*, Maksim flinched. “Please dont… theyll take her.”
And in that moment, Igor knew he couldnt walk away.
At a nearby café, Maksim devoured his meal while Igor gently fed Taisia from a bottle.
Something unnameable stirred in his chesta warmth cracking the ice around his heart.
He dialed his phone. “Cancel everything. Today, tomorrow. All of it.”
Officers Gerasimov and Naumova arrived. Routine questions, paperwork. Maksim gripped Igors hand, frantic:
“You wont leave us, right? Not the orphanage…”
Surprising himself, Igor swore, “I wont.”
Larisa Petrovna, an old acquaintance from child services, expedited temporary custody.
“Just until we find your mother,” Igor assured, more for himself than them.
His apartmentspacious, soft rugs, sunset viewsfelt surreal to Maksim. To Igor, it was uncharted territory: bottles, diapers, bedtime, all foreign.
But Maksim helped, rocking Taisia, humming lullabies.
One restless night, she fussed until he sang her to sleep.
“Youre so good with her,” Igor admitted, chest tight.
“I just learned,” Maksim replied simply.
Then Larisa called: Their mother was alive, in rehab. If she couldnt recover custody… “Or you could adopt them.”
Igors throat clenched.
That night, Maksim whispered, “Will they take us away?”
Igor pulled him close, answering with a hug.
He called Larisa. “Make it permanent.”
The process was gruelinginspections, interviewsbut he fought for them.
When the adoption finalized, they moved: a house with a garden, fresh air, laughter. Maksim thrived, drawing, building forts, loud and alive.
One bedtime, softly: “Goodnight, Papa.”
Igors heart shattered and mended at once. “Goodnight, son.”
Spring brought the courts official stampmerely a formality. Then Taisia said *Papa* for the first time, and no business triumph could ever compare.
Maksim made friends, brought them home. Igor learned to cook porridge, build Lego towers, listen, laugh… *live.*
Fatherhood had been unplanned. Unimaginable.
Yet now, he couldnt imagine life without them.
Yes, it was hard. Yes, unexpected.
But it was the best thing that had ever happened to him.
