Roman did not understand what had happened right away. His phone kept ringing insistently, again and again. The melody grated on his nerves, but the number was unfamiliar, so he hesitated to answer. A few seconds later, a message arrived:
“Please call back or pick up the phone. It’s urgent. It concerns your wife and son.”
When Roman read it, it felt as if an electric shock had passed through him. Early that morning, Lena and Egor had gone to a nearby city. Their seven-year-old son had been having trouble sleeping, and his mother had taken him to some well-known specialist.
Roman immediately pressed the call button.
“Hello! Yes, you called? Who is this? What happened? Where are my wife and child?” Roman’s voice trembled. He sensed something terrible, but desperately did not want to believe it.
“Hello. Are you a relative of Elena Kovalyova?” The voice on the other end sounded dry, as if the man were reading from a paper.
“Yes, I’m her husband. And Egor is my son.”
“I’m sorry, but there has been a traffic accident…”
Roman barely heard what the stranger said next. The words of the police officer or medical worker broke apart into disconnected sounds. He only caught fragments: “head-on collision,” “first aid was given at the scene,” “the child is alive,” “come urgently to Hospital No. 3”…
At that moment, Roman felt as though he were trapped inside a dream.
Half an hour later, he was already standing in the emergency department. Frozen in one position, he stood by the wall for several minutes. While waiting for the doctor, terrifying thoughts rushed through his mind. His intuition had never failed him before, and a moment later, he realized it had not failed him this time either.
“Your son has a serious spinal injury. The damage is in the pelvic region… In simple terms, it is a fracture,” the doctor said.
Roman nodded, though he understood almost nothing.
“And what about Lena? Was she injured too?” he asked, swallowing hard.
The doctor hesitated and lowered his eyes for a second.
“Your wife… she… did not survive. The impact was so strong that she had no chance. Please accept my condolences.”
The world around Roman began to blur. His legs gave way, his ears rang, and black spots flashed before his eyes. He staggered and started to fall, but the nurses managed to catch him. A cold piece of cotton soaked with ammonia near his nose sharply brought him back to reality.
“No! No-o-o!” he screamed at the top of his lungs.
When the first wave of shock eased a little, Roman began rushing through the hospital corridors, peering into offices and questioning nurses about the doctor he had spoken to earlier. By then, the operation was over. Seven-year-old Egor was lying in a ward under close medical supervision.
“Will he… Will he live?” the father asked in a breaking voice after finally finding the doctor. “Will he be able to walk? Tell me, will he walk again?”
The doctor glanced briefly at the records, then looked up and sighed heavily.
“Right now, we cannot give any guarantees. There is a risk of paraplegia — paralysis of the lower limbs. But we do have reasons to be cautiously optimistic. The spinal injury is incomplete. With long and proper rehabilitation, partial recovery is possible, and in the future, even full restoration of function may be possible.”
“So… so he’ll be all right?” Roman’s voice carried a desperate hope.
“He can be. But it will take years of work, discipline, daily exercises, and endless procedures. It will not be easy for either you or your son.”
Roman closed his eyes and exhaled.
“Fine. Then we’ll work. We’ll do everything that needs to be done,” he whispered with firm determination.
When Roman’s relatives learned about the tragedy, they all sincerely expressed their sympathy. Calls, messages, visits — everyone tried to support him in some way. Even his father, who had always been cold and calculating, tried to encourage his son. He patted Roman on the shoulder and said:
“Hold on. You’re still young. You can’t fall apart. There is still a lot ahead of you. You need to be strong.”
After his daughter-in-law’s funeral, Boris Dmitrievich quickly returned to his usual indifferent self. He showed up at his son’s place the very next day.
“I went to the hospital today, to see Egor,” he said unexpectedly.
“Really? I was planning to go during the day… How is he?” At first, Roman was surprised that his father had shown such concern, but a moment later, he understood where the conversation was heading.
“Son, the situation is very difficult. You need to look at reality sensibly. Your life has completely changed now. Business, projects, trips — all of that will become almost impossible.”
“And?” Roman pressed his lips together. He already suspected what would come next.
His father paused briefly, as if weighing his words, and then said what seemed to him the only reasonable solution:
“There is a specialized institution in our city. It is not an orphanage, understand me correctly. Children with health conditions receive professional care and rehabilitation there…”
Roman instinctively stepped back, as if it were unpleasant for him to stand near this man.
“What do you mean? Are you suggesting…”
“I’m suggesting that you think rationally,” his father interrupted. “You are thirty-nine years old. Your wife is gone, there is no one to look after the child, and you will not be able to devote as much time to him as he needs. Son, your whole life is still ahead of you. You must not ruin it because of… circumstances.”
“Because of what?!” Roman asked, stunned, raising his voice.
“I’m talking about the situation as a whole. Think about it yourself: we have a business, responsibilities, long-term plans. I want to build a real empire with you, and Egor, with his paralysis, will only distract you. You risk losing everything we have been building for years.”
“But… he is my son! Your grandson, Dad! How can you even say that?”
“He is a burden, Roman! A heavy, lifelong burden! You simply do not yet understand the full scale of it!”
Roman knew exactly what kind of man he was dealing with, so he did not even try to argue. He rose from the chair, straightened to his full height, and firmly pointed toward the door.
“That’s enough. Leave. I no longer want to see you or hear you.”
“At least think about it…” Boris Dmitrievich began, but Roman cut him off sharply.
“I said leave! If my son is a burden to you, then we have nothing more to discuss.”
“You are making a mistake!” his father said, finally standing up and heading toward the exit.
“Maybe I am. But it will be my mistake, not your profitable deal.”
Before walking out, Boris Dmitrievich turned around. His gaze was icy.
“If you refuse to do as I say, then forget about the business, the money, and any help from me,” he said coldly.
“I already have,” Roman replied without turning around.
The door slammed shut behind Boris Dmitrievich with a deafening sound. With that sound, one life ended for Roman, and another began.
The first year was a true ordeal. Roman and Egor were almost constantly in the hospital: surgeries, injections, IV drips, endless consultations.
When the diagnosis was finally clarified, Roman felt hope return. There really was a chance of recovery.
The thin seven-year-old boy lay motionless for hours, staring at the ceiling, but he never cried. Sometimes he turned his head toward his father and quietly asked:
“Dad, are you telling the truth? Will I run again?”
“You will. Of course you will!” his father answered confidently, though he himself did not know whether it was true. “It just takes time, a lot of work, and patience. We’ll get through this, son.”
Roman sold his share of the family business to provide his son with the best treatment possible. He rented a small apartment near the rehabilitation center, hired a kind woman to look after Egor when he was away, and found remote work.
That became his life: projects and video calls during the day, exercises with Egor in the evening, massages and stretching, and at night — the relentless fear for his child’s future.
A year passed, then a second. At first, there was no visible progress at all. Day after day, Roman fought against despair. But one day, the boy suddenly said in surprise:
“Dad, I think I can feel something… A slight tingling in my legs, right here,” he said, uncertainly touching his shin.
Roman froze, unable to believe what was happening. In that moment, he understood that they could not stop — not for a day, not for an hour, not for a single minute.
Six months later, the boy showed his first movements. Weak and uncertain, but movements nonetheless.
After examining Egor, the doctors exchanged joyful glances.
“This is a very good sign. There is a response, which means the connection is being restored.”
In the third year of persistent training, Egor began standing with support — first for a few seconds while holding onto parallel bars, then for a full minute. Soon, the boy took his first steps with a walker.
“This is no longer just rehabilitation. This is real progress,” proudly said the specialist who had been working with the child from the very beginning.
And then the day finally came. Standing by the wall, Egor took a breath and made his first independent step. Roman was beside him at that moment and could barely breathe.
“Did you see that? Dad, did you see?!” the teenager exclaimed, turning to his father with shining eyes.
“I saw it. I saw everything!” Roman answered, barely holding back his tears. “You are my hero…”
More time passed. Egor really did run — not as fast or as confidently as other children, but he ran, and that was a true miracle.
One day, Roman and his son were returning home from training when they accidentally met Boris Dmitrievich.
“Roman?” his father called quietly, peering into his son’s face. “Is that you?”
Roman did not recognize him right away. The years had changed him.
“Hello,” he replied restrainedly.
Egor stopped and looked at his father in confusion.
“Dad, who is this?”
“No one. Just someone I know. Let’s keep going.”
The man and the boy had already turned to leave, but Boris Dmitrievich did not want to let them go.
“Wait… I need to talk to you,” he began. “I… things are bad for me. The business is in trouble, my partners left, even your stepmother abandoned me. I need help. I can’t manage on my own.”
His words hung in the air. He looked at his son and waited for an answer, but Roman remained silent. Then the man dared to continue:
“I am your father, and you are obliged…”
Roman gave him a reproachful look.
“Obliged to whom? To you? No, I owe you nothing.”
“What do you mean, nothing?” Boris Dmitrievich flinched, despair flashing in his eyes.
Roman turned slightly and nodded toward Egor, who was standing a little farther away, patiently waiting.
“That is my son. And to him, I truly am responsible. Do you remember how you wanted to get rid of him so that you and I could make money?”
“I remember! And we would have made money!” His father’s voice grew louder, and his old commanding tone returned. “If you had listened to me back then, I would be a different man now! Your son would have gotten back on his feet even without you, and our family business collapsed after you sold your share. Now you owe me! You must take care of me!”
Roman felt so disgusted standing near this man that he involuntarily recoiled. Boris Dmitrievich could not even imagine how difficult those years had been for Roman. If not for his father’s care, Egor would never have stood on his feet again. But Roman no longer intended to explain anything to him.
“No,” Roman said firmly. “I will not take responsibility for caring for you. Once, you refused to support me in caring for my son, and now I am treating you exactly the same way. Maybe I will pay my own price for this someday, but right now, my son’s future matters more to me than anything that belongs in the past.”
With those words, Roman turned away, and he and Egor walked on. As he left, he did not look back even once.
And the man behind him — the one who had once chosen the easy road instead of family — was eventually left alone with his mistakes and his obsession with money.