The inheritance

Andrew, the younger twin

Every morning, Alex woke early, as was his habit. But this morning, a painful realization cut through him like a blade the moment his eyes opened: he was alone in his room. Katalin was not beside him.

"Katalin," he whispered to himself. "Where are you? How much longer must I be apart from you? When will the time come when I can wake up next to you, day after day? When..."

It was a sigh that carried everything within it — the ache of her absence, and the cold recognition that he had woken again in a house as frigid as marble and as hollow as the deepest well.

Once he was up, an idea came to him suddenly: he would go to Andrew and talk to him about his plans — perhaps even ask for his advice. What awaited him in his son's small studio, however, was something he never could have foreseen.

He knew his artistic son was also an early riser, so he called him and arranged to meet at the studio. Deep in his heart, he felt a quiet pride in the boy — the one who had refused to live the life his mother had prescribed for him. At least he was free.

Andrew was genuinely surprised when his father called. He hadn't expected it at all, but of course he welcomed the visit. He tidied the studio a little, made coffee, and waited for his father to arrive.

He had always felt a closer bond with Alex than the other brothers had, even though he didn't live in the grand palace. Between the two of them, there was something stronger — an unspoken connection that the years had only deepened.

When his father arrived, he embraced his son. Andrew stood within his father's arms, understanding nothing yet — but that embrace was unlike anything he had ever felt before. It was a real embrace. A father's embrace, full of warmth and meaning.

"It's good to see you, Father! I'm glad you came — to my humble little studio."

"I'm glad too, son. That I finally did what I've been putting off for so long. I've wanted to come to your studio for a long time, to see what you do — but something always got in the way. I'm here now, though. There's so much I want to talk to you about. I hope it's just us, right? No one else?"

"Of course, Father. Just the two of us. What did you want to talk about?"

"Well... many things. But first, I'd like to see what you draw, what you paint. You're an artist, after all, aren't you?"

"Alright, then. Let me show you a few pieces."

Andrew took out his work and showed it to Alex one piece at a time. His father was astonished — he had not expected his son to be so gifted.

But he also noticed something in Andrew. The boy was turning something over in his mind.

"Father! There's something I want to show you. A painting I made a long time ago."

"Show me, son. Let me see it. Why are you hesitating like this?"

"I don't quite know how to tell you the story behind this painting," said Andrew.

"You can tell me after I've seen it," his father replied. "Come on, show me. You're guarding it like buried treasure. What's all this secrecy?"

Alex had no idea what his son was hiding beneath that cloth — or why he was hiding it at all.

And so Andrew pulled the cloth away with a single, decisive motion.

His father went pale.

"Katalin," he whispered, barely audible. "Katalin..."

For a long moment, Alex seemed frozen. He stood there, staring at the painting, unable to find his voice. When he finally came back to himself, shaking off the shock and the wonder...

"How do you know this woman?" he asked, still carrying the full weight of his disbelief.

"Father, I don't know her. Once, some years ago, I was visiting you at home. When I was leaving, you walked me out and pressed some money into my hand. When you took it from your coin tray, a photograph fell out — but you didn't notice. I picked it up, but by the time I might have returned it, Mother had appeared. So I kept it. When I got home, I thought: whoever this woman is, she must matter to you. So I painted her from the photograph and waited for the day I could show you."

Alexander sank back into the armchair. For long minutes, he only stared at the painting, trying to gather his thoughts. He didn't know where to begin — what to say, or how to say it.

"Son. The reason I came to you today is because you are the only one in this family I trust. Anna is kind, but she is Peter's wife — and Peter stands on the other side of this. So I wanted to talk — I want to talk with you. And the irony of it all is that the very person I came here to speak about is the one you painted all those years ago. You can't imagine how long I searched for that photograph. I had no idea where I'd lost it."

"It doesn't matter, Father. I found it. Now calm down, and let's talk — that's why you came, isn't it?"

"It is, son... The woman you painted is Katalin. My lawful wife."

"But Father!" Andrew burst out. "Does that mean you have two wives?"

"No, son. Your dear mother was thrust upon me. To inherit your grandfather's estate, I had to marry her — that was the condition. But what I learned only later was that the priest your grandfather hired for our wedding had long since been removed from the Church — for the same vice that claimed your grandfather in the end. When I found out, my first thought was to make the marriage legal. But then I realized — I was free."

"So all those business trips, Father — that's really why you go, isn't it?"

"Yes, son. That's why. Katalin and the girls live in Bratislava. I returned from them just yesterday. And I made a promise to Katalin — that I would put an end to this back-and-forth, that I would tell Barbara the truth, and your brothers as well."

"So we have two more sisters? How wonderful! I'm so glad, Father — that even if not here at home, you found your happiness somewhere."

"I can't tell you how much it means to me that you understand, and don't judge me." Alex rose to his feet and embraced his son with an open heart.

"Honestly, Father, I don't know how you've lived with Mother for so long. But you do realize this won't be easy. She's spent years turning my brothers against you."

"I know, son. How could I not. But that's exactly why I'm here. Give me your advice — how do I settle this peacefully? You young people see things differently than we do. And I want to settle it — properly. On my way back, I witnessed a terrible accident. That's when I understood how fragile life is. And I'm not young anymore."

"That's it, Father! The accident! This couldn't be better — the idea came from you."

"What idea, son? What accident?" Alex asked, puzzled.

"Well, to be honest with you — you can't easily get rid of Mother. I imagine you'd want to take the business with you, not leave it to my brothers. And Mother tells everyone constantly that you built your fortune on her father's money. So it won't be simple."

"You're right. But you should know — your grandfather had gambled away everything by the time I married your mother. The company was on the brink of ruin. He took his own life because he said he couldn't live without the horses. After I moved them to the countryside to keep him away from the tracks. He had nothing left — he even had to sell the house. Your mother lies as easily as breathing. She knows the truth perfectly well. But who would care about a broken, penniless factory owner's daughter?"

Alex paused, then continued: "But I still don't understand what you meant about the accident."

"That's just it, Father. The accident. If I'm not mistaken, the road to Bratislava has some sharp bends — perhaps even a ravine or two worth considering, no? You just have to plan it right, and you could disappear — without a trace, without a problem. You have an estate. That takes care of everything."

"Son, I do have an estate, as a matter of fact. I hadn't thought of it in those terms. And you're right about your mother. That's also why I want to sort everything out as soon as possible — because my heart has been giving me trouble lately."

"Father, we'll talk more about this — but if your heart is giving you trouble, you must see a doctor. As soon as possible. I was at home while you were away, and Mother mentioned you wanted to speak with everyone."

"Yes, that's right. I told Barbara I want a family meeting."

"Then simply tell them that your heart is unwell, and that you need to spend a few weeks at a sanatorium. While you're away, we'll figure something out."

"Son, you can't imagine what a help you are to me right now — even if I'm not entirely sure yet what you have in mind."

"That's alright, Father. You'll understand in time. Just go to the doctor. So that you still have time to enjoy your later years."

The two men talked for a long while. Afterward, Alex invited his son to lunch. After the meal, each went their own way. Andrew felt a calm settle over him — glad that he could, for once, be of some help to his father. And glad, at the same time, that his father had found happiness somewhere, even if not here. They agreed: what had been said that day was their secret alone.