Help me, won`t you?

Chapter 13: Shadows of the Past

It had been a long time since I’d allowed myself to revisit the reasons behind the rift with my parents. Lera knew the whole story, of course, but with everyone else, I kept it short. There was no point in discussing it. Some memories are better left buried.

"You remember me mentioning my younger brother, Illya?" I asked. Igor nodded, and I continued brewing the tea, setting the table with practiced, mechanical movements. "Before he was born, I was an only child. My father carried me on his shoulders; my mother bought me every dress and toy I wanted. I was loved. I was supported. But then, when I started school, my mother announced she was pregnant. We were all thrilled. I was just as happy as they were."

I placed the cups, the teapot, and the pie on the table, then sat across from Igor.

"Grandparents, aunts, uncles—everyone celebrated when they found out it was a boy. A 'heir.' As if we were living in the Middle Ages and had a kingdom to pass down. Illya grew up as a sweet, kind boy at first. I played with him, walked with him, gave him all my free time. Но the older he got, the more his character soured. He was the center of the universe. They practically worshipped the ground he walked on." A small, bitter smile touched my lips.

"I finished school and went to medical college. I had goals, a vision for my life. Illya? Not so much. He thrived on the indulgence of our relatives. The only one who ever called him out was my grandfather. He told everyone that Illya was growing up to be a spineless coward, not a man. But no one listened. During my second year of med school, after another explosive fight between my parents, Illya, and my grandparents, my grandfather had a heart attack. He died in the hospital."

I took a sip of tea and looked out the window. It was getting dark; the garden was disappearing into the shadows.

"My parents didn't learn their lesson. My grandmother was devastated. She moved into this house and refused to go back to the city. I spent my life commuting back and forth—I couldn't leave her alone, but I couldn't quit my studies. Then, things started disappearing from the family home. Vases, jewelry, electronics. No one knew where it was all going until the local police officer brought Illya home. It turned out he was selling our belongings to fund his gambling in underground casinos. It was a massive scandal, but my father paid off the officer and hushed it up."

"Did no one see the change in him? No warning signs?" Igor asked, his voice low.

"After Grandpa died, he just shut down. We thought it was grief, guilt. We tried to get him to a psychologist, but he refused. I tried to reach out to him, to find the brother I used to play with, but he just pushed me away. Eventually, I stopped trying. After the incident with the police, he became 'quiet.' We thought he’d turned a corner. A year went by. Then, I got a phone call."

Igor moved his chair closer and took my hand. His warmth was the only thing keeping me grounded.

"A stranger told me they had my brother. He owed a massive gambling debt, and if we didn't pay, they’d deal with him according to 'their own laws.' We scrambled for the money. My parents used their savings, I used mine, and Grandma gave us a huge sum. We were surprised she had that much saved, but we didn't ask questions. We traded the cash for Illya. He was a mess—broken nose, cracked ribs, covered in bruises. The fighting in the family started all over again. And then... Grandma collapsed. She was diagnosed with advanced ovarian cancer."

My voice trembled. "It turned out she had been saving that money for her own surgery. She hadn't told us because she didn't want to worry us. And when Illya got into trouble, she gave her life-saving fund to pay his debt. By the time we found out, the money was gone and it was too late. She died because of him."

I took a shuddering breath. "That was when I snapped. After the funeral, I screamed everything I’d been holding back. I told them exactly what they’d done by spoiling him. I even hit him—he just stood there and took it. But when my parents told me it was my fault... that I hadn't looked after my 'little' brother well enough... I went cold. I told them, 'If your pathetic son is more important to you than the truth, then you don't have a daughter anymore.'"

I looked at Igor, my eyes stinging. "I’ve never regretted it. I’d rather be alone and responsible for myself than live in that delusion. I moved into this house, worked, studied, and built my life. Then I met Lera. My parents still haven't reached out. Illya tried to call at first, tried to 'reconcile,' but only when he needed money. When I realized he was just using me, I stopped answering. That’s the story. They gave up on me so easily, Igor. It means I was never really what they wanted."

"Maybe you're wrong," Igor said softly, squeezing my hand. "Maybe they have their own regrets. But listen to me: I will support you. In everything. Even if your brother shows up again, you won't face it alone. I’ve got your back."

I leaned over and kissed him. He was my rock. We spent the rest of the evening in the living room, curled up on the sofa watching a movie. For the first time in years, the weight on my chest felt lighter.

Eventually, exhaustion from the long shift and the emotional purge began to take over.

"Let’s go to the bedroom," Igor whispered. "You're falling asleep."

There was no s*x that night—just tender, soul-deep holding. After I gave him his injections and medication, we fell asleep in each other's arms, terrified of losing this fragile, beautiful sense of peace.