He embraced his son firmly yet gently:
“I was truly wrong. I should have been there from the very start. But now I’m here. And every day I choose to be your father—not because I have to, but because I want to.”
Kirill sniffled, clinging to his father.
A year later, Kirill had fully settled into his new school and made friends. Together with Katya, he began remodeling his room—now adorned with posters of football players and bookshelves. Although he still occasionally retreated into himself, such moments became increasingly rare.
Then, a miracle happened. At a school concert, during a play in which Kirill participated, he, upon noticing Larisa in the audience, shouted joyfully:
“Mom! Mom, did you see how I performed?”
She froze, unable to believe her ears. And he was already running toward her, beaming with happiness—her son.
At home, they retrieved an old photo album containing Viktor’s childhood portrait and placed new photographs beside it.
“Look how similar we are!” Katya exclaimed in awe. “It’s like we’re twins!”
“Let me see too,” Kirill squeezed in between them. “Wow! Dad, you’re exactly like me here!”
“No,” Viktor smiled. “You’re my exact replica.”
They spent a long time leafing through the album, reminiscing about funny stories and making plans for the future. Larisa watched them and thought about that nighttime message that had turned their lives upside down. Now it had become the beginning of something beautiful.
