“There’s no room for any ‘if’s,” she interrupted firmly. “He’s your son. Our son. He just needs time to understand that.”
Viktor nodded, focusing on the road. Fragments of memories flashed through his mind: the last meeting with Nadya, her letters, rare photos of the boy. How could he have been such a coward? Why hadn’t he insisted on seeing Kirill more often? Why did he let the child grow up without a father?
After five hours, they arrived in Nizhny Novgorod. It took another hour to find the orphanage—a dilapidated two-story building lost on the outskirts of the city.
“Ready?” Larisa asked when the car stopped.
“No,” he admitted honestly. “But that doesn’t matter anymore, does it?”
Katya didn’t wait; she was the first to jump out of the car:
“What are you waiting for? I want to meet my brother already!”
