Ilya’s world had always been strictly controlled. He preferred this kind of life — a life of order, responsibility and clear boundaries. But the silence in the house after Masha left was not the peace he had dreamed of. It was heavy, accusatory and relentless.
Memories of their last argument kept spinning around in his head. Masha stood with her arms folded, her voice cold.
‘I’m not going to introduce you to my boyfriend, Dad. I’m 18! I don’t need your permission to date.’
The argument escalated, and she stormed out, slamming the door behind her. Ilya convinced himself that he was right — he was protecting her. But as days turned into weeks and the silence of her absence became unbearable, he realised he couldn’t live like this anymore.
One day, walking past a café near his office, he heard a familiar laugh cutting through the noise. He turned abruptly and saw her — Masha. She was sitting in the corner, her hand resting on her rounded belly.
Ilya froze. Pregnant. His girl was pregnant.
Sitting across from her was Yuri — his best friend for the last twenty years. Yuri, the man Ilya trusted with everything. Confusion and anger boiled in his chest. Without thinking, he burst into the café.
‘Masha!’ he growled, making her flinch. Silence fell over the café, and everyone turned to watch the unfolding scene. ‘What the hell is this?’
Her face paled, and she instinctively covered her stomach. Yuri stood up, raising his hands in a gesture of appeasement.
‘Ilya, let’s talk about this,’ Yuri began, but Ilya was too far gone.
‘Is this the guy you didn’t want me to meet?’ Ilya growled, pointing at Yuri. ‘This one? My best friend?’
‘It’s not what you think!’ Masha muttered, her voice trembling.
‘Not what you think?’ Ilya exploded. ‘You’re sitting here, pregnant, with the person I trusted most. What else am I supposed to think?’
Yuri stepped forward, trying to smooth things over, but his foot caught on the leg of a chair. He stumbled backwards, and the whole café seemed to hold its breath as he fell to the floor. His head hit the floor with a dull thud, and Yuri lay motionless.
Masha screamed and fell to her knees beside him.
‘Call an ambulance!’ someone shouted, but Masha was already grabbing her phone.
Ilya stood rooted to the spot, overwhelmed by the gravity of what had happened.
A few hours later, Ilya and Masha were sitting in the hospital corridor. The tension between them was unbearable. No one spoke until Masha broke the silence.
‘You’ve got it all wrong,’ she said, her voice trembling. ‘The baby isn’t his.’
Ilya turned to her, his eyes filled with confusion and guilt.
‘Then what’s going on, Masha?’
She took a deep breath.
“The baby is Dima’s. We were together when I left. But when I told him I was pregnant, he left. I had nowhere to go, so I went to Yura. He let me stay with him and helped me figure out what to do. That’s all, Dad. He was just helping me.
Ilya’s chest tightened. The anger that had driven him earlier now seemed empty and misplaced. He had accused his best friend — his daughter — and for what? For pride? For the desire to control?
When Yuri’s wife, Susanna, arrived, she was in a panic. The doctor explained that Yuri had a subdural haematoma and needed urgent surgery. These words hit Ilya like a hammer, and the reality of what he had caused with his anger became clear.
Suzanne’s voice trembled as she asked,
‘What about the cost? We don’t have the savings for this.’
Ilya didn’t hesitate. He went home and gathered everything he could — savings, emergency funds, loose change — anything to cover the cost of the surgery. Handing the envelope to Susanna, he said:
‘He’s my best friend. It’s the least I can do.’
