"Uncle, please… take my sister. She’s very hungry…”

The soft, broken voice pierced through the usual noise of the city. Igor Levshin stopped in his tracks, the plea slicing through the whirlwind of thoughts in his head like a sudden gust of cold wind. He had been walking quickly — no, running — driven by an urgency only high-stakes business deals could create. Millions of dollars, months of planning, and his reputation all hinged on one critical decision he had to make at today’s board meeting. Time, always tight, felt like it was strangling him.

Since Rita — his wife, his anchor, his world — had passed away, Igor had thrown himself into work. It was the only thing that still made sense. The only thing that kept him from falling apart.

But now… that voice.

He turned.

Standing before him was a thin, disheveled boy, no older than seven. His oversized jacket hung on him like borrowed clothes, and his eyes — wide, red-rimmed, tearful — carried an exhaustion no child should ever know. In his frail arms was a small bundle wrapped in a worn-out, tattered blanket. A baby’s face peeked through, pale and fragile, whimpering softly. The boy held her close, as if he were the only thing keeping her from vanishing.

Igor hesitated. Logic screamed at him to move on. He couldn’t afford delays. But something deep inside — a quiet ache, long buried — stirred.

He crouched beside the boy and asked gently, “Where is your mother?”

The child blinked back tears and whispered, “She said she’d come back. But it’s been two days. I’m waiting here... maybe she still will.”

His name was Maxim. His baby sister, Taisia. No notes, no explanation, no trace of a parent — just these two children, left to survive on the cold edges of a city that didn’t notice them.

Igor offered to buy them food, to call the authorities, to get them help. But at the mention of police, Maxim recoiled and whispered urgently:

“Please don’t let them take us. They’ll take Taisia away...”

And in that moment, Igor understood: he couldn’t walk away.

---

They went to a nearby café. Maxim devoured his food like someone who hadn't eaten properly in days. Igor, awkward and unfamiliar, fed Taisia with a formula bottle from a nearby pharmacy, fumbling like a man discovering a new world — because he was. With each sip, each movement, something cold inside him began to thaw.

He called his assistant:
“Cancel my meetings. Today and tomorrow.”
There was no further explanation.

Later, two police officers, Gerasimov and Naumova, arrived. Questions were asked. Forms were filled. Procedures followed. But Maxim never let go of Igor’s hand. His grip was firm — not demanding, just pleading.

“You won’t send us to an orphanage… right?”

Igor surprised even himself when he said:
“I won’t. I promise.”

At the station, bureaucracy kicked in. But Igor made a call to Larisa Petrovna, an old friend and experienced social worker. Thanks to her, they arranged temporary custody in record time.

“Only until their mother is found,” Igor repeated quietly, as much to Larisa as to himself. “Just temporary.”

---

Igor brought the children home. His penthouse apartment, with its sweeping views of the city, spacious rooms, and cold luxury, had never felt so alien. Maxim looked around in awe — as if he’d stepped into a fairy tale. Taisia, barely old enough to recognize her surroundings, clung to him with tiny fingers.

Igor felt completely unprepared. Diapers, formula, nap times — he knew nothing. He forgot feeding times, spilled milk, tripped over toys. He was used to boardrooms, not baby bottles.

But Maxim was always there. Quiet, observant, ready. He watched Igor with cautious hope — like someone who had been let down too often but dared to believe, just this once, it might be different. He gently rocked Taisia to sleep, sang soft lullabies, and tucked her in with the care of someone who’d done it many times before — because he had.

---

One night, Taisia wouldn’t sleep. She cried and cried, refusing rest. Igor was at a loss, pacing the room with exhaustion written on his face.

Then Maxim stepped in. He picked her up, whispered to her, sang again. Within minutes, she was asleep.

“You’re really good at calming her,” Igor said, amazed and moved.

Maxim shrugged. “I had to learn.”

No resentment. No drama. Just a simple truth spoken by a child who’d been forced to grow up too soon.

And then Igor’s phone rang.

It was Larisa.

“We found their mother. She’s alive — currently in rehab. Drug addiction. Severe. If she finishes treatment and proves she’s stable, the children will be returned. If not... the state takes custody. Or you can apply to become their legal guardian. Possibly even adopt.”

Igor froze. The idea stunned him.

Guardian. Father.

He didn’t know if he was ready. But he knew one thing: he couldn’t imagine losing them now.

---

That night, Maxim sat in a corner, quietly drawing. His small shoulders hunched, his hand steady.

Without looking up, he asked softly, “What will happen to us?”

His voice was small but carried the weight of abandonment.

“I don’t know,” Igor said, sitting beside him. “But I’ll do everything I can to keep you safe.”

A pause. Then Maxim asked:

“Will they take us away from you?”

Igor pulled him into a firm hug. No words — just the warmth of someone who had made up his mind.

“I won’t give you away. Ever.”

And in that quiet, heart-wrenching moment, he understood: these children weren’t just guests in his life anymore. They were family.

---

The next morning, Igor called Larisa.

“I want to apply for full guardianship.”

What followed was a long process: home inspections, evaluations, interviews. Igor faced it all with a steady determination. He read parenting books at night, talked to child psychologists, and reorganized his entire life.

When the temporary became permanent, he moved. Out of the city, into a house with a garden. A place where children could run, laugh, and grow.

And grow they did.

Maxim came alive. He made friends, played soccer, brought home drawings and pinned them proudly to the refrigerator. Igor learned how to cook pancakes, bandage scraped knees, and listen to stories about school.

One evening, after reading a bedtime story, Igor tucked Maxim in.

“Good night, Dad,” the boy whispered, barely audible.

Igor’s breath caught. His chest ached in the best way.

“Good night, son,” he replied, softly.

---

In the spring, the adoption was finalized. The judge signed the papers, but Igor had become their father long before that.

Taisia’s first word — “Dad” — became more valuable than every deal he’d ever made.

He taught Maxim how to ride a bike, helped with school projects, and stood on the sidelines at soccer games. Sometimes, he looked around at the dinner table and felt something he hadn’t in years: peace.

Love had come into his life not with grand gestures but in small, quiet moments — a whispered word, a child’s smile, a hand held in silence.

He had never planned to become a father.

But now, he couldn’t imagine being anything else.

It had been unexpected. It had been difficult.

But it had become the most beautiful thing that had ever happened to him.