— …and all bank accounts, as well as funds from abroad, shares in SerebrinIndustries, and the property by Lake Baikal revert entirely to his daughter, Anna Mihailovna Petrova.
I heard the words, but my brain refused to understand them.
— What? I whispered, forgetting to breathe.
Oleg had lifted his head from his homework, Marina was frozen with her hands on a mug, and Viktor Semionov had clenched his jaw. Only the notary continued, calmly, as if reading a mundane shopping list.
— Additionally, in the letter attached to the will, Mihail Petrovich mentions: “I have kept everything I could for Anna. I have wronged her. But perhaps, one day, she will understand that everything was out of love. She was, is, and will remain my daughter and the heir to my name.”
Ludmila Ivanovna burst into tears. Marina was pale. Me? I simply couldn’t breathe anymore. I felt like a stranger in my own body.
— It can’t be true, I said. I lived in a rented studio without hot water. I borrowed money to buy clothes for interviews. I ate pretzels for three days in a row!
— Your father invested everything in accounts that would remain clean for you. No one touched them, the notary explained. And no one knew, except for him and me.
— And me, Viktor added, looking down. I helped him hide everything. He begged me to take care, not to let anything be wasted. He said that one day you would return. That one day, Anna would understand.
They handed me a folder. Documents, account statements, official papers. Sums I couldn’t even pronounce. They were there, in my name. Years of sacrifice and pain melted into those sheets.
I stood up. I felt I had to leave. I went out onto the porch, into the cold morning air. Tears streamed down my face without stopping.
All those years… all the humiliation… all the poverty, all the cold nights… when, in fact, I was an heiress. A beloved daughter. A protected one, even if I didn’t know it.
Next to me, Marina slowly approached.
— He knew you wouldn’t forgive him easily. But he never lost hope. He kept everything for you.
I looked at her, my voice trembling.
— And yet… why didn’t he look for me?
— Because he loved you. And he thought it was better to wait for you to come. To come when you were ready.
Maybe he was right.
I closed my eyes. Inside me, for the first time in fifteen years, I felt peace.
I was not a fugitive. I was the daughter of Mihail Petrovich Petrov.
And I had the whole future ahead of me.
This work is inspired by real events and people, but has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
The author and publisher do not assume responsibility for the accuracy of events or for how characters are portrayed and are not liable for any misinterpretations. This story is provided “as is,” and any opinions expressed belong to the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.
