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

This quiet, desperate plea, breaking through the street noise, caught Igor Levshin off guard. He was in a hurry — no, he was literally rushing as if chased by an invisible enemy. Time was pressing: millions of dollars depended on a single decision that had to be made today at the meeting. Since Rita — his wife, his light, his support — had passed away, work had become the only meaning left in his life.

But that voice…

Igor turned around.

In front of him stood a child about seven years old. Thin, disheveled, with tearful eyes. In his arms he held a tiny bundle, from which peeked the face of a little baby. The girl, wrapped in an old, worn-out blanket, weakly whimpered, and the boy held her as if he were her only protection in this indifferent world.

Igor hesitated. He knew — he couldn’t waste time, he had to go. But something in the child’s gaze or the sound of that simple “please” touched a deeply hidden part of his soul.

— Where is your mother? — he asked gently, sitting down next to the child.

She promised to come back… but she hasn’t been here for two days. I’m waiting for her here, maybe she will come, — the boy’s voice trembled, his hand with it.

His name was Maxim. The little girl was called Taisia. They were completely alone. No notes, no explanations — only hope, which the seven-year-old boy clung to like a drowning man to a straw.

Igor suggested buying food, calling the police, notifying social services. But when police were mentioned, Maxim flinched and whispered painfully:

— Please don’t take us away. They will take Taisia…

And at that moment, Igor realized: he could no longer just walk away.

At a nearby café, Maxim ate greedily, while Igor carefully fed Taisia with formula bought at a neighboring pharmacy. Something inside him began to awaken — something that had long lain beneath a cold shell.

He called his assistant:

— Cancel all meetings. Today and tomorrow too.

After a while, police officers arrived — Gerasimov and Naumova. Routine questions, standard procedures. Maxim tightly squeezed Igor’s hand:

— You won’t send us to an orphanage, right?

Igor didn’t expect to say these words himself:

— I won’t. I promise.

At the station, formalities began. Larisa Petrovna, an old friend and experienced social worker, got involved. Thanks to her, everything was arranged quickly — temporary custody.

— Only until they find their mother, — Igor repeated, mostly to himself. — Just temporary.

He took the children home. The car was silent, like a tomb. Maxim held his sister tightly, asking no questions, only whispering something gentle, soothing, familiar.

Igor’s apartment greeted them with spaciousness, soft carpets, and panoramic windows offering a view of the entire city. For Maxim, it was something like a fairy tale — his life had never known such warmth and comfort.

Igor himself felt lost. He understood nothing about baby formula, diapers, or daily routines. He stumbled over diapers, forgot when to feed, when to put to bed.

But Maxim was near. Quiet, attentive, tense. He watched Igor like a stranger who could disappear any second. Yet he helped — carefully rocking his sister, humming lullabies, tucking her in as only someone who had done it many times before can.

One evening, Taisia couldn’t fall asleep. She sobbed, restless in her crib. Then Maxim approached, gently picked her up, and quietly began to hum. After a few minutes, the girl was peacefully asleep.

— You’re so good at calming her down, — Igor said, watching with warmth in his chest.

— Had to learn, — the boy simply replied. Not with resentment, not with complaint — just a fact of life.

And at that moment, the phone rang. It was Larisa Petrovna.