A gravely sick wealthy woman strolling in a snowy garden noticed a father and his son shivering on a seat—and brought them to her residence…

He felt something special in this trip. But didn’t ask. She didn’t want to say, means not time.

While packing, Emily caught moments like frames from a favorite movie. Ethan tried on swimming goggles and laughed, looking in the mirror. Michael chose shorts and winced.

I look like a tourist in Panama from the nineties. Laura packed a first-aid kit, as if preparing not for rest, but survival in the desert. Each of them, without knowing, felt something changing.

The night before the flight, Emily didn’t sleep. She opened an old album, the one with photos from childhood. In one—her grandmother with a little boy in arms.

The signature faded, but she already knew—it was Michael’s mother. And now everything became clearer. That resemblance she earlier attributed to chance.

That warm feeling that seemed like infatuation turned out to be something else: deeper, more tangled. It was blood connection. And it made everything unbearably complicated.

How to tell him? How not to destroy what finally became real? And if not tell, it would be a lie. Living with it—also wrong. In the room’s darkness, she pressed the old photo to her chest and whispered.

Forgive me. For not knowing. For feeling.

And for what I can’t. The next morning, for the first time in many years, she left the house not in a coat, not in a suit, but in a light windbreaker and with a backpack. Looking like a woman whose luggage held not clothes, but last chances.

The airport met them with bustle, coffee smell, and shimmering board. Ethan ran between suitcases, admiring planes in delight. Michael watched.

Laura, grumbling, handed out wet wipes. Emily walked a bit aside, peering into people’s faces, as if trying to remember everything. When the plane took off, she closed her eyes.

Her fingers trembled. Michael touched her hand. Everything okay.

She squeezed his palm. For now yes. And inside sounded the thought: if only there’s time to say everything…

And say goodbye for real. Egypt met them like a gentle wave, as if someone opened gates to another world. One without gray weekdays, cold streets, and a diagnosis like a stamp in a passport.

The sea sparkled like a glass mirror, sand crunched underfoot, air smelled of salt and freedom. Emily, standing on the hotel balcony, looked into the distance, at the horizon that seemed endless. There were no boundaries.

And no time either. Michael and Ethan frolicked in the pool. The boy shouted in delight, Michael laughed as if shedding all past years from his shoulders.

Laura sat in a lounge chair and pulled on glasses, looking like a person to whom all this was long due by status, only issued late. You must try the coconut cocktail, said Michael, handing Emily a glass. You’ve never been on vacation your whole life.

Enough living like a tank. And how do you know how I lived? I listened. Noticed.

Compared to myself. She took the cocktail. Took a sip.

And for the first time in many years laughed not out of politeness, not from awkwardness, for real. Tank, you say—stubborn, indestructible. But even tanks run out of fuel.

And you’re not armored, Emily. You’re alive. He rarely called her by name.

And Emily—first time at all. Something inside her trembled. And it wasn’t the heart.

It was guilt. They went on excursions, rode camels, drank tea with Bedouins. Ethan collected pebbles, sunburned his nose, and began squinting like a little captain.

Michael photographed everyone, as if wanting to preserve this mirage forever. Emily tried to absorb every moment—the ocean smell, hot wind, sand touch. All this was like a last toast at a farewell party, when you already understand: soon the end.

On the third evening, Michael invited her to the hotel roof. Underfoot—resort lights, overhead—stars, clear as an engraving. I must tell you something, he began, not looking in her face.

I know it might be stupid. But if not now, later it’ll be too late. She held her breath.

Already knew what he’d say. And she wanted to disappear right now. Erase herself with an eraser from this frame.

I love you, Emily. And not as a grateful person. And not because of salvation.

But simply, as a man is drawn to a woman. This has long not been about circumstances. This is me. She was silent.

He shifted his gaze, finally daring to see her reaction. But in her eyes was no answer. Only pain.

Such that couldn’t be covered with words. Forgive me, she said quietly. But it’s impossible.

Why? he whispered. Are you married? Is there someone else? She shook her head.

You’re my nephew, Michael. He didn’t understand right away. What? We’re relatives.

Through father’s line. I found out when we started processing documents. I didn’t want to.

But when it became clear, I couldn’t not help you. Couldn’t leave. But now you must understand: it can’t be like that…