“I recently found out that…”
“What??”
“That… we were accidentally switched.”
“Switched? Who was switched?”
“Me and him.”
“Him who?” The woman was turning pale, her mouth slightly open as she struggled for breath.
The thought that was forming in her head terrified her.
“Your real son. He lives in Canada. His name is Samad Saidi.”
Chapter 4
«Her blood pressure spiked, but she's stable now, don't worry,» the doctor said as she walked out of the ICU.
Damir stood there holding his breath, waiting for the verdict. He scolded himself for telling his mother everything so directly, without preparation. He had no idea how to act now or what to do next. But thank God—it wasn’t a heart attack. The fainting had been caused by a sudden spike in blood pressure. By the evening, he brought his mother home.
«Are you going to Canada?» she asked weakly from her bed when Damir approached.
«My place is by your side,» he replied.
But three months later, a plane carried Damir to Montreal—toward his biological parents, and the young man who had unknowingly gifted him such a wonderful mother. He had decided to grant her wish and marry the neighbor girl—not only to ease her worries, but also because he genuinely liked Aaliya. Besides, none of the local guys had a bad word to say about her when he discreetly asked about her reputation. That settled it for him. A month after the hospital incident, they got engaged. Aaliya put on the headscarf and the ring—she became his official fiancée.
Soon after, Damir returned to Moscow, completed his studies, and applied for a visa. He refused to communicate with his real parents over the internet, preferring to save everything for a face-to-face meeting. All legal matters were handled through their lawyer—he was the one who informed Damir of everything.
It turned out Damir was the son of Mr. Omer Saidi, a 65-year-old Iranian businessman. Omer was a prominent entrepreneur, the owner and CEO of an agricultural corporation, along with a chain of supermarkets across Canadian provinces and several U.S. states. Damir also learned he had a biological mother—Emine Saidi, age 62—and a 23-year-old sister, Saher, a student at the University of Montreal majoring in Management and Marketing. The family also included Samad Saidi, who, as it turned out, was their adopted son. Like Damir, Samad had studied law and worked in their father’s corporation. Damir had started university much later than his peers, while Samad had already gained at least eight years of professional experience and legal expertise. The twelve-hour flight gave Damir’s imagination plenty of space to wander. He couldn’t wait to meet his real parents—especially his father, whom he had dreamed of all his life. He kept telling himself that they weren’t at fault for his growing up far from them. They hadn't even known their son wasn’t biologically theirs—until Samad was in an accident and a blood test revealed the truth. That’s when the long, difficult search began, leading them all the way to Bolgar.
Yes, back in distant 1982, his parents had traveled to Russia. Business had taken them to Kazan. Later, a drive to Bolgar and an unexpected labor. It had been a reckless decision by young Omer Saidi—he took his beloved wife everywhere, and she never wanted to leave his side, even while pregnant. Their passionate love had led to that moment. Damir sighed and pulled a small envelope from his chest pocket.
Inside were a few worn-out photos of his Tatar mother, Zulfiya Palatova. Her in youth, in middle age, and now at 63. He gently stroked the surface of the latest photo, warmth flooding his veins. Surely Samad would tear up seeing the face of his real mother and rush to meet her, Damir thought. Well, she would have two sons now—just like Mrs. Emine Saidi. By dawn, the noisy Montreal airport welcomed an Aeroflot flight from Russia. Damir’s luggage was modest—just a small suitcase with the essentials. He wasn’t planning to stay long. Meet them, maybe make a decision at a family meeting, and go back home. He wasn’t about to abandon his mother Zulfiya. Maybe his life would now be split between two countries, he thought. His blood was pulling him—it already had—and there was no fighting it. He would want to see his real parents and younger sister again, and they wouldn’t let him go easily either—he was sure of it. It wasn’t about status or money anymore. None of it mattered.
Damir shook his head. Amazing—just when the long-awaited dream finally appeared on the horizon, it immediately lost its meaning. He wanted to know and feel his real family—even if they lived in a slum in some forgotten corner of Calcutta.
At the airport, he was met by Mr. Saidi’s driver. Damir took the back seat of the black, tinted Land Rover and closed his eyes. The air inside carried the scent of high society—a world that had felt as distant as the stars just a few months ago. His memory jumped to the recent past—well-furnished offices, luxurious homes, guards, expensive cars. All of it had once felt untouchable, like a museum display. His own attempts to rise to that level had failed, and for a time, he had buried the dream deep inside and focused on studying. Sometimes he worked as a courier, delivering documents on a company scooter or carrying a backpack on foot—then disappearing just as quietly. He never imagined he’d be sitting in the back seat of such a car, being driven like a guest of honor.
Damir sighed and looked out the window. He didn’t feel joy. He couldn’t feel happiness or the thrill of something fateful and grand. On the contrary—he was full of pain and regret. And that feeling hadn’t left him since the moment he sat across from a man in a gray suit holding a folder.
“Mr. Damir Palatov,” the lawyer said in fluent English—Damir had learned it well—
“I must inform you that you are the biological son of Mr. Omer and Mrs. Emine Saidi. You were switched at birth due to a tragic mistake. A private investigation has been ongoing for two years, and it is now complete. We also conducted a secret DNA test. You weren’t informed earlier—” the man coughed lightly, “—because we needed to confirm the results and didn’t want to disturb or traumatize you unnecessarily. We can perform another test officially, if you’d like, but rest assured—your real parents have found their son.”
Damir would never forget a single word the lawyer said. Even the sound of his voice had been burned into memory. They hadn’t wanted to “traumatize” him? Really?
He had nearly lost his mind from the shock. Though by now, Damir had slowly begun to recover.
Trying to distract himself, he focused on the streets outside. Beautiful scenery with European charm blended with Western modernity—it inspired him to dream again, to explore this new and unfamiliar world.
“This isn’t mine. Not my life. I’m just a guest. I’ll appear and disappear,” he told himself. A man who had never known luxury, who had fought for every small slice of life, simply couldn’t allow himself to believe in miracles. Anything but that. Miracles didn’t happen to him—not even obvious ones. He was convinced something would go wrong, and he’d be sent back where he came from. Meanwhile, the car rolled toward one of the elite neighborhoods—it was obvious by the roads and the view. One mansion replaced another, each with its own garden and pool. They stopped near one such house. The gates parted.
Another 50 meters through a landscaped park, and the car pulled up to the grand residence. Damir got out and looked up at the four-story building towering before him. The driver removed his suitcase from the trunk and gestured toward the door. As it opened, Damir tensed, expecting to see his biological parents. Instead, a middle-aged woman in uniform appeared—clearly the housekeeper—and he let out a small breath of relief. She greeted him politely and led him further inside. The luxury of the home struck him immediately. Even though he had prepared himself—dressing in brand-name clothes, grooming himself carefully—he now felt the invisible weight of the delivery backpack from his past. He felt completely out of place. All he wanted was to leave and vanish.
“Salam alaikum, son. How was your flight?” a man’s voice said in