The late evening enveloped the city in a light, humid mist, and a cool silence hung in the air. Long, broken shadows cast by the streetlamps stretched across the deserted avenue. Anna, a surgeon by profession, and her husband, Maksim, were returning home after dinner with friends. The silence was so profound that a sudden, faint groan, coming from the thick lilac bushes along the path, rang out particularly clearly.
“Do you hear that?” Anna whispered, worried, stopping.
“I hear it,” Maksim muttered, without slowing his pace. “It must be some drunkard who fell. Come on, it’s starting to drizzle.”
But Anna had already veered off the asphalt, venturing onto the wet grass. Her medical instinct, honed over the years, wouldn’t let her go any further.
“I have to check,” she said firmly. “Maybe he’s sick.”
“But why do you have to meddle with everyone?” Maksim snapped irritably, without turning around. “You’re not on duty. Stop acting like a hero. Come on, I’m tired.”
She didn’t answer, already advancing through the branches. Among the thick vegetation, on the damp grass, lay a man curled up, his hands pressed to his side. The moonlight filtering through the leaves illuminated a dark stain spreading on his jacket. Anna knelt down: her fingers were immediately stained with warm, viscous blood. The wound was serious, it looked like a knife wound.
“Call the ambulance!” she shouted to her husband, who remained standing on the path with a look of disgust.
Maksim reluctantly approached, but there was no compassion or concern in his eyes—just annoyance.
“Here we are,” she hissed. “Now all this hassle: police, interrogations, a sleepless night! Who made you do this?”
Without waiting for a response, he turned and walked away, leaving her alone in the dark, kneeling beside a dying man. In that instant, the first, now insurmountable, chasm opened between them.
“Slowly, don’t worry,” Anna said in a firm but reassuring voice, leaning over the man. “Breathe slowly. Help is coming. Everything will be fine.”
Her voice was calm and confident—the same one that, over the years, had given hope to hundreds of patients before surgery. The man stopped moaning, his breathing became more regular. He looked at her with a silent expression of gratitude. When the siren sounded in the distance, Anna ran to the road to guide the ambulance. The paramedics acted quickly and precisely.
“Are you with him?” an elderly ambulance doctor asked her.
“No, I found him. I’m a doctor, too—a surgeon.”
“Understood, colleague. He has no papers.” Could you come to the hospital on Pushkinskaya Street tomorrow? We need a statement for the police.
“Of course, I’ll come,” Anna nodded.
The ambulance disappeared into the night, leaving her in the quiet. The house was close, but she walked slowly, as if wanting to delay her return. Maxim’s behavior burned inside her.