Marina found a new school, a private one, smaller, cozier. It was hard at first. The other students looked at the boy with the crutch with curiosity. Some asked questions, others avoided him.
But over time, Misha made new friends. Friends who didn’t know the old Misha, who accepted the current Misha—with his scars, with his crutch, but alive. The investigation continued. A lawsuit was filed against the hospital for negligence.
The medical examiner’s office was also sued. Several employees were fired. The entire system was reviewed to ensure something like this would never happen again. But none of it could bring back the lost six months. Nothing could erase the nights on the street, the hunger, the cold.
The loneliness that Misha had endured. In therapy, he talked about it, about the anger he felt, the guilt for having survived when 23 children had died. The constant fear that it was all a dream, and he would wake up on the street again.
“It’s normal to feel that way,” the psychologist explained. “You’ve experienced immense trauma, multiple traumas. It will take time to process everything, but you’re not alone. You have your family, you have support, and gradually, you will heal.”
A year after the reunion, Misha was doing better. He still limped, he always would, but the pain had lessened. The surgeries had helped, as had the rehabilitation. The scars on his face remained, they always would, but he had learned to live with them.
They were part of him now, part of his story. On the anniversary of the accident, the family returned to the cemetery, to Vanya’s grave. They brought flowers, stood in silence. “You know what I want to do, Dad?” Misha said suddenly.
“What is it, son?” “I want to help children on the street. Children like Vanya. I want to start a charitable foundation, a place where they can eat, sleep, learn, a place where they won’t be invisible.”
Misha looked at his father with determination. “Can I? Can we do that?” Roman smiled. His first full, genuine smile without the weight of the accident. “Of course we can, champ. We’ll do it together.”
And they did. Six months later, they opened the “Vanya Foundation.” A large, beautiful, cozy space with rooms, a dining hall, classrooms, and psychologists. On opening day, there was a line. Dozens of children, invisible children…
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