— Yes, he’s the only one who could give Pasha a diagnosis. The others just threw up their hands. And the diagnosis is a very rare inflammation of the spinal nerve endings, which can only be treated with one experimental Swiss drug, ‘Neurostabil,’ which can only be obtained through this very Arkady Lvovich.
— I’m not missing anything, am I? — Unconcealed sarcasm was in her voice.
— Stop it! — I slammed my fork on the plate. — It’s easy for you to talk. You don’t see how much pain he’s in, how he writhes at night. This drug is our only hope.
— Yana, I’m not saying he’s lying about the pain. — Diana softened, taking my hand. — I’m saying this whole setup—one unique doctor, one miracle cure—is a classic scam. Or medical malpractice, at best. Do you have his scans? MRIs, X-rays?
— Of course, I do. A whole folder.
— Excellent. — Her grip tightened. — My uncle works at the regional hospital. Alexey Kirillovich. Head of the diagnostic imaging department. A man with forty years of experience. Thousands of these scans have passed before his eyes. Give them to me.
I pulled my hand away.
— Why? So he can tell me it’s all hopeless? To take away our last hope?
— Just to have a look! — Diana exclaimed. — As an independent specialist. Just for my peace of mind, if you will. I see how you’re fading, and I can’t just sit back and do nothing. What do you have to lose? If your Arkady Lvovich is right, my uncle will confirm it, and we’ll know we’re not fighting in vain. And if… and if something is wrong? Isn’t it better to find out sooner rather than later?
I was silent, staring at my plate. Her words, logical and correct, were breaking through my blind faith. Complete isolation, one doctor, one patented remedy… From the outside, it really did look suspicious. But admitting it to myself was terrifying. It would mean admitting that the last six months of my life, all my sacrifices, all my pain—it was all for nothing.
— I’ll think about it, — I whispered.
— Don’t think, do it, — Diana said firmly. — Bring me that folder tomorrow. Please, Yana, for your own sake.
The seed of doubt she had planted began to sprout. And it was terrifying.
The entire next day, I was on pins and needles. Diana’s words wouldn’t leave my mind. I transferred the money for the new batch of “Neurostabil,” and for the first time, my hand trembled. Thirty thousand just vanished into thin air. Pavel called during the day, complaining that he felt awful, that he could barely drag himself to the bathroom. I gritted my teeth and promised to ask to leave work early. My boss, seeing my gray face, let me go without any questions.
I rushed home, tormented by guilt over my doubts. My husband is suffering, and I’m thinking about some nonsense. I opened the door with my key, trying not to make any noise. The apartment smelled of pepperoni.
I froze in the hallway. On the kitchen table was a large, almost empty pizza box. From the living room, I could hear Pavel’s cheerful voice. He was talking animatedly to someone on the phone.
— No, I’m telling you, everything’s fine. Yeah, started the new course. Nah, it actually let up today, can you believe it, I even had some pizza.
He stopped mid-sentence. I walked into the room. He was sitting on the sofa, phone in hand. Seeing me, he flinched, and his face instantly twisted into the familiar grimace of pain. He dropped the phone on the carpet, clutched his back, and began to breathe heavily, intermittently.
— Yana, you’re… you’re early.
The blood drained from my face. The performance was so clumsy, so fake, that I felt sick. My whole body turned to ice. I silently walked to the kitchen, took the empty box, and returned to the room. I didn’t scream, I didn’t cry. I simply asked, and my voice sounded alien, dead:
— I hope you enjoyed it?
The effect was like a slap. He stopped faking the attack and sat up straight, looking at me with eyes burning with fury.
— What? — he hissed. — What do you mean?
— What I heard. You were just on the phone saying you feel terrible and can barely walk.
— And that’s not true? — He jumped to his feet, forgetting about his pain. — For the first time in a week, I felt relief for ten minutes. Just ten minutes, you understand? And I decided to order food because I was starving. Are you begrudging your sick husband a slice of pizza? Have you stooped to counting the food I eat?
He advanced on me, spitting as he spoke. His face was contorted with rage, and in that fury, there was nothing but the desire to defend himself, to defend his lie.
And then I understood everything. Not with my mind, but with my whole being. I understood that Diana was right, that Vera Andreevna, with her accusations of my spendthrift ways, was ironically closer to the truth than I could have ever imagined.
And I didn’t answer. What for? Everything was clear. Silently, under his angry shout of “Do you even love me?!”, I turned around, went into the bedroom where that same folder with his tests and scans lay on the closet shelf. I tucked it under my arm and put on my shoes in the hallway.
— Where are you going? — he yelled at my back.
I didn’t answer, just walked out of the apartment and slammed the door behind me. Air. I desperately needed air.
And the truth.
Alexey Kirillovich’s office, Diana’s uncle, was small and bright. He himself was a gray-haired, fit man with very attentive and tired eyes. He silently took the folder from me and walked over to a large light-up screen on the wall.
I sat on a chair, clutching my purse strap. My heart was pounding somewhere in my throat. He inserted the scans one by one, flicking switches, zooming in on certain areas, frowning, shaking his head. The silence in the office became thick, viscous. I was afraid to breathe. Every movement he made echoed within me as panic. What if I was wrong? What if Pavel really was sick, and I, the ultimate idiot, had caused a scene over a slice of pizza?…
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