— I get it. So I have a sister. That’s cool.
This is how children accepted what seemed complicated to adults. Simply and naturally.
Viktor became the father of a daughter, whom they named Sofia. He doted on her and often told Igor:
— You know, brother, I’m glad everything happened the way it did. Yes, it was painful, it was scary. But if it weren’t for that day in the operating room, I would have remained a bitter, envious person. But now I’m happy. Truly happy.
Igor would hug him and say:
— Me too. I’m glad too.
Zara continued to work at Igor’s company and became one of its most valuable employees. Her intuition in choosing jewelry was legendary; clients specifically requested her for consultations. Zara’s husband, Denis, turned out to be a wonderful man—kind, patient, and loving. He adored Masha and eagerly awaited the birth of their son. When the boy was born, they named him Daniil. And Zara’s life was filled with a happiness she couldn’t have dreamed of in the days when she stood on the street with her Tarot cards, trying to earn a living.
Alina married a young anesthesiologist, a colleague from the clinic. The wedding was fun and lively, and Pavel was an honored guest. Alina told everyone:
— I learned the most important thing from Doctor Romanov: to see the person in the patient. And that made me not only a better medic but a better person.
Katya and Olga, the nurses who had witnessed the drama in the operating room, also continued to work at the clinic. They often reminisced about that day and told newcomers:
— If you had seen what was going on in there! It was better than any TV series. But most importantly, we saw that medicine is not just a science, but also the art of understanding people.
Life went on. The years flew by. Masha started school, became an excellent student, and developed a passion for drawing. Artem took up football and dreamed of becoming a professional player. Sofia grew into a quiet, thoughtful girl who loved books. Maria and Viktor, Pavel and Elena’s children, were lively, cheerful toddlers who filled the house with laughter.
And then one day, ten years after those events, Pavel received an invitation to speak at a major medical conference on “Medical Ethics and the Human Factor in Surgery.” He accepted and prepared a speech based on the story of Zara, Belov, and that October operation. He changed the names, of course, but kept the essence.
Several hundred doctors from all over the country gathered at the conference. Pavel walked onto the stage, looked at the sea of faces, and began to speak. He talked about how important it is not only to follow protocols but also to listen to intuition. About how important it is to see the person behind the diagnosis, the story behind the medical condition. About how salvation sometimes comes from the most unexpected places: from a Gypsy on the street, from a random check, from the willingness to stop and think.
The hall listened with bated breath. When Pavel finished, there was a moment of silence, and then applause broke out—timid at first, then growing louder, until the entire hall was on its feet, giving him a standing ovation.
After the conference, dozens of people approached him: young doctors, experienced professors, students. Everyone wanted to shake his hand, thank him, ask questions. And among them was a young woman, very young, about twenty. She timidly approached Pavel and said quietly:
— Doctor Romanov, thank you for your story. I’m a third-year medical student, and sometimes I feel like I can’t handle it, that medicine is too complex, too cruel. But your story showed me that there is a place in it not only for science but also for humanity. And that inspired me. I want to be a doctor like you.
Pavel smiled and placed a hand on her shoulder:
— You will be. If you remember the most important thing: we don’t treat diseases, we treat people. And that makes our profession the most important in the world.
The girl nodded, wiping away tears, and left. Pavel watched her go and thought that the circle was now complete. He himself had once been a young, uncertain student. And now he was passing on his experience to the next generation. And that was right.
That evening, Pavel returned home. Elena met him at the door, the children hugged him, the cat purred at his feet.
— How did it go? – Elena asked.
— Good. Very good. I told that story, and people listened. Maybe it will help someone become better.
— It definitely will. — Elena kissed him. — You’re so wonderful.
They had dinner as a family, told each other about their day, and laughed at the children’s jokes. Then they put the little ones to bed, and Pavel and Elena went out onto the balcony, poured some wine, and stood looking at the night city.
— You know, — Pavel said, — sometimes I think about what would have happened if I hadn’t listened to Zara. If I had ignored her words and just started the operation without checking anything.
— And what would have happened?
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