— Alexander Petrovich? It’s Kovalev. We have an emergency, that new ultrasound machine. Yes, the Philips. Smashed to bits. We need to submit a replacement request urgently. Yes, I understand this will affect the quarterly report.
He walked over to the window, continuing the tense conversation. Anna stood in the middle of the room, feeling cold sweat trickle down her back. Irina was looking away, her face frozen in an expression of feigned concern.
— Why are you doing this? — Anna asked quietly, turning to the nurse. — Why are you lying?
Irina met her gaze. For a second, something like triumph flickered in her eyes, but it was quickly extinguished.
— I’m telling the truth, — she replied coldly. — And if you had done your job properly instead of daydreaming, this wouldn’t have happened.
Kovalev finished his call and turned to Anna. His face was grim.
— Petrova, do you understand the seriousness of the situation?
Anna nodded, unable to speak.
— The cost of the machine is one million two hundred thousand. Considering your fault and the need to compensate the clinic for the damage, I have decided on a fine.
— A fine? — Anna repeated.
— Of course, no one is demanding full compensation from you, — Kovalev crossed his arms over his chest. — But a sum of forty-eight thousand will be deducted from your salary. That’s two months’ pay.
Forty-eight thousand. Anna felt the ground give way beneath her. That was almost half of her savings for Katya’s operation. That represented months of scrimping on everything, denying herself the most basic necessities, working extra shifts.
— Oleg Viktorovich, — her voice trembled. — I can’t. My niece is sick, she needs an operation, I’m saving money.
— Those are your personal problems, — Kovalev cut her off. — You damaged expensive clinic property. Be grateful I’m not reporting this to the police and demanding full restitution.
— But I’m not guilty! Check the surveillance cameras! — Anna clung to this thought like a lifeline. — There are cameras in the room.
Kovalev frowned. Indeed, many rooms in the clinic were equipped with cameras. Anna saw his gaze flick to the corner under the ceiling where video recorders were usually mounted.
— The camera in this room was removed for maintenance two weeks ago, — Irina intervened. — Didn’t you know?
It was a blow below the belt. Anna didn’t know. She didn’t keep track of where and when cameras were removed. It wasn’t part of her duties.
— How convenient, — she muttered.
— What did you say? — Kovalev narrowed his eyes.
— Nothing, — Anna lowered her head. Her strength was failing her. Against her were the head doctor and the head nurse. What could she say against their word? — Nothing.
— Excellent, — Kovalev nodded. — Go to the accounting department tomorrow, they’ll process all the paperwork for the deduction. And now, clean up this… — he gestured to the shards, — …mess. Then you can be on your way.
He headed for the exit. Irina followed him but turned at the door. Their eyes met, and Anna clearly read cold satisfaction in the nurse’s eyes.
The door closed. Anna was left alone amidst the wreckage of the broken equipment and her hopes.
She knelt and began to pick up the shards of the protective glass. Her hands were shaking. Tears dripped onto the white tiles, but she stubbornly wiped them away with her palm and continued to work. A large shard, sharp as a razor. Tiny splinters scattered all over the floor. Pieces of the plastic casing.
The door opened again. Anna didn’t turn around, thinking it was the cleaner from the next floor.
— Utterly shameless, — came Irina’s familiar voice.
Anna looked up. The nurse was standing in the doorway, holding a stack of documents.
— Forgot my papers, — Irina explained, walking to the desk. — And by the way, I suggest you clean more carefully. These shards are sharp.
She was walking straight towards Anna. Her heel hovered over the hand that was picking up the shards and came down sharply. Anna cried out from the sudden, sharp pain. The stiletto heel, under Irina’s body weight, dug into the back of her hand, pinning it to the floor. A shard of glass that Anna was just picking up pierced the skin between her thumb and index finger.
— Oh, sorry, — Irina said indifferently, moving her foot. — Didn’t see you there.
Anna clutched her injured hand, blood gushing from the cut. The pain was burning, throbbing. She pressed her palm to her chest, feeling the blood seep through her fingers, staining her white uniform.
— I need to treat the wound, — she muttered, getting to her feet. — There’s peroxide and bandages in the treatment room.
Irina picked up her papers from the desk.
— Although… Oleg Viktorovich said you were free to go. That means your shift is over. You can treat it at home.
— But my hand…
— It’s nothing, — Irina waved her hand. — A scratch. You’re not dying. And I need to lock up the room.
She looked at Anna expectantly. Anna had no choice but to grab the bucket and mop with her good hand and leave. Blood continued to ooze from the wound, leaving red drops on the white tiled floor of the hallway.
In the utility room, where the orderlies left their equipment and changed, Anna managed to wrap her hand with toilet paper. It was all she had. She changed into her old jacket and jeans, stuffing the bloody uniform into her bag—she would wash it at home.
Outside, it was cold and dark. Early November, evening, wet snow falling in large flakes. Anna left through the service entrance, which led to the staff parking lot. Here stood the old cars of the orderlies and nurses—no comparison to the luxurious parking lot for visitors on the other side of the building.
Her phone had died earlier in the day, so she couldn’t call a taxi. It was a fifteen-minute walk to the bus stop, her hand was hurting more and more, and the wet snow was getting inside her collar. She just wanted to sit right here, on the curb, and have a good cry.
— Miss, are you alright?
Anna turned around. A dark blue Toyota Camry had stopped next to her, not new, about seven or eight years old, with a slightly scuffed bumper. Behind the wheel sat a man of about forty, in a simple dark jacket and a knitted hat. An ordinary face, kind eyes, a light stubble.
— I’m fine, — Anna replied automatically, although tears were already rolling down her cheeks.
— Are you from the clinic? — the man nodded towards the “Midlife” building. — Where are you headed? Need a ride?
Anna was about to refuse, but then she remembered: her colleague Marina had promised to call her a taxi for the evening, because she knew Anna’s phone was acting up.
— This must be it. Are you from Marina? — she asked.
— Huh? — the man seemed slightly surprised, but then nodded. — Yes, get in, you’ll freeze.
Anna opened the back door and settled onto the seat. It was warm in the car, and it smelled of coffee and a light scent of pine: a pine tree-shaped air freshener dangled from the rearview mirror.
— What’s the address? — the man turned to her.
— Zavodskaya Street, number 12, — Anna wiped her tears with her jacket sleeve.
The car started moving, smoothly pulling out of the parking lot. The driver drove carefully, not exceeding the speed limit. Outside the window, the lights of the night city, wet sidewalks, and occasional pedestrians under umbrellas flickered by.
— Tough day? — the driver asked quietly, looking at the road.
And something in his calm, empathetic tone prompted Anna. She hadn’t planned on telling a strange taxi driver anything. But the words just poured out, as if a dam had broken.
— Today I was accused of something I didn’t do. An expensive machine broke at the clinic, worth over a million. I was just mopping the floor nearby. But the head nurse said it was my fault. Even though she pushed it herself, I saw it. And the head doctor believed her. And now they’re going to deduct forty-eight thousand from my salary.
Her voice broke. She fell silent, biting her lip to keep from crying.
— Forty-eight thousand, — the driver repeated. — Is that a lot?
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