— she threw out sarcastically.
Anna continued to work in silence. It was pointless to engage.
In the evening, as she was leaving the clinic, she saw the Toyota in the parking lot again. Dmitry was standing next to it, smoking, looking at his phone.
— Heading my way again by any chance? — Anna couldn’t resist a faint smile.
— Exactly your way, — he extinguished his cigarette. — Get in.
On the way, they were silent again. But now it was a different kind of silence, not tense, but rather calm. Anna looked out the window, lost in her thoughts. Dmitry drove. Sometimes their eyes met in the rearview mirror.
— How’s your hand? — he asked when they stopped at a traffic light.
— It hurts, but it’s bearable.
— And your girl, your niece, how is she? — Anna was surprised he remembered about Katya.
— Worse. Her leg is hurting more and more. The doctor says we can’t postpone the surgery.
— And the money?
— Now I’m even more short, — Anna swallowed the lump rising in her throat. — With this fine.
Dmitry nodded again but said nothing. He drove her home and said goodbye.
This went on for almost a week. Every morning, Anna would leave her building and see the familiar Toyota. Dmitry would give her a ride to the clinic and pick her up in the evening. He didn’t take any money, didn’t ask unnecessary questions. He just helped.
Gradually, Anna began to tell him more. About Katya, who dreamed of becoming a ballerina, but with her bad leg, it was impossible. About her sister Sveta, who died two years ago, not even reaching forty. About how hard it was to raise a child alone, without a husband, on an orderly’s salary.
Dmitry listened. Always attentively, never interrupting. Sometimes he would ask for clarification, but more often he just nodded. Anna caught herself thinking that it was easy to talk to him. He wasn’t pushy, didn’t offer advice, didn’t try to solve her problems. He was just there.
On Friday, a week after the incident with the broken machine, Dmitry didn’t take her home, but to a small café on the outskirts of the city.
— I need to talk to you, — he said, parking the car. — I have a proposition.
They sat at a table by the window. The waitress brought menus. Anna ordered tea, Dmitry ordered coffee.
— I want to offer you a job, — he began, after the waitress had left. — There’s a project, a charitable one. A clinic for the underprivileged. People who can’t afford proper medical care. We need someone to help coordinate the work, communicate with patients, organize everything.
Anna looked at him in confusion.
— But I’m just an orderly. I don’t have a medical education.
— You don’t need one, — Dmitry took a sip of his coffee. — What’s needed is a human touch. The ability to understand people, to empathize with their situation. I’ve seen how much you care for your niece. How you fight for her. Those are exactly the kind of people needed at this clinic.
— I don’t understand, — Anna shook her head. — Why did you choose me? You’ve only known me for a week.
— Sometimes a week is enough to understand what kind of person is in front of you, — Dmitry looked her in the eyes. — You’re honest. Fair. You were accused of something you didn’t do, and you didn’t become bitter. You continue to work, despite everything. For a child that isn’t even your own. There are few people like that.
Anna was silent, processing what she had heard. It sounded too good to be true.
— And the salary?
— For now, it’s volunteer work, — Dmitry said honestly. — But we help volunteers with housing and food. And if the project takes off, paid positions will become available. I can’t promise anything, but there are prospects.
— So there will be no money?
— At first, yes. But you will be able to help people just like yourself. Those who can’t afford treatment. Think about it, Anna. You are currently working in a clinic where you are humiliated, where they don’t believe you. Where you are considered “just an orderly.” Here, you will be needed. Truly needed.
Anna stared at her unfinished tea. Her thoughts were a jumble. On one hand, quitting a job without a salary was madness. On the other, what did she have to lose? At “Midlife,” she had already been dragged through the mud. The money would be deducted anyway.
— Can I think about it? — she asked.
— Of course, — Dmitry nodded. — Here’s the clinic’s address. Come by on Saturday, take a look. Meet the people. And then decide.
He handed her a piece of paper with an address. Anna took it, folded it, and put it in her pocket.
On Saturday, she did end up going to the address. The clinic was located in an old two-story building in a working-class neighborhood. Peeling paint, cracked plaster, but inside it was clean and bright. It smelled of fresh paint and antiseptic.
Dmitry met her at the entrance and showed her inside. He showed her the treatment rooms, a small ward with a few beds, and the staff room. Everything was modest, but tidy.
— We see patients here on Wednesdays and Saturdays, — he explained. — A general practitioner comes, a surgeon twice a month. Everyone works for free, on a volunteer basis. All sorts of people come: pensioners who can’t afford private medicine, mothers with children, the homeless.
In one of the rooms, Anna saw a woman of about thirty-five sorting through some papers.
— This is Olga, — Dmitry introduced her. — She coordinates patient admissions.
Olga looked up and smiled. A tired but kind face.
— Hello. Are you a new volunteer?
— I… I haven’t decided yet, — Anna admitted honestly.
— Make up your mind, — Olga sighed. — There’s a lot of work, and not enough hands. Yesterday we had a woman with three children. The youngest is eight months old, with a fever of forty degrees. The local clinic told her, “Wait two weeks for an appointment with a pediatrician.” Two weeks! With a fever like that? We saw her immediately, the doctor examined her, prescribed treatment. The child was saved.
Anna listened and felt something shift inside her. This was real medicine. Not the luxurious offices of “Midlife” for the rich, but help for those who truly needed it.
— I’ll think about it, — she repeated.
On the way back, Dmitry was silent. He drove her home and stopped.
— Anna, I don’t want to pressure you, — he said. — You have to make the decision yourself. But think about this. In life, you rarely get chances to change something. Not just in your own life, but in the lives of other people. You can help dozens, hundreds of people. People just like you. Just like your niece.
Anna got out of the car and went up to her apartment. Katya was sitting in front of the TV, watching cartoons. Seeing her aunt, she joyfully limped towards her.
— Auntie Anya, when will I have my surgery?
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