A middle-aged man in a dark suit got out of the car. The same man she had glimpsed pacing anxiously in the surgical wing hours ago while she fought for his son’s life. She hadn’t paid him any mind then; the child’s life was more important than observing relatives in the hallway. He approached Taisiya and bowed his head deeply, the kind of bow given when thanks are for something more than a service, when words seem inadequate to express what you want to say. “Gordey Alexandrovich Bondar,” he introduced himself quietly, his voice hoarse like a father who hadn’t slept all night.
“You saved my son’s life today. I came to thank you.” The Boyko family relatives froze, exchanging confused glances. In Dnipro, everyone knew “Bondar Bud.” Half of the city’s new residential complexes were built by his company, his name appeared in business news, and his portraits hung on billboards with the caption “Building the future of Ukraine.” Taisiya saw how Regina Valeryevna’s face changed, how fear replaced anger, how her lips, which had just been uttering insults, trembled.
“Tasenka,” her mother-in-law’s voice suddenly became honeyed, sickeningly sweet. “Our dear daughter-in-law, wait!” Bondar cast a cold gaze over the crowd, lingering on each face, memorizing them. “I wanted to thank the doctor in front of her loved ones,” he spoke quietly, but with a firmness that tolerated no objections. “Instead, I find this. The harassment of a woman who, four hours ago, pulled my child back from the brink of death.” “We were just…” Regina Valeryevna began, but he cut her off.
“I heard what you said. Every word.” He turned to Taisiya. “You don’t have to stay here. If you like, I can take you anywhere.” Taisiya looked at the banquet hall, from which music and laughter emanated, at the wall of people who, a minute ago, were demanding she leave and were now looking fawningly at Regina Valeryevna with her fake smile. This hypocrisy, the instant switch from “Get out of here” to “Our dear daughter-in-law,” was worse than any insult because it showed the true price of their respect.
“Tasenka, sweetie!” Regina Valeryevna shouted after her as she silently walked towards the black car. Taisiya didn’t answer or turn back. She walked, looking straight ahead, understanding one thing: some doors close by themselves, and you shouldn’t stand before them, begging to be let in. The coffee shop in the Sobornaya Square area was quiet and almost empty. A few customers sat at distant tables, talking quietly. Outside the window, chestnut trees rustled, and this whole peaceful world seemed unreal after what had happened an hour ago. Bondar ordered two coffees, waited for the waitress to leave, and placed an envelope on the table.
“Three hundred and fifty thousand,” he said simply, without any dramatic pauses. “It’s less than a son’s life, but it’s something. Please accept it as a token of my gratitude.” Taisiya shook her head, not touching the envelope. “I can’t accept this. I’m a doctor; it’s my job to save people. If you turn it into a marketplace, if I start taking money for every surgery on top of my salary, my conscience becomes a commodity. And what kind of doctor am I without a conscience?” He took the envelope back without offense, just a nod of respect that was clearer in his eyes than any words.
“I wanted to thank you at the wedding, in front of your loved ones, your family,” Gordey Alexandrovich said quietly, stirring his coffee. “I found out at the hospital that you had a celebration today. I thought I would come, say a few words in front of the guests, let everyone know what kind of person this woman is. And instead I found…” he trailed off, just waving his hand. “They thought I was just a regular doctor from a regional hospital, with no one to help me or stand up for me,” Taisiya smirked bitterly. “Someone you can put in her place and replace at any moment with a more convenient candidate.” Bondar remained silent, not trying to comfort her with platitudes like “everything will be fine” or “you’ll meet your person.”
And that silence was better than any words; it gave her space, allowed her to breathe. “Can I help with anything?” he finally asked when she had finished her coffee. “Take me to my mom’s in the Amur-Nyzhnodniprovskyi district,” Taisiya requested. “Before the Boyko family relatives cause a scene there. They’re capable of it.” He nodded and took out his phone to call his driver. Taisiya looked out the window at the old buildings, at people hurrying about their business, at students with backpacks, at a young couple walking hand in hand. For the first time on this endless day, she felt she could breathe.
The man opposite her demanded nothing, accused her of nothing, expected no thanks for his help, and didn’t try to exploit her vulnerability. He just sat beside her, simply ready to help. And that was enough. As the driver drove through the streets towards the left bank, past the bridge and old five-story buildings, past the private houses, Taisiya dialed her mother’s number. The voice of Varvara Rodionovna, full of anxiety and poorly concealed fear, sounded so close in the receiver that she wanted to burst into tears right there, in the back seat of a stranger’s car, burying her face in her hands.
“Sweetheart, where are you? Why didn’t you pick up the phone? I didn’t know what to think. Did you make it to the restaurant?” “Mom,” Taisiya swallowed the lump in her throat, trying to keep her voice from trembling. “There was an emergency surgery early this morning, a child was brought in with a ruptured spleen, I couldn’t not go. The groom’s family, well, they have some complaints. I’ll be there soon, I’ll tell you everything.” Varvara Rodionovna was silent for a second. And Taisiya heard her mother sigh heavily on the other end of the line, the way people sigh when they’ve already understood everything but don’t want to ask questions over the phone…
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