She paused. “When I found out about the surgery, about the Bondar boy, I realized what a stupid thing I had done. If it weren’t for you, the child might not have survived. And I was chasing you from the parking lot. How is Arkady?” “Not well,” he requested a transfer to Kharkiv. “He blames me for everything. Inna never came back from Ternopil.” Regina Valeryevna looked up, and there were tears in her eyes. “I’m not asking for everything to go back to how it was. I’m just asking for forgiveness.” Taisiya looked at this woman, who had recently seemed like an unbreakable wall to her, and felt no satisfaction from her tears. She thought of her own mother, of the sleepless nights, of the questions she had asked herself, what she had done wrong.
“I don’t hold a grudge,” she said finally. “But I haven’t forgotten either. I forgive you for my own peace of mind, not so that everything can go back to how it was. Don’t look for me anymore, let’s each live our own lives.” Regina Valeryevna nodded, wiping her eyes with a handkerchief. “Find someone who can appreciate you. You deserve it.” Leaving the coffee shop onto the cold Dnipro street, Taisiya felt lighter. She had finally let go of what she had been carrying for too long. Arkady came to say goodbye before his transfer to Kharkiv. Taisiya found him at her mother’s gate, thinner, with a suitcase in his car, wearing the same wrinkled jacket as last time.
“I’m leaving,” he said. “I wanted to say goodbye properly.” Varvara Rodionovna came out onto the porch and looked at him with a long gaze. “Wherever you go, live with a clear conscience and don’t hurt people.” He turned to Taisiya. “I hope everything goes well for you.” “Good luck to you too!” she replied. No tears, no mutual accusations. Just two people who had walked side by side for three years and were now parting forever. When his car disappeared around the bend, Taisiya realized her heart no longer clenched at the sound of his name. The clearest sign that she had truly let him go.
In the spring, Maxim Yuryevich called her into his office and offered her what every surgeon from the regions dreams of: a three-month internship at the Amosov Institute of Cardiovascular Surgery in Kyiv. The research group at the regional hospital had made progress, and Taisiya was appointed to present a report at the All-Ukrainian conference. “Three months in Kyiv,” she repeated, not believing her ears. “But what about Mom?” “Ah, decide for yourself!” Abramenko interrupted. “But opportunities like this come once in a lifetime.” Varvara Rodionovna reacted predictably. “Go, daughter. I’ll manage on my own, I’m not a child. Gordey will look after me if anything happens.”
Bondar said it even more simply. “Do what you have to do. I’m not going anywhere.” Three months in Kyiv became a test, for herself, for the fragile feeling that had built up between her and Gordey Alexandrovich. He called once a week, without being intrusive, with a simple question, how are things. Everything is fine. His restrained presence at a distance helped her not to feel lonely in a huge, foreign city. She returned to Dnipro, stronger both in her profession and in her understanding of herself. One Saturday morning, a week after her return, Gordey arrived at the house in Amur without warning, without flowers or gifts, just in a clean shirt and with the look of a man who has thought everything through and made a decision…
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