Arthur’s parents had both been alcoholics and had long since given up on raising him. He grew up half-feral, spending more time on the street than at home. One day Peter found him panhandling and tried to reason with the boy’s parents, but it was hopeless.
So Peter simply took him in. He and his wife raised Arthur with care, and their own sons treated him like a brother. For years, they were a close family.
As adults, Peter’s sons moved overseas for work and stayed there. They built lives of their own and had no plans to return. Once in a while they brought the grandchildren for a visit.
But they didn’t even come home for their mother’s funeral. Peter stopped expecting anything from them, and Arthur became the one who handled everything. Despite his rough start, he had grown into a solid man.
When he learned Peter had cancer, Arthur paid for a full renovation of his apartment out of his own pocket. He hired a crew, redid the place, and bought new furniture. Peter had worked hard all his life.
He and his wife had inherited some money, invested wisely, and bought a beautiful apartment in a desirable neighborhood. Arthur, meanwhile, had no interest in chasing life abroad. By fifteen, he had lost both parents.
He graduated with honors in economics and went to work for a major local firm. Within a few years he had risen to senior management and then bought into the business. Arthur had promised Peter he would make sure his later years were comfortable.
Then Masha came along. Peter saw through her immediately and understood that what interested her most was Arthur’s money. He tried to warn him, but Arthur was in love and didn’t want to hear it.
Meanwhile, Elena finished her rounds and paperwork. Once she had a moment, she stopped by the palliative wing to check on Peter. He was awake, watching television with full concentration.
“Am I interrupting?” she asked quietly. His roommate was already asleep. “Come in, Elena. I was just thinking about you.
Did my whirlwind nephew scare you off?” “Honestly, I was surprised. You said you were alone.” “He’s my nephew.”
And Peter told her the whole story of the street kid he had taken in, who had grown into a successful businessman. Elena listened closely. She had always thought stories like that only happened in movies.
Life, apparently, had better writers. “You could write a memoir,” she said. “Nothing so grand.
I just tried to do the decent thing when I had the chance. Help where I could. Good has a way of coming back around.”
“I got lucky too,” he added. “If you hadn’t been at that bus stop, I might not be here.” “That’s true,” Elena said. “I try not to let myself get hard.” Then she stopped.
A memory from her youth pressed sharply against her chest, and she fell quiet. “What cloud just passed over?” Peter asked gently. “Old history,” she said.
“Want to talk about it?” “Not really. It’s dark, and I’d rather leave it where it is. Here—take my number.”
She handed him a slip of paper. “I’m practically always here. If you need anything, call me anytime.”
“You’re like a granddaughter to me already,” Peter said with a warm smile. It was the first time Elena had seen him smile like that. His whole face softened.
“And you feel like family to me,” Elena said. “I miss that. I couldn’t save my mother, but I’m grateful I could help you.
You’re a good man. You can tell.” She smiled. “And thank you for the jewelry.
I’ll take good care of it. It’s beautiful.” “That’s all I wanted. It found the right home.
There’s no one else close by. And Arthur’s Masha isn’t getting her hands on it.” “Thank you for trusting me. I should go—my shift’s over.”
“Get home safe.” Elena left feeling lighter than she had in a long time. Still, Peter’s chart stayed on her mind.
More than anything, she wanted to perform a miracle and buy him another year or two. But medicine was not sentimental. She had quietly reviewed his labs.
The cancer had spread to vital organs. He likely had weeks, not months. The helplessness weighed on her.
Before leaving, she stopped by to see Mrs. Hayes, the herbalist. The older woman had been talking about her work helping cancer patients manage symptoms. “Do you have a minute?” Elena asked.
“For you, always,” Mrs. Hayes said. “What’s wrong?” “I wanted to ask whether there’s any hope for someone with end-stage cancer.”
“Someone close to you?”
