Gleb stepped out of the clinic, pausing on the stairs, seemingly hesitating before taking the next step. He scanned the world around him. The weather was dreadful, even by late autumn standards: a leaden gray sky with heavy clouds that seemed ready to touch the bare treetops.
The black branches of the trees stuck out like burnt matchsticks in all directions, emphasizing the lifelessness of the landscape. Yesterday’s snow, the first of the year, which had been so dazzlingly white and wet, full of promise, had turned into an untidy slush under the feet of passersby.
People walked, hunched over, as if trying to become smaller and less noticeable. Their eyes were fixed downward, focused on their feet: each person trying to avoid treacherous puddles and icy clumps of dirty snow. Slipping, soaking their feet in cold water, or worse, falling flat on the street—no one wanted that.
The whole city seemed painted in depressing shades of gray, like an old photograph: colorless, dirty, dreary. But, paradoxically, Gleb looked at the crowd of slow-moving pedestrians with quiet envy. He envied their right to be dissatisfied with the slush, their wet shoes, even their bad moods, which would change as soon as the sun broke through.
They still had a whole life ahead of them, with all its joys and sorrows, its ups and downs. Unlike him. In his right coat pocket, like a heavy stone, was his sentence.
A medical file with colorful test results, specialists’ reports, and finally, on the last page—the diagnosis, written in bold handwriting. A diagnosis that, in one swift motion, wiped out his entire past life, all his plans, all his hopes, like a thick black line drawn across the page of a calendar.
Noticing that his boss had been standing still for too long, the driver thought he was waiting for the car. He started the engine and pulled up to the stairs, opening the door. But Gleb, as he approached the car, didn’t rush to get in.
There was something in his movements, in the expression on his face, that made the young driver uneasy. “Dryn, you should probably go home. Today is your… day off,” Gleb said, choosing his words carefully. “I just want to walk a little.”
“But, Gleb Arkadyevich? You have the meeting in an hour,” the driver replied, raising his hands. The voice betrayed genuine confusion. “It’s okay, I’ll reschedule it,” Gleb reassured him. “Can this health-obsessed young man even understand that I really don’t care about work right now?” Gleb thought, looking at the bewildered face of his driver.
Once, Gleb had been just like this young man, struggling to climb the career ladder, to build a business, to make serious money. He sacrificed his personal life for that rise. He never had time to truly love.
He never built a family, never raised children. And now, what did he have? A successful business. Millions in the bank.
But who or what had he earned those millions for? For himself? But it was too late to spend them now. For family? But he had none. A beautiful, large house.
But it echoed emptily. This house greeted him every evening with a hollow silence, where his footsteps rang out as the only sound. A luxurious car, which he essentially had no one to drive.
As Gleb wandered aimlessly through the gray streets, feeling the weight of his diagnosis pressing on his chest, he began to question the meaning of it all. Was this really all he had worked for? The cold, the silence, the emptiness that stretched ahead like an endless road? He had everything the world could offer—wealth, success, status—but nothing that truly mattered.
Then, as if by chance, his steps led him to a small park, where a homeless woman and her child were sitting on a bench, huddled together against the biting wind. Her eyes, tired and filled with resignation, met his, and for the first time in a long while, something stirred within him.
Without thinking, he walked over, offering them the warmth of his coat, something he hadn’t shared with anyone in years. They didn’t have much, but for the first time in a long while, Gleb felt something resembling a connection, a spark of humanity that had been buried deep beneath the layers of success and isolation.
As the woman thanked him quietly, he realized something profound. For all the millions he had, for all the accolades and achievements, he had nothing that truly mattered. But in this simple act of kindness, he found a sense of peace he hadn’t known in years.
Perhaps, after all, it wasn’t too late for him to make a real difference in the world. And maybe, just maybe, he could find some small form of redemption before his time ran out.
He glanced at his phone. The meeting could wait. For the first time, Gleb had something more important to do than just work.