After a taxing day at the hospital, the weary doctor stretched until his joints creaked, letting out a long yawn as he approached the window. Outside, the season’s inaugural snowflakes floated down lazily, lingering momentarily in midair before settling gently on the ground. The world beyond the glass felt transformed — serene, almost enchanted — yet inside the hospital, the unrelenting bustle continued unabated, raw and unfiltered.
Lighting a cigarette, the doctor drew in a nervous breath and turned towards Viktor, his assistant, a young but haggard orderly nurse.
“What’s the point?” the doctor muttered. “She’s already completely cold. Let’s not waste effort on this stray. Bring the mortuary staff; it’s over.”
Viktor silently moved closer to the stretcher, his actions seemingly automatic as he placed his hand on the woman’s wrist, searching for a pulse. It was faint — sporadic and fragile, like the final ticks of a clock about to stop. Pushing back a damp strand of hair from her face, he suddenly hesitated. There was something hauntingly familiar in her features, stirring a memory that refused to surface.
“Yulia?” flickered fleetingly in his mind, immediately dismissed as a hallucination. The Yulia he knew had a round, almost childlike face adorned with charming dimples that appeared whenever she smiled. Yet here lay a gaunt, grimy woman, her age impossible to gauge. Years of hardship and suffering had seemingly erased all traces of the girl he once knew.
While Viktor reflected, the doctor had already summoned the mortuary personnel. They arrived promptly and dutifully, exchanging no words as they transferred the body onto a stretcher, covering it carefully with a sheet. The echo of their footsteps faded steadily down the corridor.
“Vitya,” called the doctor, noticing some papers on the floor. “This drowned woman had some documents on her. Take those to the mortuary, then you can rest. It’s been a tough day.”
Taking the damp papers, Viktor made his way slowly down the stairs. On the landing, a bright bulb gleamed sharply after the dim hallway light. He unfolded the accompanying sheet that identified the woman: “Saar Yuliya Gennadyevna, born 1994.” The file contained a passport—page edges blurred by water, except for one laminated page that retained clear photographic ID and details.
His hands began to tremble subtly.
They had been born the very same year and month. Their apartments faced each other, living side by side. Attending the same kindergarten group, they had long believed they were part of one big family. From early on, both Yulia and Viktor were convinced they were siblings residing in different rooms of a shared household.
Yulia’s surprise when a baby named Tima arrived at their building was palpable. She was told he was her brother.
“Brother?” she pondered. “Then who is Vitya to me?”
The parents chuckled as they explained:
- “Vitya is just the neighbor. You can tell your friends at kindergarten whatever you like.”
Similarly, Viktor’s father declared when little Tanya was born, “As the older brother, Vitya must protect and care for her.”
“But who will look after Yulia?” the boy asked.
With a smile, his father replied, “You can protect both Yulia and Tanya. You’re a good boy. But remember, Yulia is your neighbor, Tanya is your sister.”
The word “neighbor” unsettled young Viktor deeply. He believed it was reserved for elderly ladies downstairs, not for the girl he played with every day, shared secrets with, and trusted above all others.
When school began, they were separated into different classes, sparking an uproar among the children.
- “I won’t go to school!” Yulia protested. “They’ve placed me beside a chubby boy who snacks during lessons. I want to sit with Vitya!”
- “I’m not going to school either!” Vitya declared. “There are too many girls in my class! Swap me at least one for Yulia!”
Disturbed by their distress, their parents petitioned the school administration. Ultimately, the children were assigned to the same class and seated together under the condition that they would not speak during lessons. The pair spent elementary school years anxiously fearing another separation.
Puberty brought fresh challenges. Yulia attracted admirers — senior boys who loitered near the school, attempting to lure her away from the vigilant security guard. Vitya defended her fiercely with whatever he could grasp — backpacks, books, whatever was at hand — acting as her staunch protector.
Then one afternoon, after school, Yulia told him:
“Please, don’t walk me home anymore.”
“Why?” Vitya asked, surprised.
“It’s better this way. Aren’t you tired of fighting?”
Grumbling, Vitya left but soon concealed himself behind a corner. He spotted Yulia leaving the school, waving to a group of boys, and walking alongside Robert — tall, broad-shouldered captain of the basketball team.
Anger and hurt clamped his jaw shut. He stood rooted until the laughing pair vanished from sight.
Since that day, their friendship soured and practically turned hostile. Yulia eventually married Robert and relocated to another region. Her mother, a longtime friend of Viktor’s mother, often shared news of their travels, international competitions, and the ostensibly happy family life.
Vitya listened half-heartedly, viewing Yulia as a betrayer, though deep within, he harbored a secret hope that she might one day leave the athlete and become his own wife.
Viktor pursued medical education in sports medicine, admiring physicians working at boxing matches and dreaming of treating athletes ringside. Yet fate had other plans. During his final year, tragedy struck — his father died suddenly. His mother fell ill from grief, placing responsibility for her and his younger sister Tanya on Viktor’s shoulders.
He deferred academic studies and began working as an orderly nurse in the emergency hospital. Assigned to intensive care, Viktor often assisted in resuscitating patients and treating critical wounds.
“Not the ring I dreamt of, but still a noble fight,” Viktor mused while stabilizing another patient suffering from shock.
Holding Yulia’s passport now, his heart thudded loudly. Before him wasn’t merely a drowned woman but the very Yulia he once cherished — the girl he protected, endured hardship with, and still loved.
He dashed after the mortuary workers nearing the cooler.
“Stop!” Viktor shouted, overpowering the clatter. “This was a mistake. Take her to intensive care immediately.”
“But the doctor clearly wrote hypothermia with fatal outcome,” one attendant protested.
“Wait!” Viktor insisted, voice shaking yet resolute. “She’s not just any patient. It’s Yulia. My Yulia. We cannot abandon her now.”
He reversed the stretcher and steered it toward the elevator, hands trembling under the weight of fear and hope.
“Viktor Nikolaevich, the responsibility lies with you now,” the senior attendant warned.
“Absolutely,” Viktor replied without glancing back.
Only two beds were available in intensive care — one occupied by an elderly woman after a heart attack, another by a young girl with a traumatic brain injury. Gently, Viktor moved Yulia to the free bed. She felt as light as a teenager, pale, and chilled to the bone.
With care born from both skill and desperation, the nurse cut her long soaked hair short, wrapped her head in a dry towel, and started an IV drip of a restorative tonic. Every motion was precise, fueled not just by training but by a profound refusal to lose her again.
Her condition remained perilous yet stabilized. Her body temperature hovered below critical levels, and her heart barely beat forty times per minute.
Viktor looked intently at Yulia’s fragile form, hardly recognizing the girl beneath the gaunt, bluish skin.
“Vitek, what is happening here?” The duty doctor’s stern voice interrupted.
“Pavel Sergeyevich, she is still alive. The monitors prove it,” Viktor said, pointing to the vital signs.
“I was told she was taken to the morgue!” the doctor exclaimed.
“I intercepted them and brought her here instead.”
“Are you trying to get me in trouble for dereliction of duty?” the doctor snapped indignantly.
“No ill intention, I promise. It’s just… she is family. My cousin.” Viktor bowed his head.
The doctor was speechless. Conceiving that the unkempt patient was his colleague’s relative was unimaginable.
“Why wasn’t she monitored? How did she deteriorate so badly?”
“I don’t know. I’m waiting for her to regain consciousness.”
“Since she means that much to you, I’ll arrange a better drip.” Pavel Sergeyevich quickly prepared a new infusion.
Viktor replaced the fluids and thanked the chief warmly.
“Thank you, Pavel Sergeyevich. I truly appreciate it.”
“No need. After all, I am a doctor.”
As the drip continued, Viktor sat by the bedside, closing his eyes. Thoughts raced within him — hypotheses and memories intertwined.
“I think you can protect both Yulia and Tanya,”
his father’s words echoed gently.
“Well, Dad… I had to.” He whispered as sleep claimed him momentarily.
At dawn, a faint moan stirred him awake. Yulia breathed laboriously, murmuring:
“Why…”
“Yul, it’s me, Vitya. You’re safe now,” he said softly.
Slowly opening her eyes, she barely recognized him and whispered, “Why did you save me? I don’t want to live…”
Tears began to slide down her cheeks.
Viktor gave her a mild sedative and settled beside her again. He wondered inwardly what pain led to such despair, whether she had tried to take her own life.
After his shift, he asked the nurse on duty to keep a close watch over her. Upon reaching home, he rang the door opposite.
“Anna Petrovna, have you spoken to Yulia recently?”
“No, just a couple of days ago,” she answered. “She said they were traveling abroad and wouldn’t be calling. Why?”
“A patient arrived here who looks very much like her, but since Yulia is abroad…”
“Wait, Vitenka!” The woman gripped his sleeve. “I’m worried. Her voice seemed odd that day. When I asked, she said it was only a cold. But mothers can tell when something’s off.”
Viktor tried to soothe her and headed home.
That evening, the nurse on replacement duty phoned:
“Vitya! Your sister tried to climb out the window! We barely stopped her. She may need psychiatric care.”
Without hesitation, Viktor rushed back to the hospital. Yulia lay beneath the IV drip, turning her face toward the window upon his arrival.
“Shall we talk?” he asked, sitting nearby.
She remained silent.
“Your mother said you’re abroad.”
“Mom… well, yes. She believes I’m well. How could I be otherwise?” Yulia’s voice trembled as she finally spoke. “But I lied. I never left with Robert because he refused to take me. He said I was a burden.”
Tears filled her voice as she recounted her ordeal.
“I lived alone in a strange town, bored, with no profession or education. I worked selling goods in markets. When Robert found out, he was furious, beating me until I bruised. ‘I don’t want you working as a trader!’ he shouted.”
“After the wedding, he became unrecognizable — got a mistress and blamed me for the team’s failures and losses. I left him but lied to my parents about everything being fine.”
“Where did you live?”
“In a migrant hostel, eating poorly, nearly ruining my health. They refused me at stalls because of my appearance. I sold souvenirs for little money, barely affording medicine.”
She covered her face with trembling hands.
“It only got worse. I thought I couldn’t endure it anymore. I planned to return home, confess, and ask for forgiveness. They wouldn’t abandon me. But coming here was another journey — painful to recall. Walking through my hometown, thinking ‘I’m finally home,’ my mother called. I lied again, saying we were at the airport.”
“Then?”
“I saw a teacher on the sidewalk, listening to me and looking at me with confusion, even disgust. I hurriedly said goodbye to Mom and fled. I felt shame and disgust — who needs a liar like me? Mom? Brother Dima? They would be shocked to see me in this state.”
Viktor listened silently.
“I ran to the bridge and almost jumped into the river. The water was icy cold and burned, but I didn’t drown. I hoped it would pull me down. It didn’t. I struggled until I passed out.”
Wiping sweat from his forehead, Viktor sighed:
“Yulka! Why did you put yourself through that? For whom? A failed basketball player?”
“Don’t remind me of him!” she implored.
“I spoke to your mother yesterday. She senses you’re hiding something and worries. Should I call her?”
Yulia shook her head at first, then burst into tears.
“Maybe… she should see me here under the IV rather than out there in that puffy coat.”
An hour later, Anna Petrovna was at her daughter’s side, tenderly stroking her hair, whispering comforts.
After two weeks filled with nutrition, fresh air, and vitamins, Yulia’s recovery was evident. Her dimples reappeared, and her lips regained a healthy hue. A passing doctor even whistled appreciatively.
“Such beauty here,” he said.
“Actually,” Pavel Sergeyevich interjected, “Yulia is not just my patient — she’s my fiancée.”
“Ah,” the doctor sighed, “young people do have their own ways.”
Carrying a bouquet Viktor had given her upon discharge, Yulia smiled warmly at the staff, expressing gratitude before bidding farewell. Mortuary workers smoking nearby bowed respectfully as she passed, exchanging puzzled looks.
She was heading home, and for the first time in years, genuinely longing to live. Not merely to survive, but to love and be loved. Because that day, Viktor had just proposed marriage.
In conclusion, this poignant tale reveals the profound power of childhood bonds, unwavering devotion, and hope’s role in healing broken lives. Viktor’s refusal to give up on Yulia embodies the enduring strength of love and family, reminding us that even the most fragile connections can revive and transform our destinies.