One autumn day, an emergency call came into the ambulance station: “A five-year-old child, high fever, loss of consciousness, possible cardiac arrest.” The team was dispatched to a neighborhood of expensive mansions — not the typical place for ambulance work. Usually, such families prefer private doctors or their own clinics.
Doctors Olga and Igor arrived on the scene. When the ambulance stopped by the luxurious house, they exchanged puzzled looks — patients like these rarely seek help from the public healthcare system.
But as soon as the door opened, Olga froze. Standing before her was her ex-husband — Andrey Gennadyevich Grigoriev. Time had aged him somewhat, his face more angular, his gaze anxious.
“God, Olga Mikhailovna! Please, save my son!” he almost shouted. “I specifically asked them to call you. I know you are real professionals. Petya has been unconscious for over ten minutes!”
“Have you started resuscitation?” Olga asked quickly.
“Yes, we began. But I went to open the door for you, and my wife is continuing the heart massage.”
“Then quickly to the child!” she commanded and was the first to rush inside.
Olga was always trusting. Not foolish or naive, but a quality of the soul to see the good in people first. It was precisely this trait that once led her to Andrey. Back then, everyone warned her: this man is a womanizer, calculating and selfish. But Olga was sure, “My Andrey is different.”
Their meeting happened many years ago, at the same ambulance station where she started as a young specialist and he was the head of the department. At that time, she was about twenty-five — a slim, fair-haired girl with kind green eyes. She looked so young and fragile even in a white coat that from the outside one could mistake her for a schoolgirl, especially with the long braid she later had to cut off — experience showed that hairstyle wasn’t practical for work.
Andrey also made an impression. A surgeon by training, he had already saved hundreds of lives. Solid build, broad shoulders, well-groomed stubble — everything about him spoke of strength and confidence. He loved to ride his black motorcycle after shifts to relieve stress. His hair was cut short, with slightly graying temples adding dignity, and his piercing, attentive gaze seemed to look straight into the soul.
When Olga just started working, everyone expected another romantic fling. Andrey was known as a desirable bachelor, a legendary heartbreaker who changed women like gloves. But with Olga, he behaved unusually — gently, restrainedly, even with a touch of care. This unsettled and earned respect even among the most cynical colleagues.
Their relationship developed rapidly. After a year of riding motorcycles together, they got married. Many were surprised — who would have thought that such a bachelor as Andrey could marry seriously and for a long time?
Life was not easy for them then. Doctors’ salaries were low, paperwork huge, and workload exhausting. Many left the profession, but Olga and Andrey stayed. They chose medicine not for money, but because it was their calling.
Irina Igorevna — Andrey’s mother — understood well what doctors go through. She had worked all her life in a hospital, survived the starving nineties, and raised her son alone. Her husband, Gennady, disappeared under mysterious circumstances back in the late 80s. She had to become mother, father, and breadwinner all at once.
Irina immediately took to Olga. A girl from a small town who came to the big city and managed to stand on her own without the protection of influential relatives. She was modest, hardworking, clear-headed, and kind-hearted. For Olga, her mother-in-law became a substitute for her own mother, whom she had lost early. A sincere, warm bond formed between them.
Irina was the initiator of creating a private clinic. At first, Andrey was doubtful — to him, it seemed risky, especially for a woman of her age. But Olga supported the idea. Irina took on most of the work: finding premises, arranging documents, overseeing renovations, hiring staff. Andrey helped financially and with connections, but the main driving force was his mother.
In the first years, the clinic slowly but steadily headed toward success. Irina proved to be not only an experienced doctor but also a talented organizer. She seemed born to manage, although she had never tried entrepreneurship before.
It was Andrey and his mother who brought the clinic its first patients. Together, they invested all their strength, time, and money. Olga was also deeply involved. On the family council, it was decided she would get a second education — in dermatology and additionally in cosmetology. Given her medical experience, she managed to combine studies with ambulance work. Even after tough shifts, she almost every evening went to classes, rarely allowing herself a full night’s sleep.
However, such a hectic schedule had its downside — the couple never had children. There was simply no time or opportunity to plan for a child. Andrey took it lightly — he knew his health was fine. But Olga was deeply troubled by this. She understood how important it was not to miss the biological window but didn’t want to let down the family. After losing her own mother, she had only her husband and mother-in-law — her sole support.
When the clinic started operating and Olga hung two diplomas in her office, people across the city began talking about her. The young doctor earned a reputation as a specialist able to handle even the most difficult cases. Her name became synonymous with hope for those desperate to solve skin problems. With each month, the Grigoriev family’s income noticeably grew.
Five years passed. During that time, Olga continued to work tirelessly and barely interfered in the clinic’s administrative affairs — she simply had neither the strength nor the desire to deal with paperwork. Meanwhile, Andrey, outwardly attentive and caring, was actively involved in all matters. He consulted lawyers and accountants, discussed plans with his mother. He knew all the clinic’s details, though formally the owner was Irina Igorevna — she signed the initial documents and contracts. But by then it was clear that real control had passed to her son.
The first serious blow came from an unexpected source. Someone anonymous wrote Olga on social media, claiming her husband was cheating on her. She just laughed — she trusted him unconditionally. But some time later, when Irina Igorevna suddenly died right at the family table, thoughts of that message returned with new pain. The ambulance team arrived quickly but couldn’t save the woman. As they say, “the time had come.”
At the funeral, Olga looked lost. She lost weight and seemed a stranger among familiar faces. The strange hint about infidelity wouldn’t leave her mind, and an old conversation with a client, Varvara, resurfaced in memory, who casually asked:
“Does Andrey still ride his motorcycle?”
“No, he hasn’t ridden for a long time. No strength, work doesn’t allow it. Although for him it’s more than a hobby…”
“Strange. I recently saw him riding his huge bike with green stripes. There was a woman next to him. A brunette.”
Olga then paid no attention, writing it off as a misunderstanding. But now that incident surfaced again, like a piece of a mysterious puzzle she hadn’t put together.
A few weeks after Irina Igorevna’s funeral, Olga learned the truth. Andrey didn’t want to share the inheritance with his wife — but that was not the main blow. Worse was that he had long been living a double life. His lover was a young clinic secretary — a striking brunette named Vika, with whom he decided to start a new life. The age difference — twenty years — didn’t bother them. What began as a fling turned into “great love.” And not just that — Vika was pregnant.
“How could you?” Olga could only whisper, feeling something important inside collapse.
“Forgive me, Olya. I didn’t want to hurt you. It’s just… I feel younger with her. And, by the way, she’s four months pregnant.”
“Scoundrel… You yourself said it was too early. And now suddenly ‘the time has come’? Only my time has passed, right?”
“Don’t be hysterical. You’re an adult. I’ll leave you the apartment.”
Olga looked bitterly at the walls where she had spent years of her life.
“And the clinic? You’re taking it for yourself? According to Mom’s will, of course.”
“Yes. But don’t worry — I’ve already found your replacement.”
“You’re cold even about that…” she whispered. “Fine. Leave. Now. So that by morning you’re gone.”
The divorce went quickly, without extra emotions. The registry office clerk, looking at the couple, didn’t even offer the usual attempts at reconciliation.
What hurt Olga the most was not only her husband’s betrayal but also the possibility that Irina Igorevna knew more than she showed. Of course, she couldn’t have guessed her son would take such a step, but maybe she suspected. Maybe that’s why she left everything to him, not to both of them.
Olga didn’t argue. She didn’t humiliate herself. She left quietly, with dignity. Let there be a new life — without them. Without that house. Without deceit. Without pain.
By the time the divorce was finalized, Olga was alone — without family, without a home, without the clinic. She had to start over — at an age when many women already build life on a solid foundation. But she didn’t break. Her character was tempered in Soviet times — the years when women were taught to be strong even in the hardest moments.
She returned to where she had started her medical career — the ambulance station. The familiar environment, sharp siren sounds, urgent calls — all seemed to bring her back to her roots. Very soon, she got back into the rhythm as if she had never left. And only once, months after her return, when she pulled a teenager from a pond with no signs of life, did she realize: all that cosmetology stuff was just a detour. Her true calling was here, among resuscitation teams, where every hour is priceless.
After Andrey, her trust in men was deeply shaken. She hesitated to start new relationships. But over time, the pain faded, and Olga began to believe in love again. A couple of years after the divorce, Igor Kostin appeared in her life — a tall, broad-shouldered orderly whose fate had been full of trials.
Igor had been through a lot. A former sailor, then a driller, and after a tragedy — two years in a monastery. Having lost his first wife and child in a plane crash, he searched for answers until he found the strength to live on. Returning to his hometown, he decided to start fresh — got a job as an orderly, though he had medical education since youth. But he didn’t stop there: despite his age, he studied in the evening department of an institute to become a resuscitator.
He and Olga grew closer gradually. At first, he asked her to help understand complex moments in resuscitation, asking questions without being overly familiar. He always refused ready answers, preferring to figure things out himself.
“Olga, thanks, of course! But I need to understand, not just copy answers. We’re not playing with dolls — we save people,” he said seriously.
“All right, I’ll test you,” she teased, looking at his concentrated face. “I like that you don’t give up.”
These talks became the start of something more. At first, Olga thought she was just spending time with a kind but simple man. But Igor surprised her: he studied with incredible perseverance, mastered difficult topics, earned respect from colleagues and patients. Over time, Olga began to see not just a companion but a true partner in him.
Their friendship grew into something more when Igor defended his diploma. To celebrate, he invited Olga to a restaurant and then to his home. Thus began a new chapter in her life.
Soon Olga changed her surname again, becoming Kostina. A year later, a son, Vanya, was born — strong like his father. Then came a daughter, Marya, so Vanya would have someone to play with. They planned a third child, but the doctor advised against it — age no longer allowed.
With years, memories of Andrey’s betrayal faded. That time seemed like a distant nightmare long over. She almost forgot her role in developing the private clinic, now headed by her ex-husband.
But fate, as you know, doesn’t like to leave injustice unattended. And one day, the ambulance brought Olga back to the mansion where her ex-husband lived.
Petya, Andrey’s son, lost consciousness. His temperature soared to dangerous levels. When Olga arrived, she didn’t know if they would save the boy. But she did everything possible. And Petya survived.
Andrey stood nearby, holding onto the wall with trembling hands. His gaze was lost, like someone who had experienced rebirth. That day became a turning point for him.
While the child was being taken to the resuscitation vehicle, Igor went to ask Vika about the reasons for the son’s worsening condition. Olga, as usual, carefully washed her hands in the children’s bathroom and headed for the exit.
“Wait, Ol…” Andrey called out, catching up on the stairs. “I want to thank you.”
“You’re on ‘you’ again?” she smirked dryly. “When I came in, you called me all sorts of names — but not like before.”
“Please, Olga, let me speak.”
“Go ahead,” she sighed. “But quickly.”
“I… I want you to know: you are the best among us. I am deeply sorry to you. But there is something that might at least partially atone for my guilt — at least before your conscience. Look at this.”
He handed her a carefully folded sheet. Olga hesitated — at first wanted to refuse, but an inner voice whispered: “Read it. It’s important.”
Unfolding the paper, she recognized her mother-in-law’s handwriting — precise, confident, slightly angular. The document had stamps, a signature… And her eyes stopped at the last paragraph:
“…To transfer the rights to all current and future income of the clinic to my son Andrey Gennadyevich Grigoriev and my daughter-in-law Olga Mikhailovna Grigorieva in the proportions of 65% and 35%, respectively. Payments are made regardless of the family status of the parties…”
“So?” Olga said thoughtfully after finishing. “That means I could live like you now?”
“Yes, Olga. I have nothing to say in my defense,” Andrey replied quietly. “But even before Petya’s illness, I wanted to contact you and fix everything. Just… I didn’t have the strength.”
“Or the courage?” she smirked. “Or just no desire?”
“I had a heart attack. Difficult times. I’ve reconsidered a lot…”
“Well, I’m glad you finally came to yourself. Better late than never. And now — goodbye. As for the money… keep it. I’m happy. I have a husband, children, a beloved job. We have enough. Yes, money is important, but not enough to lose yourself for it.”
“No, Ol. It’s my duty. After I betrayed my mother’s last will, it became clear to me: what I received is more a burden than a blessing. Like a punishment. You saved my son. And I lost everything: health, meaning, even myself.”
“You’re a doctor, Andrey! You can’t talk like that.”
“I don’t care. I need to return to you part of what rightfully belongs to you. Do with it as you wish — for yourself, for others… Whatever.”
“So you want me to drop my shift right now and run to the notary? And Petya might not be the last patient today.”
“I understand. Then tomorrow morning.”
“We’ll see.”
“Be merciful, at least for Mom’s sake.”
The rest of the night dragged unbearably slowly. But not because Olga dreamed of money or revenge. She just felt that Andrey might finally realize his mistakes. Although too late.
In the morning, Andrey’s SUV really stopped at the ambulance station. Igor was surprised but listened carefully to his wife.
“I trust you, Ol. But if he hurts you again, I’ll show him who’s boss just with this,” he said, clenching his fists.
“No need to do anything, dear. He’s a sick man. Maybe he finally became human.”
With these words, she went out and headed to her ex-husband’s car.
“Does Vika know you planned this ‘gift’?” Olga asked, approaching the vehicle.
“She’s no longer my wife. Strangely, she cared only about welfare. She got pregnant intentionally — to live off me. But I love Petya. He’s the only good thing I have left.”
“Well, don’t put anyone else on your motorcycle without thinking,” she murmured, sitting in the back seat. “Don’t worry, I’m joking. You used to understand humor better.”
Transferring the funds took a lot of time — debts had accumulated over the years, and the amount was colossal. Andrey signed obligations for gradual compensation, and their relationship began to change. They stopped being cold. Igor even attended several meetings to support his wife.
Once, when they were alone, Andrey spoke again:
“I have one request, Ol. I think you can understand me.”
“You seriously think I can still help you?” she was surprised.
“I know your kindness. When you left our lives, the last warmth left too. I understand I deserved much worse than losing property. But doctors say I have no more than a year left. During that time, I want not only to return what’s owed but also to make a will — half of everything left will go to you.”
“Wait… where’s the request itself?”
“Petya. I’m afraid for him. Vika doesn’t want him. She’s counting the days until I’m gone. I want him to grow up with people who will love him and teach him to be a real man.”
“You realize what you’re asking? How do I explain this to my husband?”
“Igor is a normal person. Talk to him. It’s important.”
“All right, I’ll think about it…”
These words — “talk” and “I’ll think about it” — haunted her until the day of the funeral. A few months later, Andrey died. His son stood nearby, not fully understanding what was happening. Beside him were the new children of the Kostin family, also confused by the scale of the moment.
The clinic was sold. The proceeds were split evenly. Vika flew to Dubai without looking back. And the Kostin family went through endless paperwork to officially adopt Petya.
After some time, they decided to open their own clinic. Not cosmetology, not a business for the rich — an institution that helps those who can’t afford paid medicine. Real help, not just a pretty sign.
They also updated the ambulance fleet — in memory of those who saved lives for free.
Igor took on building the new center, and Olga continued working on the ambulance. Before starting all this, Igor finally decided:
“Maybe we should make it official? So you won’t doubt me. Notary, contract — all as it should be.”
“No need, darling,” Olga smiled, hugging their son. “I trust you. No papers needed.”
“And I trust you,” Petya quietly added, looking into his new parents’ eyes.
“That’s great,” Olga smiled. “Because on trust and love real people grow. And real things get done.”
With these words, she went to prepare breakfast — warm, homemade, simple, and so necessary.
