Every movement drained his last strength. Nick felt waves of weakness wash over his consciousness. An attempt to turn his head proved agonizingly unsuccessful—his muscles felt as if they had grown into the pillow. His eyelids drooped, and memories flashed like fragments of a broken mirror…
He was returning home, already turning into the yard, when he noticed Emilia’s car. As usual, she was chatting on the phone and had abandoned it in the middle of the driveway, ignoring the horn. Nick just sighed—she was incorrigible.
And suddenly, a van came hurtling around the corner. It wove between the lanes, as if out of control, straight toward Emilia. A chill ran down Nick’s spine—the driver had no intention of slowing down.
“Amy!” He honked the horn, but she merely waved and laughed into the phone.
The seconds stretched. He realized that if he didn’t intervene, she would be gone.
Nick stomped on the gas and steered the car toward the impact.
The last thing he remembered was the blinding glare of headlights and a sudden sense of relief.
He woke up in a hospital room. The light was blinding. Through the noise of the machines, he heard Emilia whisper:
“Nick, how could you…”
“The van… it was coming straight at you…” he wheezed, trying to get up.
She recoiled.
“He’s crazy! He would have turned away!”
Her voice cut like a knife. And then—footsteps in the hallway. The click of heels. Silence.
Two weeks in the hospital stretched into an eternity. The injections caused a tingling sensation, but his legs remained dead.
And then one day he overheard a conversation outside the door:
“Chances of recovery?” Emilia’s voice sounded strained.
“Almost zero,” the doctor replied.
“So, I have to babysit a disabled person?” Her laughter was like spit.
Nick closed his eyes. Everything became crystal clear: love was over.
The day he was discharged marked the beginning of the end.
He refused the wheelchair, but when Emilia arrived—dressed up and cool—he simply grinned:
“Take her straight to the cemetery. You’ll save gas.”
She didn’t answer. She just drove, looking ahead.
“Nick, listen calmly.” Her voice was icy. “You made a choice—you saved me. And I’m making mine. I can’t be a prisoner of someone else’s sacrifice.”
He gripped the armrests.
“Where are you taking me?
” “To the village. To your mother. Let her look after me.”
“She doesn’t even know about the disaster!” he snapped.
Emilia only pressed harder on the pedal. Fields flashed past the windows, and every kilometer distanced them from each other forever.
They stopped at an old house.
“Here we are,” she said without looking up. “I bought you a power chair. Modern.”
She didn’t say anything else. She simply got into the car and drove away.
Nick was left alone on the dusty road, with a bag and a body that no longer obeyed him.
But when the gate creaked and a girl in a cotton dress ran out of the house, my heart sank.
“Grandma, I’ll help!” she cried.
And then his mother came out. Tears, hands, trembling.
“Son… everything will be fine. The main thing is you’re alive.”
He smiled through the pain.
“Mom, who is this?” He nodded at the girl.
“This is… Lily. Hannah’s daughter.” And after a pause, in a whisper: “Your Hannah.”
The world froze. The name pierced like lightning. The girl was his reflection in childhood.
“Nick…” came a voice from behind him.
He turned and saw her—Hannah. The same eyes, the same hands that once knew how to heal the soul.
“Remember how we swore we wouldn’t give up?”
He wanted to answer, but couldn’t. He only laughed—quietly, with pain, with hope.
Lily ran up and hugged him around the neck:
“Dad, we’ll cure you!”
Tears streamed down her cheeks. Her mother and Hannah stood at the threshold, whispering through their tears:
“Found… back…”
A month later, Nick sold the company and invested in online design, working directly from his veranda.
Emilia exploded, but it was too late—the divorce papers were already at the notary’s office.
One day he rode out into the yard in his new chair, beaming:
“Hannah, can you imagine – I have a daughter!”
“Dad, you’re such a sly one!” Lily snorted and stamped her foot. “Why didn’t you say anything?
” “You were afraid you didn’t deserve it.”
She pressed herself against him, poking her finger into his chest:
“The main thing is that it’s here.”
Hannah peered out the window, clutching her wedding dress to her chest. The air smelled of apples and sunshine.
And for the first time in a long time, Nick realized: life wasn’t over.
It was just beginning.
