I know you’re the newest doctor in your practice and all that, but-” It’s Friday night, and you’ve worked every weekend for the past month, plus all those nightshifts. “Yes, but it doesn’t have to be you all the time. You’re no longer a resident, you know? You don’t have to put up with this bullshit.” If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re trying to work yourself to death. “It’s been a long day, and I’m exhausted.” I can’t.” I soften my refusal with a smile. With her bright red lipstick and flamboyant blond curls, she looks like an older version of Marilyn Monroe and likes to party just as much. She’s already changed out of her nurse’s scrubs and put on a sexy dress. “Are you sure you don’t want to come out for drinks with me and the girls?” Marsha asks, approaching my locker. They will answer for this massacre with their lives. There’s only one thing I can do for my wife and son, and that’s the reason I’ll keep on living. Can’t take Tamila to Moscow next year, like I promised her I would. I can’t turn back the clock and hold my son longer, can’t stay behind like he asked me to. I’m empty of hope, devoid of warmth and love. There’s no more pleading, no more bargaining with anyone or anything. With each meter of distance between us, the cold inside me grows, the remnants of my humanity bleeding out of my soul. “I’m sorry,” I whisper as they drag me away. My son is gone, his bright light extinguished before it had a chance to shine. I don’t know how long I stay like that, holding my son’s remains, but it’s dark by the time the task force soldiers come. I fall silent then, but I can’t stop rocking back and forth. It’s only when I find myself clutching the little body to my chest that I realize the sound is coming from me. In the distance, I hear a howl, a mad, broken sound of inhuman rage. His right arm, however, is unscathed, its fingers curled convulsively around the toy car. His left arm is missing too, as is his left leg below the knee. But he’s not lying on his side, and I see the gaping hole where the explosion ripped away half of his skull. One of his eyes is closed, his little mouth parted, and if he were lying on his side like Tamila was, he could’ve been mistaken for a sleeping child.

Trembling, I sink to my knees, my legs unable to hold me.īy some miracle, the right half of Pasha’s face is undamaged, his smooth baby skin unmarred by so much as a scratch. I don’t stop until the small body is uncovered in its entirety, and there’s no longer any doubt.

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