Total pages in book: 126
Estimated words: 118309 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 592(@200wpm)___ 473(@250wpm)___ 394(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 118309 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 592(@200wpm)___ 473(@250wpm)___ 394(@300wpm)
I smile at Dr. Lipovsky’s praise before farewelling her with a wave and pushing through the door of the interns’ locker room. Today has been a good day. With food in her stomach and a course of antibiotics for a urinary infection, Yulia’s recovery was swift enough for her to be discharged earlier tonight.
I doubt Dr. Lipovsky’s praise would have been as high if she knew how I had tempted Yulia to eat. Donut holes should never be a staple in anyone’s household, but you run with them when they can tempt a child to eat after days of sickness.
It felt good watching Yulia enjoy the treats I had Alla purchase on her way in, and since I made out it was on the hospital’s dime, her father didn’t hesitate to assist me in devouring the leftovers.
During our carb fest, some of the causes for Yulia’s symptoms were unearthed. With Lev’s position made redundant before the latest winter storms, most of his family’s food budget went to keep the heat on in their home. When his pantry stock got low, he started using a local food bank to top off supplies.
Although they’re a godsend for people short on funds, I personally know their stock isn’t the best on offer. Most produce is usually a week or more old and rarely stored correctly.
There are fewer issues consuming incorrectly stored food products in the winter months, but the same can’t be said in spring and summer. It can cause a range of stomach issues and can eventually do more harm than good.
When I explained to Lev that even products that appear fresh can still house parasites, he promised he would be more selective with the foods he accepted from the food bank.
I genuinely believe he has Yulia’s best interests at heart, so I shared the items I accepted at food banks during my first two years of college. It was more breads, cereals, and dried pasta instead of the vegetables, fruits, and meats most people seek help with, but Lev was confident it would only be a matter of time until he found a new position, so his family could survive on less for the time being.
His praise for my help is why I wanted to become a doctor. It’s never been about the money. It has always been about helping people who have none.
Bewilderment swamps me when I open my locker. The black credit card I left on the bedside table this morning is propped up against my purse, in direct eyesight.
“Ready, Mrs. Ivanov?”
I jump out of my skin before spinning to face the voice. “Ano.” I clutch my chest to ensure my heart remains in its rightful place. “You scared the poop out of me.”
Ano is far younger than most of Maksim’s staff. His shaven face could be leading me off the scent, but he appears to be in his late teens, if not younger. He is as tall as Maksim but not as bulky, and instead of donning tailored suits, he favors designer sweats and jeans and a cap he wears backward even while inside.
Ano smiles for barely a second about my fright before it is replaced with worry. “I wasn’t sure if you knew where the underground garage was since I dropped you off at the side entrance, so I thought I should meet with you. Was that wrong of me to do?”
“No, not at all.” He exhales deeply, the panic scouring his face softening. “But maybe next time, warn a girl before you sneak up on her.”
“Perhaps I could place a bell around my neck?” I smile when he murmurs, “That’s Maksim’s suggestion any time I sneak up on him unaware.”
After watching me gather my belongings out of my locker, he leads us to the underground parking. During our brief walk, I strive to learn more about the man who’s always seen in the background but rarely takes center stage. “Have you worked with Maksim long?”
He hums like he’s unsure how to answer my question rather than murmuring in agreement. “I’ve known him for about six years.”
“How old were you when you met?”
He smothers my curiosity nicely. “Sixteen.” He chuckles when I can’t hold back my shocked huff that he is older than perceived. “It’s the baby face. I’ve tried to grow a beard, but I hate the itchy stage and end up shaving it off before it can cast a shadow.”
We enter the elevator, and although he gains many admiring eyes, he loses them just as fast. It isn’t because he is ugly. He has a cut jaw, icy-blue eyes, and a swagger that announces a ton of trouble. He just appears too young for people who have attended medical school for four years to lust over.
No one wants to be accused of cradle snatching.
“Guess I might have to give it another whirl.”