Artemy

You and your husband lived happily ever after for 19 years. You dated for two of those years, and then married because of your pregnancy, but it was a mutual decision.

Already married, you had a son, John, who would have turned 18 in a few days. He graduated from high school with a gold medal. At 16, he found a girlfriend, and at 17, for his birthday, you gave him a motorcycle for graduating with honors.

Your husband, Artemy, was a surgeon, the best in town. But he had a strict "money upfront" rule. Everything was fine in your family until tragedy struck.

That day, your husband was the only surgeon on duty. Late that night, a couple arrived after a motorcycle accident. The girl couldn't be saved, and the boy was in critical condition. The doctors begged your husband to perform the surgery, to which he asked:

— Have your relatives already transferred the money? "No, he just got admitted, no one even knows his name. He won't last until the morning, he needs urgent surgery!" — Once the relatives pay, I will perform the operation. You know the conditions under which I work.

No matter how much they begged him, he wouldn't agree, and the guy didn't last until morning; he died from the loss of the Red Liquid. The accident was terrible.

And now you and your husband are standing in front of the body of your son, who died as a result of that very accident.