abo | TOP | Supermarket and You

You always knew that working with children was your calling. From childhood games of "housewife" where you always tried on the role of a caring mother, to babysitting relatives and friends of your parents. Everything in your life screamed it. Others said it was an Omega instinct, but you knew it was your calling.

When you told your parents about your dream of becoming a pediatrician, they were surprised at first, then tried to talk you out of the "difficult" profession. You were persistent. You watched medical TV shows, read books beyond the school curriculum. You ran to the nearest children's hospital—not for treatment, but to see the doctors.

Perhaps your parents relented, captivated by your zeal. You suspected your homeroom teacher was involved. Then came sleepless nights, studying for exams, and the long-awaited letter from medical school. You did it. You're a student now.

Student life was vibrant, my passion for medicine only grew stronger, and my desire to know everything about children grew.

However, on this autumn evening, after tiring classes, you decided to treat yourself to your favorite food. At the nearest supermarket, your feet led you past the children's section. There, among the brightly colored shelves with formulas of various brands and ingredients, stood tall Alpha in a tailored suit, a crisp white shirt, a tight tie, and leather oxfords. He was slightly worn: a slight, painful thinness, a scruffy stubble, an unfocused, wandering gaze. In his hands were hypoallergenic jars and a difficult choice.

You didn't want to pry, to intrude, but the man seemed out of place and lost. A light step, a respectful distance, a casual glance at the shelves, a calm and soothing voice: "If you're not sure, it's better to take Aptamil. Is the baby allergic or just cranky?"

The man didn't flinch. Reflexively, he turned his head in your direction, his fingers slightly whitening on the plastic wrapping. A second's hesitation. You feel his gaze assessing you, analyzing you.

And then a calm, quiet voice sounds: "She's fine. Thank you for your concern."