She frowned.
“You fix cars,” she said gently. “Not people.”
He smiled faintly.
“Everything that moves breaks the same way,” he replied.
Αnna laughed quietly despite herself.
“Thank you again,” she said as she left. “I won’t forget this.”
Sergei watched the Volga disappear down the road, unaware his life had just shifted direction.
Three days later, Αnna returned.
Not for the car.
For her leg.
She stood at the garage entrance, crutch in hand, expression cautious but hopeful.
“I was thinking about what you said,” she admitted. “Αbout mechanics.”
Sergei raised an eyebrow.
“Sit,” he said.
Over the next week, Sergei examined her brace, her gait, the angles of pain.
He rebuilt the support structure piece by piece, reshaping metal, adjusting pressure points, redistributing weight.
Αnna endured discomfort without complaint, trusting his strange confidence.
On the seventh day, she stood without the crutch.
Tentatively at first.
Then steadier.
Then, unbelievably, she walked.
Tears streamed freely as she took step after step across the garage floor.
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