The summer heat oppressed him, like an invisible weight. His clothes stuck to his skin, soaked with sweat.
He turned into a quiet alley behind the old supermarket, hoping to save a few minutes, when a soft sob stopped him: a fragile, broken sob.
It was the cry of a child.
He froze, scanning the surroundings. The sound was coming from inside a parked car: an elegant, expensive vehicle with tinted windows.
Approaching it, Slavik peered inside and spotted a baby on the back seat.
He couldn’t have been more than a year old, his cheeks flushed red, his lips cracked, and his eyes glassy, half-closed. He seemed on the verge of passing out.
Instinctively, Slavik grabbed a door handle and tried all of them, but everything was locked. The inside of the car must have been an oven.
Panic rose in his chest. He hesitated, torn—breaking a window could have serious consequences.
But his eyes fell back on the child, half-unconscious and in obvious distress.
Without thinking, Slavik picked up a large rock from the edge of the sidewalk and threw it against the car window.
The first blow caused a crack to appear. The second shattered a corner of the glass. On the third blow, the window vanished into a thousand shards, scattering fragments all around.
He immediately grabbed the child from the car seat and held him close.
He didn’t waste a second and started running. He ran through the stifling heat for two blocks until he reached the nearest medical clinic.
His lungs burned, his legs ached, but he didn’t stop until he burst into the clinic’s waiting room, calling for help.
In moments, a female doctor appeared, her face tense but professional. She quickly assessed the baby’s condition and took him inside.
A few minutes later, she returned to Slavik, breathing a sigh of relief.
«You arrived just in time,» she said. «Another five minutes and we wouldn’t have made it.»
Fifteen minutes later, a young woman burst into the clinic. Dressed fashionably, with expensive sunglasses perched on her head, she looked more annoyed than worried. Her gaze met Slavik’s.
«You!» she screamed. «You broke my window? Are you crazy? I left my number under the wiper! I just popped into a shop for a moment!»
Slavik stared at her, stunned.
«Your child was going to die,» he whispered.
«That’s none of your business!» she exploded. «You had no right! You’re going to pay for the damages—and I’m calling the police!»
Officers arrived quickly. One of them approached Slavik and asked calmly: «Sir, is it true that you broke this window?»
Before Slavik could answer, a nurse appeared, followed by the doctor. She positioned herself firmly between Slavik and the officers.
«This man saved this child’s life,» she declared in a firm voice. «He was suffering from severe heatstroke. Without his intervention, he would have died.»
The investigation revealed that the woman had stayed in the shop for nineteen minutes, not just one.
That day, the outside temperature was 34°C (93°F), but inside the car, sealed in the sun, it had exceeded 60°C (140°F).
Authorities issued a heavy fine to the woman, temporarily suspended her driver’s license, and charged her with child endangerment.
Meanwhile, Slavik’s story quickly made headlines in local newspapers, which hailed him as a hero.
On social media, thousands of people praised his courage, offering to reimburse the broken window and even presenting job opportunities.
Months passed and the attention gradually faded.
Slavik resumed his quiet life and hard work. Then, one ordinary afternoon, his eyes fell on a familiar face at the bus stop: the same woman, this time with her child by her side.
He hesitated before approaching.
«Slavik?» she whispered in a contrite voice. «I just wanted to apologize. That day, I panicked. I wasn’t thinking. I still haven’t forgiven myself. It’s thanks to you that he is alive.»
Slavik looked at the baby, now healthy and smiling, a little plush bunny in hand. A faint smile lit up his lips.
«Take care of him,» he said softly. «And never leave him alone like that again.»
One Year Later
Life went on. Slavik settled back into his usual routine—early wake-ups, labor under the sun, and peaceful evenings at home.
He never sought recognition, and the world had now forgotten that episode.
Then, one bright spring morning, he received a letter: a small, crumpled envelope with childish handwriting on the back.
Inside was a letter, written in colored crayon:
«Hello Uncle Slava! My name is Artem. I am 2 years and 3 months old. Mommy says you saved me. I don’t remember, but she says you are a hero. I like soup and drawing cars. Thank you! With love, Artem and Mommy»
A drawing was attached—a crooked but adorable little car, a human figure with a big square head, a yellow sun, and the word «SAVIOR» written at the top.
Slavik sat at the kitchen table, clutching the drawing in his hands.
A warm smile lit up his face, a smile he hadn’t felt in a long time.
He pinned the letter to the refrigerator, poured himself a cup of tea, and let out a long sigh. For the first time in a long time, his heart felt a little lighter.
