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La Plebada Belicona, Guadalajara (2025)

23/07/2025

A nurse took in a homeless man with amnesia—and a year later discovered who he really was.

“No papers? No name, no address?”

Elena frowned as she looked at the patient's medical record. Her voice was firm, but her eyes showed concern.

“No,” the elderly orderly replied, shaking her head. “They found him in the park, on a bench. His body temperature was almost below freezing. A small bruise on the back of his head. It's a miracle he didn't freeze to death in that cold.”

Elena shifted her gaze to the man: around forty years old, lying under an IV drip, pale but calm. An ordinary face, lightly touched by the gray of his beard. Neat, well-groomed hands—he clearly didn't look like a homeless person.

“He's been regaining consciousness for five days, but we still can't establish his identity,” the doctor rubbed his nose tiredly, adjusting his glasses. "The police are checking the databases, but there are no matches. We'll keep him for another week, then send him to a social center."

"Can I talk to him?" Elena asked suddenly, surprised even by herself. She didn't understand why this man sparked so much interest in her.

"Good morning! How are you today?" Elena entered the room with a thermometer and some medicine.

"Fine, thank you," the man smiled. "I dreamed something strange last night... Like I was in a field among unusual plants. I was touching the leaves, looking at them..."

"That's a good sign," Elena said softly, taking his pulse. "It means your memory might return. What would you like me to call you?"

He thought for a moment.

"Andrey. I think that's my name."

Three days later, he was sitting up in bed, slightly hunched over.

"I'll be discharged tomorrow," he said softly. — It's strange, but what scares me most isn't that I don't remember the past... It's that I have no idea about my future.

Elena looked into his eyes—gray, calm, but with deep confusion inside. Then she said firmly:

—I have a spare room. You can stay with us. Until you figure this out.

—Who did you bring home? Elena's son, Maxim, didn't even try to hide his displeasure. —Really, Mom? A strange man living with us?

—He's a good person, Max. He's just homeless right now.

—How do you know he's good? He doesn't even know who he is!

—Sometimes you just have to believe,—Elena put a hand on her son's shoulder.—It's temporary. And I feel like he truly deserves our trust.

Andrey tried to be discreet, almost like a shadow. He got up before everyone else, ate breakfast alone, washed his dishes, helped around the house. He didn't bother anyone, didn't ask for anything.

Two weeks later, Maxim came home feeling discouraged.

"I failed the exam," he grumbled.

"Maybe I can help you?" Andrey offered unexpectedly. "Algebra is like a system. If you understand its language, it becomes easier."

Maxim handed him the textbook skeptically. Andrey flipped through the pages—his expression changed. More thoughtful.

"Yes, there's nothing complicated here. Shall we go over it together?"

Two hours later, Maxim was looking at Andrey respectfully.

"You explain things like a teacher."

"Thank you, Elena," Elena's best friend Marina once said over tea. "Your Andrey literally saved my business. All the plants in a client's office started wilting—and he restored everything in two days. He even identified that the water in the irrigation system was contaminated."

"I didn't know he knew so much about plants," Elena was surprised.

— He's like a living encyclopedia! He talks about plants as if they were friends. That they sense water, respond to light... I asked him, 'Are you a biologist?' And he just shrugged.

That evening, Elena told Andrey about this.

—Strange,—he said thoughtfully. —I don't remember where I learned all this. I just look at a plant—and the words come by themselves. Like opening a book I read a long time ago.

—Mom, have you seen Andrey play the piano?—Maxim excitedly told her one afternoon. —We passed by the sheet music store, and there was an old piano. He just touched the keys—and started playing! Like a pro!

—I didn't play,—Andrey replied timidly. —The fingers moved on their own. As if remembering a forgotten melody.

—That was Beethoven's "Moonlight Sonata!" Maxim added, his eyes shining.

Every day, Elena noticed that Andrey was becoming more thoughtful. At night, she heard him pacing around the room, as if trying to catch something important that was eluding him.

"I feel like I'm about to remember," he admitted one morning. "Fragments of memories. Faces. Voices. But it's like a silent movie with half the frames missing."

And then everything really began to change.

They lived under the same roof for three months. One day, returning from the market, Elena heard:
"Sergey! Sergey Verkhovsky!" called a tall man walking with them. "Wait! It's him!"

Andrey turned sharply, but kept walking.

"You're mistaken," Elena replied calmly. "His name is Andrey."

"No," the stranger insisted. "This is Sergey Verkhovsky. A professor of botany. We met at a conference last year!"

Andrey hesitated, looked at Elena.

"I have amnesia. I don't remember who I am."

The man left his phone number, but Andrey never called him. That night, he sat staring out the window.

"I'm afraid to remember," he finally said. "What if there's something terrible in my past? What if I'm not who I seem now?"

"Are you afraid you'll have to leave us?" Elena asked.

Andrey looked at her in surprise.

"Yes... Maybe." I've grown attached to you. To you. To Maxim.

Late at night, there was a knock on the door. Maxim was already asleep. A middle-aged man with a professional expression stood on the threshold.

—Hello, my name is Nikolay Zimin. I'm a private detective. I'm looking for a botanist who disappeared a year ago. Someone recognized your guest and informed me. May I speak to him?

Elena went cold, but called Andrey.

—Andrey, it's for you...
—

>>READ MORE: https://updateweb24h.com/hienthucbtv/a-nurse-took-in-a-homeless-man-with-amnesia-and-a-year-later-discovered-who-he-really-was-no-papers-no-name-no-address-elena-frowned-as-she-looked-at-the-patients-med/

23/07/2025

A gas station attendant found a box in the bathroom, inside which was a newborn baby girl and a note: "Take care of her." He took the baby girl home.

The gas station attendant discovered a box in the bathroom. Inside was a newborn baby girl and a note: "Take care of her." The man couldn't leave the baby girl alone; his wife had dreamed of having children for many years, but doctors told them they would never have children of their own.

The next day, the couple took the baby girl to the hospital to make sure she was okay. The doctors examined her and said she was healthy, had been born very recently, and there was no record of her birth in the civil registry—as if she had come into the world out of nowhere.

The husband and wife named the baby girl Anya and decided to raise her as their own. They felt fate had given them a second chance at a family.

But a few days later, the police arrived at the gas station. Someone had reported a newborn missing. An investigation began. The man honestly explained where he had found the girl and showed the note. The police took DNA samples and began searching for the biological parents.

Meanwhile, the family had grown deeply attached to the girl. They were afraid of losing her. When the police found her biological mother, she turned out to be a homeless girl who had abandoned the child because she couldn't care for her. Knowing that the child was in good hands and growing up in a loving family, she tearfully thanked them and signed an official waiver.

After a few months, Anya became a full part of the family—she was officially adopted. She grew up in an environment of love and care, and her arrival became the beginning of a new life for those who no longer believed in their family happiness.

Years passed. Anya grew up as if she had always been part of that family. Her father taught her to ride a bike and read her bedtime stories. Her mother baked cakes, braided her hair, and hugged her so tightly that it seemed she wanted to protect her from the whole world with those arms.

The girl knew little about her past—only that she had once been "found" and loved dearly.

When she turned ten, a letter arrived at the house with no return address. Inside the envelope was a brief note:

"Thank you for raising my daughter. I think about her often. I'm sorry I can't stay by her side. Love—Mom."

Until then, Anya didn't know about this letter. Her parents decided to wait until she was older and could understand the whole truth.

When Anya became a teenager, the questions began: why did she look different from her parents, why were there two birth dates on her documents? One afternoon, her mom and dad sat down with her and told her everything—honestly, affectionately, with love.

Anya cried, not out of sadness—but out of gratitude. She understood: they hadn't abandoned her, they had saved her. And her true family wasn't the one who gave her life, but those who stayed by her side until the end.

This story became a source of strength for her. Growing up, she dreamed of helping other children in difficult situations. As an adult, she chose the profession of social worker and helped families find each other.

She knew from experience: sometimes, a true miracle arrives in a simple cardboard box with a note: "Take care of her."

Years later, Anya, now a confident woman, stood by the window of the child welfare center she had founded in her hometown. A sign on the facade read: "An opportunity for the family." This center had become her main endeavor.

To each child who entered, she greeted them with a warm smile:

—You are not alone. Everything will be okay for you.

One day, a young woman came to the center—frightened, holding a small child in her arms. She looked down and whispered:

—I... I don't know what to do. I can't leave her, but I can't raise her myself...

>>READ MORE: https://updateweb24h.com/hienthucbtv/a-gas-station-attendant-found-a-box-in-the-bathroom-inside-which-was-a-newborn-baby-girl-and-a-note-take-care-of-her-he-took-the-baby-girl-home-the-gas-station-attendant-discovered-a-box-in-t/

18/07/2025

My husband asked me to move into the guest room so his mother could stay in our bed.
When I got home from work, I walked into the bedroom to grab a sweater and froze.
There was my mother-in-law, happily unpacking her suitcase... while throwing my clothes on the floor.
She'd emptied my entire closet.
Dresses tossed in the corner.
Shoes piled high in laundry baskets.
Her belongings neatly hung, as if it had always been her room.
"It's great you're here! Do me a favor and move your things to the guest room. There's barely any room with all my stuff," she said.
At first, I thought it was a joke, until Jake walked in with his extra suitcase like a bellboy.
I asked if they were serious.
Jake shrugged. "It's no big deal. You're just sleeping in the guest room for a week. Take your things out. Mom had a long flight and needs to rest."
And from my bed, my mother-in-law added, "Really, dear, it's the least you can do. Family takes care of itself."
Funny how "family" only matters when I'm the one being kicked out.
I saw my clothes scattered all over the room and realized that if they thought I was going to stay quiet and play maid in my own house, they were in for a surprise.
I didn't argue. I didn't scream.
I smiled and headed for the guest room.
But not to stay there, of course. ⬇️

READ MORE: https://updateweb24h.com/hienthucbtv/my-husband-asked-me-to-move-into-the-guest-room-so-his-mother-could-stay-in-our-bed-when-i-got-home-from-work-i-walked-into-the-bedroom-to-grab-a-sweater-and-froze-there-was-my-mother-in-law-happi/

17/07/2025

The terminally ill son of wealthy parents married a naive girl, and she took him to a remote area. Six months later, his parents could barely recognize their son.

“Gena, are you sure you've thought of everything?”
“Mom...”
“I know what I'm talking about. She's only with you for your money, right?”

Gennady sighed deeply.

“Mom, I understand your concerns, but they're completely unfounded. Arguing with you is pointless; you'll never change your mind. Think what you want. We're not planning anything grand.”

“Gena, stop. I'm sure: she's just using you. You know that very well. This girl...”

“Mom, please don't go on. Lena and I have known each other for over five years, and we've been preparing for this step for a long time.”

“I just want to remind you: you're a good catch. Any girl would jump at the chance to be with you. Don't you realize our situation?”

Gennady closed his eyes as if to ward off exhaustion.

“Mom, tell me honestly: what is more important to you, our status or my happiness?”

Anna Nikolaevna looked at her husband helplessly.

“Sasha, why are you keeping quiet?”

Alexander, putting down his newspaper, smiled slightly.

“Anya, you know one thing about you: you only talk to me when you reach a dead end. The rest of the time, you've made decisions on your own for the past 27 years. And if something goes wrong, you always blame me.”

Anna Nikolaevna narrowed her eyes.

“Are you done? Now let's talk seriously.”

“Gena is an adult, fully capable of making her own decisions. I don't understand why we should interfere with her choices. In my opinion, Lena is a worthy girl.”

“Worthy? In our times, no one survives without money.”

“By the way, you weren't always rich either, have you forgotten?”

Anna Nikolaevna clearly began to lose her composure.

“Sasha, you're irresponsible! Our son is about to ruin his life!”

“Calm down. Nothing terrible is happening. He'll continue his treatment, and maybe his wife will even have a positive influence. What's bothering you so much? I don't understand.”

Anna Nikolaevna left the room abruptly, and Gennady struggled to get up from his chair.

“Thank you, Dad.”

“How are you feeling?”

“Fine, don't worry.”

When the son turned 17, something strange happened to him. The doctors were never able to determine a precise diagnosis. One theory after another was proposed; the treatment only partially helped. Once, a well-known professor said:

“It seems as if your son has lost the ability to resist illness. If this had happened a hundred years ago, I would have called it a curse. But now… there’s nothing to do, just shrug and watch.”

Alexander knew that money couldn’t solve everything, but he spent huge sums on treatments at the best clinics. However, one day Gennady asked:

“Please, let me rest a little. I’ve already forgotten what our house looks like, and I can’t remember the last time I slept in my own bed.”

Surprisingly, the mother, who until then had insisted on every possible treatment method, supported her son:

“Sasha, maybe it’s time to let Gennady rest. Let’s follow the doctors’ recommendations.”

Alexander waved his hand dismissively. He would have argued if he’d seen any improvement, but there wasn’t. At home, however, Gennady felt better: her appetite had returned and she’d even gained a little weight.

From then on, he went to the clinic twice a year for checkups, then returned home with new instructions from the doctors.

Gena managed to finish university thanks to his father's financial support. He was a capable student, but frequent absences due to illness didn't make him very popular with the teachers.

He and Lena met during their university years. Their friendship lasted for several years until Lena recently confessed her feelings to him. This gave Gena strength, as if she had grown wings behind her back.

As she had suspected, the wedding turned out to be much more lavish than she had expected. Her mother organized such a celebration that it seemed the entire town had been invited. Lena spent the entire evening trying to keep a smile on her face, ignoring the tense atmosphere.

Relations between Lena's mother, Galina Ivanovna, and Anna Nikolaevna did not start well. The latter believed that Galina, having no status or money, should be grateful for such a marriage. However, Galina preferred to stay away from the groom's parents.

The climax of the evening came with the presentation of the gift. When Lena's mother announced that the young couple would receive a small house inherited from her grandfather, located in a nature reserve, Anna Nikolaevna couldn't contain herself:

"My God, how can you present that ruin at the end of the world as a valuable gift?" Anna Nikolaevna was furious.

Gena looked at her mother reproachfully:
"Mom, stop it."

"Enough, Gena? Nothing can be fixed now!"

After Galina Ivanovna left, Anna immediately turned to her husband:
"Did you see her? She doesn't do anything for herself, yet she acts like a queen!"

A few days after the wedding, Gena informed her parents:
"Lena and I have decided to move into that house, the one Galina Ivanovna gave us as a gift."

Anna Nikolaevna almost lost her composure:
"Are you crazy?!"

READ MORE: https://updateweb24h.com/hienthucbtv/the-terminally-ill-son-of-wealthy-parents-married-a-naive-girl-and-she-took-him-to-a-remote-area-six-months-later-his-parents-could-barely-recognize-their-son-gena-are-you-sure-youve/

17/07/2025

“Why did you change the lock?” the father-in-law snapped. “Have you already forgotten who did the repairs in this apartment? Is all this yours now?”

“Do you see yourself from the outside?” Oleg’s voice cracked, but it wasn’t filled with anger, but rather pain. It almost sounded like a complaint. “You just stand there, silent. You don’t say a word. And now I’m to blame for everything?”

Anna stood by the window, her hands clenched in the pockets of her old gray robe. That robe had been with her almost her entire marriage. The fabric was frayed at the elbows, but she never threw it away—out of habit, memory, or simply because it still felt warm.

“Five years, Anna. Five years!” Oleg paced the room with jerky steps, like an overacting actor. “I worked hard for you. I made the repairs, bought the appliances. The bathroom faucet, the office chair, the kitchen rug—I put them all in!”

She turned slowly. She looked at him calmly, but her eyes held neither agreement nor submission.

"Is that what you call 'us'?" Her voice was low but firm. "I, pregnant, painted the walls alone while you went away for the weekend. Have you forgotten?"

"And then... I lost the baby. Because of my nerves, because of the nightly arguments, because of the silence that remained, which sounded louder than any scream. Do you remember that? Or did you erase it like an awkward page?"

"Of course, everything is yours now," he said, annoyed. "And what am I? A temporary tenant?"

"Yes," she replied calmly. "Exactly that."

He froze. In that moment, perhaps for the first time, he understood: this wasn't pain. It was a decision.

"So you really decided to end it all?"

"I'm done."

He went to the coat rack and put on his jacket. Pause. He looked up at her.

"But don't even think about changing the lock, did you hear me?" His voice was cold, unfamiliar. "This was my life too. I have the right, at least, to one last conversation."

Anna didn't reply. He closed the door gently—almost restrainedly. But behind that click, it felt like something was breaking inside, something lived-in, worn-out.

She stood in the hallway for another minute. Then she approached the door and, silently, as if sealing something inside her forever, turned the lock.

The next morning she woke up before the alarm went off. The room was silent, and that silence wasn't frightening, but cautious, as if the house didn't yet know if it was ready to relax.

Anna sat on the edge of the bed, rested her feet on the cold floor. She went to the kitchen, turned on the kettle, and then returned to the hallway. She stared at the door. That same door through which irritation, dissatisfaction, and heavy silences had entered so many times.

She took out her phone, opened a delivery page. She typed: “mortise lock with recoding.”

Three hours later, a technician arrived—young, polite. She just nodded, pointing to the door. While he worked with his tools, she stood in the hallway, as if on the threshold of something unknown.

When the new lock clicked, she felt no relief. Only a pause. Like between chapters—a brief silence, not yet knowing how everything would continue.

That evening, Anna made tea and sat by the window. For the first time in a long time—not out of routine, not because she “needed to rest,” but because it came to her. Outside it was October. The trees stretched their branches toward the sky as if searching for something.

On the table lay an old notebook. On the first page, a note she'd written herself:
“Just live. Without fear. Without guilt.”

Thus began her new chapter. Without shouting. No explanations. No one came in—no questions asked.

The third day after Oleg left, there was a knock on the door. A soft knock, as if the person knocking wasn't sure what to do.

Anna looked through the peephole—it was him. Carrying a box. No jacket, a wrinkled sweatshirt. As if he'd come "just for a moment."

"Hello," he said calmly, almost softly. "I came for my things. My headphones and the kitchen rug are still in the hall closet. And the chair. Remember? The one I ordered online."

"You took everything you considered yours right away." She didn't open the door all the way. "This is already part of my house. Of my life."

"I'm not arguing," she smiled faintly. "But can't we at least behave like people?"

The phrase "behave like people" struck softly, but precisely.

"Behaving like a person," she repeated, "is not shouting at three in the morning, not accusing, not staying silent for weeks. If you wanted to be a person... you were late."

He looked at her—and something flickered in his eyes. He felt hurt. But he didn't leave.

"Anya, do you understand that this... isn't normal? It was all so sudden. We're not strangers."

"Yes, we are," she replied calmly. "Completely."

He stood for a moment, lowered his gaze, and then said quietly:

"You're making a mistake. You won't make it alone."

And he left. He didn't slam the door. He didn't look back.

The next morning there was a phone call. Unexpected—the number wasn't familiar.

"Anna? It's me, Artyom Sergeyevich."

"What did you do there? Have you gone crazy? Did you change the lock? Nadezhda and I treated you like a daughter, we were expecting a grandchild, we helped with the repairs... And now we're strangers to you? How did we bother you?"

(To be continued...)

READ MORE: https://updateweb24h.com/hienthucbtv/why-did-you-change-the-lock-the-father-in-law-snapped-have-you-already-forgotten-who-did-the-repairs-in-this-apartment-is-all-this-yours-now-do-you-se/

17/07/2025

Trying to take my apartment and money? Too bad I turned out to be smarter, huh, Maxim? I smiled at my husband.

Elena woke up first, as always. Maxim was sleeping next to her, his arms spread out on the blanket. The sun filtered through the thick curtains, illuminating the familiar contours of the bedroom. Three years ago, she had brought her husband into their home. Now, sometimes she felt like Elena was the one living like a guest.

Getting out of bed, Elena went to the kitchen. She turned on the coffeemaker and took out her favorite mug. Outside, the avenue was noisy with people rushing to work. And she had another day ahead of her at the office, where every hour brought in good money.

“Len, did you forget Mom’s application?” came a voice from the bedroom.

Elena froze by the refrigerator. Yesterday, Zinaida Petrovna had called, asking for twenty thousand for treatment. The third time in six months. The previous debts still hung in the air.

“What request?” the wife asked, feigning innocence, returning to the bedroom with her coffee.

Maxim stretched and yawned.

“Well, you promised to think about it. Mom really needs money for her procedures.”

“I promised to think about it. And I did,” Elena sat on the edge of the bed. “Maxim, your family asked us for 100,000 this year. And not a penny has come back.”

“Oh, come on, we're family!” her husband leaned on his elbow. “You have enough money; you earn much more.”

That sentence cut like a knife. Elena placed the cup on the nightstand.

“I'm the one who earns,” he said calmly. “And we spend together. Mostly on your relatives.”

“Here we go again,” Maxim lay back on his pillows. “I'm not forcing you. You agreed to combine our finances. And I didn't transfer any money without your consent.”

Combine. What a lovely word. Except there was almost nothing to combine—Maxim's salary barely covered his own expenses. But spending Elena's money, they did that together.

“Okay,” Elena stood up. “But this time, Mom should ask for the money officially. We'll make out a promissory note.”

“Are you serious?” her husband frowned. “Ask your own mother for a promissory note?”

“Very serious. Or there's no money.”

Maxim remained silent, but his face darkened. Elena noticed it, but decided not to give in. She had given in too many times already.

At the office, the workday moved slowly. Meetings, calls, reports. By lunchtime, a fatigue was mounting that had nothing to do with work—but with the fact that the same conversation about money awaited her at home.

Around three, Elena got ready for a meeting with a client. As she left the office, she decided to stop at a nearby café—she wanted a good coffee in a quiet atmosphere.

The café was half empty. Elena ordered a cappuccino and settled into a far corner. A huge plant surrounded her, creating an illusion of privacy. She took out her phone and scrolled through her news feed when, out of the corner of her eye, she saw a familiar figure.

Maxim was sitting at a table. With a woman.

Elena froze. Her husband must be at work. At least, that was her plan for the morning. And Elena didn't know the woman with him. A pretty blonde, about thirty-five, tastefully dressed.

Her heart began to beat faster. Elena pressed herself against the back of the chair. From there, her table was clearly visible, but they probably wouldn't notice her.

"Everything is going according to plan," Maxim was telling his companion with a smile. "Only the last stage remains."

"And she doesn't suspect anything?" the woman leaned toward him.

"Lena? She's too busy with work. The main thing now is not to scare her."

Elena tensed. What were they talking about? And why was her husband talking about her with a stranger?

“Are the documents ready?” the blonde continued.

“Almost. I need to give him a couple of papers to sign. I’ll say they’re for the tax office or something. He won’t read them carefully, trust me.”

Elena held her breath. What documents? What did those words mean?

“And then?” the woman sipped her cocktail.

“Then it’s simple. Divorce by mutual consent. The apartment will be completely mine. Plus the savings. In total—around seven million, at least.”

“Not bad for three years of work,” the blonde laughed.

“Three years of patience,” Maxim corrected. “Do you know how hard it is to pretend to be a loving husband? But the result is worth it.”

Elena gripped the edge of the chair. The world blurred around her. So, all this time... All those tender words, plans for the future, family life—a lie?

“And what about love?” the woman asked mockingly.

“The love of money—that's all there was between us,” Maxim hugged her shoulders.

Elena closed her eyes. She wanted to get up, run to them, and release everything she'd been pent up with. But her legs wouldn't let her.

READ MORE: https://updateweb24h.com/hienthucbtv/trying-to-take-my-apartment-and-money-too-bad-i-turned-out-to-be-smarter-huh-maxim-i-smiled-at-my-husband-elena-woke-up-first-as-always-maxim-was-sleeping-next-to-her-his-arms-spread-out-on-t/

17/07/2025

A 16-year-old boy found a child in a stroller under the scorching sun. His actions shocked passersby.

That day, it was motionless, like a sunset drenched in lead. The air wasn't just motionless—it seemed to press down on the ground, thick, dense, heavy like molten iron. Everything around them was frozen under an invisible dome of heat. Not a single leaf stirred on the trees, not a single bird pierced the air with its song. The sun didn't shine—it burned, scorching clothes as if it wanted to reach the very skin.

Novorossiysk was waking up slowly, almost reluctantly. In summer, the city seemed to blur around the edges, as if someone had doused it with water—the houses, the streets, the faces of passersby lost their sharpness, becoming soft and amorphous. The curtains on the windows of the houses were tightly closed, only occasionally the shadow of an air conditioner flickered behind them. A heat haze shimmered on the sidewalks, as if the earth were evaporating from the heat. The clock read 7:45 in the morning.

Sixteen-year-old Slavik Belov was late. It wasn't the first time, not even the tenth. He knew that if his tutor, Viktor Alekseevich, saw him after school started, he would definitely call his mother and report every absence. But now, he didn't care at all. He was running. His backpack thumped against his back, his T-shirt was stuck to his body with sweat, and his sneakers slipped on the hot asphalt.

He turned the corner and passed an old, long-abandoned supermarket—gray, dilapidated, as if forgotten by time. And suddenly, he stopped. Not because he was tired or had seen anyone familiar. No. Something inside him stopped him—an internal signal, barely audible but persistent.

It was a child's cry.

Weak, intermittent, almost stifled—not so much a voice as a bursting desperation. Slavik looked around. His heart was beating so hard it throbbed in his temples. His ears burned from the heat, but he clearly heard the sound. Behind it, in the shade of a withered tree, was a car—old, faded, with peeling paint and fogged-up windows. The crying was coming from inside.

Slavik approached slowly. Each step seemed like an eternity. At first, he saw nothing—only the darkened windows. Then, in the shadowy interior, he noticed a small figure. A child. A girl. About a year old, maybe a little older. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes half-open, her lips chapped from thirst.

“Oh God…” he whispered, feeling a chill of fear run down his spine.

He pulled the door handle—it was locked. He went to the other side—also locked. No results.

“Hello! Is anyone there?! Help!” he shouted, but the response was only emptiness.

No one around. Just heat and stones at the side of the road. A thought flashed through his mind: “It’s none of your business,” “The police should be handling this,” “You could get in trouble.” But his gaze returned to the girl. Her head bobbed helplessly.

Slavik grabbed a rock. He ran to the window, lifted it, and banged. A loud crack sounded, as if the world were shattering. The glass shattered like ice. Hot air burst out of the car—as if from a furnace. He thrust his hands inside, fingers trembling, the seatbelt holding no slack. He cursed. Then—a click. He pulled the little girl out, hugged her close, shielding her from the sun, and whispered,

“I’m here. Everything’s going to be okay. You’re safe.”

And he didn’t wait. He didn’t call for help. He just ran. The clinic was three blocks away, but for him, it became the journey of a lifetime. Sweat dripped into his eyes, his legs buckled, his arms shook beneath his fragile body. He didn’t stop.

Passersby turned around, some shouted, others asked questions. He didn’t hear them. He didn’t even feel his clothes becoming completely soaked with sweat. The little girl in his arms didn’t move.

He didn’t know her name. He didn’t know where her parents were. Where she came from, why she was alone. But in that moment, he felt a responsibility for her as great as if he were holding the whole world in his arms.

The clinic doors swung open with a distinctive hiss. Fresh air, white light, the smell of medicine—all of this hit him like the first sip of water after a long thirst.

“HELP!” he shouted, and all heads turned toward him.

Someone rushed over. A nurse—tall, bespectacled, with a serious face but concern in her eyes—came toward him. “The girl... in the car... heat... she...” her voice broke.

READ MORE: https://updateweb24h.com/hienthucbtv/a-16-year-old-boy-found-a-child-in-a-stroller-under-the-scorching-sun-his-actions-shocked-passersby-that-day-it-was-motionless-like-a-sunset-drenched-in-lead-the-air-wasnt-just-motionless/

La Plebada Belicona

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