That day, a man appeared in the hallway. His appearance was repulsive: torn, filthy clothes, tangled hair, a long beard, and a smell that made people turn away. Pain and despair filled his eyes.

“A homeless man…” I thought, my heart tightening.

According to the rules, we weren’t allowed to admit people without identification. But he was clutching his chest, trembling, barely able to stand. His lips whispered,
“It hurts… it hurts so much…”

I couldn’t just walk away. Everything inside me screamed that I had no right to ignore him. Breaking hospital policy, I helped him sit down, took his blood pressure, gave him an injection, and administered oxygen. His breathing steadied, and the color returned to his face. He thanked me quietly and left without saying much.