She thought her daughter was lying until a hidden camera captured the MILLIONAIRES WIFE whispering HORRIFYING words at her comatose husbands bedside!
Dusty windowpanes filtered the light into a simple yet immaculate room, still lingering with yesterdays borscht and the faint scent of childhoodpencils, paper, innocence. Margarita, thirty-four, with tired eyes and a quiet worry, fastened her worn coat. Her seven-year-old, Alyona, sat at the table, chin propped on her fist, flipping through a thick, pictureless book.
“Mom, did you know octopuses have three hearts?” she suddenly asked, eyes still glued to the page. “Wouldnt it be great if you had three too? One for me, one for work, and one just for resting.”
Margarita smiled. This fragile girl with a solemn, almost grown-up gaze was her anchor, her beacon in the storm of loneliness. The topic of Alyonas father was rarely touchedjust the usual “he left and disappeared.” A story born of despair, now their simple, uncomplicated truth.
For years, it had been just the two of them against the world. By day, Margarita cleaned wards at the district hospitalhard, thankless work. By night, after Alyona slept, she hunched over a laptop translating technical manuals, exhaustion weighing her down as life slipped past unnoticed.
“Ready, little thinker?” Margarita adjusted Alyonas hat, smoothing stray strands.
“Ready.” Alyona sighed, snapping the book shut. “Mom, have you thought about Uncle Valera? The plumber. Yeah, he smells like oil, but he fixes everything. And hes got whiskers like a cartoon cat.”
Alyona had spent weeks “vetting” every local mannone passed her test for “dad material.” Tonight, like every night, they left togetherMargarita for her shift, Alyona to the tiny storage room near the nurses station because there was no one else to watch her.
The hospital greeted them with dim lights, antiseptic air, and hushed footsteps. In the gloom, Margarita bumped into Sanyatwenty-three, fiery bangs, always grinningan aspiring surgeon working nights to pay for school.
“Rita, heard about the new patient in Room 5?” Sanya whispered excitedly. “Dmitry Sergeyevich, some rich businessman. Coma after a car crash. His wife, Marinatotal nightmare! Dressed for a gala, crying like her hearts breaking. So fake.”
Margarita nodded, thanked her, and led Alyona to their makeshift refugea cramped space behind mops with an old couch. But tonight, words blurred in front of Alyona; silence pressed in. Pencils forgotten at home, she slipped out, tiptoeing to find her mom.
Room 5s door was ajar. A womans voicecold, calculatingdrew Alyona inside. Hidden behind a screen, she watched Marina, elegant and poised, bend over her motionless husband.
“Still asleep, darling?” Marina murmured, no grief in her tone. “Soon, youll be gone forever. And Ill finally be free and very rich. Just a little longer.”
Alyonas heart hammered as Marina pulled a syringe from her purse, injecting the IV bag.
By morning, the hospital buzzed: Marina was arrested! Officers hauled her away, screaming about conspiracy. Poison, disguised as coma complications.
Months later, Margarita and Alyona baked an apple pie, laughing. Then a knockon the doorstep stood Mikhail, the once-comatose patient, alive and grateful.
“You saved me,” he told Alyona, bending to her level.
She eyed him critically. “Are you gonna love my mom? Shes been sad too long.”
He laughed, and Margaritalight, freelaughed with him.
Soon, Mikhail became family. Picnics by the lake, quiet talks by the fire. One evening, he kissed hersoft, a promise. The ice inside her melted.
At their small wedding, Alyona danced in white, grinning. Margaritas gray life was behind her.
Later, Alyona scribbled in a notebook: *”How I Saved Mom.”*
*”She was sad. Then I found her Misha. Now she smiles. I saved her.”*
Margarita hugged her tight. For the first time, the future felt warm, brightsafe.
And Mikhail? Hed already passed the toughest testat the doorstep, under Alyonas scrutiny.
With flying colors. A perfect five. Plus.
