A poorly dressed girl came to the hospital to sell her blood. When the doctor learned why she needed the money, his breath caught in his throat…
Ekaterina Dmitrievna stood by a fresh grave, framed by the gray autumn sky and the bleak landscape of the cemetery. Leaves, torn from the trees by the cold wind, swirled around her, fluttering restlessly over the wet earth. The rain had been falling for hours, but she didnt notice her black jacket soaking throughno storm could be worse than the grief crushing her soul. The cemetery was nearly emptyjust her among the stone monuments and silence, broken only by gusts of wind and the occasional raindrop. She came here every day while her husband was at work, unable to bear his helpless attempts to console her, his hollow embraces and reassurances that life must go on. Those words cut deeper than any reproach.
Mechanically adjusting the small granite headstone, Ekaterina sank to her knees in the mud, oblivious to the cold and the pain in her legs. Bowing her head, she whispered:
Svetochka, my girl Why didnt I protect you? Id have given my life for yours. Why couldnt I stop you back then?
Tears trailed down her cheeks, mingling with the rain on the cold marble. A year and three months had passed since they found the body of her only daughter, yet the pain hadnt eased. Instead, it had grown, eating at her soul like an unquenchable fire. Time should have dulled the wound, yet it only made it deeper, incurable.
It had all begun three years ago when Sveta started changing. At first, it was barely noticeableodd notes in a diary Ekaterina had spotted on her desk, hushed arguments as her daughter came home later and later. Then came new friends Sveta refused to talk about, and a feverish glint in her eyes that made her parents’ hearts freeze. They tried talking to her, questioning, listening, beggingbut the harder they tried, the further she slipped away.
Mom, leave me alone! Sveta screamed, slamming her bedroom door. Im already grown up!
Seventeen isnt grown up! Ekaterina shouted back, her heart breaking at the futility of it.
Valery Ivanovich, a respected doctor at the city hospital, a man who had saved hundreds of lives, felt utterly powerless for the first time. He remembered that terrible evening when they had to call an ambulanceSveta lay writhing on the floor, convulsing in pain, while Katya couldnt even hold her steady.
Whats wrong with her? Ekaterina sobbed as the medics examined Sveta.
Overdose, Valerys colleague murmured. She needs immediate resuscitation.
They spent that night in the hospital corridor, praying, clinging to each other, hoping. Sveta survived, but something in her eyes changed forever. She became even more withdrawn, more aggressive. The warmth she once radiated vanished without a trace.
We have to isolate her, Valery told his wife in the kitchen after the doctors stabilized Sveta. Or well lose her for good.
Shes not a criminal! Ekaterina choked out, clutching a tear-soaked handkerchief. Shes our daughter, our only girl!
Thats exactly why we have to save her. At any cost.
The house arrest lasted three agonizing months. Sveta screamed, cried, promised to changebut her parents held firm. They barred the windows, changed the locks, took shifts watching her. Valery called clinics late at night, searching for specialists, reading medical literature on addiction. Ekaterina barely slept, listening for every sound in the hallway, every sigh from Svetas room.
I hate you! Sveta shrieked. You ruined my life! Ill never forgive you!
Those words still echoed in Ekaterinas ears, unbearable. But on that fateful night, they failed. Valery dozed off in the chair by the door; Ekaterina took a sleeping pill, exhausted. A faint click of the front doorand Sveta was gone forever, leaving only a note: *Dont look for me. Im not your daughter anymore.*
The search lasted eight long years. Police, private investigators, calls to old classmates, ads in newspapers and onlineall in vain. Sveta had vanished. Then, when hope had nearly died, came the worst news: her body had been found near an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of town.
In the morgue, Valerys hands trembled as he read the coroners report, while Ekaterina clutched the last photo of their daughteran old school graduation picture, Sveta smiling in a white dress.
Overdose, Valery whispered. She she died of an overdose.
A year had passed since the funeral. Ekaterina moved through life like a ghostwashing dishes, cooking meals no one ate, bursting into tears at random moments. Shed stand by the stove for an hour, forgetting to turn it off, or find herself sitting in Svetas untouched room.
Valery frowned at work, making mistakes he never would have before. He begged their neighbor Antonina Stepanovna to check on his wife and called home every two hours, terrified Katya might harm herself.
Katya, hold on, he whispered each night, embracing her. We have to keep living. Sveta wouldnt want you to suffer like this.
Dont tell me what Sveta wouldve wanted! Ekaterina shoved him away. You dont know! No one does!
Evenings passed in silence. Hed reach for her; shed turn away, retreating to the bedroom or sitting by the window with Svetas photo. Valery begged Ekaterina to stay strong for their family, but he knewhe was losing her too.
Then, that October day, fate seemed to give them a sign. A new patient arrived
Valery was finishing his shift in his office. A glass carafe of water stood on the desk, a can of stew untouched in the cabinet. Work consumed himthe only way to escape his grief. Nurse Vera rushed in, anxious:
Valery Ivanovich, theres a new patienta young woman in critical condition. But Igor Vadimovich refuses to treat her.
What do you mean *refuses*? Valery frowned, looking up from patient charts.
Says shes just a homeless woman taking up space. Claims beds are for *proper* patients.
Valery clenched his fists. Igor Vadimovichnicknamed Koschey behind his backhad joined the hospital six months ago thanks to influential relatives. Cynical, indifferent, he saw medicine as a business, not a calling. Patients were either profitable or worthless.
Where is he now? Valery asked, standing.
In the smoking area, as usual.
Valery found Igor by the service entrance, lazily finishing an expensive cigarette while scrolling through his new phone.
Igor Vadimovich, theres a patient who needs urgent care.
Oh, *that* one? Igor grimaced. Valery Ivanovich, Im not obligated to treat every drifter. Send her to a charity hospital.
Are you a doctor or a bureaucrat? Valery snapped. Does the Hippocratic Oath mean nothing to you?
Spare me the lecture, Igor waved him off. My job is treating those who can pay.
Then youre no doctor. Youre a merchant.
Think what you like, Igor shrugged and walked away.
Valery headed to the ER. A young woman lay on a gurney, feverish, her face gaunt and pale. Dirty clothes, tangled hairbut something in her features struck Valery, sending a pang through his chest.
Whats her name? he asked the nurse.
No ID. Found her near the station. Says shes Sveta.
Valery froze. *Sveta.* Like his daughter.
Prep the OR, he ordered, forcing himself to focus. Now.
The surgery lasted four hours. Sweat stung his eyes; the tension in the room was thick. As he worked, Valery thought of his Sveta, of how someone might have denied her help.
Afterwards, he stepped into the hospital courtyard to breathe. The air was damp, coldbut he barely felt it. His shift was over, yet he dreaded going home. That empty, grieving house, where every corner whispered of loss.
A lone streetlamp flickered through the rain, casting a dim yellow glow. In its light, he spotted a small figurea child, approaching hesitantly. A girl, no older than six, in oversized sandals and a dress too big for her. She walked right up to him, fearless.
Doctor, she said bluntly, please buy my blood.
Valery blinked, startled, then forced a gentle smile.
What did you say, sweetheart?
Grandma said hospitals pay five hundred rubles for blood, the girl explained. We need money for food and her medicine.
Her voice was matter-of-fAnd as Valery looked into the eyes of this child, so much like the daughter they had lost, he knew that life had given them a second chance to mend the broken pieces of their hearts.
