A poorly dressed girl came to the hospital to sell her blood. When the doctor learned why she needed the money, it took his breath away…
Ekaterina Dmitrievna stood by a fresh grave, framed by the gray autumn sky and the bleak cemetery landscape. Yellow leaves swirled around her, torn from the trees by a cold wind, fluttering restlessly over the wet earth. The rain had been falling for hours, but she barely noticed her soaked black jacketno storm could compare to the grief gripping 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 when her husband was at work, unable to bear his helpless attempts to console herhis empty embraces, his words about life moving on. Those words hurt more than any reproach.
Adjusting the small gray granite headstone mechanically, Ekaterina knelt right in the mud, oblivious to the cold or the pain in her legs. Bowing her head, she whispered:
“Sveta, my girl… Why couldnt I protect you? Id give my own life just to have you back. Why didnt I stop you that day?”
Tears rolled down her cheeks, falling onto the cold marble and mixing with the rain. A year and three months had passed since they found her only daughters body, but the pain hadnt lessened. If anything, it had grown worse, eating at her soul like an unquenchable fire. Time was supposed to heal, but instead, it had only deepened the wound.
It all started three years ago, when Sveta began changing. At first, the signs were subtlestrange entries in a diary Ekaterina happened to see on the table, hushed arguments in the hallway as her daughter came home later and later. Then came new friends Sveta refused to talk about, and that unsettling gleam in her eyes that made her parents’ blood run cold. They pleaded, questioned, listenedbut the harder they tried, the further their daughter drifted away.
“Mom, leave me alone!” Sveta would shout, slamming her bedroom door. “Im not a child!”
“Seventeen isnt grown up!” Ekaterina would reply, standing on the other side, her heart breaking with helplessness.
Valery Ivanovich, a respected doctor who had saved hundreds of lives, felt powerless for the first time. He remembered that terrible evening when they called an ambulanceSveta convulsing in pain on her bedroom floor while Katya couldnt even hold her still.
“Whats wrong with her?” Ekaterina sobbed as the medics examined Sveta.
“Overdose,” a colleague murmured. “She needs intensive care.”
They spent that night in the hospital corridor, praying, clinging to each other, hoping. Sveta survived, but something in her eyes had changed forever. She became more withdrawn, more hostile. The warmth she once had was gone.
“We have to keep her isolated,” Valery told his wife later, after the doctors stabilized her. “Or well lose her for good.”
“Shes not a criminal!” Ekaterina choked out, clutching a tear-soaked handkerchief. “Shes our daughter, our only girl!”
“Exactly why we have to save her. No matter what.”
House arrest lasted three agonizing months. Sveta screamed, begged, promised to changebut her parents held firm. Bars on the windows, new locks, taking shifts to watch her. Valery spent nights calling clinics, searching for specialists, reading about addiction. Ekaterina barely slept, listening for every creak in the hall, 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 that fateful night, they slipped up. Valery dozed in the chair by the door; Ekaterina, exhausted, took a sleeping pill. A quiet 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, detectives, calls to classmates, ads in papers and onlinenothing. Sveta seemed to vanish. Then, when hope had nearly faded, came the news: her body had been found near an abandoned warehouse on the citys edge.
In the morgue, Valery trembled as he read the autopsy report. Ekaterina sobbed, clutching Svetas last photoa smiling high school graduate in a white dress.
“Overdose,” Valery whispered. “She died of an overdose.”
A year passed since the funeral. Ekaterina moved through life mechanicallywashing dishes, cooking meals no one ate, breaking into tears at random. Shed stand at the stove for an hour, forgetting to turn it off, or find herself sitting in Svetas untouched room.
Valery, too, was a shadow of himselfmaking mistakes at work, calling home every two hours, afraid Katya might harm herself.
“Hold on, Katya,” hed murmur each night, embracing her. “We have to keep living. Sveta wouldnt want you to suffer like this.”
“Dont tell me what Sveta would want!” Ekaterina would push him away. “You dont know! No one does!”
Evenings were spent in silence. Shed retreat to the bedroom or sit by the window with Svetas photo while Valery pleaded for her to stay strong. But he knew he was losing her too.
Then, one October day, fate intervened.
Valery was finishing his shift when a nurse rushed in:
“Valery Ivanovich, a new patienta young woman in critical condition. Igor Vadimovich refuses to treat her.”
Igor, the hospitals cynical new hire, sneered at the idea of helping a “homeless waste of time.” Valery clenched his fists.
“Youre a doctor or a bureaucrat?” he snapped. “Does the Hippocratic Oath mean nothing?”
“Spare me the lecture,” Igor shrugged. “I treat those who can pay.”
In the ER, the patient lay feverish, frailbut something in her face struck Valery.
“Whats her name?” he asked.
“No ID. Found near the train station. She says her name is Sveta.”
The name hit him like a blow. Sveta. Like his daughter.
The surgery lasted four grueling hours. Later, stepping into the hospital courtyard for air, Valery spotted a small figurea girl in tattered sandals, clutching a threadbare dress.
“Mister Doctor,” she said boldly. “Will you buy my blood? We need food and medicine for Grandma.”
His heart clenched. Squatting to her eye level, he spoke gently.
“Sweetheart, children dont sell blood. But maybe I can help?”
The girl, Alyona (Alya for short), trusted him enough to lead him to their crumbling home on the city outskirts. Inside, her grandmother, Taissia, coughed weakly.
“Dont bother, Doctor,” she rasped. “Weve no money…”
But Valery insisted on examining herpneumonia, heart complications. He called an ambulance, arranged hospitalization. And with Taissia in care, he brought Alya home.
Ekaterina froze at the door, seeing the child. But when Valery quietly explained, she nodded. Later, flipping through their family album, she gasped.
“Valera look.”
The photo of Sveta at sevengray dress, braided pigtailscould have been Alyas twin.
The next day, Ekaterina visited Taissia alone. The old woman, frail under the IV drip, studied her.
“Sveta that was her name. Came to us pregnant, scared. Said her parents threw her out. She had the baby, then died when Alya was four. Sick for a long time…”
Dizziness washed over Ekaterina.
“Her last name?”
“Sokolova. Sveta Sokolova.”
Her daughters name. Her daughters child.
DNA tests confirmed itAlya was their granddaughter.
The adoption process moved swiftly, friends pulling strings. Alya got a new home, new clothes, new life. And slowly, the house began to heal.
Laughter returned. Ekaterina sewed dresses, baked cookies. Valery read bedtime stories, taught Alya to tie her shoes.
“Grandma Katya,” Alya asked one night, “why do you cry when you see Moms picture?”
“Because I loved her so much. And I wish Id known you sooner.”
“I love you too,” Alya said earnestly. “Mom loves us from heaven, right?”
“Yes, baby. She does.”
That evening, watching Alya sleep, Ekaterina whispered to Svetas portrait:
“Thank you for giving us back our purpose. Well protect herI promise.”
Valery embraced his wife. This time, she didnt pull away.
Outside, the rain fellwashing away old pain, bringing new hope.
Ekaterina no longer visited the cemetery daily. Now she knew: Sveta had forgiven them.
And their greatest task lay aheadto give Alya all the love theyd failed to giveAnd as the years passed, the echoes of their past grief softened, replaced by the joyful laughter of a little girl who had mended their broken hearts.
