She thought her daughter was lying until the hidden camera captured the MILLIONAIRE’S WIFE uttering HORRIFIC words by her comatose husbands bedside!
Dust clung to the windows. The room was simple but immaculate, gleaming after a thorough cleaning. The air carried the scent of yesterdays borscht and something childisha mix of paper, pencils, and innocence. Margarita, a thirty-four-year-old woman with weary eyes and a faint shadow of worry, buttoned her worn-out coat. Her seven-year-old daughter, Alyona, sat at the table, chin propped on her fist, flipping through a thick book without a single picture.
“Mom, did you know octopuses have three hearts?” she suddenly asked, not looking up. “Wouldnt it be great if you had three too? One for me, one for work, and the third just for resting.”
Margarita smiled. This fragile girl with a serious, almost grown-up gaze was her anchor, a beacon in the stormy sea of loneliness. The topic of her father was rarely touched uponalways the same explanation: “He left and got lost.” Once spoken in despair, it had become their family legend, simple and convenient.
Since then, it had been just the two of themagainst everything. By day, Margarita cleaned hospital wards as an overworked, underappreciated janitor. At night, once Alyona was asleep, she hunched over her laptop translating technical documents, fighting fatigue and the gnawing sense that life was passing her by.
“Ready, little thinker?” Margarita adjusted Alyonas hat, smoothing stray curls.
“Ready,” Alyona sighed, shutting her book. “Mom, have you considered Uncle Valera? You know, the plumber. Sure, he smells like oil, but he fixes everything. And his mustache looks like a cartoon cats.”
“Alyona, enough,” Margarita chuckled softly.
“But I just want you happy! Uncle Valeras out, fine. What about the mailman? He smiles at you every day!”
Margarita shook her head, stifling a laugh. Lately, Alyona had “auditioned” every man in the neighborhood, yet none passed her internal “dad-worthy” test. And so, like yesterday and tomorrow, they left the house togetherMargarita to her night shift, Alyona to a tiny storage room near the medical post, since there was no one else to leave her with.
The hospital greeted them with its usual atmosphere: dim lights, the sterile tang of antiseptic, hushed footsteps in the hallway. In the half-light, Margarita bumped into Sanyaa twenty-three-year-old nurse with a fiery red fringe and a perpetual smile, who dreamed of becoming a surgeon.
“Rita, hey! Heard about the new patient in Room 5?” she whispered urgently. “Dmitry Sergeyevich, some rich businessman. Coma after a car crash. His wife, Marinaabsolute nightmare! Dressed like shes on a runway, but cries like her hearts breaking. All fake.”
Margarita nodded, thanked her, and led Alyona to their makeshift refugea cramped closet behind brooms with an old couch. Alyona settled with her book but couldnt focus. The hospitals silence pressed down. Left without pencils, she sighed and tiptoed out to find her mother.
Passing Room 5, she heard a womans muted voice. Curiosity won. Alyona slipped inside, hiding behind a medical screen. A man lay tangled in wires and tubes. Beside him stood an elegant womanMarinaflawless hair, expensive coat. Alyona froze.
“Sleeping, darling?” Marinas voice was icy, calculating. “Soon youll be gone forever. And Ill finally be free and very rich. Just a little longer.”
Alyona watched in horror as Marina pulled a syringe from her purse, injecting liquid into the IV. Her tiny heart hammered.
Marina hid the syringe, smoothed her hair, andin an instanttransformed. Tears welled, lips trembled. She exited, loudly sobbing into a silk handkerchief, playing the grieving wife for passing nurses.
On the bus home, Alyona stared silently out the window, her usually lively eyes dull. Something shattered inside her. Evil wasnt in a fairy tale nowit was real, masked as grief. Margarita sensed the change instantly.
“Alyonushka, whats wrong?” she asked once inside.
Alyona trembled, finally blurting out what shed seen. Margaritas reassurances died as details tumbled outthe needleless syringe, the IV port, the face-switch. Her daughters terror wasnt fantasy.
The next day, Margarita dug out an old action cameraher ex-husbands forgotten gift. That night, she hid it in Room 5, pointed at the bed.
When Marina returned near midnight, Alyona disrupted her, whining loudly for water. Flustered, Marina left unfinished.
At dawn, Margarita watched the footageproof. She took it to the chief doctor, Yury Pavlovich. Skepticism turned to pallor as he saw the recording. Within days, Marina was arrested mid-scream in the lobby, exposed for slowly poisoning her husband.
Dmitrynow Mikhailwas moved to a specialized clinic. He awoke, whispering, *”Thank the girl in the hospital.”*
A month later, Margarita and Alyona baked an apple pie, their home fragrant with cinnamon and joy. A knock interrupted them.
Two men stood at the doorone unfamiliar, the other unmistakably the once-lifeless patient.
“Margarita? Im Mikhail Arkadyevich. I came to thank those who saved me. Especially one brave girl.”
Alyona eyed him critically. “Are you going to love my mom? Shes sad when alone.”
Mikhail burst into laughter. Margarita, watching her bold daughter, laughed toofreely, as if shedding years of weight.
From then on, Mikhail became a fixturebringing books, fixing shelves, joining their rituals. At a lakeside picnic, he confessed:
“Before the accident, I had everything and nothing. Waking up, I realized this second chance was *you*.”
Margarita, vulnerable at last, shared her loneliness. He kissed her gentlya promise.
Six months later, they married in a small restaurant. Alyona danced in white, Sanya cheered, and Margaritas gray past faded. Their home brimmed with lightevenings under blankets, stories read in turns.
One night, Margarita found Alyona writing: *”How I Saved Mom.”* In childish scrawl:
*”Mom was sad alone. Then I found her Misha. Now she always smiles. I saved her.”*
Margarita hugged her tight. They were a family nowwarm, secure.
And Mikhail? Hed aced his first testAlyonas scrutinywith flying colors.
A solid A+. With honors.
