A shabbily 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…
Yekaterina Dmitrievna stood by a fresh grave, framed by a gray autumn sky and the bleak landscape of the cemetery. Yellow leaves, torn from trees by the cold wind, swirled around her, fluttering restlessly over the damp earth. The rain had been falling for hours, but she barely noticed her soaked black jacketno storm could compare to the grief tightening her soul. The cemetery was nearly desertedjust her among the stone monuments, the silence broken only by gusts of wind and scattered raindrops. She came here daily while her husband was at work, unable to bear his faltering attempts to console her, his helpless embraces, his words about life moving on. Those words stung worse than any reproach.
Mechanically adjusting the small granite headstone, she knelt in the mud, numb to the cold, indifferent to the pain in her legs. Bowing her head, she whispered:
“Sveta, my darling Why didnt I protect you? Id give my life to have you back. Why couldnt I stop you that day?”
Tears rolled 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. If anything, it grew sharper every day, eating at her soul like an unquenchable fire. Time should have dulled the wound, but instead, it had only deepened it.
It all began three years earlier, when Sveta started changing. First, small thingsodd diary entries Yekaterina glimpsed on her desk, hushed arguments in the hallway as she returned home later each night. Then came new friends she refused to discuss, and a feverish glint in her eyes that chilled her parents hearts. They begged, reasoned, pleadedbut the more they tried, the further Sveta pulled away.
“Mom, leave me alone!” Sveta would shout, slamming her door. “Im not a child!”
“Youre seventeenthats not grown up!” Yekaterina would retort, her heart breaking with helplessness.
Valery Ivanovich, a respected hospital doctor who had saved countless lives, felt utterly powerless for the first time. He remembered the night they called an ambulanceSveta convulsing on the floor, her mother unable to hold her still.
“Whats wrong with her?” Yekaterina sobbed as medics examined her.
“Overdose,” Valerys colleague murmured. “She needs emergency care.”
They spent that night in the hospital corridor, clinging to each other, praying. Sveta survived, but something in her eyes had died. She grew colder, angrier. The warmth she once carried had vanished.
“We have to isolate her,” Valery told his wife afterward. “Or well lose her completely.”
“Shes not a criminal!” Yekaterina cried, clutching a tear-drenched handkerchief. “Shes our daughter!”
“Exactly why we must save her. At any cost.”
Three agonizing months followed. Sveta screamed, begged, promised to changebut her parents stood firm. Bars on the windows, new locks, constant supervision. Valery spent nights calling clinics, researching addiction. Yekaterina barely slept, straining to hear every sound.
“I hate you!” Sveta shrieked. “You ruined my life! Ill never forgive you!”
Those words still echoed in Yekaterinas ears. But on that final night, they faltered. Valery dozed by the door, Yekaterina took sleeping pills from exhaustion. A faint clickand Sveta vanished with only a note: “Dont look for me. Im not your daughter anymore.”
The search lasted eight yearspolice, detectives, pleas on TV, all futile. Then, when hope had nearly faded, came the devastating news: her body found near an abandoned warehouse.
In the morgue, Valery trembled as he read the autopsy report. Yekaterina wept, clutching Svetas last photoher graduation smile in a white dress.
“Overdose,” Valery whispered.
A year passed. Yekaterina moved mechanicallywashing dishes, cooking meals no one ate, collapsing into tears mid-task. Valery, distracted at work, begged neighbors to check on her, terrified shed harm herself.
“Katya, hold on,” he murmured nightly, embracing her. “Sveta wouldnt want this.”
“Dont tell me what shed want!” shed snap, shoving him away. “You dont know!”
Evenings were silent. He reached for her; she turned away. He pleaded for their familys sake but sensed he was losing her too.
Then came that October day.
Valery was finishing paperwork when a nurse rushed in. A young woman had been admittedhomeless, critically ill, refused treatment by his callous colleague.
“Let her rot elsewhere,” the man sneered.
“Youre no doctor,” Valery spat, storming off.
The patients feverish face held something familiar.
“Her name?” he asked.
“None. Found near the station. Calls herself Sveta.”
He froze. Like his daughter.
Four grueling hours later, he stepped outside, exhausted. Rain drizzled under a lone streetlamp. Thena small figure approached. A girl, maybe six, in ragged clothes and oversized sandals.
“Doctor,” she said plainly, “please buy my blood.”
He knelt, heart aching. “Why, sweetheart?”
“Grandmas sick. We need food and medicine.”
Her name was Alia. Her mother was gone; her grandmother, bedridden. He followed her to a crumbling apartment where a frail woman coughed weakly.
“Leave me,” she rasped.
Valery insisted on an exam, then called an ambulance. Alia clung to him trustingly.
“Stay with us while Grandmas in the hospital,” he offered.
Home. Yekaterina froze seeing the childthen silently nodded. Later, she pulled out an old photo: Sveta at seven, with the same gray eyes.
“Look,” she whispered. “Shes the image of Sveta.”
The next day, Yekaterina visited the grandmother.
“Sveta” the old woman murmured. “Came to us pregnant, scared. Died after the birth. Said she missed her parents begged for forgiveness.”
Yekaterina swayed. “Her last name?”
“Sokolova.”
Her daughters name.
DNA tests confirmed itAlia was their granddaughter.
“Our Sveta had a child,” Yekaterina wept. “We lost her twice.”
They held each other, mourning and yethoping.
Adoption formalities passed swiftly. Alia had a home now, love, a future.
“Grandma,” she asked once, “why do you cry at Moms picture?”
“Because I loved herand I love you.”
At night, Yekaterina whispered to Svetas portrait:
“Thank you for bringing us back to life. Well protect herI promise.”
Valery embraced his wife. This time, she didnt pull away.
Rain fell outside, washing away old pain, nurturing new hope.
Yekaterina no longer visited the grave daily. She knew nowSveta had forgiven them. Their duty was to give Alia the love theyd failed to give her mother. To reclaim the stolen childhood.
