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 cemetery landscape. Around her, yellow leaves swirled, torn from the trees by a cold wind, fluttering restlessly over the wet ground. The rain had been falling for hours, but the woman didnt notice how soaked her black jacket wasit seemed no force of nature could be worse than the grief tightening her soul. The cemetery was almost desertedjust 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 attempts to comfort herhis helpless embraces, his words about life needing to go on. Those words hurt more than any reproach.
Adjusting the small gray granite headstone mechanically, Ekaterina knelt in the mud, numb to the cold, oblivious to the pain in her legs. Bowing her head, she whispered:
Svetochka, my girl Why couldnt I protect you? I would have given my life to keep you here. Why couldnt I stop you then?
Tears rolled down her cheeks, dripping onto the cold marble, mingling with the rain. A year and three months had passed since they found the body of her only daughter, but the pain had not lessened. If anything, it grew worse each day, eating at her soul like an unquenchable fire. Time was supposed to soften the wound, but instead, it had only deepened it, making it incurable.
It had all begun three years earlier, when Sveta started changing. At first, the shifts were barely noticeableodd entries in a diary Ekaterina glimpsed on the table, hushed arguments in the hallway when her daughter returned home later and later. Then came new friends Sveta refused to talk about, and that alarming glint in her eyes that made her parents chests go cold. They tried to speak to her, to listen, to begbut the harder they tried, the further their daughter slipped away.
Mom, leave me alone! Sveta shouted, slamming her bedroom door. Im an adult!
Seventeen isnt an adult! Ekaterina shot back, standing at the door, her heart breaking with helplessness.
Valery Ivanovich, a respected physician 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 convulsing on the floor, her body wracked with pain, while Katya couldnt even hold her.
Whats wrong with her? Ekaterina sobbed as doctors examined Sveta.
Overdose, Valerys colleague whispered. 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 that had once radiated from her was gone.
We have to isolate her, Valery told his wife in the kitchen after the doctors stabilized their daughter. Or well lose her completely.
Shes not a criminal! Ekaterina sniffled, clutching a tear-dampened 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, begged, promised to change, but her parents held firm. They installed bars on the windows, changed the locks, took shifts watching her. Valery called clinics late at night, searching for specialists, reading about addiction. Ekaterina barely slept, straining to hear every rustle in the hallway, every sigh from her daughters room.
I hate you! Sveta yelled. You ruined my life! Ill never forgive you!
Those words still echoed in Ekaterinas ears, a searing pain. But on that fateful night, they slipped up. Valery dozed off in the chair by the door, Ekaterina took sleeping pills from exhaustion. A soft clickand 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 detectives, calls to classmates, ads in newspapers and onlinenothing worked. Sveta had vanished. Then, when hope had nearly died, came the devastating news: her body had been found near an abandoned warehouse on the citys outskirts.
In the morgues cold room, Valery studied the coroners report with trembling hands, while Ekaterina sobbed, clutching Svetas last photographa graduation picture, her smiling in a white dress.
Overdose, Valery whispered. She she died of an overdose.
A year passed after the funeral. Ekaterina moved through life like a ghostwashing dishes, cooking meals no one ate, suddenly breaking into tears. Shed stand by the stove for an hour, forgetting to turn it off, or find herself sitting in Svetas room, her things still untouched.
Valery, grim at work, made mistakes he never had before. He asked their neighbor, Antonina Stepanovna, to check on his wife and called home every two hours, terrified Ekaterina might harm herself.
Katya, hold on, he said every night, embracing her. We have to keep living. Sveta wouldnt want you to suffer like this.
Dont tell me what Sveta would want! Ekaterina pushed him away. You dont know! No one does!
Evenings passed in silence. Hed try to hold her, and shed turn away, retreating to the bedroom or sitting by the window with their daughters picture. Valery pleaded with her daily to stay strong for their family, but he was losing her too.
That October day, fate seemed to send signals. First, a patient arrived
Valery was finishing his shift when the head nurse rushed in, face tense.
Valery Ivanovich, theres a young woman in critical condition. Igor Vadimovich refuses to treat hersays shes wasting a bed.
Valery clenched his fists. Igor, nicknamed Koschey, had connectionsnot compassion.
Are you a doctor or a bureaucrat? Valery snapped. What about the Hippocratic Oath?
Spare me the lectures, Igor scoffed. My job is treating those who can pay.
Then youre not a doctor. Youre a merchant.
In the ER, the young woman lay feverish, frail. No ID. Found near the train station.
Her name? Valery asked.
Says its Sveta.
His heart jolted. Sveta. Like his daughter.
Four grueling hours later, surgery done, Valery stepped into the hospital courtyard. The autumn air was damp, but he barely felt it.
Under a lone streetlight, a small figure approacheda girl, maybe six, in tattered sandals and a dress too big for her.
Uncle Doctor, she said without preamble. Please buy my blood.
Valery blinked.
Baba said hospitals pay five hundred rubles for blood, she continued calmly. We need food and medicine.
His heart ached. Kneeling, he spoke softly:
Sweetheart, children dont sell blood. But Im a doctor. Maybe I can help?
The girl, Alyona, trusted him. Her mother had died young. Her grandmother was sick.
Show me where you live, he said.
Their home was on the citys outskirtsdamp, crumbling. The grandmother, frail and coughing, resisted help at first. But Valery insisted.
Back home, Ekaterina tensed seeing the child until Valery explained
This is Alyona. We need to care for her.
That night, she silently pulled out an old photo album. A picture of Sveta at sevengray dress, two braids, the same big gray eyes.
Look, Valery, she whispered. Shes the image of our Svetochka
The next day, Ekaterina went to the hospital herself.
The grandmother, weak but sharp-eyed, told her
Her mother her name was Sveta. Came to us pregnant, scared. Sheshe died when Alyona was four.
Ekaterinas vision swam.
Sokolova. Sveta Sokolova.
Their daughters name. Their daughter.
DNA tests confirmed it.
Our granddaughter, Ekaterina breathed.
Alyona stayed. Laughter returned to the house.
One evening, the girl asked
Grandma Katya, why do you cry when you see Moms photo?
Because I love you both so much, she whispered. And because Im sorry I didnt know you sooner.
I love you too. And Mom does, right? Shes watching from heaven?
Yes, my love. Shes watching.
Valery and Ekaterina held each other close, watching Alyona sleep peacefully, knowing that through the pain, they had finally found their way back to love.
