The late evening cloaked the kitchen in heavy darkness, as if the very walls had swallowed every sound and flicker of light. The atmosphere was so thick with tension that Igor hesitated even to inhale fully. His gaze fixed on Svetlana, the woman he had shared ten years of love and trust with — yet the woman sitting before him was unrecognizable. Her lips were drawn tight into a thin line, and her eyes bore no trace of warmth, revealing a stranger instead of the partner he once knew.
“I can’t continue like this,” she murmured softly, her words slicing through the silence like shards of glass. “We must bring him back.”
Igor recoiled, as if physically struck.
“What? Svet, do you grasp the gravity of what you’re saying?” he asked, stunned.
“I understand perfectly,” she shot back sharply. “I know all the effort, the money, the time we’ve poured into this… only to hear doctors say it’s hopeless? To helplessly witness him fading away? This isn’t what I signed up for! I dreamed of a family, a healthy child — not this nightmare.”
Her hand motioned toward the nursery, where their son Dima was peacefully sleeping. Igor felt as if a cold wave had washed over him. The words she spoke were unthinkable coming from the woman who once wept tears of joy upon bringing their son home.
“Thousands have reunited with their children, Igor,” she continued, as though justifying her stance. “We have our reasons. His diagnosis… I can’t take it anymore. None of us can.”
“He’s our son,” Igor spoke firmly and quietly. “He entrusted his life to us. How much time he has left — a month, a year — that shouldn’t change our commitment. We belong with him. We are his family.”
A scornful laugh escaped Svetlana, twisting her features beyond recognition.
“Family? Wake up, Igor. I won’t turn my life into a hospital ward. I’m still young and want to live, not watch a dying child every day. If you don’t start the procedure to get him back by tomorrow, I’m gone.”
Rising abruptly, her chair scraped back sharply. Igor sat silently, crushed by the ultimatum. He still hoped to glimpse any flicker of humanity, any trace of affection in her eyes — yet there was only hollow emptiness.
“I’ll give you tonight to decide,” she declared before leaving the kitchen, the door’s slam reverberating through the room.
Head bowed into his hands, Igor felt his world crumble. What he had believed in, what they had built over the years, was disintegrating into dust. At that moment, little Dima appeared in the doorway wearing dinosaur pajamas, rubbing his eyes.
“Dad, did you and Mom fight because of me?” the boy asked softly.
Igor’s heart tightened painfully. Holding his fragile son close, he whispered, “No, baby. Mom’s just having a tough time at work. She’ll be back soon. Everything will be alright, I promise.”
But deep down, he knew he was deceiving both himself and his son. Nothing would ever truly be alright again. The family he treasured was unraveling in a single evening.
“The heartache of broken family ties often emerges in the darkest of times, when hope seems most elusive.”
He recalled how they had arrived here — a decade of struggling to conceive, endless medical tests, shattered hopes. The diagnosis was definitive: infertility on Svetlana’s part. She endured nights of tears while Igor comforted her, reminding her that the most important thing was their bond. It was at that moment he first proposed adoption.
Initially, she rejected the idea vehemently.
“Adopting someone else’s child? From who knows where? Are you serious?” she had exclaimed.
He didn’t push, understanding her need for time. After two years, when depression had worn her down, she finally revisited the thought.
“Okay. Let’s try,” she agreed.
They began visiting orphanages, confronting hundreds of hopeful, painful eyes. When they met Dima — a quiet, slight boy with solemn eyes, quietly constructing block towers in a corner — Igor immediately sensed he was their son.
The initial months resembled a dream. Every smile Svetlana shared with the boy, every milestone she celebrated, brought Igor immense joy. He felt complete, having a family.
But the storm came unannounced. A collapse at kindergarten, hospitalization, relentless tests, mounting anxiety, and then the crushing diagnosis.
“A rare, aggressive illness. Surgery is not an option. Only supportive care is possible,” the doctor had said.
Those words seemed unreal to Igor — abstract and distant— until Dima began to fade. His weight dropped; his complexion paled; the sparkle in his eyes dimmed.
And Svetlana… she left.
The day after her departure, Igor returned home with Dima from another doctor’s visit. Their apartment was empty—closets open, clothes missing, cash gone. He settled onto the couch, unable even to cry, his chest aching with dull pain.
“Dad, are you crying?” Dima whispered.
“No, son. Something got into my eye. Come here,” Igor replied, pulling his son close.
“We’ll get through this. Together,” he vowed firmly.
From then on, Igor’s existence became a relentless battle. He spent nights scouring the internet, connecting with foreign clinics and parents familiar with their plight, only to hear the same bleak prognosis: chances were slim to none.
During the day, he embraced dual roles, mother and father: cooking, cleaning, working remotely, holding Dima’s hand, watching helplessly as his son endured pain.
One afternoon, while Dima napped, Igor went to a pharmacy. In line, two women animatedly discussed a tale about a child with a hopeless diagnosis healed by a sorceress in a remote village.
Though an engineer by training, Igor found himself clinging to these fanciful words — faint, improbable hope.
He hurried after one woman upon leaving, gathering every detail: the village name, the isolated house near the forest.
In a heartbeat, he decided: he would go. Packing a bag and using his last funds, he arranged for a neighbor to watch his apartment and set out on the arduous trip.
The journey was grueling. Dima struggled, frequently nauseated, stretching what should have been a two-day trip into four. Eventually, they reached a tiny village lost deep in the woods — a few crooked houses seemingly untouched by time.
Igor found lodging with Agrafena, an elderly yet vigorous woman who greeted them with gentle compassion. Upon seeing pale, weary Dima, she kindled the stove, creating a comforting warmth.
At a modest supper, Agrafena cautiously inquired about their visitor.
“To see Veronika,” Igor responded with a furrowed brow.
Her eyes brightened in recognition.
“The road must have been difficult,” she murmured, pausing as though gathering her thoughts, then began recounting a tale tinged with tragedy.
“Veronika’s grandmother was a revered healer and herbalist, trusted and respected. Yet another woman with astounding power lived nearby — a sorceress. Despite their families’ feud, their grandchildren, Veronika and Pyotr, secretly married, hoping their union would end the hostility.
“Sadly, it failed. A terrible fire consumed both villages and the homes of both grandmothers. Pyotr perished. Veronika, pregnant with his child, lost her sanity from grief and fled into the forest during a fierce storm. Witnesses say lightning struck her, yet she remained unharmed. That was when she likely inherited the combined powers of her grandmothers, gaining command over ancient natural forces.”
Igor listened skeptically but kept his doubts to himself.
“I don’t believe in such things… witchcraft,” he finally admitted.
Agrafena merely smiled, twitching her mustache.
“Yet you came to her. Whether you believe is irrelevant. The important part is that she believes in you. You must believe too. That helps her work. And one thing — call her Veronika, not Rita. Rita was only what Pyotr called her; no need to remind her of the past pain.”
The next morning, Igor carried his weakest son toward the healer’s hut, with Agrafena accompanying them to a faint forest path. She crossed herself and hurried away, as if fearful to linger.
As they delved deeper, Dima grew worse, breathing shallow and wheezing, his body limp as if surrendering. Igor almost ran in exhaustion and fear of losing him. Suddenly, through thick trees, a small hut appeared — low, with a mossy roof, almost nestled in the earth.
Igor pushed open the low door and stepped inside. The air was thick with herbal scents and ancient smoke. Near the dim hearth sat a young woman with a long blonde braid. Her pale, almost translucent eyes met Igor’s with serene confidence.
“Why so late?” she inquired, calm as if expecting them.
Without waiting for his reply, she gently took Dima from Igor’s arms and placed him on a wide bench covered in animal skins.
“Sit. Drink some water,” she said, pointing to a wooden ladle by a bucket.
Igor obeyed and sipped the water, tasting something strange and old. Suddenly, heavy fatigue overcame him, and he slipped into a deep, unawareness.
He awoke to hushed whispers. Veronika was nearby, arranging herbs and muttering softly. Dima lay peacefully asleep, his face calm and even faintly smiling — a sight Igor had not seen in months.
“What did you do?” he asked, overwhelmed with gratitude.
“What needed doing,” she replied. “Drink some tea now. I’ll take on his treatment. There’s a chance, and it’s good, but it will take time — a month or two.”
“I’m ready,” Igor immediately answered. “Ready for anything.”
“Then live here or stay in the village. But the boy stays with me,” she said firmly.
“I will stay with him,” Igor insisted.
During the first three days, Igor wandered restlessly inside the hut, unsure of his role. On the fourth, boredom drove him outside, where he repaired a crooked fence, cleared the forest path for vehicles, and later obtained materials for fixes in the nearby town.
On return, Veronika greeted him with a subtle reproach.
“Why torment yourself so? Rest perhaps?”
“I’m restless without work,” he answered.
For the first time, she smiled — faint but genuine.
“You simply don’t see the beauty surrounding you,” she said softly.
From then on, Igor threw himself into labor. He rebuilt sturdy fences, reroofed the house, fixed the barn, and gathered winter firewood. Each action carried all his strength, hope, and pain.
Gradually, miracles unfolded. Within weeks, Dima not only managed to stand but also ventured outside. Initially needing support, his confidence grew until he helped Igor gather twigs for the firewood pile. Igor gazed at his son’s newfound vitality in disbelief, wanting to ask Veronika how this was possible, but she only smiled enigmatically.
“Everything is unfolding as I expected,” she said.
Igor found himself looking at her more frequently, captivated by her wild, natural beauty and the sorrow hidden in her eyes—a sorrow slowly lifting as warmth replaced the pain.
One evening by the fire, Igor realized he was in love — intensely, painfully with the mysterious woman who lived silently in the forest, the so-called “young witch” mocked by city folk. Unsure if he should confess, fear of rejection held him back. His sole focus remained on healing his son.
“Love can bloom even amidst the most unexpected and challenging circumstances.”
Days passed uneasily. One day, while Igor chopped wood, Veronika approached silently, watching for a long moment before speaking.
“It pains me to see you suffer. Do you know who I am? Can you accept not only my powers but also the pain they bring?”
Lowering his axe slowly, Igor met her earnest gaze and smiled.
“It’s not easy getting used to your knowing everything in advance, but I want to try.”
Three years slipped by quietly. Then Svetlana received official court papers — Igor had filed for divorce and property division. Confident of her righteousness, she prepared for a fierce battle.
However, in the courthouse hallway, she froze upon seeing Igor transformed: more masculine, calm, confident. Beside him stood Dima, now healthy, tall, jubilant, animatedly chatting with his father. Shock rooted her to the spot; this scene defied her expectations.
Her eyes drifted to the woman holding Igor’s hand — young, beautiful, and poised. Her piercing gaze sent chills down Svetlana’s spine. Quickly averting her eyes, one thought dominated her mind: “It’s the witch.”
The judge’s verdict ruled the apartment to be sold with proceeds split evenly. While Svetlana’s lawyer prepared to contest, she abruptly halted him.
“I agree,” she whispered, unclear why she relented. She yearned only for closure and dared not look at the trio anymore.
As they exited, Svetlana watched Igor, Dima, and Veronika leave arm in arm, a genuine family united. They radiated happiness. Only then did she notice the gentle curve of Veronika’s belly beneath the loose dress — she was pregnant. The trio was stepping into a new chapter, leaving Svetlana alone with a heavy heart and bitter reflections on lost happiness and failed beginnings.
Key Insight: Sometimes, life’s most painful trials lead to unforeseen healing, transformed relationships, and the birth of new hope.
This story reveals the profound challenges and complex emotions entwined in family struggles, love’s unexpected emergence, and the immeasurable strength required to battle despair and pursue healing.