“Larisa, just a bit further… You’ve got this, darling!” Gleb urged, his voice calm but his tone demanding.
Her legs felt as though they were weighed down by heavy chains, each movement an agony. With a labored breath, she muttered, “I just want to take a shower… Gleb, please—I really can’t go on.”
He tilted his head, feigning worry, yet the chill in his eyes was unmistakable—a frost she had never noticed before despite years together.
“Of course, you can. You will. Look, there’s our destination—the little house ahead!”
Lifting her gaze, Larisa saw a structure that seemed caught between a decayed shed and something from a fairy tale, lonely and dilapidated.
Her voice wavered with exhaustion and fear, “Are you certain the healer lives here?”
“Absolutely, dear! Just a few more steps,” he insisted.
Moving almost on instinct, Larisa climbed onto the crooked porch. Gleb gently lowered her onto a rough wooden bench. Then, with a slight, secretive smile curling his lips, he declared, “Now you can rest… for a very long time.”
She scanned the dim room: cobwebs hung thick, dust covered every surface, and a palpable dampness pervaded the air—a place deserted long ago. Her gaze snapped back to Gleb in disbelief.
“Gleb… no one lives here.”
He laughed harshly. “Exactly! No one has lived here for two decades—no visitors at all. If you’re lucky, you’ll pass away alone. If not…” He savored the moment before continuing, “The wild beasts will finish the job.”
“Gleb! What nonsense is this? Snap out of it!”
She watched as his façade of the loving husband crumbled irrevocably.
“I told you to put the company in my name, but you’re stubborn as a mule,” he spat. “Do you realize how much I endured? Sleeping next to you—it makes my skin crawl.”
Her voice barely a whisper, she replied, “But my money doesn’t disgust you, does it?”
His eyes blazed. “That money’s mine. All mine. I only needed your signature. Everyone’s heard you’re obsessed with nonsense—magic and frauds. I’ve told people you lost your mind, vanished with some woods’ quack. I tried to stop you, but…” He shrugged dramatically. “You were too stubborn. Like I said, I don’t even need to buy a coffin.”
Laughter escaped his lips, sharp and guttural. Larisa shut her eyes, willing herself awake—this had to be just a nightmare.
But the slamming door echoed in the stillness, painfully real.
She attempted to rise, desperate to flee the horror. Yet, her body betrayed her; fatigue overwhelmed her in minutes lately, as if some unseen force drained her spirit.
A fleeting thought crossed her mind—recognition of the betrayal.
Her resistance crumbled, and she sank into a restless sleep.
Married five years earlier, Gleb had appeared out of nowhere—destitute but charming enough to make her forget reason. Weary and lonely, Larisa fell deeply.
Warnings surrounded her. He was after her wealth, indulging in other affairs. When the truth emerged a year ago, her health began its decline—first afflicting her heart, then her stomach, then everything at once. Physicians attributed it all to stress.
She fought against despair, but could someone so deeply betrayed not worry?
Now wealthy yet fragile, she might never leave this crumbling cabin, her demise bound to remain a hidden secret.
“Sometimes, to find what truly matters, one must endure the deepest losses.”
Half-conscious, Larisa sensed movement nearby. Her heart seized—was it wild animals?
“Don’t be afraid!” whispered a small voice.
Startled, she looked to see a petite girl, around seven or eight, crouching beside her.
“I was here first,” the child explained. “When he brought you, I hid.”
Supporting herself on her elbows, Larisa asked softly, “Are you safe? How do you come here alone?”
“I sneak away to hide when I’m scolded by Dad. He gets worried.”
“Does he harm you?”
“No! Just makes me work. But kids shouldn’t have to do chores. When I don’t listen, he makes me wash a mountain of dishes!” She spread her arms in mock despair.
A faint smile touched Larisa’s lips.
“Maybe your dad is tired, giving you chores you can manage. I would do anything for my dad… if he were still alive.”
“Did your dad pass away?”
“Long ago.”
“Everyone dies,” the child said with quiet acceptance, the calmness only a child can embody.
“Will your father die too?” Larisa asked.
“People die when they grow old. That’s how it is.”
Contemplating, the girl added, “Mom was sick and went to the angels. I cry a lot. I miss her so much. I help Dad so he won’t die!” She gazed at Larisa. “Did they bring you here to die as well?”
“That seems to be the case.”
“Why not a hospital?”
A single tear escaped Larisa’s eye.
“He decided… so no one would heal me.”
“What a monster!” the child cried. “I’ll go find Dad! You know who he is? He heals everyone in the village—except Mom…” Her voice trembled.
“Why?”
The girl paused at the door, then whispered, “My dad’s a wizard.”
Despite herself, Larisa managed a tired smile.
“Sweetheart, there’s no such thing…”
“There is! Your husband said you believe in that stuff. Don’t be sad. I’ll be right back!”
“What’s your name?”
“Dasha!”
“Dasha, aren’t you scared being alone out here? What if wild animals come?”
She snorted, “What animals? Only hedgehogs come to this forest!”
With that, she slipped quickly through the doorway as if flying.
“Relying on a child—how naive,” Larisa thought drowsily. “She’ll wander, meet some squirrel or hedgehog, and forget me…”
She was drifting away when a faint dialogue whispered through the shadows:
“Dad, is she gone?”
“No, my sunshine. She’s just resting.”
Larisa’s eyes snapped open.
“Dasha! You came back!”
The room remained dim. A man’s face was shadowed.
“Hello,” he said softly. “I’m sorry you were brought here.”
“It’s okay. May I stand? Go outside?”
“I… can’t say for sure yet.”
He placed his hand gently on her forehead. A comforting warmth—steady and soft—spread through her like the first gentle sun of spring after a harsh winter.
“You can. I promise.”
Supported by his arm, she rose tentatively and staggered toward the doorway.
Outside, a motorcycle with a sidecar awaited, reminiscent of another era. Dizzy and weak, her knees buckled but strong arms lifted and settled her into the sidecar.
Where they headed or how long they traveled remained a blur. She floated amidst jarring bumps under a starry sky and drifted into darkness once more.
At that moment, it seemed irrelevant where she went to die.
But then came warmth. Comfort. And a faint hunger?
Her eyes opened to high ceilings and bright wooden walls—nothing like the desolation she had left behind. A television flickered quietly in the room.
“So this is some kind of strange afterlife,” she thought.
“Awake? Wonderful! Dinner’s ready. Special occasion—Dasha’s helping for the first time. I don’t know what you told her, but thank you.”
Larisa smiled, yet she would never confess what touched her heart so deeply—it felt too tender to voice.
He carefully helped her up, arranging pillows behind her back. On the table sat potatoes with gravy, a fresh salad, milk, and bread—not ordinary bread but light and airy loaves with large, glossy holes.
“This… is bread?” she questioned, surprised.
“Eat,” he chuckled warmly. “I bake it myself. Store-bought stuff doesn’t sit well with me. Perhaps someday you’ll try some too.”
“Someday” seemed impossibly distant. Yet, the potatoes tasted like salvation. Sleep claimed her before she could finish.
“What’s your name?” she whispered.
“Aleksei.”
Day after day, Larisa’s strength returned. Appetite. Vitality. A will to live. No medications or treatments explained the change.
One afternoon, while Dasha played, Larisa asked directly, “Are you the one nursing me back to health?”
Aleksei’s clear blue eyes met hers.
“Me?”
“Yes. I feel better, so much better. I was supposed to die. Dasha calls you a wizard.”
Laughing openly, he replied, “Ah, Dasha and her tales. Our granny taught me about herbs, but a wizard? Far from it.”
Weeks passed. One day, Larisa walked outside unassisted.
“Larisa! Well done!” Aleksei exclaimed, spinning her around. She clung to him, weeping from relief, joy, and gratitude for life.
Justice and New Beginnings
Half a year later, Gleb prowled the office like a trapped predator.
“I must have complete control! Without me, the company can’t function!”
“It’s running perfectly,” a voice replied cautiously. “Larisa Sergeevna left everything organized.”
“Stop calling her ‘Larisa’! She’s gone—into the woods with quacks, probably eaten! I’m the rightful husband!”
“Gleb Sergeevich,” a manager responded firmly but quietly, “there’s no proof she’s dead. And your conduct is questionable.”
“What does that matter? I’m a grieving widower!”
An older employee stood up.
- “I refuse to work under you.”
- “Anyone else?” Gleb sneered. “The door is open.”
Suddenly, the door opened once more.
“I wouldn’t rush to rehire,” Larisa proclaimed as she entered—vibrant, alive, eyes shining. Beside her stood a tall man. Police officers followed behind them.
“You… how? You were supposed to…” Gleb stammered.
“To die?” she finished calmly, her voice like a clear winter lake. “Your plans failed, as usual.”
As the officers escorted a furious Gleb away, Larisa turned to her team.
“Hello all. I’m home again, full of ideas. This is Aleksei. And I’m inviting you to a barbecue this weekend—to meet the forest and our new family.”
Smiles blossomed in the room.
“Oh, and I have a daughter now. Dasha was with us, but Svetochka distracted her with her endless makeup collection.”
Laughter rippled; Svetochka was infamous for her huge cosmetic arsenal.
“Semyon Arkadyevich,” Larisa addressed her lawyer, “please proceed with the divorce and adoption.”
“Of course, Larisa Sergeevna. Welcome back.”
“Thank you,” she said, squeezing Aleksei’s hand gently.
In life’s harshest moments, losing everything can lead to discovering what truly counts. Sometimes, a child’s unwavering belief in miracles rekindles hope in the most unexpected places.