The husband brought her to an abandoned hut to die, but there she faced an unexpected meeting

“Larisa, just a little more… Come on, love, you’ve got this!”

Her legs barely obeyed. Each step felt like dragging iron weights tied to her ankles.

“I want a shower…” Larisa breathed, the last of her strength ebbing away. “Gleb, I can’t. Honestly—I can’t.”

Her husband tilted his head with a practiced look of concern, yet his eyes were glacial. How had she never noticed that frost before?

“You can, darling. You will. Look—there’s our destination. The little house!”

Larisa followed his gaze. Ahead stood a structure that looked like something between a sagging shed and a fairy-tale hut on chicken legs.

“Are you… absolutely sure the healer lives here?” Her voice trembled with fatigue and dread.

“Of course, dear! Come on—just a few more steps.”

She mounted the crooked porch almost on autopilot, like moving through a dream. Gleb eased her down onto a rough wooden bench, and his lips twitched into a smug, private smile. The sight sliced through her.

“Now you can rest… for a long time.”

She glanced around the dim interior: cobwebs, dust, damp, the stale breath of a place long abandoned. Her eyes darted back to him.

“Gleb… No one lives here.”

“That’s right!” He barked a laugh. “No one’s lived here for twenty years—no one comes at all. If you’re lucky, you’ll die on your own. If not…” He paused, savoring it. “The wild animals will take care of the rest.”

“Gleb! What are you saying? Snap out of it!”

He straightened, and the mask of the devoted husband slid off forever.

“I told you—register the company in my name. But you’re mule-stubborn.” He spat to the side. “Do you have any idea what it cost me to put up with you? To sleep with you? You make my skin crawl.”

“But my money doesn’t, right?” Larisa whispered.

“That money is mine,” he snarled. “All mine—just needed your signature. Everyone knows you’re obsessed with ‘magic’ and charlatans. I’ve been telling people you went off the rails and ran to a quack in the backwoods. I tried to talk you out of it, but…” He lifted his hands in a theatrical shrug. “Stubborn, stubborn you. Like the plan? I don’t even need to buy a coffin.”

His laughter came out like a dog’s bark. Larisa shut her eyes. This is a nightmare. It has to be.

But the door slamming was painfully real.

She tried to rise. She had to run—surely this was some sick joke. Her body refused. Lately, exhaustion swallowed her in minutes, as if something were draining her life away.

“Now I know who…” flashed through her mind.

The fight went out of her. Larisa surrendered and drifted into a feverish sleep.

They had married five years ago. Gleb seemed to appear from nowhere—broke, charming, dazzling enough to make her forget common sense. Lonely and worn down by work, Larisa fell hard.

Everyone warned her. He only wanted money. He was burning through her funds on other women. She learned the truth a year ago. After that, her health began to collapse—first the heart, then the stomach, then everything at once. Doctors chalked it up to stress.

She tried not to worry. She truly tried. But how do you not worry when the one you love betrays you?

Now she was wealthy and successful—and so ill she might never leave this rotting hut. Her death would be a secret tidily kept.

Half-asleep, Larisa heard a rustle. Someone stood nearby. Her heart stopped. Animals?

“Don’t be scared!”

She flinched.

“A girl? How did you get here?”

A little thing, seven or eight years old, squatted beside her.

“I was already here. When he brought you, I hid.”

Larisa pushed herself up on her elbows.

“You’re all right? How do you come here?”

“I come by myself. When I fight with Dad, I hide out. Let him worry.”

“Does he hurt you?”

“Nope! He just makes me help. But I don’t want to. Why should kids work? If I don’t listen, he makes me wash the dishes. A whole mountain!” She spread her arms to show the catastrophe.

Larisa’s mouth quirked into a faint smile.

“Maybe he’s tired. Maybe he’s giving you small chores you can handle. I’d do anything for my dad… if he were alive.”

“Your dad died?”

“Long ago.”

“Everyone dies,” the girl said solemnly, with the calm fatalism of children.

“You mean your dad will die too?” Larisa asked softly.

“People die when they get old. That’s how it works.”

The girl thought for a moment.

“Mom was sick… She went to the angels. I cry a lot. I miss her. I’ll help Dad so he won’t die!” She studied Larisa. “Did they bring you here to die too?”

“Looks that way.”

“Why not a hospital?”

A tear slid down Larisa’s cheek.

“He decided… so they wouldn’t cure me.”

“Bastard!” the girl burst out. “I’ll go get Dad! You know what he is? He heals everyone in the village! Except Mom…” Her voice shook.

“How come?”

The girl hovered at the door, then leaned back and whispered:

“My dad is a wizard.”

Larisa couldn’t help a small, weary smile.

“Sweetheart, there’s no such thing…”

“There is! Your husband said you believe in that. Okay—don’t be sad. I’ll be right back!”

“What’s your name?”

“Dasha!”

“Dasha, aren’t you afraid to be out there alone? What if animals come?”

“What animals?” Dasha snorted. “No one comes to this forest but hedgehogs!”

And she slipped through the doorway as if she had wings.

“Counting on a child—how foolish,” Larisa thought, eyes closing. “She’ll run in circles, meet a squirrel or a hedgehog, and forget me…”

She was sliding under when a whisper grazed the room:

“Dad, is she dead?”

“No, sunshine. She’s sleeping.”

Larisa’s eyes flew open.

“Dasha! You came back!”

The hut was dusky; she couldn’t make out the man’s features.

“Hello,” he said gently. “I’m sorry you were brought here.”

“It’s okay. Can I stand? Go outside?”

“I… I’m not sure.”

He set his palm on her forehead. Warmth—soft, steady—unfurled through her like spring sun after a killing winter.

“You can. I promise.”

And she could. With his arm to steady her, she rose and took a few wavering steps. Outside, a motorcycle with a sidecar waited like something from another era. Her vision swam; her knees buckled; strong hands lifted her and settled her into the sidecar.

She didn’t know where they went or how long they rode. She surfaced on the ruts and bumps, saw a scatter of stars—and fell back into dark, quiet water.

It didn’t matter. What difference did it make where you went to die?

But then—warmth. Comfort. And… hunger?

She opened her eyes. High ceilings and bright log walls—nothing like the ruin. A television flickered on the wall.

“So this is a strange afterlife,” she thought.

“Awake? Good! Dinner’s ready. Special occasion—Dasha volunteered to help for the first time. I don’t know what you told her, but—thank you.”

Larisa smiled. She would never admit what had moved the child; it felt too foolish, too tender to say aloud.

He helped her sit, tucked pillows behind her. On the table: potatoes with gravy, a fresh salad, milk… and bread. But not just bread—cloud-light loaves with great, glossy holes inside.

“This… is bread?” Larisa blinked.

“Eat,” he laughed. “I bake it myself. Can’t stomach the store-bought stuff. Maybe you’ll try some one day.”

“Someday” sounded impossibly far. Yet the potatoes were so good they felt like salvation. Sleep tugged at her before she could finish.

“What’s your name?” she murmured.

“Aleksei.”

Day by day, she mended. Appetite returned. Strength. The desire to wake up. She understood nothing of it—no pills, no IVs, no regimens.

When Dasha dashed out to play, Larisa asked outright:

“Are you the one treating me?”

Aleksei’s clear blue eyes met hers.

“Me?”

“Yes. I’m better. Much better. I was supposed to die. Dasha says you’re a wizard.”

He laughed—so purely that she joined him.

“Dasha and her stories. Our granny knew herbs. She taught me a little. But a wizard? I’m as far from that as China on foot.”

The weeks slipped by. One day she walked outside alone—no arm to lean on.

“Larisa! Bravo!”

Aleksei scooped her up and spun her once, and she clung to him and sobbed—out of relief, out of joy, out of the sheer fact of being alive.

Six months later

Gleb prowled the office like a cornered animal.

“I need full control. Without me, the company can’t function!”

“It’s functioning flawlessly,” someone said carefully. “Larisa Sergeevna left everything in perfect order.”

“Stop calling her ‘Larisa’! She’s gone! Ran off to the woods to quacks and got eaten! I’m the lawful husband!”

“Gleb Sergeevich,” one of the managers said softly but firmly, “there’s no body. And your behavior… raises questions.”

“What does that matter?” he exploded. “I’m a grieving widower!”

An older employee stood.

“I won’t work under you.”

“Anyone else?” Gleb sneered. “The door’s right there!”

The door swung inward.

“I wouldn’t rush to rehire.”

Gleb collapsed into a chair. Larisa stood there—radiant, alive, eyes bright. At her side, a tall man. Behind them, police officers.

“You… how… you were supposed to…”

“To die?” she finished, calm as winter glass. “Your plans fail. As usual.”

As the officers led Gleb away, raging and cursing, Larisa turned to her team.

“Hello, everyone. I’m back. I’ve got a dozen ideas. This is my husband—Aleksei. And I’m inviting you all to a barbecue this weekend—come meet the woods and the new family.”

Smiles broke out around the room.

“And—heads up—I have a daughter now. Dasha was with us, but Svetochka lured her off with that makeup suitcase of hers.”

Laughter rippled—Larisa’s secretary was notorious for hauling around a trunk of creams and palettes.

“Semyon Arkadyevich,” Larisa said to the lawyer, “please handle the divorce and the adoption.”

“Of course, Larisa Sergeevna. Welcome back.”

“Thank you,” she said, fingers tightening around Aleksei’s.

Sometimes you have to lose everything to find what matters. And sometimes you find it because a small girl in a quiet forest still believes in miracles.

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