A desperate man brought a 90-year-old healer from a remote village to his fading wife, and as soon as she touched her belly, she RECOILED in shock and uttered words that made everyone freeze….

You want to hear something encouraging, John Crawford? The chief physician, Dr. Peterson, removed his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose with the gesture of a weary sage. Or the truth? John gripped the armrests of the chair, as if afraid of losing his balance in this sterile space of the elite Aurora Clinic. Around him, in a semicircle, sat the doctors, the best in their fields, with impeccable reputations, in perfectly ironed coats, silent messengers of defeat.

Speak, his voice sounded hoarse, as if glass crumbs were rolling in his throat. The drug from your laboratory did not yield results. Dr. Peterson laid out graphs with numbers in front of him, which suddenly lost all meaning for John.

Maximum 3-4 weeks, if a miracle doesn’t happen. If a miracle doesn’t happen. This phrase, from the lips of a Doctor of Medical Sciences, a man of strict logic and facts, sounded like a final sentence.

Exactly what cannot happen. There must be another way. John flipped through the documents, as if the answer could be hidden between the lines.

Experimental protocols in Switzerland, stem cell research. We have exhausted all possibilities of modern medicine, quietly said the oncologist Dr. Olivia Vance, the only one from the council who looked him straight in the eyes. Even for your wife, even with your resources, there is a limit to what we can do.

John rose so sharply that the chair rolled back and hit the wall. Limit? He smirked, and this smirk distorted his usually calm face. And Laura spent her whole life pushing the limits of the possible.

Each of her studies refuted what was considered incurable. And now you. He broke off, feeling Dr. Peterson’s heavy hand on his shoulder.

I’m sorry, John Crawford. But this is the truth. New York, five years ago.

The conference hall buzzed like a beehive. The international symposium on genetic markers gathered luminaries of science from all over the world. But John Crawford came only out of politeness.

His company «Helios» sponsored the event, and the absence of the director would be noticed. Thus, the markers we have identified allow not only to diagnose predisposition to autoimmune diseases but also to predict the potential effectiveness of targeted therapy. The speaker’s voice sounded clear and confident, without a hint of nervousness.

John lifted his gaze from his phone, where he was viewing stock summaries, and froze. A fragile woman in a strict suit stood in the halo of bluish projector light, gesturing with such passion that it seemed she could ignite the air with her fingertips. While the rational approach requires strict adherence to protocol, our study showed that an intuitive choice of marker combinations often proves more productive.

She smiled, and the hall exploded with applause mixed with surprised exclamations. John put away his phone. For the first time all day, something truly caught his attention.

After the report, he found her at the table with refreshments, she stood alone, making notes in a small notebook. Stunning performance, John extended his hand. John Crawford, Helios.

She looked at him with clear brown eyes, in which sparks of scientific excitement still danced. Laura Patterson, Neogenetics, her handshake was light but confident. Thank you, but you’re not a specialist in my field.

I would remember such a name in the list of publications. I fund research, not conduct it, he smiled. Although once I dreamed of standing at the laboratory bench myself.

But business turned out to be more profitable. And you don’t regret it? About what? About choosing the rational over the irrational, she sipped from a glass of water. Science is passion, and business is calculation.

John laughed, genuinely surprised. Strange to hear that from a scientist. Isn’t science the quintessence of the rational? Great discoveries begin with an irrational leap into the unknown.

Laura closed her notebook. Intuition often leads where logic will arrive only years later. That’s the beauty of cognition.

And do you believe in what cannot be measured? He asked, not knowing why it suddenly became so important. Laura looked at him with a slight squint, as if solving an equation with an unknown variable. I believe in what can be but cannot yet be measured.

She smiled. And that the most interesting things happen at the boundary of the known and the unknown. At that moment, John did not yet understand that this boundary would one day become for them the front line between life and death.

The car stopped at the mansion. John sat motionless, unable to leave this metal cocoon and return to the reality inside the house. The gravel path crunched under someone’s steps, and the door was opened by Alex, the head of security.

John Crawford, they called from the office. Victor Kane asked to call back. Later John got out of the car, taking a deep breath of autumn air.

How is she? The nurse says today was a good day. Even tried to read. The west wing of the mansion had transformed beyond recognition in recent months.

Here, where guest bedrooms and a winter garden used to be, now reigned the sterile atmosphere of a hospital ward. Monitoring devices, IV drips, the smell of antiseptic – all this so contradicted Laura’s character, who hated hospitals. John stopped at the door, exhaled, put on an expression of calm confidence, and entered.

Hello, darling! He smiled, finding Laura half-reclining in bed with a tablet. Reading? Trying. Her voice sounded like the rustle of paper.

But the lines blur. She looked so much like her shadow. Thinned chestnut hair, sharpened facial features, pale skin through which bluish veins showed.

But the eyes, the eyes remained the same that captivated him five years ago. The doctors say it’s a normal reaction to the new drug, he lied, sitting on the edge of the bed and taking the tablet. It needs time.

You were always a terrible liar, a smile touched her bloodless lips. What did Peterson say? John hesitated. She always read him like an open book.

Let’s wash your hair today. He touched her hair with tenderness that made her heart ache. Maria brought a new shampoo with rosemary extract.

She says it works wonders. John. You know what happened yesterday in the lab? He interrupted, filling a small basin with warm water.

David managed to mix up the test tubes, and now we have a cell culture with blueberry flavor. Imagine what a breakthrough it would be if medicines could really be tasty. He talked and talked, helping her lean over the basin, gently wetting her hair and massaging her scalp.

His fingers moved carefully, as if touching something infinitely precious and fragile. I saw the weather forecast. They say next week will be warm.

Maybe we’ll go to the greenhouse? There your favorite orchids are blooming now. Don’t ask me to fight again. Laura suddenly grabbed his hand, and her fingers were cold and damp.

I’m tired, John. So tired. He froze, looking at her reflection in the mirror.

Eyes full of unshed tears and determination frightening in its finality. I’m not asking you to fight, he whispered, kissing her palm. I’m asking you to just be with me.

As long as possible. Gentlemen, you understand that we’re talking about technologies worth billions. Victor Kane scanned the investors sitting at the table.

They gathered in the Helios conference room after the official end of the workday. Security was instructed to let no one in, and all cameras were turned off. We understand the risks, replied a gray-haired man with a face etched by wrinkles of experience.

But is Crawford himself ready to sell? The scientific genius of our friend John, alas, has been clouded by grief. Victor shook his head with an expression of false sorrow. He’s wasting company resources on insane experiments, trying to save the unsavable.

The last drug, which cost 80 million dollars, completely failed. And the board of directors tolerates this? Asked a woman in a strict suit, the only one among the invited investors. For now Victor smiled.

But his position is shaky. Especially when some irrational expenses become known. Speak plainly, Victor Kane, interrupted a young man in glasses.

You’re offering us to buy out the company while its founder is going through a personal tragedy. I’m offering you a unique opportunity to acquire technologies ahead of the market by decades, at a price significantly below their real value. Victor laid out a folder with documents in front of each.

Moreover, to do it legally and with a clear conscience. After all, we’re saving the company from a man who is currently unable to manage it. And if he refuses to sell? Asked the gray-haired one.

Victor leaned back in his chair, his eyes gleaming like a predator spotting prey. We need to act while he’s distracted. He tapped his fingers on the table.

With his wife’s death, he can be convinced to sell the business. He’ll lose interest in everything. I know John, when it comes to emotions, he becomes vulnerable.

Sounds cruel, noted the woman, but did not put away the documents. Business is always cruel, Victor shrugged. But don’t worry.

I guarantee that the deal will be executed impeccably from a legal point of view. No one will be able to accuse us of taking advantage of the situation. In his smile flashed something that made even these seasoned businessmen feel a chill.

It was not just business acumen. It was a personal vendetta, carefully masked as concern for the company. To the future of Helios Victor raised a glass of water.

From its deliverance from distracting factors. No, that’s out of the question. Categorically.

Professor Sidman’s voice on the phone rang with metallic notes. Your wife does not meet the selection criteria. Her condition is too unstable.

John gripped the phone so that the plastic creaked plaintively. The home office, once a refuge of order and logic, had turned into a cave of despair. Bookshelves lined with medical encyclopedias neighbored printouts from forums on folk remedies for treatment.

The desk was piled with stacks of medical reports, studies, pharmacological schemes, and absurd in this context ancient herbals. Listen, Professor, I can increase the donation to your center. Double, triple, name the amount, John spoke with the cold fury of a man accustomed to solving problems with money.

John Crawford, Sidman sighed, it’s not about the money. We can’t take the risk. This is experimental therapy.

It may be her only chance, interrupted John. We both know that. Your wife has multiple organ damage, critical immune system indicators.

She won’t withstand the aggressive protocol. I’m very sorry. John ended the call without saying goodbye.

He exhaled slowly, looking at Laura’s photo on the desk, laughing, with hair flowing, against the sea background. It seemed like an eternity had passed since then. Reaching for a stack of papers, he accidentally knocked over a folder with newspaper clippings.

A haphazard collection of stories about miraculous healings, which Oksana, Laura’s nurse, secretly collected. He had never attached importance to them, considering them superstitious nonsense. The scattered clippings covered the floor….