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….

«In forty-three you would have been!» «A child?» Veleslava smirked. «Don’t judge age by the face, John Crawford. In our parts, time flows differently.

Her calm confidence, lack of questions about the purpose of his visit, and mainly the mention of his grandmother, whom he knew only from photos, knocked the ground from under his feet. «How do you know my grandmother? And my middle name? I said I was waiting for someone from your kin. Veleslava sat opposite, gazing at him intently.

Anastasia was in despair when she came. Pregnant, with severe heart disease. Doctors said neither she nor the child would survive.

But she was stubborn, your grandmother. Like all Crawfords. «That was my father,» — John muttered, feeling a strange excitement building inside.

«He was born in forty-four». «Yes,» — Veleslava nodded. «A strong boy.

With a special spark in his eyes. The same as you have now. A desperate spark».

She sipped from her cup, not taking her eyes off him. «Some debts and gifts are passed through generations, John Crawford. Your grandmother received the gift of life.

And promised that her kin would return the debt when the time comes. Apparently, it has come. I don’t understand what you’re talking about?» John began to get irritated.

This whole conversation seemed absurd, especially given the reason for his visit. «I came because of my wife. She’s dying from an autoimmune disease.

She has a few weeks left, and doctors are powerless. I read about cases of healing. I know, Veleslava calmly interrupted him.

That’s why you’re here. That’s why you’ve returned. To ask for your beloved, as your grandfather once asked for your grandmother.

She rose, approached the shelf with herbs. Debts and gifts, John Crawford. The circle must close.

Are you ready to pay the price that your grandfather once paid? Any, without hesitation, answered John. Name the amount. Veleslava laughed with unexpectedly young, ringing laughter.

Not everything in this world is measured by money, Crawford. Especially here, where the boundaries between worlds are thinner than a sheet of paper. The price will be different.

And you’ll have to pay it for a long time. She turned to him, and in her eyes reflected the hearth flame. Tell me about your wife.

About her illness. About your love. And be honest, for I will see the lie.

John took a deep breath and began to speak. Morning mist still spread over the driveway when John Crawford’s black SUV crossed the mansion gates. In the back seat, sitting straight with hands folded on her lap, sat Veleslava.

The whole way from Greenvale she was silent, occasionally touching a small leather pouch on her neck, as if checking if it was in place. During the journey, her face seemed to become younger, cheekbones sharper, wrinkles around the eyes smoothed. Or was it just the play of early sun light piercing through pine crowns? The guard at the entrance gave the new passenger a wary look but said nothing, accustomed that the boss often brought consultants without warning.

But when John helped Veleslava out of the car, the guard involuntarily stepped back. There was something in this woman, not in her appearance, but in her very essence, that made one avert eyes. Mr. Crawford.

Coming down the stairs toward them was Dr. Grigson, Laura’s personal physician, followed by Oksana, the nurse. «Where have you been? The patient’s condition is unstable, we had to increase the dose». He broke off, seeing Veleslava.

«And this is…» «My guest,» — John cut off, taking off his coat. «Oksana, escort Ms. Veleslava to Laura’s room». Grigson’s eyes widened in indignation.

«You cannot allow an outsider to the patient in such a state. This violates all protocols, not to mention basic asepsis». «I can,» — John didn’t even look at him, handing the keys to the butler.

«This is my home and my wife». Grigson paled, then reddened in spots. «In that case, I am forced to contact Professor Peterson.

As a medic, I cannot allow». «There’s no need,» — Veleslava finally spoke, and her low, melodic voice filled the hall space. «We are not going to interfere with your procedures, Doctor.

Consider me a spiritual advisor». «Spiritual?» Grigson scanned her from head to toe. Simple dark blue dress, strange braid with woven herbs, no makeup or jewelry.

«Are you some kind of healer? A village witch? This crosses all boundaries. Crawford, I will immediately report the charlatanism. Your wife has a serious disease, not a curse».

«You’re fired,» — John said quietly, and something in his voice made the doctor retreat. «Right now! Pack your things and leave the house! Oksana!» He turned to the stunned nurse. «You stay?» The young woman shifted her gaze from John to Veleslava and back.

In her eyes was a struggle between professional duty and attachment to the patient. «I! Will stay!» — she finally said. «For Laura Crawford! You’ll regret this,» — Grigson hissed, but without previous confidence.

«All of you will regret!» When the door slammed behind him, Veleslava slowly walked around the hall, touching the walls with her fingertips. «There’s a lot of fear here and too little faith,» — she said thoughtfully. Fear has permeated even the stones of this house.

«Come!» — John headed to the stairs. «I’ll show you Laura!» The room where the sick woman lay was drowning in twilight. Thick curtains were drawn, letting in only thin strips of light.

The air, oversaturated with smells of medicines and antiseptics, seemed thick like jelly. Monitors along the wall beeped softly, recording heartbeat, pressure, blood oxygen saturation. The numbers spoke in the language of science the story of fading.

Laura lay motionless, her pale face almost merging with the whiteness of the pillow. Hair, recently luxurious, now resembled dry grass scattered on the pillowcase. Veleslava froze at the threshold, her eyes narrowed.

She removed the leather pouch from her neck, took a pinch of some mixture and rubbed it between her fingers, whispering something indistinct. Then she resolutely stepped to the bed. «What are you!» Oksana began, but John stopped her with a gesture.

Veleslava threw back the blanket and placed her hands on Laura’s abdomen. For several minutes she stood motionless, eyes closed, as if listening to something accessible only to her. Then she straightened sharply, her face showing amazement mixed with reverent awe.

A new life is growing in her, the healer’s voice trembled. The mother is between worlds, protecting the child. Oksana gasped, pressing her palm to her mouth.

John slowly sank onto the edge of the bed, unable to comprehend what he heard. «That’s impossible!» He shook his head, as if trying to dispel the illusion. We were told about infertility.

Laura had chemotherapy two years ago, she. «I know what I see!» Veleslava placed her hand on Laura’s abdomen again. «It’s early term, but life is already beating!» And the mother feels it, even in oblivion.

Her body fights not only for itself but for the child. John rose, his face distorted by sudden anger. «If this is some trick to extort money from me!» «Check!» Veleslava answered calmly.

«Do a pregnancy test. Only faster, we can’t waste time!» Oksana, without waiting for instructions, ran out of the room. Silence was broken only by the steady beeping of devices and John’s heavy breathing.

He looked at his wife’s calm face, not daring to believe what he heard, and at the same time clinging to this impossible hope like a drowning man to a straw. Positive, John looked at the test in Oksana’s hands, not believing his eyes. «How is this possible?» «Let’s go out!» Veleslava nodded toward the door.

She needs rest. In the corridor, away from the sick room, she stopped at the window. The sun had risen high, flooding the garden with golden light.

«This is ancient knowledge, almost forgotten in your world,» Veleslava began quietly. In all times, people knew that there is no force stronger than maternal instinct. A woman carrying a child is capable of what is inaccessible to an ordinary person.

But Laura is dying, John ran his hand over his face. Her immune system attacks its own tissues. How can she protect the child if she can’t protect herself? There are two paths, Veleslava looked not at him but somewhere into the distance, as if seeing what is hidden from ordinary sight.

The first – try to save her, sacrificing the child. The second – try to save both, but the risk is much higher. She turned to him, and deep sorrow reflected in her eyes.

«You must decide, to save one life or risk both. I cannot make this choice for you». John felt the ground slipping from under his feet.

All his life he was used to clear decisions, logical conclusions based on available data. But here, in this twilight corridor between life and death, logic didn’t work. How? How does it work? He tried to find support in understanding the process.

You talk about maternal instinct, but it’s just hormones, neurotransmitters. Call it what you want, Veleslava shrugged. Science gives names to processes but doesn’t change their essence.

You know this yourself, John Crawford. Haven’t you seen miracles in your laboratory? Cells that suddenly start dividing differently, mutations impossible to predict. She touched his arm, and this touch burned like ice.

Listen to your heart. It is wiser than the mind. Two years ago Dr. Zorin’s office was drowning in the dim light of a desk lamp.

Outside the window, snow was falling, covering New York with a white blanket, creating an illusion of silence and peace. But inside this room reigned tension, thick and tangible. I’m very sorry, Zorin removed his glasses, wiping them with a napkin, as if delaying the moment when he would have to meet the patients’ eyes again.

The last course of chemotherapy caused irreversible changes. Chances of natural conception tend to zero. IVF is possible, but risks given the medical history.

Thank you, Doctor, Laura rose with such calm that John flinched. Her face, haggard after the illness but still beautiful, froze in a mask. We understood.

The whole way home she was silent, looking out the window at the passing city lights. Only at home, in the bedroom, when she mechanically combed her hair in front of the mirror, her hand suddenly froze. «I won’t be able to give you the family you deserve,» — she said without turning.

John approached from behind, hugged her shoulders, meeting her gaze in the mirror. «I need only you,» — his voice sounded firm, without a shadow of doubt. «The rest doesn’t matter».

«Your mother doesn’t think so,» — a bitter smirk twisted her lips. «The Crawford dynasty must continue». To hell with the dynasty, John turned her to him.

«Look at me, Laura. If you need a child, we’ll adopt. If not, then not.

I love you, not hypothetical children». She looked into his eyes, and a shadow of hope flashed in her gaze. «Are you sure?» «Absolutely».

But a week later, at a family dinner arranged by Ariana in honor of John and Laura’s wedding anniversary, his confidence was tested. Mother looked impeccable. A strict black dress emphasized her still slender figure of a former ballerina.

Hair gathered in an impeccable bun shimmered with silver in the light of crystal chandeliers. Two years she raised a glass of champagne. «Congratulations, my children.

I hope the next toast we’ll raise to a grandson». Laura froze with a fork in her hand. John tensed, placing his palm on his wife’s hand under the table.

«Mom, we’ve already discussed this,» – he began, but Ariana interrupted him. «Of course, discussed. But time passes.

You’re 33, John. Your father at this age was already raising a son. We have other priorities,» – Laura’s smile seemed glued on.

«Career, John’s company». «Career?» Ariana raised a perfectly plucked eyebrow. «My dear, the most important career for a woman is motherhood.

Especially for a woman who linked her life with such a lineage as ours». John saw how Laura’s knuckles whitened, clutching the napkin. «Mom, let’s change the topic,» – his tone became icy.

«Fine,» – Ariana agreed unexpectedly easily, sipping from the glass. «But allow me to give you a mother’s advice, John. A man of your position should think about heirs.

If your chosen one cannot give them, perhaps it’s worth thinking about…» «Enough». John rose so sharply that the chair toppled. «One more word, and we’re leaving».

«Don’t get hot, son,» – Ariana dabbed her lips with a napkin. «I’m just worried about the future of our family. If the Crawford dynasty breaks because of a barren daughter-in-law…» Laura rose, her face deathly pale…