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….

«Excuse me, I feel unwell,» – she headed to the exit but turned at the door. «You know, Ariana Birch, a real family is not blood and genes. It’s love and the choice to be together.

John chose me with all my flaws. But whether you ever chose anyone besides yourself is a big question». The silence that ensued after her departure rang with unspoken words and old grievances.

John sat by Laura’s bed, holding her lifeless hand in his. Oksana changed the IV and quietly left, leaving them alone. Outside the window, twilight thickened, turning the garden into a blurred black-blue spot.

«I know you’re somewhere there,» – he whispered, bringing her fingers to his lips. «And I know you’re fighting. For yourself.

For our child». He paused, listening to the quiet beeping of monitors, the only evidence that life still smoldered in this exhausted body. «I believe in you, in us, in our child,» – his voice trembled.

«Remember how you said that great discoveries begin with an irrational leap into the unknown? I’m ready to leap, Laura. For you. For both of you».

The monitor suddenly emitted a louder signal, the heartbeat quickened for a moment, as if she heard him. John froze, afraid to breathe, but the rhythm became even and sparse again. He sat like that all night, immersed in memories and hopes.

About how they met. About her laughter, sounding like a silver bell. About her mind, sharp as a razor and flexible as a willow.

About her hands, so tender and at the same time strong. About how she never gave up, even when everyone around dropped their hands. Through the slightly open door, he heard Veleslava quietly telling Oksana something in the kitchen.

The healer adapted to the huge house with surprising speed, as if she had always lived here. She did not try to treat Laura immediately, as John expected. Instead, she observed, studied, felt.

«You can’t intervene without understanding the rhythm of the disease,» — she explained. «It’s like a dance, you need to catch the tempo before joining». In the morning, when the first rays of sun touched the windowsill, John made a decision.

He found Veleslava in the winter garden, she stood among the plants, as if conversing with them. «Do everything necessary,» — he said without preamble. «I want to save both».

She turned, and satisfaction reflected on her face, as if she expected no other answer. «The path will be long,» — she warned. «And you’ll have to trust what cannot be explained by your science».

«I’m ready». «Then let’s begin,» — Veleslava took a small pouch from her pocket, similar to the one she wore on her neck. «This is the first thing we must do.

Put it under her pillow. The herbs will help establish the connection between mother and child». John took the pouch.

It was warm, as if alive, and smelled of something familiar but elusive. «I’ll prepare decoctions,» — Veleslava continued. «Oksana will give them through the tube.

For now, only to maintain strength. The real treatment will begin at the full moon, in three days». John’s phone rang, breaking the fragile balance of the moment.

Victor’s number. He wanted to drop the call, but something made him answer. «Where the hell have you been, Crawford?» Victor’s voice sounded strained.

«The board of directors is going to vote for your temporary removal from management. Smith demands explanations for the recent expenses». «You need to be here, now».

John looked at Veleslava preparing something among the blooming plants. At the pouch with herbs in his hand. At the strip of light leading to Laura’s room.

«I’ll be,» — he answered shortly and hung up. The war had begun, on two fronts. The glass walls of the Helios conference room turned into a cage, the expensive wooden table into a battlefield.

John felt the air around him thickening, filled with unspoken accusations and poorly hidden ambitions. The board members, who recently smiled at him with obsequious loyalty, now looked warily, as if at a dangerous stranger. Victor stood by the interactive board, impeccable in his graphite-colored suit, with calculated gestures of a prosecutor convinced of the defendant’s guilt.

«Gentlemen, these figures speak for themselves». His voice filled the space with precisely calibrated volume. «In the last three months, we’ve lost two contracts and delayed the launch of a new line of drugs.

Our investors are alarmed by the lack of leadership». «Lack of leadership?» John leaned forward. «I check reports every day, even from home».

«You check, but don’t act,» Victor parried. Helios is not a charitable fund, John. «We can’t afford the luxury of sentiments».

«What are you getting at, Victor?» John felt a wave of irritation rising in his chest. Victor held a theatrical pause, then took a folder from his briefcase and placed a copy of the document before each board member. «Temporary removal of John Crawford from operational management of the company,» he pronounced without a trace of embarrassment.

«Until stabilization of his». «Emotional state». John looked at the document before him in disbelief.

«Unstable mental state?» «Are you out of your mind, Victor?» «That’s exactly what I’m talking about,» Victor shook his head sorrowfully, addressing the board. «Emotional outbursts, irrational decisions, refusal to recognize the obvious». «What obvious?» John rose, crumpling the document in his fist.

«That your wife is dying,» Victor minted, and these words, spoken in the impassive business space, sounded like a slap. «And that you’re wasting company resources on senseless experiments?» Silence hung in the hall. Someone from the directors averted eyes embarrassedly, someone cleared their throat.

«Want proof?» Victor activated the screen. «Here’s a request for funding experimental therapy, 2 million dollars. Swiss protocol, rejected by the FDA.

Here’s bills for home clinic equipment, 3.5 million. And here’s the most interesting. On the screen appeared a photo of Veleslava getting out of John’s car at the mansion gates.

A folk healer from a remote village. Victor pronounced this word with such contempt, as if speaking of something indecent. «To whom you issued a check for?» He paused.

50 thousand dollars from the Helios research fund. A whisper ran through the conference room. John felt blood drain from his face.

He had indeed taken the money for Veleslava from the fund, not wanting to waste time on transferring personal funds. He intended to reimburse them today. «I!» – he began, but Victor didn’t let him finish.

Charlatans instead of medicine. He shook his head. «This is beyond, John.

We sympathize with your grief, but the company. The company is me». John’s voice was quiet, but steel rang in it.

«I created Helios. My team. My patents.

My vision. And you, Victor Kane, were a mid-level manager when I invited you. Nevertheless, now you own only 30% of the shares».

Victor’s smile became icy. «And the board of directors. I will not support this proposal,» – suddenly sounded a voice from the end of the table.

Everyone turned to the speaker. Nicholas Peter Zimmerman, the oldest of Helios investors, an 80-year-old veteran of the pharmaceutical industry, who rarely attended meetings, looked at Victor with poorly hidden disgust. «With all due respect, Nicholas Peter.

Victor tried to maintain composure. You cannot ignore the facts. The fact is that you, young man, are trying to use Crawford’s personal tragedy for a corporate coup».

Zimmerman slowly rose, leaning on his cane. «I knew your father, John. David also put family above business.

And that’s why I invested in his startup then, and now support you». He scanned the hushed board with his gaze. «Anyone who votes for John’s removal will lose my support.

And with it access to the ‘PharmaNet’ distribution network. Decide». Victor paled.

Zimmerman controlled the largest pharmacy chain in the country, through which most of Helios sales went. «The meeting is postponed,» pronounced the chairman of the board, nervously collecting papers. «We’ll revisit this issue later.

When the conference room emptied, Zimmerman heavily sank into the chair next to John. «Thank you,» — John exhaled. «I didn’t know you knew my father».

«Closer than you think,» — the old man smirked. «How is she?» «Your wife?» «Fighting,» — John rubbed his temples. «There are».

«Complications». «And that’s why you turned to folk methods». In Zimmerman’s eyes flashed something like understanding.

«It’s a long story,» — John answered evasively. «Life always has long stories,» — Zimmerman rose, leaning on his cane. «Take care of yourself, boy.

And don’t trust Kane. His eyes are bad». The autumn garden, shrouded in twilight, seemed a continuation of the fairy-tale forest around Veleslava’s cabin.

In Laura’s room smelled of herbs, honey, and wax, smells that displaced the sterile hospital atmosphere. Veleslava moved around the bed smoothly, humming something indistinct in a language that seemed both foreign and strangely familiar, as if heard in a dream or early childhood. John, returning from the office exhausted, watched from the door, not daring to enter and disturb this strange ritual.

Veleslava rubbed Laura’s feet with oil exuding a spicy aroma, continuing to hum softly. Oksana helped her, handing decoctions in clay cups or fresh herbs from a basket by the bed. — May I? — he asked quietly.

Veleslava nodded without interrupting her task. John entered, threw his jacket on a chair, and approached the bed. He was struck by the change in Laura’s face, skin recently parchment-pale now acquired a light peach shade.

Lips, cracked and bloodless, now seemed softer. Or was it just the play of light from candles Veleslava placed around the room? How is she? — he asked, afraid to believe the visible changes. Heartbeat stabilized, — Oksana answered, glancing at the monitor.

For the first time in two weeks, no interruptions. And temperature almost normal. — Is this good? — John looked at Veleslava.

— This is the beginning, — she replied, finishing the massage and covering Laura’s legs with a blanket. The body remembers how to live. She poured dark decoction into a cup and carefully brought it to Laura’s lips.

Part of the liquid got into her mouth, part ran down her chin, but Veleslava showed no annoyance. — What is this? — John leaned in, sniffing. — Herbs for mother and child, — Veleslava set the cup aside and dabbed Laura’s lips with soft cloth, to strengthen the bond between them.

— Do you really believe this helps? Doubt sounded in John’s voice. — I know it helps, — Veleslava answered simply. — As I know the sun rises in the east.

She headed to the door, but Oksana, usually silent and reserved, suddenly grabbed her arm. — I must tell, — she blurted out, her cheeks flushing. — This morning, when you did that ritual with herbs and songs, I saw.

Laura Crawford’s skin seemed to glow from within. Right over the abdomen. Like there was a little flashlight there.

Veleslava gave her a long look. — You have good eyes, girl, — she smiled softly. — You see what few are given to see.

Was it some trick. John felt his heart pounding. Some device.

— It’s not me healing her, — Veleslava shook her head. — It’s mother and child healing each other. I only help them remember how to do it.

She left, leaving John alone with Laura. He carefully sat on the bed’s edge, took her hand in his, warm, not hot from fever, and not cold as before. Laura he whispered, leaning to her ear.

— Do you hear me? — You’re not alone. — We’re with you. — I — and. He carefully placed his palm on her abdomen, our child.

It seemed to him, or Laura’s fingers barely moved in his hand. The clack of heels on the marble floor of the hall sounded like shots. Ariana Birch didn’t just enter her son’s house, she invaded it like a general into enemy territory.

The butler barely kept up, trying to take her coat and gloves. — Where is he? — she demanded, surveying the hall. — I need my son.

John Crawford is resting now, the butler looked embarrassed. He had a hard day. — And I’ve had a hard month, — Ariana snapped.

— Please, inform him of my arrival. She headed to the stairs but stopped, seeing a woman in a dark blue dress descending toward her. In her hands, the woman carried a basket of herbs from which emanated a spicy aroma.

— Who are you? Ariana scanned the stranger appraisingly. — My name is Veleslava, — she answered with dignity. — I’m helping Laura Crawford.

— Are you a doctor? Doubt skated in Ariana’s voice. Not in the sense you put into that word. Veleslava calmly held her gaze.

Something changed in Ariana’s face — surprise, distrust, and then… — Recognition? — You. She suddenly paled and grabbed the railing. — You’re that very healer who helped my mother-in-law.

Now it was Veleslava’s turn to show surprise. — Anastasia showed me your photo. Ariana spoke quietly, almost in a whisper.

— Many years ago. She said you saved her and… — David. — You’re Ariana, — Veleslava nodded.

— David’s wife. — Now I see. They looked at each other.

Two women separated by an abyss of worldviews but connected by a thin thread of shared past. — This is impossible, — Ariana shook her head. — You should be… — Much older.

Veleslava smiled. — Age is a relative concept, Ariana Birch. At that moment, John appeared on the stairs, haggard, with shadows under his eyes, but with determination on his face.

— Mom? — He looked surprised. — What are you doing here? — Wanted to see the son who stopped answering calls. Ariana shifted her gaze from Veleslava to John.

But seems to have discovered something more. They moved to the living room, where the butler served tea. Ariana sat unnaturally straight, as if she had swallowed a rod, her eyes not leaving Veleslava.

— Did she tell you? — Ariana finally asked, addressing her son. — About your grandmother? Partially John shifted his gaze from mother to Veleslava. — But I don’t understand how you know? — Your grandmother was also on the verge of death during pregnancy, — Ariana said quietly.

Doctors said neither she nor the child would survive. Heart failure, complicated by wartime hardships. She took a sip of tea, and John noticed her hand trembling.

Anastasia never told the whole story. Only that a village healer saved her. Everyone considered it the invention of a woman exhausted by illness.

Or a miracle. I didn’t believe these tales. Her gaze stopped on John, and something like remorse flashed in it.

But you’re here for the same reason as your father. He also sought Veleslava when I was. She faltered, when there were problems with you.

Before birth. What? John leaned forward. You never said.

There was no need, Ariana averted her eyes. It all worked out. Or I thought it did.

Veleslava rose, her figure suddenly seeming majestic in the twilight of the living room. The circle closes, she pronounced. Three generations of Crawfords seek the same, life for those they love.

Such is the price of the gift. What gift? John demanded. The gift to see the hidden, Veleslava looked at him with unexpected tenderness.

The gift to cross boundaries of the possible. This gift is in your blood, John Crawford. As it was in your father’s blood.

Days merged for John into an endless series of transitions between two worlds. By day, battle for the company, negotiations with investors, work with lawyers, repelling new attacks from Victor. Documents, figures, graphs, presentations, all that was his element recently, now seemed a meaningless ritual.

In the evening and at night, Laura’s world, quiet talks with her as if she could hear, reading books aloud, helping Veleslava in her mysterious rites. The healer taught him to grind herbs, prepare infusions, whisper ancient words that sounded unnatural on his lips but echoed strangely deep inside. Oksana reported small but constant improvements.

Stabilization of pressure, improvement in blood counts, disappearance of night fever. The medical side of his consciousness sought rational explanation for this, but the other part, awakened by Veleslava, accepted what was happening as natural. Physical and emotional exhaustion accumulated.

John lost weight, dark circles lay under his eyes, he often forgot to eat and woke from the slightest rustle. One evening, returning from the office after a particularly hard day, he felt his eyelids filling with lead. He turned on autopilot, but it didn’t handle an unexpected obstacle, a dog running onto the road.

The car swerved, hit the barrier, and John was saved only by the airbag. He sat on the roadside when the auto insurance help arrived and suddenly realized with piercing clarity, he couldn’t continue like this. He wouldn’t help Laura or their child if he broke himself.

That night he slept without dreams for the first time in many days, after calling Zimmerman with a request to temporarily represent his interests on the board of directors. They really gave results. Victor looked incredulously at the folder with documents handed to him across the table in an expensive restaurant in Manhattan.

Excellent, the man opposite him was so unremarkable that he seemed specially created for private detective work. Crawford’s wife’s tests show clear improvement. Some values almost returned to normal.

How is that possible? Victor frowned. Their diagnosis was unambiguous. I don’t know, the detective shrugged.

But the healer he brought seems to know her stuff. The housekeeper says they perform some rituals. Sing, burn herbs, bathe her in decoctions.

Is that all? Victor asked irritably. There’s something else, the detective lowered his voice. They say Crawford’s wife is pregnant.

Victor almost choked on his wine. What? That’s impossible. After chemotherapy.

Nevertheless, tests are positive. And the healer constantly talks about mother and child. Victor leaned back in his chair, his face expressing a mix of disbelief and rage…