“Promise me… promise you won’t leave Larisa,” Nina whispered, her voice weak, eyes pleading. “She’s so fragile, Andrey. She needs care, someone to look after her… Please…”
Andrey held her hand. Nodded. Pretended to care.
On the outside, he looked like a devoted husband. But inside, all he could think about was freedom.
Nina’s illness had dragged on for over a year. The medications, hospitals, long nights of silence broken by coughing fits—he was done. Done being the noble husband. Done playing caretaker to a daughter who wasn’t even his.
Larisa was the constant shadow in their home. Pale, quiet, sickly—she reminded him of everything he wanted to escape. She wasn’t his. He never bonded with her. Never tried.
But what kept him around wasn’t love. It was the apartment.
A large, four-room place in the heart of the city—Nina’s first husband’s legacy. Once Larisa turned eighteen and Nina passed… it would be all his.
So he waited.
Nina’s funeral was quiet. Few tears. Few mourners. Just the end of a long, slow goodbye.
And that’s when Liza entered his life.
Young, energetic, full of laughter and light—the exact opposite of everything he’d endured. She smiled like she hadn’t seen pain, danced like she didn’t know limits.
Andrey was smitten.
Within weeks, she moved in.
But Larisa was still there—silent, watchful, constantly reminding them both that their freedom wasn’t complete.
“She watches us like a ghost,” Liza said one night. “You said she had a house in the countryside?”
Andrey nodded. “From her grandmother. It’s just sitting there.”
Liza’s eyes gleamed. “Then send her. Fresh air, quiet place. Hire an old nanny. Tell people it’s for her health. Let fate… do the rest.”
He stared at her.
Liza shrugged, smiling. “It’s not a crime. It’s… letting go.”
Andrey didn’t argue.
Three days later, he drove Larisa out of the city.
To the crumbling old house in a forgotten village.
To Grandma Alyona.
“Doctor said country air will help,” he told her with a forced smile.
Larisa stared at him, hollow-eyed. “Is that your idea… or Liza’s?”
He didn’t answer.
And he didn’t say goodbye.
But Larisa Didn’t Die.
When Grandma Alyona found the hidden cash zipped inside Larisa’s childhood doll, she blinked.
“This’ll keep us fed for years,” she grinned. “Let’s get to work.”
Days passed. Then weeks. The fresh air, the food, the kindness—Larisa began to change.
She laughed.
She ate.
She walked to the lake.
And every afternoon, a boy named Dimka dropped off milk, offered boat rides, brought wildflowers.
Her cheeks grew pink again.
Her eyes lost their glassy stare.
For the first time in years, she felt alive.
And one evening, tears in her eyes, Larisa whispered to Grandma Alyona, “I don’t want to die anymore.”
Two Years Later… A Knock at the Door.
Andrey had hit rock bottom.
His debts had grown. Liza was threatening to leave if he didn’t “fix things.”
Then he remembered: the countryside house.
“She’s long gone,” Liza sneered. “That crazy old nanny couldn’t keep a cactus alive.”
So they drove up.
Snow lined the path. Smoke curled from the chimney.
And then—ski tracks.
Two figures approached from the woods. A boy. And a young woman.
Andrey squinted—then staggered back in disbelief.
“Larisa?!”
She looked strong. Confident. Alive.
“Look who finally remembered,” she said, stopping in front of them. “Daddy and his lady. What do you want?”
Andrey opened his mouth, but no sound came.
“I’ll be eighteen in two months,” Larisa continued. “And this house? It’s mine. So pack up your dreams of selling it—and leave.”
Liza paled. “Let’s go,” she hissed.
They turned and hurried to the car.
Inside, Andrey sat in stunned silence, everything crumbling.
His plan. His money. His control.
All gone.
Back Inside…
Grandma Alyona smiled from the porch.
“Have a nice walk?” she called.
Larisa grinned. “Must’ve been the wind. Let’s go eat. You made pancakes, right?”
Dimka chuckled, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “Come on, the stack’s already getting cold.”
And just like that, they went inside.
To warmth.
To love.
To the life no one expected her to live.
