Valentin parked his car in the only available spot near the children’s hospital. It had become a routine—taking care of business, grabbing coffee at his usual café, then rushing to the hospital to see his daughter.

Every moment he could spend with her was precious. She had been hospitalized for months.

Doctors couldn’t quite explain her condition. Valentin had consulted the best specialists, but their answers were vague. “The brain’s in control,” they’d say. “It’s stress-related. The brain sets up protective blocks. We can’t interfere.”

One doctor put it bluntly: “We can’t do much. Maybe something extraordinary has to happen… or nothing at all. The body needs to reset.”

Valentin buried his face in his hands. His wife had passed, and now his daughter, Michelle, was slipping away. He had to be strong—for her.

Michelle accepted the long hospital stay without protest. Valentin couldn’t decide whether to feel proud or heartbroken—his eight-year-old sounded far too grown-up.

Valentine still sat quite in his car. Suddenly, a loud shout outside broke his thoughts. A girl sprinted toward the hospital, chased by a puffing security guard.

“She stole something!” the guard yelled.

“What did she steal?” Valentin asked, amused.

“A bottle of water and a bun… Maybe more.”

Valentin handed over some cash. “This should cover it—and a little extra.”

He watched the guard walk off, then forced a smile before entering Michelle’s room. He always tried to look cheerful, though the effort was obvious. Michelle had barely been eating, not by choice—her body simply rejected food.

She turned toward him when the door creaked open. At first, there was confusion in her eyes, then a smile. But something felt off. It was as if she wanted him gone.

He pulled up a chair and opened a bag. “Look, I brought apples!”

“Thanks, Dad,” Michelle said quietly.

Valentin froze. The lunch tray was already empty.

“Michelle, what’s going on?”

She looked to the side. “Come out. Don’t be scared. He’s kind.”

From behind the curtain emerged the same girl who had run past his car. Michelle pleaded:

“Don’t send her away, Dad! I’ll share my apple. She has no one… and it’s cold… and she was scared…”

Valentin studied the girl—maybe a little older than Michelle.

“Are you Katya?”

She nodded.

“I’m Valentin, Michelle’s father.”

Katya asked shyly, “Are you really Michelle? That’s a pretty name.”

Michelle smiled softly. “No… My name’s Masha. But Mom used to call me Michelle. I liked it.”

Katya nodded. “My mom’s gone too. But I don’t remember her—it’s been so long.”