The Girl Who Asked Her Not to Die
The first time Alla died, no one noticed.
Not really.
Machines kept her tethered to life in the ICU, but her soul had begun slipping—like steam off a teacup in winter. Her body was there, breathing only because wires and tubes said it must. Her heart? Shattered long before the crash.
They said she wouldn’t make it through the night.
And maybe, she didn’t want to.
Somewhere in that heavy haze, a voice called out to her.
“Allochka… come back.”
It was Kolya. Her husband. Or what was left of him. He sounded tired—like regret had been chewing at him for days.
But the warmth in his voice was fake.
She drifted again. Deeper this time.
Darkness isn’t cold. It’s just… quiet. Peaceful. Tempting.
Until—
“Are you the dead lady?”
A voice cut through.
Small. Sharp. Real.
Alla peeled open her eyes like lifting iron.
There she was. A little girl, no older than six. Ragged bangs, scraped knees, mismatched socks. She stared without flinching.
“I’m Katya,” the girl said flatly. “Are you dead or just ugly sleeping?”
Alla blinked. Her throat scratched. “Not dead,” she rasped.
“Good. Dying is dumb. Wanna play cards?”
And just like that, this wild, strange little creature plopped into the chair beside her and began to shuffle a bent deck of Uno cards.
No introduction. No permission. Just… presence.
Katya returned the next day. And the day after that.
She brought drawings of flying cats, invisible swords, and fire-breathing rabbits.
“My mom left,” she said once, without emotion. “Dad’s ‘somewhere far’—so Grandma says. Grandma makes soup, but not talking.”
Alla listened. For the first time in years, she listened.
In return, she spoke. Not much at first. Just scraps of herself: a childhood memory, a song lyric, the story of a paper crane.
Then came the question.
“Did you want kids?”
Alla hesitated.
“I did,” she said. “But life didn’t agree.”
Katya frowned, thinking. Then she lit up.
“Well, you can borrow me.”
Alla laughed. Then cried.
“Okay,” she said. “Deal.”
As days turned into weeks, Alla did something unthinkable: she lived.
Her vitals improved. The nurses called her “miracle girl.” But it wasn’t a miracle. It was Katya.
And Yuri—the attending doctor—noticed too.
“You’re stronger,” he told her one morning, setting her chart down.
“I’m… not alone anymore,” she whispered.
But peace is fragile.
One night, Yuri came in late. His face wasn’t the same. The warmth was there, but behind it—steel.
He pulled a chair close. Took her hand.
“I need you to hear this from me first,” he said gently. “The accident… your brakes didn’t fail. They were cut.”
Alla went still.
“We have evidence,” Yuri continued. “Kolya… he emptied your savings. He bought a one-way ticket to Dubai. He was trying to vanish.”
She felt the truth hit her chest like a freight train—but oddly, no pain. Just… relief.
She wasn’t crazy. She hadn’t imagined the coldness. The distance. The betrayal in his eyes.
He wanted her gone.
But instead, here she was—breathing. Living.
And he was the one behind bars.
The hospital became home.
Yuri came by even when he wasn’t on shift. Katya brought ridiculous crafts and terrible knock-knock jokes. Her grandmother eventually warmed, bringing soup that tasted like comfort and muttering, “You’re not bad… for a stranger.”
And Alla changed.
Not just healed—transformed.
She smiled more. Sang softly under her breath. Once, she even danced barefoot on cold tiles with Katya while Yuri watched from the doorway, arms crossed and eyes soft.
When the day came for discharge, she hesitated.
She had no home to return to.
But Katya didn’t blink.
“Come with us,” she declared, gripping Alla’s hand. “You’re my mom now. I decided.”
Yuri smiled. “We have a spare room. And more soup than we know what to do with.”
Alla stepped out into sunlight with a suitcase full of nothing and a heart full of everything.
Now, in a little apartment that smells like lavender and crayons, Alla wakes to laughter instead of silence.
There are mismatched coffee mugs, school projects taped to the fridge, and a doctor who blushes when he sees her sing along to old vinyl records.
Her life isn’t perfect. But it’s real.
She was supposed to die.
Instead, a little girl asked her the unthinkable.
“Don’t die, okay?”
And Alla finally had a reason not to.
She chose to live.
And for the first time in her life, she wasn’t just surviving.
She was home.