Her Last Wish Was for Me to Take Her Daughter — But After the Funeral, the Child Spoke Four Shocking Words
The beeping of the heart monitor was too steady, too calm—a cruel rhythm that masked the urgency behind each shallow breath Tanya took. The sterile hospital room was dimly lit, as if the world already knew how this would end. Outside, the wind tapped faintly against the windowpane, but inside, time felt frozen.
Marina stood at the foot of the hospital bed, her hands clenched in front of her chest, trying to hide their trembling. She had watched her best friend fade slowly over the past year, each day a little more frail, a little more absent from the world. Cancer had taken its toll, but Tanya had fought fiercely—mostly for her daughter, Verochka.
Now, all the fight had left her body, but not her spirit.
A frail hand reached out toward her. “Marish…”
Marina rushed forward and gently held Tanya’s hand between hers. She could feel how cold it was, how light it seemed, like her friend was barely tethered to this world.
“I’m here,” she whispered, her voice cracking.
Tanya turned her head slightly, her sunken eyes searching the room. In the corner, seven-year-old Verochka sat quietly at a small table, sketching flowers on a napkin with a purple crayon. She hadn’t cried—not once. Marina wasn’t sure if the little girl fully grasped what was happening, or if she was holding it all inside.
“She’s drawing lilies,” Tanya whispered. “They were in my mother’s garden.”
Marina swallowed hard. “She’s doing it for you.”
A faint smile ghosted across Tanya’s face, but it quickly faded. Her lips moved again, barely audible. Marina leaned in closer.
“Take care of her,” Tanya breathed, her voice no louder than the rustling of leaves. “You have a home… a warm heart… She has no one else. Promise me.”
It felt like the earth had cracked beneath Marina’s feet.
