Emily lay on the hospital bed, her face buried in the pillow, crying quietly, desperately, and somehow hopelessly. A tall, elegant woman in a white coat entered the ward, approached the sobbing girl, and gently stroked her head.
— Emmie, my dear girl. What’s with this gloomy mood? — she asked tenderly. — Why are your eyes all teary?
— Hello, Aunt Vicky, — the girl lifted her tear-streaked face. — I’m so scared.
— What’s come over you all of a sudden? — Victoria Reynolds smiled. — What has upset you so much?
— Aunt Vicky, but I’m going to die soon, — Emmy sobbed, — and I haven’t even lived properly. I spent my whole childhood in hospitals, never played in the yard with the other kids, never jumped rope, never swam in the river. Everything was off-limits for me. And I didn’t even have friends—who wants to bother with a sick kid? I just watched the children from the window all my life and envied them.
— There, there, hush, my sweet. Calm down. What’s with this mood? You’re not going to die; don’t even think about it. You have your whole life ahead of you. I’ll be babysitting your children yet, you’ll see. — The woman sat on the bed and hugged the girl. — You’ll travel to different countries, fall in love with a young man, and he’ll give you flowers and read poetry to you under the moonlight.
— If I live that long…
Victoria Reynolds pulled Emily close with pity, closing her eyes. A aching compassion for the girl overwhelmed her, and her heart tightened with anxiety.
Emily was the child of her close friend. Moreover, Emmie was her goddaughter. When the girl turned twelve, her parents went on a business trip abroad, leaving their daughter in the care of her grandmother. The thing was, the girl was ill; she suffered from a congenital heart defect. Treatment required a fortune, which was impossible to earn in their small town. So Emily’s parents, having received an excellent education and in-demand professions, decided to go on assignment to another country to save up money and help their daughter, but a terrible tragedy occurred.
In the place where the girl’s parents worked, an epidemic broke out. People died without waiting for the vaccine, and among the victims were Emmie’s parents. It seemed all the world’s misfortunes had befallen the poor girl. Over the long years of illness, Emmie had toughened her character and endured all hardships stoically, but her parents’ death was a heavy blow for the already frail girl. The disease began to progress. Now, still quite young, Emily spent most of her time in the hospital, wistfully remembering her parents and envying her peers, who faced nothing worse than a cold or sore throat.
Victoria supported her goddaughter as best she could. The woman herself worked as a doctor and devoted all her energy to fighting the girl’s illness. Unfortunately, simple supportive treatment was hardly helping anymore. Victoria understood that if the girl, who had now reached eighteen, didn’t undergo a heart transplant soon, she wouldn’t live long.
Emily had been on the waiting list for a transplant for many years, but the operation was as rare as it was complex, and insanely expensive, with the queue moving at a snail’s pace. Finding a donor was an incredible stroke of luck, and at this rate, the girl probably wouldn’t make it to twenty.
Victoria sighed heavily.
— Look, Emmie, what I’ve brought you, — she smiled, pulling a box with a brand-new tablet from her bag. You wanted one like this, didn’t I get it right?
Emily wiped her eyes in a childlike way, grabbed the gift, and unpacked it:
— Oh, Aunt Vicky, but it’s insanely expensive. Thank you! I couldn’t even dream of something like this…
— Well, enjoy it, and throw those sad thoughts out of your head. You have your whole life ahead of you.
Emmy nodded absentmindedly, fully immersed in exploring her new toy, while Victoria Reynolds thoughtfully left the ward, quietly closing the door behind her.
“What to do? How to save my goddaughter? It seems only through persistence and endless lobbying.”
Fortunately, the woman’s reputation allowed her to be on familiar terms with the most diverse representatives of authority. Among the patients she had saved were high-ranking officials from the Ministry of Health. Victoria had never used her position or demanded gratitude, but the situation was such that there was no other way out. For Emmie’s sake, she would set aside her pride and moral principles and secure a quota for a free heart transplant, no matter what.
The very next morning, the woman was sitting in the waiting room of her former patient. As she expected, the conversation was difficult, but the official, who had once stood on the threshold between life and death himself, perfectly understood his savior’s state and promised to make every effort.
A week later, Victoria Reynolds entered her goddaughter’s ward, smiling happily.
— Emmie, my dear, I’m rushing to cheer you up. We’ve secured the quota after all. You’re getting a free heart transplant.
Emily smiled sadly.
— I’m glad, Aunt Vicky, really. But will I live to see a donor? Sometimes I’m afraid to fall asleep; it starts to seem like morning won’t come for me. It’s so scary, I can hardly breathe.
— Throw that minor key out of your head immediately and switch to major! — Victoria commanded. — We’ll fight on. The main thing now is you’re first in line. Everything will be fine!
But a month had already passed, and the girl’s hopes were fading with each day. She felt she didn’t have much time left. Abandoning the tablet, Emily spent whole days gazing wistfully out the window, envying the passersby. These people—cheerful and sad, healthy and not so much, lonely and happy—all of them didn’t realize how lucky they were. They woke up every morning and lived without worrying about the future, not counting the days and hours until parting with the world. Her heart tightened with fear when the girl sank into her gloomy thoughts.
“How can it be? I’ll go and disappear somewhere in the universe, and where will my thoughts go? My self? My essence? My feelings will dissolve in the cosmos. Why will the dawn still come, and people will walk the streets, write music, paint pictures, and they won’t even guess that I’m gone, and no one on the whole earth will know that there once lived such an Emily, and now there’s neither her nor what is called a soul.”
The thoughts tormented her already sick heart, and the girl courageously prepared herself for the other world. But the fear of the unknown, of what would come after, wouldn’t go away.
Suddenly, one day, Victoria Reynolds burst into the ward like a whirlwind.
— Emmie, my girl! A donor has appeared! I’m not rejoicing in someone’s death, but I’m happy for your life. We have a real chance. Do you understand? The donor is a perfect match for you!
Blood rushed to the girl’s face. She looked at her godmother incredulously.
— Is this true, Aunt Vicky, or are you just encouraging me so I don’t lose heart?
— Don’t lose heart, don’t hang your head, keep your chin up. Yes, all of that! But the donor is real! We’ll prepare for the transplant!
***
Coming to after the operation, Emily painfully listened to her inner sensations; thoughts raced chaotically in her head, joy alternated with fear, fright gave way to hope. Everything seemed as usual, but the internal feeling of a foreign heart made her tensely await rejection.
— Well, how are we feeling? — Victoria Reynolds entered. — Why are your eyes teary again?
— I’m scared, Aunt Vicky, — Emily smiled with effort. — What if it doesn’t take?
— Nonsense. Don’t wind yourself up. The heart matched perfectly. The transplant went without complications; now you’ll live a long, long time, my dear!
A lengthy rehabilitation began, stretching over several months. All this time, Emily was haunted by the obsessive thought that someone else’s heart was beating in her chest. The girl tried to ask her godmother:
— Aunt Vicky, can I find out who the donor was?
— No, Emmie. That’s confidential information; no one will tell you the name if the person who consented to the transplant wished to remain anonymous, and your donor did just that.
— What a noble, selfless act, and still, I’d like to at least catch a glimpse of what my donor looked like. Please, Aunt Vicky… — Emily pleaded pitifully. — Can I see a photo? I swear I won’t ask about the name or address, just the appearance. I’ll imagine and thank this person mentally. Pray daily for the repose of their soul.
— All right, Emmie, — Victoria Reynolds relented, — I’ll see what I can do.
A few days later, the woman brought her goddaughter a small photograph and asked:
— Here, Emmie, this is your donor. I warn you, no one must know you have this photo. I’ve already broken the rules.
Emily eagerly grabbed the photo and peered intently at it; from the snapshot, a beautiful girl about twenty years old smiled cheerfully straight into the lens, holding a motorcycle helmet, leaning on a huge, clearly expensive motorcycle, or as they’re also called, a bike.
“So this is whose heart is beating in me. What a sweet, pleasant girl. Such kind eyes and a wonderful, humane smile,” thought Emmy.
For whole days, the recovering Emily examined the photo of the girl whose death had brought her life, and she desperately wanted to learn everything about the donor: who she lived with, who she loved, what dishes she preferred, what songs she listened to, what movies she liked. Mentally, Emily talked to the girl as if to a friend:
— What happened to you? How did you die? What misfortune took your life so that I could live?
The questions remained unanswered.
Soon, Emily was discharged from the hospital and returned to her apartment. Her grandmother had passed away long ago, and the girl lived alone in a small, cozy flat. The first thing she did was fling open all the windows and start cleaning, as much as her still fragile health allowed. The girl hadn’t been home for a very long time, and dust had accumulated everywhere, with a persistent smell of an uninhabited place. Deciding to brighten up the work somehow, Emily turned on the TV and began dusting, absentmindedly listening to the steady voice of the television announcer. From what the girl gathered, it was about a shelter for homeless animals. The male voice told the story of the shelter’s creation with funds from caring people and spoke about the volunteers’ work, and suddenly Emily heard a phrase.
— As our program was being prepared for air, sad news reached us: an accident occurred in which our volunteer, deeply devoted to helping homeless people and animals, perished. She charged everyone with her enthusiasm and never despaired—Olivia.
With overwhelming emotion, Emily rushed to the TV; from the screen, her donor looked at her, the very girl from the photo. Next, Olivia’s friends expressed condolences, and they showed her mother, a hunched, grief-stricken woman blackened by sorrow. The girl quickly turned on the tablet, found the studio’s phone number online that had produced the segment. With trembling fingers, dialing the number, Emmy with great difficulty learned Olivia’s mother’s address and decided:
— I won’t approach, just look from afar.
And she set off to the address where Olivia had lived with her mother until her death. All the way, the girl convinced herself:
— Just a quick glance, just touch Olivia’s life from a distance, feel myself in that place so familiar to her, and leave right away.
She stopped across from the house where the deceased girl had once lived and stared anxiously at the front door, not understanding what she was waiting for. Emily felt extraordinary agitation; it seemed everything around was somehow very familiar to her, such a strong sense of déjà vu. The girl listened to herself and didn’t understand what was happening. She felt an insane pull to enter those tiny gates and knock on the door of the small house that seemed so dear and yet unfamiliar. As if her heart felt this place was very precious to her, while her mind understood it was her wild imagination running away, but she couldn’t help herself and slowly approached the gate. Pondering for a while whether to knock or not, Emily suddenly heard a pleasant, soft voice behind her:
— Young lady, who are you looking for?
Emmy turned sharply and saw her—Olivia’s mother—and immediately got flustered, frantically thinking up excuses to leave quickly, but the woman didn’t give her that chance.
— You’re probably Olivia’s friend? Please come in; I don’t remember you for some reason.
— We weren’t acquainted, — said Emmy, the first thing that came to mind.
— Let’s go into the house, and you can tell me everything. I’m Clara Whitaker; what’s your name?
— Emily.
They entered the house, and Emily stopped dead in the middle of the spacious room; on the table stood a large photograph diagonally tied with a black ribbon. From the photo, Olivia looked at her with a slight smirk.
— What’s wrong with you? — Clara Whitaker asked, seeing that her guest had changed color. — Are you unwell?
— No, — the girl forced out. — Just dizzy; please tell me about your daughter.
The woman sank heavily onto a chair and took her daughter’s photo in her hands.
— Well, what can I tell… Olivia, my girl, was a wonderful person, kind, compassionate. Our dad died when Livvy was very little. So we lived just the two of us. How she loved animals—not just loved, she helped them all her childhood. She’d bring home all sorts of creatures: a pigeon with a broken wing, nurse it and release it; an abandoned kitten, a stray puppy—and somehow manage to find homes for them all. And how she helped people… When she was little, she’d run to the store or pharmacy for the elderly neighbors; as she grew a bit, she’d go feed the homeless. My girl had a huge heart.
At these words, Emily couldn’t hold back and burst into tears. Clara Whitaker was taken aback by the surprise.
— Have I upset you, Emmie?
— No, Clara. Forgive me; I shouldn’t have come.
The woman resolutely seated the girl in an armchair and brought water.
— Drink and calm down; now tell me finally who you are and why you’re crying?
And Emily told everything to this kind, unfortunate woman—her whole life, up to today. Throughout the story, Clara Whitaker sat motionless, staring at one point. When Emmy finished, Olivia’s mother’s hands were trembling, and tears streamed down her face.
— So that’s how it is. So in your chest beats Olivia’s heart; that’s the kind of beloved daughter she was. Even after death, she helps people.
— Clara, how… How did Olivia die?
— My daughter was always in such a hurry. Impatient; she needed to be everywhere at once. She didn’t want to wait for buses or shuttles. Right after school, she got her license and bought an old scooter. After college, she got a job and started saving money. And I, to my regret, helped, and she bought an expensive motorcycle. So she raced around on errands. Besides the veterinary clinic, she also volunteered at the animal shelter. And that time, she was hurrying a lot and got into a fatal accident. I knew she had willed her organs for transplant in case of unexpected death. She’d laugh and say:
— See, Mom, even when I die, I’ll live on—but I never imagined I’d see the person in whom my Livvy’s heart beats.
Emily felt unbearably sorry for the unfortunate, lonely woman. She approached and sat on the arm of the chair, hugging Clara Whitaker.
— Clara, I have no one in the whole world except my godmother. You’re lonely too; allow me to visit you and help as needed.
But the woman didn’t answer; she pressed against Emily’s chest and froze, listening to her daughter’s heart beating.
— Yes, Emmie, — Clara Whitaker finally replied, — I’ll eagerly await your visits, for you and I are almost family.
From then on, Emily began visiting Clara Whitaker often, and soon they sold their homes together and bought a spacious house where they settled in as a pair. Emmy grew to love the woman like her own mother, and Clara Whitaker seemed to regain a daughter. Her life was filled with meaning again.
In a short time, Emily would fall in love, marry, and their home would echo with cheerful children’s laughter. Thus, thanks to Olivia, Emily would gain a family, and Clara Whitaker—a daughter and beloved grandchildren.
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