Alina couldn’t tear her gaze away from the glowing red letters that spelled out “Surgical Unit.” The words shimmered in her vision, not from tears but from exhaustion after endless hours of waiting. Her heart thundered so loudly it seemed to echo off the sterile hospital walls. In her trembling hands, she clutched a small plastic tractor—a battered red toy with a yellow bucket at the front, her younger son Leo’s favorite.

Originally, Leo had asked for a blue tractor, just like the one in his beloved cartoon. But over time, he'd grown attached to this one, a birthday present from his father. Despite its chipped paint and sun-faded wheels, Leo loved it with all the innocent, unfiltered devotion only a four-year-old could give.

At last, a silhouette materialized behind the frosted glass doors. They swung open with a hush of air, and a tired-looking doctor emerged into the corridor, pulling off his gloves. Alina sprang to her feet, her voice cracking with hope and fear: “Doctor, please—how is Leo? Did the surgery go well?”

The doctor looked at her with a sorrowful heaviness in his eyes, and slowly pulled down his surgical mask. “Mrs. Morozova… I’m very sorry. We did everything we could. Truly, everything.”

---

Alina lay curled up on her son's empty bed, arms wrapped around the small pillow that still carried the soft, sweet scent of his hair. On the mirror across the room, a faint, sticky imprint of his cookie-covered fingers was still there, half hidden in the corner. She had meant to clean it many times. Now, she was grateful she never had.

Tears slid silently down her cheeks. The ache inside her chest gnawed at her like a fire that never went out. Her own heart was healthy—cruelly healthy—unlike the tiny, fragile one that had failed her little Leo. Her older son, Misha, was already 18, studying at university and mostly independent. But Leo… Leo had been her late-life surprise, the joyful miracle she never expected. And now, that joy had turned into a bottomless sorrow.

All the prenatal scans had looked normal. It wasn’t until just before the birth that a doctor noticed something strange. Further investigation revealed a complex congenital heart defect. Still, there had been hope—hope in medicine, in science, in love. A complex surgery had been scheduled, one they were told could save his life. But something had gone wrong. Terribly, irreversibly wrong.

Alina drifted into an uneasy, dreamless sleep. Or so it seemed, until she found herself once again standing in a sunlit meadow she had come to recognize all too well in recent days. The field burst with vivid wildflowers—blues, pinks, yellows, whites—swaying gently in a wind that didn’t touch her skin. In the distance stood her Leo, smiling that same unchanging, warm smile. He wore his favorite T-shirt covered in tiny cartoon trucks.

In his hands, he held a bouquet of daisies.

“Leo! My baby!” Alina cried, her feet already moving toward him. But no matter how fast she ran, the distance between them never closed. Leo remained just out of reach, calmly plucking petals from the flowers as though lost in thought. She shouted his name again and again, her voice raw with desperation. Still, he did not answer. Then, just as suddenly, Leo looked up, gave her a gentle nod, and began to fade into the golden light around him. Petals floated down where he had stood.

Alina stumbled to the spot, her knees folding beneath her. And there, laid out in neat, delicate letters on the grass, was an address—formed entirely from daisy petals.

---

The shrill ringtone of her phone dragged Alina back to the real world. She blinked against the pale morning light and looked at the screen: Misha.

“Yes, sweetheart?” she answered hoarsely.

“Mom, I’m coming home today. Can you make something delicious?” His voice was casual, cheerful, trying to sound normal. Alina allowed herself a small, tight smile.

“Of course, darling. Pancakes?”

“Perfect! I’m already on the bus. Be there soon!”

Misha had been visiting every weekend since Leo’s death. He rarely spoke about it, but Alina knew he carried the same pain. They all did. Still, life didn’t pause for grief. And maybe—just maybe—it was time she tried to keep going, for Misha’s sake, and her husband Anton’s, too.

In the kitchen, she opened the fridge to gather ingredients and sighed. No milk.

Anton sat at the kitchen table, his reading glasses perched on his nose, soldering some small device beside his laptop. He glanced up. “Need something? Want me to run to the store?”

Alina shook her head. “Misha’s coming. Asked for pancakes. We’re out of milk, so I’ll go. I could use the fresh air.”

Anton raised an eyebrow. “You… want to go out?” His voice held a note of surprise—and hope. Alina gave a faint nod, then slowly got dressed and stepped outside.

The spring breeze kissed her cheeks. Birds sang from the budding trees. It was Leo’s favorite season. His fifth spring—he had never lived to see it.

As she walked through the aisles of the small grocery store, Alina filled her basket with milk, bread, eggs, and Misha’s favorite chocolate-covered waffles. Then a sound struck her like a thunderclap—a laugh. A child’s giggle. Her chest seized. It was Leo’s laugh, exactly as it used to sound.

Heart racing, she turned the corner, eyes searching. She glimpsed only the back of a small boy disappearing behind a shelf. Her mind screamed that it wasn’t possible, but her feet moved anyway, carrying her toward where he’d been.

She didn’t find the boy. But near the knocked-over sign she had brushed with her coat in her rush, she saw something that stopped her cold. The address from her dream—clear as day, printed in red letters against the ad background.

Her hands trembled. “Leo… what are you trying to tell me?” she whispered.

She returned home in a daze, the weight of the moment pressing on her chest. Not today, she thought. Today, Misha was coming. She had to be present—for him.

---

That evening, warmth returned to their home. Misha arrived, devoured the pancakes, and made his parents laugh with stories about his eccentric literature professor and his lazy roommate. For a while, the house didn’t feel broken.

That night, Alina awoke to a faint, haunting sound—a melody. Someone was singing in the bathroom. It was Leo’s favorite song from the blue tractor cartoon.

She froze, heart in her throat. Slowly, she rose from bed, tiptoed down the hallway, and opened the bathroom door.

Empty.

She leaned against the sink, tears burning her eyes. “It’s just my mind… I’m losing it,” she murmured. She splashed water on her face, then, without thinking, soaped her hand and smeared it across the mirror.

As the foam trickled down, forming streaks, she gasped. The letters… the address. It had formed again.

A whisper floated behind her, impossibly soft: “I’m waiting, Mommy…”

---

Anton found her in the living room, laptop on her knees, face pale.

“What’s going on?” he asked gently.

Alina pointed to the screen. “Anton… look at him.”

A photo of a little boy, maybe four years old, stared back at them. Brown hair, solemn eyes, a sad little smile. The caption read: “Yegor Spiridonov, age 4.” Orphaned three years ago after a car accident took his parents. Raised by his grandmother until her recent passing. Now in the state orphanage listed at the very address from Alina’s dreams.

Anton read silently, then nodded. “We’re going.”

---

They were welcomed by the orphanage director, a kind woman named Tatyana Sergeyevna. She led them down a bright hallway as she explained: “Yegor is a special child. He’s kind, gentle, very bright. But he hasn’t connected with anyone. Three adoption attempts, all failed. He keeps telling us his real parents are coming for him… And for the last three months, he’s been talking to an imaginary friend named Leo.”

Alina and Anton exchanged a look. Goosebumps rose on their arms.

“In the last week,” Tatyana continued, “he’s been saying Leo told him that his parents would come soon.”

The playroom door opened, and there he was. Sitting cross-legged with a group of kids, stacking colorful blocks and humming.

The song.

Leo’s song.

He turned, looked straight at them, and his eyes lit up.

“Mama! Papa! I knew you’d come!”

---

The adoption process moved quickly. Tatyana herself helped accelerate the paperwork. When she learned of Leo’s passing, she wept and called it destiny.

A month later, they returned to bring Yegor home.

As they were leaving, Yegor suddenly paused and tugged Alina’s hand. “Wait, Mama. Leo’s at the end of the hallway. He wants to say goodbye.”

Alina’s heart clenched, but it was no longer the painful twist of grief—it was warm, like sunlight in spring.

Yegor ran to the window and waved, then returned, taking both Alina and Anton’s hands. Outside, a brilliant white dove landed on the ledge, its feathers catching the sunlight like a silver flame. It circled the building once, then soared high into the sky and disappeared among the clouds.

And with it, Alina felt something lift—a parting gift from her son, passing the torch of love to the child he had guided to them.