The daughter of a Kyiv oligarch hadn’t touched food for 14 days straight, and the doctors were at a loss. Nine-year-old Sofiika was slowly fading away in her room, while her father rushed between his office and home, powerless to help his only child. Every specialist in the capital had visited their mansion in Koncha-Zaspa, but none could get the girl to eat even a spoonful of borscht.

Then came Maryana Ivanovna, a simple woman from Chernihiv, who got the job as a maid through an agency. No one could have imagined what would happen after her arrival in the house. But before we continue, check if you’re already subscribed to the channel and write in the comments where you’re watching this video from.

Maryana Ivanovna arrived at the Kovalenko mansion on March 7th, on a cold Kyiv morning, when snow still lay in drifts along the fence and the sky was gray and low. She got off the minibus at the stop near the village, walked almost a kilometer along a road cleared every morning, and stopped in front of massive wrought-iron gates with a surveillance camera. In her hands was a battered rolling suitcase she’d bought at the train station five years ago, and a bag with documents.

Maryana was 47 years old. She was a short woman with short light brown hair, already streaked with gray, and a tired but kind face. She wore a simple dark jacket, a gray sweater, and black trousers she had bought especially for this job with her last money.

The agency called her late in the evening, said they urgently needed a housekeeper for a wealthy family, the pay was good, but warned that no one lasted more than a week there. Maryana didn’t ask why—she had no choice. Three years ago, her husband died of a heart attack right at work, leaving her alone in a rented apartment in Chernihiv, with debts and no steady income.

In recent months, she survived on odd jobs, cleaning stairwells and offices at night, but it was never enough. When the agency offered her a job in Kyiv with accommodation and a salary three times higher than she earned in Chernihiv, Maryana agreed immediately, without hesitation. She pressed the intercom button and heard a sharp click.

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A woman’s voice, dry and tired, asked who was there. Maryana gave her name and said the agency had sent her. The gates slowly opened with a quiet hum of the electric motor.

She walked inside, and the gates immediately closed behind her with a metallic clang. In front of Maryana stretched a long sanded path leading to a three-story red brick mansion with white columns and huge windows. On both sides of the path grew bare trees, and untouched snow lay on the lawns.

To the right were two large garages; to the left, a playground with swings and a slide, covered in snow. The house was impressive, but Maryana immediately felt something strange. It was too quiet—no sounds of cars, voices, or music, just the wind rustling the branches.

She reached the porch and climbed the steps covered with a rubber mat. The door opened before she could knock. On the threshold stood a woman of about fifty-five, with short gray hair, dressed in a black suit and white blouse.

Her face was haggard, with dark circles under her eyes and tight lips. She looked Maryana up and down, not hiding her scrutiny. “Are you the new one?” she asked without greeting.

“Yes, my name is Maryana Ivanovna,” Maryana replied, removing her hat and crumpling it in her hands. “The agency called.” “Come in.”

“I’m Halyna Stepanivna, the housekeeper. I’ve worked here for twelve years.” The woman stepped aside, letting Maryana in and immediately locked the door with two locks.

Maryana found herself in a huge hall with a marble floor reflecting the light of a large crystal chandelier hanging from a five-meter-high ceiling. Directly opposite the entrance was a wide staircase leading to the second floor with carved wooden railings. To the left was the door to the living room; to the right, judging by the smell, was the kitchen.

Expensive paintings in gilded frames hung on the walls, and large vases with artificial flowers stood on the floor. Everything was perfectly clean, smelled of expensive air freshener and something else Maryana couldn’t identify—maybe loneliness. “Leave your suitcase here, I’ll show you your room later,” said Halyna Stepanivna, not looking at Maryana.

“First, let me explain the situation so you understand what you’re getting into.” They went into the kitchen, large and modern, with light furniture, stainless steel appliances, and a huge window overlooking the garden. In the center stood a white table for six.

Halyna Stepanivna poured herself coffee from the machine and gestured for Maryana to sit, but didn’t offer her any coffee. Halyna sat across from Maryana, cupped the mug in her hands, and looked out the window, where snow was slowly falling outside. Silence lingered.

Maryana sat with her hands on her knees and waited. Finally, the housekeeper spoke, still gazing out the window. The owner is Dmytro Olehkovych Kovalenko.

He’s 48. He owns a large construction company, deals in commercial real estate. Very busy, almost always at the office or meetings.

Sometimes he leaves on business trips for days. His wife, Nataliya Mykhailivna, died two months ago. A car accident on the Kyiv-Odesa highway.

A truck crossed into the opposite lane, head-on collision. She died instantly, without regaining consciousness. Maryana sighed quietly and lowered her eyes.

Halyna Stepanivna continued in an even, almost mechanical tone, as if reciting an instruction manual. They have a daughter, Sofiika. She’s nine.

After her mother’s death, she stopped eating. Completely. Won’t eat anything at all.

She drinks a little water when we insist. But she won’t touch food. We’ve tried everything.

Dmytro Olehkovych called the best child psychologists. From private clinics. Psychotherapists.

Trauma specialists. One professor flew in from Germany. Spent three days with her.

Said it was an acute grief reaction. Prescribed medication. Didn’t help.

Dietitians came with different nutrition plans. Cooked everything she used to love. The girl didn’t even look at the plates.

They hired a special nanny. With medical training and experience with difficult children. The nanny lasted two weeks.

Then quit. Said she didn’t know how to reach the girl. Halyna Stepanivna paused.

She sipped her coffee and finally looked at Maryana. Dmytro Olehkovych doesn’t know what to do anymore. He works even more than before.

Comes home late at night. Almost never goes to his daughter. He’s afraid, probably.

Or can’t bear to see her fading. Sofiika spends all day in her room. Doesn’t go anywhere.

Doesn’t talk to anyone. Naturally, hasn’t gone to school since January. Teachers send assignments online.

But she won’t go near the computer. Doctors say if things don’t change soon, she’ll have to be hospitalized and fed through a tube. Maryana listened in silence, feeling her heart ache for the child she didn’t know.

She had lost her husband and knew what a blow it was. But she couldn’t imagine how a nine-year-old coped with losing her mother. Halyna Stepanivna set her mug down and folded her hands.

Your task, Maryana Ivanovna, is simple in words and impossible in reality. You’ll clean the house, cook meals, keep things tidy. I handle the management, shopping, and finances.

We also have Borys Stepanovych, the driver and security guard. He lives in a separate building on the property. The gardener comes twice a week.

That’s the whole staff. We used to have more, but after the mistress’s death, Dmytro Olehkovych let everyone go. Said he didn’t want strangers in the house.

Maryana nodded. “I’ll do my best to help,” she said quietly. “That’s exactly the problem,” Halyna Stepanivna smiled bitterly.

Six housekeepers have come and gone in the last two months. All arrived with good intentions, all wanted to help. One tried to persuade Sofiika to eat.

The girl locked herself in her room and wouldn’t open the door for three hours. Another cooked her mother’s favorite dishes, thinking it would spark appetite and good memories.

Sofiika saw her mother’s cherry dumplings on the table and had a breakdown. Screamed so loud the neighbors heard. A third tried to befriend her, talk, read books.

Sofiika just pretended she wasn’t in the room. A fourth came with internet methods for art therapy. Dmytro Olehkovych sent her away on the second day.

The fifth lasted four days, then quit herself. Said she couldn’t stand the atmosphere, that the house felt like a tomb. The sixth left yesterday, didn’t explain, just packed and took a taxi.

So don’t have illusions. Just do your job. Don’t approach the girl unless she wants to talk.

And don’t try to be a savior. There have been saviors here. Didn’t work.

Maryana looked closely at the housekeeper and saw pain and helplessness behind her tough tone. Halyna Stepanivna had worked in the family for 12 years. She’d seen Sofiika grow up.

She surely loved this girl but didn’t know how to help. “I understand,” Maryana said calmly. “I’ll do my job and won’t interfere.”

Halyna Stepanivna nodded, finished her coffee, and stood up. “Okay, let’s go, I’ll show you the house and your room.” They started the tour.

On the first floor were the living room with a huge sectional sofa and a fireplace that hadn’t been lit for a while. A dining room with a long table for 12, covered in a white cloth and dust. Dmytro Olehkovych’s study with a massive desk, leather chairs, and shelves of books and files.

A library with soft reading chairs. A gym with a treadmill, exercise machines, and a punching bag. A small indoor pool, heated, but the water was stale.

Everywhere was clean, but empty and lifeless. Maryana noticed there were no family photos or personal items anywhere, just furniture and decor. “Where are the family photos?” she couldn’t help but ask.

Dmytro Olehkovych removed everything after the funeral. “Said he couldn’t bear to look,” Halyna replied as they climbed to the second floor. Upstairs were five bedrooms.

The master bedroom, the largest, with a huge bed, walk-in closet, and bathroom. The door was ajar. Maryana saw the unmade bed, a suit on the floor, and an empty cognac bottle on the nightstand.

Three guest bedrooms, bright and impersonal, clearly unused. And Sofiika’s room. Halyna stopped at a white door decorated with rainbow unicorn and butterfly stickers.

“This is where Sofiika lives. I’ll knock, but she probably won’t answer.” The housekeeper knocked three times, waited, then quietly opened the door.

Maryana peeked in and saw a large, bright room with pink wallpaper, white furniture, shelves full of toys, books, and dolls. By the window was a rocking chair with soft pillows. In the chair sat a small, thin girl in kitten pajamas, her long dark hair pulled into a messy ponytail.

She stared out the window at the falling snow, not reacting to the open door. Sofiika was pale, with dark circles under her eyes, sharp cheekbones, and arms thin as a bird’s. Maryana felt her heart clench with pity.

“Sofiika, we have a new maid. Her name is Maryana Ivanovna,” Halyna said softly. The girl didn’t turn her head, didn’t blink, just kept looking out the window.

Halyna waited a few seconds and closed the door. “See?” — always like this. Maryana said nothing, but the girl’s empty, lost look stuck in her memory.

Such an empty, lost gaze. They went up to the third floor, where the staff rooms were. Halyna’s room was small but cozy, with a TV and her own bathroom.

A linen closet with bedding, towels, cleaning supplies. An ironing room. And Maryana’s room at the end of the hall.

Small, about twelve square meters, with a single bed, wardrobe, nightstand, desk, and chair. The window looked onto the backyard. It was clean, smelled of fresh linen.

The bathroom was shared in the corridor. “You’ll live here.” The bedding is fresh, towels in the wardrobe.

Work schedule is from eight in the morning to eight in the evening, with a lunch break at two. One day off a week, Sunday if that suits you. Salary is paid on the fifteenth to your card.

Breakfast is ready by eight, lunch at one, dinner at seven. Dmytro Olehkovych usually doesn’t eat dinner at home, but cook just in case.

Clean all rooms except the master and Sofiika’s daily. Master bedroom every three days when Dmytro Olehkovych is at work. Don’t go into Sofiika’s room unless necessary.

“Any questions?” “Does Sofiika really not eat at all?” asked Maryana. Absolutely nothing. She drinks water, sometimes unsweetened tea if we insist.

But won’t touch solid food. Since January 23rd. Today is March 7th.

Count for yourself how many days. Maryana quickly calculated. Forty-three days.

The child hadn’t eaten for forty-three days. How is she even alive? What do doctors say? They say the body runs on reserves, burns fat, then starts burning muscle. Soon, irreversible organ damage will begin if she doesn’t start eating.

Dmytro Olehkovych has agreed to hospitalization, but wants to try one more week at home. If it doesn’t help, she’ll go to the clinic and be fed forcibly. Maryana sat on the bed.

She came here for work and pay, but now realized she’d entered a house where a child was slowly dying and the adults didn’t know how to stop it. Unpack your things, rest after your trip. In an hour, come down to the kitchen, I’ll show you where everything is and explain what to cook, said Halyna, and left, closing the door behind her.

Maryana was left alone in the silence of the small room. She opened her suitcase and took out her few belongings. Two changes of clothes, a work robe, slippers, a cosmetic bag, a photo of her husband in a frame.

She put the photo on the nightstand by the bed. Looked at Taras’s familiar face with kind eyes and a mustache. He was 44 when he died.

He worked as a foreman at a construction site, worked all his life, never complained. The heart attack happened suddenly, right at work. The ambulance didn’t make it in time.

Maryana had lived alone for three years after his death, and the pain never went away, only dulled. She knew what loss was. She changed into her work clothes, a gray robe and slippers, washed up, tied her hair in a bun, and went downstairs.

In the kitchen, Halyna was already waiting for her with a notebook in hand. For the next hour, she explained where everything was. Food in the fridge and freezer, grains and canned goods in the pantry, dishes in the cupboards, cleaning supplies under the sink…