З життя
Нічний дзвінок розбудив Дар’ю в темряві.
На годиннику було пів на дванадцяту ночі, коли пролунав дзвінок. Дарина ледь задрімала під спокійне дихання чоловіка, коли різкий звук телефону змусив її здригнутись. Серце стислося від передчуття — у такий час добрих новин не чекай.
— Максиме, — легенько струсила вона його. — Максиме, прокинься! Телефон.
Він рвучко сів на ліжку, схопив трубку. Дарина зі страхом стежила за його обличчям, яке з кожною секундою все більше блідло.
— Як це… коли? — слабо запитав він. — Так… так… зрозумів. Зараз буду.
Максим повільно поклав слухавку. Його пальці тремтіли.
— Що сталося? — пошепки запитала Дарина, вже здогадуючись — сталося щось непоправне.
— Петро з Наталкою… — важко ковтнув він. — Аварія. Обоє загинули на місці.
Кімнату заповнила гнітюча тиша, переривана лише тиканям годинника. Дарина дивилася на чоловіка і не могла повірити.
Ще позавчора усі сиділи разом на кухні, пили чай, Наталка ділилася рецептом нового пирога. А Петро, найкращий друг Максима ще з університету, розповідав смішні історії про риболовлю.
— А що з Настею? — згадала раптом Дарина. — Господи, а як Настя?
— Була вдома, — Максим поспішно натягував брюки. — Мені треба їхати, Дарю. Потрібно впізнання. І взагалі.
— Я з тобою.
— Ні! — він різко обернувся. — Аліна залишиться сама. Не варто її лякати серед ночі.
Дарина кивнула. Він мав рацію — не варто було вводити дванадцятирічну доньку у цю трагедію. Принаймні, зараз.
Усю ніч вона не могла заплющити очей. Ходила по квартирі, раз у раз поглядаючи на годинник. Заглянула до сплячої Аліни — та тихенько сопіла, підклавши долоньку під щоку, руді коси розкинулися по подушці. Таке світле, таке беззахисне створіння.
Максим повернувся на світанку — змарнілий, з червоними очима.
— Усе підтвердилося, — вимовив він виснажено, падаючи в крісло. — Лобове зіткнення з вантажівкою. У них не було шансів.
— А що тепер з Настею буде? — тихо запитала Дарина, ставлячи перед чоловіком чашку міцної кави.
— Не знаю. У неї тільки бабуся в селі залишилася. Дуже стара, ледве ходить.
Вони замовкли. Дарина дивилася у вікно, де розвиднювався сірий, промозглий ранок. Настя, похресниця Максима, була ровесницею їхньої Аліни. Світловолоса, тиха дівчинка, що завжди трохи осторонь трималася.
— Знаєш, — повільно сказав Максим, — я думаю… Може, нам її до себе взяти?
Дарина різко обернулась:
— Ти серйозно?
— А що? Місце є, кімната вільна. Я ж таки хрещений. Не віддамо дитину в дитбудинок!
— Максиме, але це… це дуже серйозно. Треба все обдумати. З Аліною порадитися.
— А що тут думати? — він вдарив кулаком по столу. — Дівчина без батьків залишилася! Моя хрещена! Я собі в очі не зможу дивитися, якщо покину її доньку!
Дарина прикусила губу. Звісно, чоловік правий. Але все це сталося так швидко, так несподівано.
— Мам, тат, а що сталося? — сонний голос Аліни заставив їх здригнутись. — Чому так рано встали?
Вони переглянулись. Момент істини настав раніше, ніж вони очікували.
— Доню, — почала Дарина, — присядь. У нас… дуже погані новини.
Аліна слухала мовчки, лише її очі ставали більшими і більшими. А коли батько сказав, що Настя буде жити з ними, вона різко встала:
— Ні! — вигукнула вона. — Не хочу! Нехай до бабусі їде!
— Аліно! — осадив її Максим. — Як тобі не соромно! У людини таке горе…
— А мені що з того? — дівчинка кинула злісний погляд. — Це не мої проблеми! Я не хочу ділити з нею дім! І вас не хочу ділити!
Вона вибігла з кухні, гучно хлопнувши дверима. Дарина безпорадно глянула на чоловіка:
— Може, дійсно не варто поспішати?
— Ні, — твердо відповів він. — Вирішено. Настя буде жити з нами. Аліна звикне.
Через тиждень Настя переїхала. Тиха, бліда, з потухлими очима. Вона майже не розмовляла, лише кивала у відповідь на запитання.
Дарина намагалася оточити її турботою. Вона готувала улюблені страви, купила нову постіль із метеликами.
Аліна демонстративно ігнорувала Настю. Замикалася у своїй кімнаті, а якщо зіштовхувалася з нею в коридорі — відверталася і проходила повз.
— Припини так себе вести! — дорікав їй батько. — Май совість!
— А що я такого роблю? — заперечувала Аліна. — Просто її не помічаю. Маю право! Це мій дім!
Напруження в домі росло з кожним днем. Дарина металася між дівчатами, намагаючись згладити гострі кути. Але чим більше вона старалася, тим гірше ставало.
А потім зникли сережки. Улюблені, золоті, з маленькими алмазами — подарунок Максима на десяту річницю весілля.
— Це вона взяла! — вигукнула Аліна, коли Дарина виявила пропажу. — Я бачила, як вона до вашої спальні заходила, коли вас дома не було!
— Неправда! — уперше за весь час озвалася Настя. — Я нічого не брала! Я не крадійка!
Вона розридалася і втекла до своєї кімнати. Максим суворо подивився на доньку:
— Ти це навмисне, так? Вирішила зжити її зі світу?
— Та я правду кажу! — Аліна топнула ногою. — Вона прикидається! Робить вигляд, що нещасна, а сама…
— Досить! — урвала її Дарина. — Давайте не будемо сваритися. Сережки знайдуться. Може, я їх сама кудись поклала і забула.
Але через три дні зникла каблучка — єдина пам’ять про Даринину матір.
— Що, й це теж випадково зникло? — саркастично запитала Аліна. — Чи будемо робити вигляд, що нічого не відбувається?
Вона стояла посеред вітальні, вткнувши руки в боки — точнісінько маленька фурія. А в дверях застигла бліда Настя, кусаючи губи і часто блимаючи, ніби стримуючи сльози.
Дарина переводила погляд з однієї дівчинки на іншу. І вперше за ці дні їй здалось, що вона починає щось розуміти.
Дарина сиділа на краю ванни, крутячи в руках пляшечку з зеленкою. Просте рішення спало їй на думку випадково — вона саме обробляла Настин поріз від паперу, коли промайнула ця думка. Зеленка. Така ж нав’язлива, як брехня, і така ж помітна, як правда.
Дочекавшись, поки всі заснуть, вона дістала скриньку з прикрасами. Кожну каблучку, кожну сережку обережно відзначила крихітною крапкою.
— Що я роблю? — прошепотіла вона в темряву. — Господи, до чого ми дійшли…
Наступного ранку зник підвісок. За столом було тихо. Настя невесело колупала ложкою вівсянку, Аліна демонстративно відвернулася до вікна. Максим угрюмо пив каву.
— Дівчатка, — Дарина намагалася говорити спокійно. — Покажіть мені руки.
Вони здивовано подивилися на неї.
— Навіщо? — насупилася Аліна.
— Просто покажіть.
Настя першою простягла розкриті долоні — чисті, без жодної плямки. А от Аліна вагалася.
— Я не буду! — вона спробувала встати з-за столу.
— Сідай! — гримнув голос батька. — Негайно покажи руки матері!
Аліна, закусивши губу, витягнула руки. На подушечках пальців зеленіли крихітні крапки.
На кухні запала дзвінка тиша. Було чути, як тікає годинник на стіні, як шумить у трубах вода, як важко дихає Максим.
— Ти… — він задихнувся від гніву. — Ти звинувачувала Настю, а сама…
Аліна вскочила, перекинувши стілець. В очах плескався жах і ще щось — може бути, сором?
— Ненавиджу вас! — вигукнула вона. — Усіма ненавиджу!
Перш ніж хтось устиг її зупинити, вона вибігла в передпокій. Грюкнула вхідні двері.
— Аліно! — Дарина рвонулася слідом, але чоловік зупинив її за плечі.
— Нехай провітриться, — жорстко сказав він. — Нехай подумає над своєю поведінкою.
Але минали години, а Аліна не поверталася. Телефон мовчав. До вечора Дарина вже не знаходила собі місця.
— Треба в поліцію телефонувати, — тремтячим голосом сказала вона. — Вже темно…
І тут Настя, мовчала весь день, раптом ожила:
— Я знаю, де вона може бути.
— Звідки? — здивувалася Дарина.
— Я… я бачила іноді. Вона любить сидіти у старій альтанці в парку. Там, де ставок.
— Чому ти раніше не сказала? — зірвався Максим.
— Ви не питали, — знизала плечима Настя. — Я піду за нею. Одна. Будь ласка.
Дарина переглянулася з чоловіком. Щось було в голосі Насті — якась нова, незнайома нотка. Впевненість? Рішучість?
— Іди, — кивнула вона.
Минала година. Друга. За вікном спустилися сутінки, коли у двері подзвонили.
На порозі стояли обидві дівчини — розтріпані, розчервонілі. У Аліни очі були опухлі від сліз, але в них більше не було злості. А Настя… Настя вперше за весь цей час усміхалася.
— Мати, — тихо сказала Аліна. — Прости мене. Я… я все поверну.
— Я знаю, люба, — Дарина притулила доньку до себе. — Знаю.
— Просто я думала… — схлипнула Аліна. — Я думала, ви тепер її більше любити будете. Вона ж така нещасна. А я…
— Дурненька, — раптом сказала Настя. — Дурна ти, Алиска. Хіба можна вкрасти любов? Вона або є, або немає.
Дарина здивовано подивилася на падчерицю. Звідки в дванадцятирічній дівчинці така мудрість?
— Ми з нею поговорили, — пояснила Настя, помітивши її погляд. — Довго говорили. Про все.
— І знаєте що? — Аліна раптом усміхнулася крізь сльози. — А вона класна. Настька. Уявіть, вона теж любить “Гаррі Поттера”! І в шахи грає! Мамо, можна вона житиме у моїй кімнаті? Ну, будь ласка!
Дарина відчула, як до горла підступив клубок. Вона обійняла обох дівчат, пригорнула до себе. Десь у глибині квартири гучно сморгнув Максим.
Згодом, відправляючи дівчат спати, вона почула їхній шепіт:
— Слухай, а можна я буду тебе сестричкою звати? — долинув голос Аліни.
— Можна, — у голосі Насті звучала усмішка. — Тільки за однієї умови.
— Якої?
— Навчиш мене фенечки плести? У тебе такі гарні виходять…
Дарина тихенько прикрила двері. На кухні чекав Максим — з двома келихами.
— Знаєш, — задумливо вимовив він, розливаючи рубінову рідину, — а ж Петро з Наталкою зараз, напевно, радіють. Там, нагорі.
— Думаєш? — вона взяла келих.
— Впевнений. Їхня дівчинка вдома. У родині. І тепер у неї є сестра.
За вікном мерехтіли зірки. Десь далеко гавкали собаки. А в дитячій дві дівчинки, ще недавно чужі одна одній, шепотілися про своє, дівчаче, поступово стаючи справжніми сестрами.
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IS IT REALLY THE ORCHID’S FAULT? “Polly, take this orchid or I’ll bin it,” Kate muttered, scooping the transparent pot off the windowsill and thrusting it into my hands. “Thanks, mate! But what did this orchid ever do to upset you?” I was puzzled. There were still three gorgeous, pampered orchids on her windowsill. “That flower was a wedding gift for my son. And, well, you know how that turned out…” Kate sighed heavily. “I know your Dennis and Tanya divorced before their first anniversary. I won’t ask why—it must have been serious. Dennis absolutely adored Tanya.” I didn’t want to reopen an old wound. “Someday I’ll tell you the whole story, Polly. For now, it’s too much to remember,” Kate mused, dabbing her eyes. I brought the “rejected” and “banished” orchid home. My husband looked at the pitiful specimen and said, “Why bother with that runt? Even I can see there’s no life left in it. Don’t waste your time.” “I’m going to revive her,” I insisted. “A bit of love and care, and you’ll see—she’ll be in bloom again.” He winked: “Who can refuse love?” A week later, Kate rang: “Polly, can I come round? I can’t keep this burden inside. I want to tell you everything about Dennis’ disastrous marriage.” “Come right over, Kate. I’m here.” I couldn’t turn her down. She’d been my rock through my first painful divorce—and when things were rocky with my second husband too. We’d been friends forever. Kate arrived an hour later. She settled in the kitchen, and over a glass of dry wine, a cup of strong coffee, and some dark chocolate, the story spilled out. “I never imagined my ex-daughter-in-law was capable of such a thing. Dennis and Tanya were together for seven years before marrying. Dennis left Annie for Tanya—and I loved Annie, so homely and warm, I called her daughter. Then this dazzling beauty Tanya swept in. Dennis was besotted—hovering around her like a bee around a blossom. Love at first sight, absolutely scorching. He pushed Annie aside in a heartbeat. “Yes, Tanya had model looks. Dennis loved when his mates gawped and passers-by turned heads. Yet, no child in seven years. I thought maybe Dennis wanted everything proper—wedded first, then kids. He’s private, never confided much, and we didn’t meddle. “One day he just told us: “‘Mum, Dad, I’m marrying Tanya. We’ve given notice at the registry office. No expense spared—a wedding to remember.’ “We were thrilled—Dennis was thirty, finally settling down. But the wedding date shifted—he was unwell, then I got held up at work. I got a bad feeling, but I saw his happiness and kept silent. “Dennis even wanted a church blessing, but the priest was away. Nothing was going right. Everything was a sign… “Still, we had a big, noisy wedding. Look—here’s the photo. See that orchid? Blooming, magnificent. Its leaves stood tall. Now, they’re just limp rags. “Dennis and Tanya planned a Paris honeymoon, but there was a hitch—Tanya wasn’t allowed to leave the country. Some massive unpaid fine. They were turned away at the airport. Dennis ignored the strings of bad luck, lost in dreams of family life. “But then he got seriously ill—hospitalised. The doctors had little hope. Tanya stuck around for a week, then said: “‘I’m sorry, but I can’t cope with a disabled husband. I’m filing for divorce.’ “Imagine, Polly, what Dennis felt lying there? Still, he replied: “‘I understand, Tanya. I won’t stand in your way.’ “So, they divorced. “But Dennis recovered. We found him a brilliant doctor, who pulled him through in half a year—said Dennis was young enough to bounce back. Our family grew close to the doctor, Peter, who had a lovely twenty-year-old daughter, Masha. Dennis barely paid attention to her: “‘She’s tiny. Not even pretty.’ “‘Give her a chance, son. Looks aren’t everything. You’ve tried the model wife—now, perhaps, try joy over glamour.’ “He couldn’t forget Tanya’s betrayal, yet Masha adored Dennis from the start—she followed him everywhere, phoned him constantly. “We tried matchmaking with a trip in the countryside. Dennis sulked the whole time, nothing cheered him up—campfire, barbeque, our laughter—nothing. Masha followed him with puppy eyes, but he barely glanced at her. “‘It’s hopeless,’ I sighed to my husband. ‘Dennis still loves Tanya. She’s a splinter in his heart.’ “A few months later, Dennis showed up at the door with the infamous orchid: “‘Here, Mum—the last relic of past happiness. Do what you want with it. I don’t want this exotic reminder.’ “I begrudgingly accepted the orchid and took a dislike to it—almost as if I blamed it for my son’s pain. I shoved it out of sight, neglected it. “Then I ran into a neighbour: “‘Kate, I saw your Dennis with a pixie-like girl. His first wife was far more striking, though…’ “I didn’t believe it—could Dennis really be dating Masha? “‘Meet my wife, Masha,’ Dennis introduced her, cradling her hand. “My husband and I exchanged glances. “‘But what about a wedding? Guests?’ “‘No need for a fuss—we’ve done all that. Registered at the town hall, quiet and simple. Father Peter gave us a church blessing. Masha and I are forever.’ “I pulled Dennis aside: “‘Do you actually love her? Please don’t hurt Masha—or marry just to spite Tanya.’ “‘No, Mum, I’m not taking revenge. I’m over that woman,’ he said—he’d stopped calling Tanya by name. ‘As for love… Masha and I just fit perfectly together.’ “That’s my story, Polly.” Kate finally unburdened her heart. …After this heartfelt chat, two years rushed by, life got busy. But the orchid revived and bloomed—they really do respond to love. When I met Kate again, it was at the maternity ward: “Hey, mate, what are you doing here?” “Masha’s had twins. They’re being discharged today,” Kate grinned. At the entrance stood Dennis and Kate’s husband, Dennis clutching a bouquet of red roses. Out came a tired but glowing Masha, followed by the nurse gently carrying two tiny, sleeping bundles. My own daughter was there, snuggling her newborn. Tanya is now begging Dennis for forgiveness and to try again… But you can glue a broken cup, though you’ll never drink from it the same way again…
IS THE ORCHID TO BLAME? Polly, take this orchid away or Ill chuck it out, Kate announced, carelessly lifting the...
Fate on a Hospital Bed – “Young Lady, You Look After Him! I’m Too Scared to Even Feed Him with a Spoon,” She Snapped, Tossing Grocery Bags onto the Bed Where Her Sick Husband Lay. “Please Don’t Worry! Your Husband Will Recover. He Needs Careful Nursing Now. I’ll Help Dmitry Get Back on His Feet,” I, as the nurse, had to reassure the tuberculosis patient’s wife yet again. Dmitry arrived in critical condition, but his will to live gave him good odds. Sadly, his wife Alla didn’t believe in medicine. It seemed she’d given up on him already… Years later, the same fate befell their son Yura. Alla gave up on him too – but Yura survived. Despite his diagnosis, Dmitry joked and laughed, eager to leave the TB ward. His village lacked any specialist hospital, so Alla rarely visited. I felt sorry for him – so unkempt, so abandoned… “Dima, do you mind if I bring you some things? I see you don’t even have slippers,” I teased. “Violetta, I’d swallow poison from you if you said it was medicine. But no, just let me get well first…” My heart fluttered. Was I falling for a married man? I tried not to. But you can’t command the heart… I visited Dima more often. Our talks grew deep; we switched to first names. He had a five-year-old son. “My Yura takes after his beautiful mum… I loved Alla – but she only loves herself. It eats you up… now it’s you caring for me, a stranger,” he sighed. I tried to make excuses for Alla. He shook his head. “A wife can find time for her lovers a hundred miles away—but not for me.” After a fight, Alla vanished. A month passed. Dima told me quietly, “We’re divorcing.” When he was discharged, he asked shyly to stay with me, and I agreed—if he’d accept my child too. He did—and so began our life together. Years passed. We had two children together. His son Yura visits often. My own daughter lives far away; I never regretted being a single mother. As for Alla: she remarried many times, had another son who suffered from mental illness. She remained cold and distant, and when she died, her son was sent to a care home. Now Dima and I are old, but love each other more than ever, grateful for every day together.
FATE ON A HOSPITAL BED Tuesday Ill never get used to certain moments in the ward. Today, Mrs. Parker burst...
I’ve Never Taken What Belongs to Someone Else Once, while still at school, Martha both despised and envied Nastya. She looked down on Nastya because her parents were hopelessly alcoholic, scraping by on odd jobs and living hand-to-mouth. Nastya always wore shabby clothes, seemed half-starved and downtrodden. Her father often hit her—sometimes for drinking too little, sometimes for drinking too much, sometimes for no clear reason at all. Nastya’s mother never stood up for her, too afraid of her husband’s heavy hand. Only her devoted grandmother brought any light to Nastya’s world. Once a month, from her modest pension, Grandma would give her beloved granddaughter a “salary” for good behaviour. Even if Nastya misbehaved, Grandma would always pretend not to notice and hand over her pay anyway—five roubles! For Nastya, that was the happiest day of the month. She’d rush to the shop and buy ice cream (one for herself, one for Grandma), halvah, and a few sweets. Every time, Nastya tried to make the treats last all month—but after two days, they’d always be gone. Then, as if on cue, Grandma would get her own ice cream from the fridge and say, “Here, sweetheart, eat this. My throat is sore today.” “How odd,” Nastya thought, “Grandma’s throat always seems to start hurting the day my sweets run out…” She secretly always hoped to get a share of Grandma’s portion. Martha’s family was the complete opposite. Their home was overflowing with comfort. Her parents earned good money and pampered their only daughter. Martha was always dressed in the latest fashions, and her classmates sometimes borrowed her things. She was never denied anything—well-fed, well-dressed, and shod in the best shoes. Yet Martha envied her classmate’s enchanting beauty, the warmth that radiated from Nastya, and her natural ability to get along with everyone. Martha, however, considered herself above even talking to Nastya. Whenever they crossed paths, Martha would glare at her so coldly, it felt to Nastya as if she’d been doused in ice water. Once, Martha insulted her in front of everyone: “You’re pathetic!” Nastya ran home in tears and told her grandmother. Grandma sat her down, stroked her hair and said, “Don’t cry, Nastya. Tomorrow, tell her, ‘You’re right—I belong to God!’” Nastya felt better right away. Martha was beautiful herself, but her beauty came with an air of coldness and distance. Then there was Max, the class heartthrob—carefree, always joking, not bothered by failing grades or scoldings from teachers. His outlook was sunny, and his optimism infectious; even the teachers liked him, despite his troublemaking ways. In their final years at school, Max began escorting Martha home after lessons and waiting for her at the school gate in the morning. Their classmates teased: “Here come the bride and groom!” Even the teachers noticed the blossoming romance between Max and Martha. Eventually, the final bell rang, prom night passed, and the classmates went their separate ways. Max and Martha married in a hurry—the “evidence of love” couldn’t be concealed, not even by Martha’s elaborate wedding dress. Within five months, she gave birth to a daughter, Sofia. After school, Nastya was forced to get a job. Her beloved grandmother had passed away, and now her parents depended on Nastya’s income. She had plenty of admirers, but none touched her soul, and she was ashamed of her alcoholic family. A decade slipped by… One day, in the waiting room at the addiction clinic, there were two pairs: Nastya with her mum, Max with Martha. Nastya immediately recognized Max—he was now an impressive man, but Martha was nearly unrecognizable: gaunt, hands shaking, dead-eyed, only 28 but looking much older. Max greeted Nastya, embarrassed. “Hello, classmate,” he said, not wanting Nastya to witness his family’s misery. “Hello, Max. Looks like trouble at home. Has it been going on for long?” Nastya asked quickly. “A while,” he confessed, awkwardly. “A woman who drinks—it’s a disaster. I know from my mum. My father literally drank himself to death,” Nastya sympathized. After the appointments, Max and Nastya exchanged numbers for support. Misery loves company, and Max started visiting Nastya for advice. She shared her hard-earned wisdom about living with alcoholics, what treatments worked, and what absolutely didn’t. She knew, as so many drowned in the bottle, it wasn’t always obvious from the surface… Max confided that he and his daughter Sofia had long lived alone—Martha had returned to her parents’ home. Max had shielded Sofia from her unpredictable mother. The breaking point was when Max came home to find Martha drunk on the floor and three-year-old Sofia teetering on the windowsill, poised to fall from the fifth floor. After that, Max took no more chances. Martha refused help, convinced she could stop anytime. She was drawn to the abyss—and wanted to fall as far as possible. Their marriage ended. Later, Max invited Nastya to a restaurant and confessed: he’d loved her since their schooldays, but was too afraid of rejection, then Martha had become pregnant… Life tumbled on. Meeting at the clinic had seemed like fate. Chatting with Nastya was like a soothing balm. Max proposed marriage, and after all these years, Nastya was finally ready to accept his love—especially now that Martha was out of the picture. Nastya and Max married quietly, and she moved in with him. At first, Sofia was wary of sharing her father’s love, but Nastya’s kindness soon melted her heart, and before long, Sofia started calling her “mum.” A few years later, Sofia gained a little sister, Molly. One day, their doorbell rang. Nastya opened it to find—Martha, utterly changed, reeked of alcohol, a living warning. “You snake! You stole my husband, my daughter! No wonder I’ve hated you all my life!” Martha hissed. Nastya stood calm, confident, beautiful. “I have never taken what was not mine. You gave up your family by choice, never understanding why. I have never uttered a bad word about you. I truly pity you, Martha…” With that, Nastya closed the door on her uninvited guest.
NEVER TOOK WHAT WASNT MINE Even back in school, Martha looked down on Nancy yet couldnt help but envy her....
Like a Bird Drawn to the Call – A Tale of Love, Loyalty, and Life’s Twists: From My Grandmother’s Wisdom and Parents’ Lifelong Marriage, to Broken Trust, Forbidden Affairs, and a Second Chance Family with My True Soulmate
LIKE A BIRD TO A CALL Girls, you only marry once, and it must be for life. You stay with...
A Family Torn Apart: Secrets, Betrayal, and Redemption in an Ordinary English Home – The Heartbreaking Journey from a Sunday Dinner in Silence to a Miraculous Survival, and the Price of Forgiveness
RAW NERVE In the Taylor household, everyone lived their own separate lives. Mr. Simon Taylor, apart from having a wife,...
A Life Put Right: “Lydia, I forbid you from speaking to your sister or her family! They have their own life, we have ours. Did you ring Natalie again? Complain about me? I warned you—don’t blame me if anything happens,” snapped Brian, gripping my shoulder painfully. As always, I quietly retreated to the kitchen, blinking back bitter tears. No, I’d never complained to my sister about the life I shared with my husband. We just talked. We still had elderly parents; there was always something to discuss. That infuriated Brian. He despised my sister Natalie—her family enjoyed a peace and comfort that ours never had. When I married Brian, I was the happiest girl in England. Swept up in a whirlwind romance, I hadn’t given a thought to his lack of height—Brian barely reached my chin—or to his mother, who turned up at the wedding barely able to stand. I later learned she was a longtime alcoholic. Blinded by love, I ignored the warnings. But a year into our marriage, I began to question my happiness. Brian drank heavily, staggering in late and reeking of cheap whisky. Then came the string of affairs. I worked as a nurse at the local hospital. My pay was measly. Brian preferred the company of the pub over supporting his wife. I stopped dreaming of children. Instead, I doted on our pedigree cat. I wanted no child with an alcoholic for a father, even if I still loved Brian. “You’re a fool, Lydia! Look at all the men watching you while you waste yourself on that little tyrant. What do you see in him? You’re always covered in bruises from his fists. Think no one notices those black eyes under all that concealer? Leave him before he actually kills you, silly girl,” scolded my colleague and friend. Indeed, Brian often unleashed his anger in violence. Once he beat me so badly I couldn’t manage my hospital shift. Worse: he locked me in the flat and took the keys. After that, I grew to fear him. My soul shriveled; my heart raced whenever Brian turned his key in the lock. I thought he blamed me: for childlessness, for being a poor wife, for everything. So I never resisted when he lashed out. Why did I still love him? I remembered his mother’s advice, witch-like as she was: “Listen to your husband, love him with all your heart, forget your family and so-called friends. They’ll never do you any good.” So I left behind my friends, my family, and surrendered to Brian’s will. But I liked Brian’s melodramatic apologies. On his knees, kissing my feet, covering our bed with stolen rose petals from the neighbour’s garden. I soared in those moments. Of course, I knew the roses were pilfered, sold for cheap by a drinking mate to win his own wife’s forgiveness. But I forgave, too. Perhaps I’d have spent my life as Brian’s doormat, always picking up the pieces, had fate not intervened… “Let go of Brian, I’ve had a son with him. You’re barren; it’s time you stepped aside for our child’s sake,” demanded an impertinent stranger at my door. “I don’t believe you! Leave now, before things get worse!” I shouted back. Brian denied everything, but I pressed on: “Swear he’s not your son!” I knew he couldn’t. Brian was silent. I understood everything then. “Lydia, I’ve never seen you smile. Is everything alright?” asked Mr. Harrison, our hospital’s consultant, who I’d assumed barely noticed me. “Everything’s fine,” I replied shyly. “It’s wonderful, when people’s lives are in order. That’s when life is beautiful,” he said mysteriously. Mr. Harrison had once divorced his cheating wife and now lived alone, with a grown daughter. He was unremarkable: glasses, balding, short. Still, his aftershave sent a shiver through me; I found him strangely irresistible. After his kind words, I realised my life was chaos. Time was marching on, and I was running out of it to sort myself out. I left Brian and returned to my parents. Mum was astonished: “Lydia, what happened? Did he kick you out?” “No, Mum, I’ll explain later.” I was too ashamed to describe my married life. Later Brian’s mother rang, cursing and blaming me. But I had already begun to breathe again, thank goodness to Mr. Harrison. Brian raged, stalked me, threatened me. But he didn’t know I was finally free. “Brian, stop wasting your time on me—your son needs you. I’ve turned the page. Goodbye,” I told him calmly. I returned to Natalie and my parents. I became myself again—not a puppet. “Goodness, Lydia, I barely recognise you! You’re glowing, happier,” my friend exclaimed. Then Mr. Harrison proposed: “Lydia, let’s get married. I give you my word—you won’t regret it. Just call me by my first name at home; save the formal titles for work.” “But do you love me, Harrison?” “Oh, forgive me—I forget women need to hear it. I believe I do. But actions matter more.” “I do, Harrison. I know I’ll love you for certain,” I replied, overjoyed. Ten years passed. Every day, Harrison showed me his gentle devotion. No empty promises or theatrical apologies like Brian. He cared for and cherished me, always surprising me with his generosity. We never had children together—perhaps I was truly “barren.” But Harrison never blamed me, not once. “Lydia, it seems it’s our destiny to just have each other. That’s more than enough for me,” he reassured me whenever I mourned lost motherhood. Harrison’s daughter gave us our darling granddaughter, Sarah, who became the centre of our world. As for Brian, he drank himself to death before fifty. His mother still scowls at me across the market, but her anger no longer reaches me. I almost pity her. And as for us—Harrison and me? Our life is in order now. Life is wonderful.
LIFE IN ORDER “Linda, I forbid you from speaking to your sister and her family! Theyve got their own lives,...