З життя
Моя найбільша таємниця відкрилась у день пологів у 55 років
Мене звуть Людмила. Мені п’ятдесят п’ять років, я з Івано-Франківська. І так, я щойно стала мамою. Ця фраза все ще звучить у мене в голові, ніби хтось безперервно повторює її, перевіряючи, чи це дійсно можливо. До недавнього часу я сама в це не вірила. Моє життя йшло своїм шляхом: робота, друзі, затишна квартира, спогади про чоловіка… і тиша, яка роками позбавляла мене надії.
Але тепер я тримаю на грудях свою новонароджену донечку — маленький згорток тепла, життя і долі. Вона спить, її дихання рівне, а крихітні пальчики стискаються на моїй піжамі. Я немов заново вчуся дихати разом із нею. Це правда. Я стала мамою. І я стала мамою самостійно. Так думали всі навколо. Але в день пологів усе змінилося — моя найголовніша таємниця вийшла на поверхню.
Кілька місяців тому я запросила додому найближчих друзів. Влаштувала вечерю — без приводу, просто, щоб посидіти, поговорити, відчути життя поряд. У моїй компанії були ті, хто знав мене понад двадцять років: моя подруга Олена, наш спільний друг Аркадій, сусідка по будинку. Всі вони звикли бачити у мені сильну, незалежну, трохи відсторонену жінку з втомленою, але гордою усмішкою.
— І що ти приховуєш? — жартома запитала Олена, наливаючи вино.
— У тебе блищать очі, — додав Аркадій. — Зізнавайся.
Я мовчки глянула на них, потім повільно видихнула і спокійно сказала:
— Я вагітна.
Наступила тиша. Густа, в’язка. Потім — здивування, шепотіння, здивовані зітхання.
— Ти… серйозно?
— Людо, це жарти?
— Від кого? Як?
Я усміхнулася і просто сказала:
— Це не важливо. Просто знайте — я вагітна. І це найщасливіше, що сталося зі мною коли-небудь.
Вони більше не ставили запитань. Але одна людина знала правду. Тільки одна. Олексій. Найкращий друг мого покійного чоловіка, з яким я прожила майже тридцять років. Олексій був поруч із нами завжди — на дачі, на ювілеях, у лікарнях, коли мій чоловік боровся з хворобою. Він тримав мене за руку в день похорону. Він не пішов, коли пішов мій чоловік.
Між нами ніколи не було нічого, крім тихої, глибокої прив’язаності. Ми не зізнавалися один одному ні в чому, не торкалися забороненого. А потім був той вечір. Один, єдиний. Ми обоє були втомлені, виснажені. Я заплакала на його плечі. Він просто обійняв. Я сказала:
— Я більше не витримую одна.
Він прошепотів:
— Ти не одна.
І все сталося само собою. Без слів, без обіцянок. Вранці ми роз’їхалися. І більше не говорили про це.
Через три місяці я зрозуміла, що чекаю дитину. Я могла б розповісти Олексію. Але не сказала. Бо знала: він не покине мене. Він буде поруч — заради дитини. А я не хотіла бути його обов’язком. Я хотіла бути вибором. Якщо він захоче — він сам все зрозуміє.
І ось — день пологів. Я тримаю малечу, оформляю документи на виписку. Двері палати відчиняються. І в отворі стоїть Олексій. Він тремтить. У руках букет. Він довго дивиться, потім підходить і заглядає в обличчя моєї донечки. І завмирає. Бо бачить своє відображення. Така ж лінія губ. Такі ж очі.
— Людо… Це… моя донька?
Я кивнула. Він сів поруч, взяв мене за руку і сказав:
— Ти не мала права вирішувати за мене. Я теж її батько.
— Ти хочеш бути поруч? — прошепотіла я, боячись почути відповідь.
Він нахилився, провів пальцем по щоці малечі і усміхнувся:
— Це навіть не питання.
Я прожила все життя для себе. Я боялася залежати від когось. Я не вірила в долю. Але в цей момент, коли поруч був він — Олексій, і спала наша донька — я зрозуміла: все стало на свої місця. Пізно, але — вчасно. Життя саме розставило акценти. Все відбувається тоді, коли ми припиняємо чекати. Коли ми просто живемо. І саме тоді стається справжнє диво.
Я більше не боюся. Бо тепер у мене є донька. І є він. Не як друг покійного чоловіка. А як чоловік, який вибрав бути батьком. Без умов. Без вимог. Просто — бути. І, мабуть, це найцінніше, що я отримала у свої п’ятдесят п’ять.
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The Carer for the Wife — What do you mean? — Lida thought she must have misheard. — Where am I supposed to go? Why? What for? — Oh, can we just skip the dramatics, please? — he grimaced. — What’s not clear here? There’s no one left for you to take care of. Where you go is none of my concern. — Ed, what’s wrong with you? Weren’t we planning to get married…? — That was your idea. I never said any such thing. At 32, Lida decided to turn her life around and leave her small hometown. What was left for her there? Endure her mother’s nagging? Her mother simply couldn’t stop scolding Lida about the divorce, constantly asking how she managed to “lose” her husband. Yet Vas’ka wasn’t worth a kind word—drunk and a womaniser! How did she end up marrying him all those eight years ago? Lida wasn’t at all upset about the divorce—in fact, she felt she could finally breathe again. But she argued constantly with her mum about it, and they also fought about money, which was always in short supply. So, she’d head off to the county town and land a great job there! Look at Svetka—her old school friend—she’d been married for five years to a widower. Who cares if he’s 16 years older and hardly a heartthrob, at least he has a flat and a decent income. And Lida reckoned she was just as good as Svetka! — Well, thank heavens! You’ve come to your senses! — Svetka encouraged her. — Pack your things, you can stay with us for a bit, and we’ll sort out the job situation. — Won’t your Vadim Petrovich mind? — Lida was unsure. — Don’t be silly! He does whatever I ask! Don’t worry, we’ll get by! Still, Lida didn’t want to stay long at her friend’s place. After just a couple of weeks and her first wages, she rented her own room. And just a couple of months later, she had a stroke of luck. — Why is a woman like you working in the market? — said one of her regulars, Edward Boris, with concern. Lida knew all her regulars by name by now. — It’s cold, it’s hard work—not ideal. — Gotta earn money somehow, — she shrugged, — unless you have another offer? Edward Boris wasn’t exactly a dreamboat in her eyes—twenty years older, a bit pudgy, starting to bald, and with a shrewd look in his eye. He was always particular about choosing his vegetables and paid to the penny. But he dressed well and drove a nice car—definitely not a down-and-out, not a drunk. He also had a wedding ring, so she never considered him as husband material. — You strike me as responsible, steady, and clean, — Edward Boris switched to a familiar tone, — have you ever cared for anyone who was ill? — I used to look after a neighbour, actually. She had a stroke, her children live far away, so they paid me to help. — That’s great! — he exclaimed, and then put on a somber face: — My wife, Tamara, has had a stroke too. The doctors say she has little chance of recovery. I’ve brought her home, but I haven’t got time to look after her. Will you help? I’ll pay you properly. Lida didn’t have to think long—much better to be in a warm flat changing bedpans than freezing on the market for ten hours a day serving picky customers! He even suggested she live there, so no more rent. — They’ve got three spare rooms! You could play football in there! — she delightedly told her friend. — No children either. Tamara’s mother was a real madam—even at 68, she acted half her age. She’d just remarried and was busy with her husband. No one else to care for the invalid. — Is she really that sick? — Oh yes, poor thing can’t move or speak. She won’t get better. — You almost sound happy about it, — Svetka eyed her. — Of course not, — Lida looked down, — but once Tamara’s gone, Edward Boris would be free… — Are you for real, Lida? Wishing someone dead for a flat?! — I’m not wishing anyone dead—I’m just not going to miss my chance! Easy for you to say, you’ve got it made! They had a huge fight and didn’t speak for half a year—until Lida confessed to Svetka her romance with Edward Boris. They couldn’t live without each other, but of course, he’d never leave his wife—not that type! So for now, she’d remain his lover. — So you’re shacking up with him while his wife is dying in the next room? — her friend was appalled. — Do you even see how vile that is? Or are you that blinded by his money—if he’s even got it? — Trust you to never say a kind word, — Lida retorted. They stopped talking again, but she barely felt guilty—well, perhaps just a bit. She cared for Tamara with real diligence, and since her affair with Edward Boris began, she took on all the housework too. After all, a man needs more than just a woman in his bed—he wants a good meal, crisp shirts, a clean flat. Lida thought her lover was very content, and she was enjoying her life too. She barely noticed Edward had stopped paying her for caring for his wife. Not that it mattered now—they were almost like husband and wife! He gave her money for shopping, and she managed the budget, not realising it was tight. And his job paid well enough—but never mind, once they got married it would all become clear. With time, the spark between them dulled, and Edward lingered less at home, but Lida put it down to the strain of having a sick wife. She pitied him, even though he barely spent a minute a day checking on Tamara. Even so, Lida wept when Tamara finally passed away. She’d given a year and a half of her life to that woman—you can’t get that time back. She organised the funeral too—Edward was “too grief-stricken.” He gave her the bare minimum for expenses, but she did everything properly. No one could accuse her of a thing. Even the neighbours, gossiping about her and Edward—nothing escapes them!—nodded approvingly at the funeral. His mother-in-law too seemed satisfied. So Lida never expected what Edward said next. — You understand there’s no need for your services anymore, so I’m giving you a week to move out, — he said on the tenth day after the funeral. — What do you mean? — Lida’s voice faltered. — Where should I go? Why? — Please, do we have to have this scene? — he sighed. — There’s no one left for you to care for, and where you go is none of my business. — Ed, what’s wrong with you? We were supposed to get married… — That’s your fantasy. I never said anything of the sort. Next morning, after a sleepless night, Lida tried to talk again, but he just repeated the same words and urged her to move quickly. — My fiancée wants to renovate before the wedding, — was all he said. — Fiancée? Who’s that? — None of your business. — Oh, none of my business?! Well, I’ll move out, but you’ll pay me for my work first. You were meant to pay forty grand a month. I only got paid twice. So you owe me £8,000. — You can do the sums, can’t you! — he snorted. — Don’t get carried away… — And you owe for cleaning too! I won’t nit-pick, just pay me ten grand and we’ll call it even. — Or what? You’ll go to court? There’s no contract. — I’ll tell Tamila—remember, your mother-in-law owns this flat. Edward’s face changed, but he recovered quickly. — Who’d believe you? — he huffed. — You know what? I don’t want to see you. Get out now. — You’ve got three days, darling. No ten grand, and there’ll be a scandal, — Lida replied, heading for a cheap hostel. She’d managed to save some of the housekeeping money. On the fourth day, having had no answer, Lida went back to the flat. Tamila, the mother-in-law, was there. Lida could see from Edward’s face she’d never get paid. So she told Tamila everything. — She’s making it all up! Don’t listen! — the widower protested. — Well, well, I’d heard rumours at the funeral, but I didn’t believe them — Tamila’s stare was fierce. — Now it all makes sense. And you, my dear son-in-law, don’t forget who owns this flat? Edward froze. — So, I want you out of here within the week. No—within three days. Tamila turned to leave, then paused at Lida. — And you, standing there like you expect a prize? Get out! Lida bolted from the flat, realising there’d be no money for her—not now. Back to the market again; there’d always be work there… **The Carer’s Devotion: Betrayal Behind Closed Doors in Suburban England**
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