З життя
Доброго ранку, сонечко! Найдобріше пробудження.
— Доброго ранку, сонечко! Найкраще ранку тобі. — мама сіла біля мене на край ліжка і ніжно погладила по голові. — Який же ти вже дорослий. Майже дорослий чоловік. З днем народження, Павлусю. Мама поцілувала мене в щоку і поклала на груди коробку. — Дякую. — я поцілував її у відповідь, і вона вийшла з кімнати. Сьогодні 17 червня, і мені виповнилося 17 років. Розгорнувши упаковку, я аж підскочив на ліжку. Новий, сучасний телефон. Про такий я міг лише мріяти! Два тижні тому на пробіжці в парку я загубив свій старий. А бути без зв’язку цілих два тижні в нашому цьому баштовому світі — просто жах. Тепер потрібно відновити всі номери і зателефонувати друзям. — Павле, бабуся дзвонила — почувся голос мами з кухні — вона не змогла дозвонитися на твій старий номер. Перетелефонуй їй. — Добре, мамо, зараз. Розібравшись з телефоном, я почав набирати номер бабусі +380 ** *** 7158 чи 5871? Вирішив, що таки 7158. Трубка. Виклик пішов… Любов Іванівна доживала свій вік в старенькій хатинці на околиці села. — Скоро вже 80 років виповниться. Для чого живу? Нікому не потрібна. Василя, чоловіка, вже 10 років як Бог забрав. А рік тому дочка, зять і п’ятнадцятирічний онук Павлусь загинули в автомобільній аварії. — баба Люба, як завжди, розмовляла сама з собою. — Для чого живу? Кому потрібна? Ні сім’ї, ні рідні. Сусіди радять перебратися в місто, від дочки залишилась квартира там. Велика, трикімнатна… Але що я там сама буду робити? Тільки з балкону на людей подивлюсь… А тут свіже повітря. Курочки. Сусіди ж, як майже рідні, все життя поруч живемо. Ні. Помирати треба на рідній лаві. Я вже стара для зміни місця проживання. На столі задзвонив телефон. Подарунок від дочки. Любов Іванівна за звичкою заряджала телефон, хоча нікому було дзвонити. Вже рік як він мовчав, а тут раптом задзвонив. Номер незнайомий. — Алло… — Бабуню, привіт! — почулося в трубці. — Прости, що не дзвонив давно. Це тепер мій новий номер. Старий я десь загубив. Мама сказала, щоб я тобі зателефонував, а то ти хвилюєшся. Любов Іванівна притисла руку до лівих грудей і сіла на диван. Щось там, у грудях, защемило. — Павлусю, онучок, це ти? — прошептала, блідніючи, баба Люба. — Звісно я! Хто ж іще? — продовжувала трубка — Ба, прости, що ніяк не вийде до тебе доїхати. Постійно намагаюсь, намагаюсь. І постійно щось заважає. — Павлусю, онучок, як ти там? — вже ридала в телефон Любов Іванівна. — Я вже до вас збиралась. Та кіт Барсик тримає. Старий вже. Кому тут без мене потрібен буде? — Ба, не плач. У мене тут іспити. Як здам і визначуся, куди мене, так одразу до тебе на цілий місяць. Так скучив за твоїми пиріжками. Ти там тримайся. — Павлусю, квіточка моя. Дякую, що зміг зателефонувати. Якщо зможеш, дзвони ще. — продовжувала ридати бабуся. — Ба, ну що ти? Хочеш, кожного дня дзвонитиму? У мене тепер такий гарний тариф. Дзвоню тобі безкоштовно. — Як там батьки? — Як у раю! Мені здається, вони переживають другий медовий місяць. Все, бабуню, мені пора. Завтра зателефоную. Обіймаю. Пока — поки! В трубці почувся тишина. Любов Іванівна піднялась. Підійшла до ікони і перехрестилась тремтячою рукою. А потім зібралась в магазин. Мукі треба купити. І дріжджів. А як справді відпустять… Залишилось два тижні. В очах бабы Любы запалали іскри життя. Павло нажав відбій. Якась дивна бабуся сьогодні. З Днем народження не привітала. Плакала. Здає, певно, старенька. Треба справді кожен день їй дзвонити. Старенька вона вже. Скоро 60 років. Дві тижні пролетіли, як один день. Павло складав іспити. Щовечора дзвонив бабусі та довго розмовляв з нею. Розповідав про іспити. Про випускний. Бабуся, яка раніше любила повчати онука, тепер все більше мовчала і тільки зітхала. — Мамо, я прийшов! — Павло пройшов у ванну помити руки. З кухні почувся невдоволений голос мами. — Павле, ми все розуміємо, що ти зайнятий. Що у тебе іспити і вступ. Але ти можеш знайти хвилину і зателефонувати бабусі? Вона у нас одна залишилась. Вона дзвонить мені і скаржиться, що ти її забув. — Дивно! — Павло зайшов на кухню. — Мамо, я їй щодня дзвоню. Давай зараз при тобі зателефоную і на гучному зв’язку поговоримо втрьох. Павло набрав бабусин номер, збережений у телефоні. — Алло! Ольга Вікторівна! Поясніть мені і моїй матері, дружині Вашого сина, чому Ви кажете, що я Вам не дзвоню? — Павлусю, прости мене стару. Я на третій день зрозуміла, що ти помилився номером. Ну не могла я тобі зізнатися. І відмовитися хоча б від ілюзії щастя. Від ілюзії, що моя сім’я жива… Через тиждень баба Люба пекла пироги. А Павло з батьками їхав у село знайомитися з новою БАБУНЕЮ.
“My Grandchildren Only See Fresh Fruit Once a Month, But She Buys Expensive Food for Her Cats!”: My Daughter-in-Law Accuses Me of Being Cold-Hearted for Putting My Pets First, but I Won’t Let Her Guilt Me into Supporting Their Growing Family
My grandchildren only see fresh fruit once a month, yet she spends a fortune on fancy cat food, my daughter-in-law...
Oxana, Are You Busy? – A Festive New Year’s Eve Tale of Family, Holiday Hustle, a Mishap in the Snow, and an Unexpected Encounter with a Doctor That Changed Everything
Annie, are you busy? her mum calls, poking her head through the door to her daughters room. Just a second,...
Vitaly Settles in with Coffee and His Laptop to Finish Work—Until an Unexpected Call from the Maternity Ward Changes Everything: A Stranger’s Baby, a Past Affair in Brighton, and the Decision That Will Change His Life Forever
Edward settled himself at his mahogany desk, laptop open and a steaming mug of tea beside him. He had a...
Igor Never Came Back from Holiday: “Why hasn’t your husband written or called?” “No word, Vera—not after nine days, not after forty,” Lyuda would joke, adjusting her work apron over her broad waist. “So he’s gone off the rails, or worse, then,” her neighbour nodded sympathetically. “Well, wait and see. Have the police said anything?” “Everyone’s silent, Vera—quiet as fish in that sea of his.” “Life, eh… fate.” That conversation weighed heavy on Lyudmila as she swept the autumn leaves from her doorstep in the dreary fall of 1988. Three years into her well-earned retirement, she’d had to take up work as a council cleaner to make ends meet. Life had always been simple—she and her husband, both dutiful workers, had raised a son, no scandal, no sorrow. Then Igor went on a seaside holiday and never returned. She’d phoned every hospital, every police station, even the morgue. Her son, stationed with the military, helped with inquiries—it was discovered Igor checked out of his hotel but never boarded the train home. Lyudmila wanted to go search for her husband, but her son insisted he’d handle it. Weeks passed, and she kept herself busy to stifle her fears. Then, as suddenly as he’d vanished, Igor reappeared—no suitcase, just the same navy suit and a weary silence. As she fussed to feed him and her son, the truth unravelled: Igor had been living with another woman by the sea, seeking “freedom.” The shock, the ache of betrayal—Lyudmila couldn’t bear it. Igor, shamed and lost, tried to return weeks later, but Lyudmila stood firm. It wasn’t just heartbreak—it was the pain of not knowing, of years shared and suddenly made strange. She swept her pathway, watching leaves collect and blow away, knowing sometimes those who hurt us most have already gone with the wind. (Original Title Adapted for English Culture: Igor Never Came Back from Holiday: The Disappearance, the Heartbreak, and the Road Swept Clean)
Yours hasnt written or rung you yet? No, Vera, not a word after nine days, not after forty either, Lydia...
You Drive Me Up the Wall!… I Can’t Eat Right, Can’t Dress Right, Can’t Do Anything Right! — Pavel’s voice broke into a shout. — You can’t do anything!… Can’t even earn proper money!… We never get any help from you around the house!… — Marina burst into tears, — …And there are no children…, — she whispered. Belka — a white-and-ginger cat of about ten, perched atop the wardrobe, silently witnessed yet another “family tragedy”. She knew, she could sense, that Mum and Dad truly loved each other… But she didn’t understand why they said such cruel words that hurt everyone. Mum, sobbing, locked herself in the bedroom as Dad lit one cigarette after another. Belka, seeing her family falling apart, thought, “There must be happiness in this house… and happiness means children… we need to find some children…” Belka couldn’t have kittens herself — she’d been spayed years ago, and as for Mum… the doctors said she could, but something just wouldn’t work out… The next morning, after her humans left for work, Belka, for the very first time, slipped out the window to visit her neighbour Pawsy — for advice. — Why would you want kids? — scoffed Pawsy. — Ours come with children, and I have to hide from them… they smear lipstick on your face or squeeze you until you can’t breathe! Belka sighed: — We just need normal children… If only we could find some… — Hmmm… That street cat Molly’s had a litter… five of them… — mused Pawsy. — Take your pick… Taking her chances, Belka leapt balcony to balcony to the street. Shivering nervously, she squeezed through the railings of a basement window and called out: — Molly, could you come out for a minute, please… From deep within came desperate squeaks. Carefully crawling through, eyes darting in fear, Belka began to cry. Under the radiator, on the hard gravel, lay five tiny, sightless kittens, nudging the air and wailing for their mum. One sniff told her: Molly hadn’t been back for at least three days. The babies were starving. Fighting tears, Belka gently carried each kitten to the entrance. Trying to calm her hungry, squeaking brood, Belka lay down beside them, anxiously watching the end of the yard, waiting for Mum and Dad. Pavel, silent as he met Marina after work, brought them home. As they reached the doorway, they froze — there was their Belka, (who had never set paw on the street alone), and five multicoloured kittens clambering to nurse from her. — What on earth? — Pavel was stunned. — A miracle…, — echoed Marina, and together they scooped up the cat and kittens and rushed inside… Watching Belka purr happily in a box with her new babies, Pavel asked: — But what do we do with them? — I’ll feed them with a dropper… once they’re bigger, we’ll find them homes… I’ll call my friends…, — Marina whispered. Three months later, still stunned by the turn of events, Marina sat stroking her “cat pack” and murmured, over and over: — Things like this just don’t happen… this just doesn’t happen… Then, she and Pavel broke down in happy tears; he swept her into his arms, and they both laughed and chattered at once: — I’m glad I finished building the house! — Perfect for a child to get some fresh air! — And let the kittens run in the garden! — There’ll be room for everyone! — I love you! — And I love you even more! Wise Belka brushed away a tear — life, it seemed, was finally coming together…
How you get on my nerves! Nothing I do is right not even how I eat, not even what I...
I Called Out the Window: “Mum, Why Are You Up So Early? You’ll Catch Your Death!” — She Turned and Waved Her Shovel Cheerfully: “I’m Doing This for You Lazybones!” — And the Next Day, My Mum Was Gone… I Still Can’t Walk Past Our Garden Gate Without Tears Every Time I See That Pathway, My Heart Clenches Like Someone’s Gripped It in Their Fist. I Took That Photo on the Second of January… I Only Stopped When I Noticed Her Footprints in the Snow—Now That Photo Is All I Have Left of Those Days… We’d Spent New Year Together, Just as Always: Mum in Her Favourite Apron I Gave Her at School, the Smell of Fried Burgers, Family Jokes, Dad Arriving with an Enormous Tree, All of Us Decorating, Singing Old Christmas Songs, Laughing Until We Cried… On 2nd January, I Looked Out to See Mum Clearing a Perfect Pathway from the Gate to Our Door, Her Scarf Tied Up, Red-cheeked, Shovelling Snow So We Wouldn’t Have to Struggle Through the Drifts. “It’s for You, My Lazy Lot—Go Put the Kettle On,” She Called, Smiling. That Was the Last Time I Heard Her Voice So Cheerful. The Next Day She Was Gone, So Suddenly It Didn’t Seem Real. Only Her Little Footprints Remain—Marks in the Snow, and In My Heart.
I remember shouting out the window, Mum, what are you doing out there so early? Youll freeze! She turned around,...
THE MOTHER-IN-LAW Anna Petrovna sat in the kitchen, watching the milk quietly simmer on the stove. Three times she’d forgotten to stir it, and each time she remembered too late: the froth would rise and spill over, and she’d wipe the stovetop in irritation. In those moments, she realized: it wasn’t about the milk. Ever since her second grandchild was born, it was as if everything in the family had gone off the rails. Her daughter grew weary, lost weight, and spoke less. Her son-in-law came home late, ate in silence, and sometimes retreated straight to the bedroom. Anna Petrovna noticed all this and thought: how could anyone leave a woman alone like this? She spoke up—first gently, then with more edge. At first to her daughter, then to her son-in-law. But she began to notice a strange thing: after her words, things in the house didn’t get lighter—they got heavier. Her daughter defended her husband, her son-in-law grew more withdrawn, and she herself went home with the feeling she’d once again done the wrong thing. That day, she went to the vicar not for advice, but because she simply had nowhere else to go with these feelings. ‘I suppose I’m just a bad person,’ she said, not looking at him. ‘I do everything wrong.’ The vicar was sitting at his desk, writing. He put down his pen. ‘Why do you think that?’ Anna Petrovna shrugged. ‘I wanted to help. But it seems all I do is make everyone angry.’ He looked at her kindly, without judgment. ‘You’re not a bad person. You’re tired. And very anxious.’ She sighed. That felt like the truth. ‘I’m scared for my daughter,’ she said. ‘She’s so different after giving birth. And him…’ she waved a hand. ‘It’s like he doesn’t even notice.’ ‘And do you notice what he does?’ asked the vicar. Anna Petrovna thought. She remembered last week, when he quietly washed the dishes late at night, thinking no one noticed. Or on Sunday, when he took the pram out for a walk, even though it was clear he just wanted to lie down and sleep. ‘He does things… I think,’ she said uncertainly. ‘But not the way he should.’ ‘And what is “the way he should”?’ asked the vicar calmly. Anna Petrovna wanted to answer right away, but suddenly realized she didn’t know. In her head: more, more often, more attentively. But specifically what, she couldn’t say. ‘I just want it to be easier for her,’ she said. ‘Then say that,’ the vicar responded gently. ‘But say it to yourself, not to him.’ She looked up at him. ‘What do you mean?’ ‘I mean that right now, you aren’t fighting for your daughter—you’re fighting with her husband. And fighting means tension. Everyone gets tired of that. You. Them.’ Anna Petrovna was silent for a long time. Then she asked: ‘So what should I do? Pretend everything’s fine?’ ‘No,’ he said. ‘Just do what helps. Not words, but actions. And not against anyone, but for someone.’ On the way home, she thought about this. Remembered how, when her daughter was little, she didn’t lecture her but just sat beside her when she cried. Why was it different now? The next day she showed up without warning. Brought soup. Her daughter was surprised, her son-in-law awkward. ‘I won’t stay long,’ Anna Petrovna said. ‘Just came to help.’ She watched the children while her daughter slept. Left quietly, without saying a word about how hard things must be or how they ought to live. A week later, she came again. And a week after that. She still saw her son-in-law wasn’t perfect. But she began to notice other things too: how carefully he lifted the youngest, how he tucked a blanket around her daughter at night, thinking no one saw. One day, she couldn’t help herself and asked him in the kitchen: ‘Is it hard for you right now?’ He looked surprised, as if no one had ever asked him that. ‘It’s hard,’ he said after a pause. ‘Really hard.’ And that was it. But after that, something sharp disappeared from the air between them. Anna Petrovna realized: she’d been waiting for him to change. But what needed to change was herself. She stopped discussing him with her daughter. When her daughter complained, she didn’t say, ‘I told you so.’ Just listened. Sometimes she took the children so her daughter could rest. Sometimes she called her son-in-law to ask how he was. It wasn’t easy. It was much easier to get angry. But slowly, the house grew quieter. Not better, not perfect—just quieter. Without the constant strain. One day her daughter said: ‘Mum, thank you for being with us now, not against us.’ Anna Petrovna thought about those words for a long time. She realized something simple: peace isn’t when someone admits they’re wrong. It’s when someone is the first to stop fighting. She still wished her son-in-law was more attentive. That wish didn’t go away. But living alongside it was something more important: wanting peace in the family. And every time the old feelings came up—indignation, bitterness, the urge to say something sharp—she asked herself: Do I want to be right, or do I want life to be easier for them? The answer almost always told her what to do next.
MOTHER-IN-LAW Margaret Brown sat in her kitchen, watching as the milk quietly simmered on the hob. She’d forgotten to stir...
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Everyone always said Emma was a simpleton. Shed been married to Tom for fifteen years and they had two kidsEmily...