З життя
Драма выбора: Я или Она?
В маленьком городке на берегу Оки, где воздух пропитан тишиной и запахом речных просторов, Ольга и Игорь прожили рядом шесть долгих лет. Игорь, однако, не спешил вести любимую под венец. Он жил с родителями в добротном доме на окраине, а Ольга снимала комнату в центре. Ему было спокойно: встречи по его воле, тёплые вечера в её обществе, а потом — возвращение в родные стены, где всё знакомо и привычно.
Ольга же мечтала о свадьбе и своём гнёздышке, где они с Игорем начали бы новую жизнь. Она знала, что покупка жилья — её забота, и упрямо откладывала каждую копейку на первый взнос. Но сердце ныло: почему Игорь, несмотря на все её намёки, молчит о будущем? Ей казалось, он любит её по-настоящему, но эта неясность с каждым днём сковывала душу всё крепче. Ольга решила: пора прояснить раз и навсегда.
— Я не готов жениться, мне ещё надо подумать, — пробурчал Игорь, отводя глаза, и поспешно засобирался домой.
Ольга почувствовала, будто провалилась в пустоту. Щёки горели от стыда, сердце рвалось на части. Как она могла не видеть очевидного? Он никогда не собирался связывать с ней судьбу. Но надежда, эта коварная обманщица, заставляла верить в лучшее до самого конца.
Неделю они не общались. Игорь исчез — не звонил, не отвечал. Ольга, пережив и гнев, и отчаяние, наконец взяла себя в руки. Она сосредоточилась на своей мечте — собственной квартире. Деньги на первый взнос уже были, и эта цель стала её спасением, отвлекающим от мыслей о предательстве.
Через три месяца Ольга стала хозяйкой уютной квартиры на окраине. Хлопоты с документами, выбор жилья и хождение по банкам вытеснили Игоря из сердца. Она впервые почувствовала себя свободной.
В первый же вечер на новом месте Ольга пошла в магазин. На узкой улочке к ней прибился тощий котёнок. Его большие голодные глаза смотрели прямо в душу. Ольга остановилась. Она никогда не думала о питомце, но этот малыш, дрожащий и жалкий, словно отражал её недавнее одиночество.
— Возьми его, детка, а то дворняги загрызут, — сказала проходящая мимо старушка. — У нас их тьма, этих бродячих псов.
Слова запали в сердце. Ольга без раздумий подобрала котёнка. Теперь она была хозяйкой своей судьбы и могла решать сама. Так в её жизни появилась Васька — маленький пушистый комочек, смотревший на неё с безграничной преданностью.
Прошло полгода. Жизнь Ольги наладилась, и вдруг, словно гром среди ясного неба, объявился Игорь. Он пришёл с цветами и словами о том, что готов начать всё сначала. Ольга, помня прошлые муки, всё же дала ему шанс. Он стал чаще говорить о совместной жизни, и в её сердце снова теплилась надежда.
И вот настал день, которого она ждала. Игорь, встав на колено, сделал предложение. Ольга была на седьмом небе от счастья, слёзы катились по щекам. Но его следующие слова разбили её мечты в пух и прах:
— Только Ваську надо убрать. У меня аллергия, да и вообще, я кошек терпеть не могу.
Ольга оцепенела. Мир рухнул. Она столько страдала, столько ждала, и вот, когда счастье казалось так близко, он ставит условие.
— Если не хочешь выкидывать, можно кому-нибудь отдать или… усыпить, — добавил Игорь, приняв её молчание за растерянность.
— Ты с ума сошёл? — голос Ольги дрожал. — Он живой! Он моя семья!
— Семья? — Игорь усмехнулся. — Это просто кот, Оля. Решай: или он, или я.
Слёзы хлынули у Ольги градом. Игорь вытирал их, но она смотрела только на Ваську. Тот сидел в углу, и его взгляд, полный доверия, словно говорил: «Ты всё знаешь». Ольга резко отстранилась.
— Я выбираю Ваську, — произнесла она твёрдо. — Он не предаёт, не ставит условий и любит меня просто так. Я была дура, что снова поверила тебе. Уходи. Всё кончено.
Дверь захлопнулась. Ольга опустилась на пол, а Васька тут же прыгнул к ней на колени, громко урча. В этот момент она поняла: выбор был единственно верный. Слёзы высохли, а сердце наполнилось покоем. Впереди её ждала новая жизнь. И Васька будет рядом, напоминая, что настоящая любовь не требует жертв.
You’re Robbing My Son Blind—He Can’t Even Afford a Light Bulb! On Sunday morning, I was curled up on the sofa with a blanket while my husband drove over to his mother’s to “change some light bulbs.” But of course, the real reason for summoning her darling boy was something else entirely: “Son, have you forgotten it’s Igor’s birthday today?” My husband’s the generous type—his salary barely lasts a week. Thankfully, he still gives me cash for the bills and groceries, but the rest? He blows it all on new video games and whatever gadgets go with them. I don’t mind; better my man enjoys his hobbies than squanders his time (and money) in pubs or nightclubs. Besides, I once read that the first forty years of childhood are the hardest for any man. I’m not telling you this for sympathy, just so you understand why my husband always has empty pockets. I have no such problem—even manage to save. I often lend him money in emergencies, but when it’s for his mum, niece, or sister, I always say no. Naturally, I remembered Igor’s birthday. Last week, I bought his present myself. Before my husband set off, I handed it over and settled down to watch a film. I didn’t go—the mutual animosity between me and my in-laws made sure of that. They think I don’t love him, accuse me of being mean because I refuse to fund their expenses or mind my sister-in-law’s kids. Once, I watched them for an hour, but they picked them up half a day late, making me miss work—when I dared complain, his mum and sister called me shameless and rude. After that, any requests to babysit were met with a firm “no.” Didn’t bother me if my husband watched the kids—he enjoys their company. Not long after my husband left, he returned—with the whole family in tow, nieces and all. His mum barged in, coat still on, and declared: “We’ve decided that, for Igor’s birthday, he’ll get the tablet he wanted—two grand it cost. You owe me a thousand pounds for your share. Pay up.” I might have bought the lad a tablet—but nothing that expensive. Obviously, I refused to hand over any cash. That’s when my husband started guilt-tripping me for being stingy. I turned on the laptop and called Igor over. In five minutes, we picked and ordered a gadget he really wanted—job done. Thrilled, Igor dashed off to his mum, who’d been sulking in the hallway. My sister-in-law always had sticky fingers—nothing in our house was safe. My mother-in-law, meanwhile, ignored my thoughtful gesture and exploded with indignation: “No one asked for your help. You were meant to give money! You’re with my son, and he’s always skint, can’t even buy a lightbulb. Hand me a thousand pounds now—you know full well that money belongs to my boy!” She reached for my handbag on the nightstand. I glared at my husband and hissed, “You’ve got three minutes to get them out of here.” In less than three minutes, he’d grabbed his mother and chucked her and the lot of them out the door. So, yes, I’d rather my husband waste his wages on games than have his mother snatch every penny. At least he spends it on things that make him happy, not on those freeloaders. Sometimes, I genuinely think I’d have been better off marrying an orphan!
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