З життя
Я все пам’ятаю
Я нічого не забула
– Чого це ти зачастила до сестри до лікарні, щодня несешся туди з повними сумками, – невдоволено сказав Андрій своїй дружині Анастасії, коли вона вкотре повернулася з лікарні, і вони сіли вечеряти.
– А чим це тебе так дратує? – здивувалась Настя.
– Та не те щоб дратує. Я розумію, вона твоя рідна сестра. Але ж Катька не у важкому стані, і є кому її відвідувати, окрім тебе. Чоловік, донька, син із невісткою… Чому ж ти їздиш туди щодня? Чи там працює симпатичний лікар, і ти заради нього навідуєш сестру?
– Що за дурниці ти кажеш, Андрію! – обірвала його Анастасія. – Прийде ж таке в голову. І, до речі, лікуючий лікар Каті – жінка. Тож твоя версія не витримує критики…
– Так що, Насте, поясни. Яка необхідність щодня після роботи їздити до сестри? Ти встаєш тепер о шостій ранку, готуєш різні напої, бульйони… Потім після роботи мчиш додому, збираєш сумку і поспішаєш до лікарні? Це що? Якесь самокатування, чесне слово. Ти ж стомилася вже, не висипаєшся. Он, синці під очима…
– Добре, я розкажу, бо ж ти не відстанеш, – зітхнула Настя, прибираючи зі столу. – Зараз заварю чай, і поговоримо.
– Давай, – зрадів чоловік, – а то я дійсно нічого не розумію…
**
Сімнадцятирічна Настя Висоцька, закінчивши школу, приїхала до великого міста, мріючи вступити до університету або технікуму, якщо пощастить. Вона народилася і виросла в невеликому селі, і можливості продовжити освіту та отримати професію там не було. А Настя дуже хотіла отримати диплом і стати юристкою.
Іспити до університету дівчина провалила, проте їй вдалося вступити до юридичного технікуму, чому вона була невимовно рада. Не хотіла Настя повертатися в село, де не було жодних перспектив. Працювати продавчинею, як її мама, Насті не хотілося. Та й жити в селі не бажала.
Анастасія твердо вирішила зачепитися в місті. Вивчитися, знайти роботу та побудувати особисте життя. А в село вона приїжджатиме в гості, і батькам допомагатиме, коли стане на ноги. І в тому, що все саме так і буде, вона не сумнівалася, у неї були дуже далекоглядні плани.
У школі Настя зустрічалася з Вітьком Калинчуком, однокласником. Але Вітько, на відміну від Насті, не мріяв про міське життя і нікуди з рідного села їхати не збирався. Одразу після школи влаштувався на ферму, де працювали його батьки, потім збирався йти в армію і знову повернутися на ферму… Такий спосіб життя йому був до душі.
Настя ж була в жаху від таких перспектив, тому з Вітьком вона легко розсталася, розуміючи, що він зовсім не герой її роману. Майбутнього у них немає. Вітько, втім, також не засмутився особливо і вже через пів року, щойно йому виповнилося вісімнадцять, одружився з Оленою, яка давно по ньому сохла, і ось, нарешті, він теж звернув на неї увагу.
Ставши студенткою, Настя отримала місце в гуртожитку і почала звикати до нового життя. Дівчина намагалася вчитися відмінно, щоб отримувати підвищену стипендію. Батьки щомісяця переказували їй гроші, і Настя, загалом, не бідувала. Не шикарствувала, звісно, але голодувати і занадто стискатися не доводилося.
…Той осінній день Анастасія досі пам’ятає в найдрібніших деталях… Вона їхала в автобусі, повертаючись з наукової бібліотеки, де готувалася до семінару з цивільного права. У бібліотеці Настя затрималася до вечора і потрапила в годину пік, люди поверталися з роботи, громадський транспорт був переповнений.
Дівчині насилу вдалося втиснутись у переповнений автобус, але чекати наступний не хотілося. Та й не факт, що він приїде не таким переповненим… Так можна і годину простояти на зупинці, чого втомленій Анастасії зовсім не хотілося.
Вийшовши з автобуса, де вона почувалася оселедцем у бочці, Настя зітхнула з полегшенням і в цей момент з жахом виявила, що її сумка порізана… Дівчину охопив холодний піт, коли вона зрозуміла, що у неї вкрали гаманець…
Це було зовсім не рідкісне явище, злодії постійно користувалися тиснявою в громадському транспорті та невниманням пасажирів… А знайти того, хто це зробив, було практично неможливо.
Але найжахливіше було те, що Настя саме сьогодні отримала стипендію, а вчора – грошовий переказ від батьків, і всі ці гроші були в гаманці. Вона не встигла сховати їх під матрац у своєму ліжку, як зазвичай робила. І ось тепер гаманець украдений, а вона залишилась без копійки…
Ситуацію ускладнювало ще й те, що недавно Анастасія дзвонила батькам, і мама повідомила, що батькові затримують зарплату, тому попросила її бути економною, розтягувати гроші, бо невідомо, коли наступного разу вони зможуть їй надіслати.
Сказати, що Настя була в шоці, це нічого не сказати. Сльози градом лилися з її очей, вона звинувачувала себе за те, що вчасно не переклала гроші і за те, що в автобусі була недостатньо уважною. Адже чула ж про такі випадки. Її одногрупницю нещодавно так само обчистили в тролейбусі. І ось тепер Настя сама стала жертвою злодія…
Звертатися у міліцію не мало жодного сенсу. Що вона там розповість? Вона не запам’ятала обличчя жодного з тих людей, з ким їхала поруч в автобусі. І знайти злодія – це навіть не голку в стозі сіна шукати, тому що просто нереально знайти того, хто вкрав її гаманець.
Цей дешевий китайський гаманець, скоріш за все, вже валяється в якійсь сміттєвій урні чи в канаві, а гроші з нього злодій забрав собі… Усі її гроші… І на що вона тепер житиме? Що вона їстиме? З продуктів залишилися лише пачка маргарину, дві цибулини, трохи крупи і макаронів. На місяць цих запасів, звісно, не вистачить.
– Чого ревеш? – запитала Юля, сусідка по кімнаті, побачивши заплакану Настю.
Дівчина розповіла про те, що з нею трапилося.
– Так… – протягнула Юля. – Не пощастило тобі. Але ж винна ти сама. Хто ж усі гроші з собою тягає? І в автобусі треба було сумку до себе притиснути міцним захватом, чи взагалі гроші заховати в нижню білизну. Час зараз такий, потрібно постійно бути напоготові і дивитися в обидва… Лозина ти, Настю… Вчишся на відмінно, а в інших справах ведеш себе, як, пробач, непутяща курка…
Настя й сама все це чудово розуміла і від слів Юльки їй було зовсім не легше… Вона навіть не образилася на те, що сусідка її так назвала. Саме такою вона себе зараз і відчувала… Але час назад не відмотати і нічого вже не можна виправити. Гроші не повернути, а жити якось треба.
Від думки піти на телефонний пункт і подзвонити батькам Настя відмовилася. Їй було соромно зізнатися мамі й татові, що вона така безтурботна. У них і так зараз труднощі з грошима, батькові затримують зарплату, і вони живуть на те, що заробляє мама в магазині. А вона майже всю свою зарплату вибирає продуктами. Харчуватися ж потрібно, крім Насті є ще менша дочка Катя…
Мабуть, доведеться влаштуватися на роботу, подумала Настя. Це можна, але хто ж їй одразу заплатить? Спочатку доведеться відпрацювати місяць чи хоча б два тижні, щоб отримати аванс… Хоча аванс, здається, не дають тим, хто щойно влаштувався… Що ж робити? Якась безвихідна ситуація…
– Хочеш, я тебе з папиком познайомлю? – несподівано запропонувала Юля.
– З ким? – не відразу зрозуміла Настя.
– Ой, ти що відставала від життя? Із багатієм, який забезпечуватиме тебе в обмін на… ну, ти розумієш, напевно. Чи теж потрібно пояснювати?
– Не потрібно, розумію…
– Добре, що розумієш. Ну а що, зовнішність у тебе відмінна, тож охочих бути з тобою знайдеться чимало… І будеш ти в повному шоколаді.
Пропозиція Юлі Анастасії була зовсім не до душі. Від однієї думки стати коханкою якогось престарілого багатія, продавати себе за гроші, Насті ставало не по собі… Вона знала, що її сусідка кімнати на таке не гребує, і тому в неї немає матеріальних труднощів, але Насті така думка була глибоко огидною…
– Ну так що, познайомити? – знову запропонувала Юля.
– Ні, – похитала головою Настя і трохи подумавши, запитала. – Юль, а ти не можеш позичити мені трохи грошей? До стипендії. У мене зовсім нічого немає.
– Вибач, але позичити не можу. Все на одяг і косметику витратила, залишилося трохи на їжу. Але моя пропозиція про знайомство має силу, якщо що. Тож подумай. Хоча я на твоєму місці б і не роздумувала. Знаєш, коли їсти нічого, про свої моральні принципи якось найменше хочеться згадувати.
Настя нічого не відповіла Юлі, вона відвернулася до стіни і знову тихенько заплакала. А незабаром непомітно для самої себе заснула…
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The court decided that.” “That’s wonderful!” Ksenia gave a bright smile. “Children are such a blessing.” She pictured Saturday morning breakfasts for three, trips to the park, cozy evenings watching TV. The boy would need a woman’s care, a mother’s warmth. She would be his second mum—not to replace the real one, of course, but to be someone close, someone he could rely on… “You’re really sure you don’t mind?” Andrew looked at her with an odd smirk that Ksenia mistook for distrust. “Most women run for the hills when they hear I have a child.” “I’m not most women,” she replied proudly. …The first weekend with Maxim was a proper celebration. Ksenia made blueberry pancakes—his favourite, as Andrew had warned her. She patiently sat with a maths textbook, making problems easy to understand, washed his dinosaur T-shirt, ironed his school uniform, made sure he was in bed by nine. “You should take a break,” she told Andrew one day, noticing how he sprawled out on the sofa with the remote in his hand. “I’ve got this.” Andrew nodded—gratefully, so she thought at the time. Now she realised it was the nod of a man accepting what was rightfully his. …Months became years. Ksenia worked as a manager in a logistics company—out at eight in the morning, back at seven at night. The pay was pretty decent, as far as London went. Enough for two. But there were three of them. “They’ve delayed the project again,” Andrew would announce as if reporting a natural disaster. “The client bailed. But there’s a big contract just round the corner, I promise.” The big contract hovered on the horizon for a year and a half. Sometimes it seemed closer, sometimes it drifted away, but it never actually arrived. The bills, on the other hand, showed up right on cue. Rent. Electricity. Internet. Groceries. Child maintenance for Marina. New trainers for Max. School fees. Ksenia paid the lot without complaint. She saved on lunches, brought in tubs of pasta, refused to take a taxi even in the pouring rain. She hadn’t splashed out on a manicure for over a year—did her own nails, trying not to think about how she used to afford pampering at the salon. In three years Andrew gave her flowers exactly three times. She remembered each bunch—cheap, slightly withered supermarket roses from the corner stall, the thorns already broken off. Probably a discount… The first bouquet came as an apology after Andrew called her hysterical in front of Max. The second—after a row when her friend visited with no warning. The third was brought home after he missed her birthday because he stayed out with his mates (or simply forgot…) “Andrew, I don’t need expensive presents,” she tried to keep her voice gentle, choosing every word. “But sometimes, I’d just like to know you’re thinking of me. Even a card…” His face twisted instantly. “Money, it’s always about money with you, isn’t it? Presents, presents. Does love mean anything to you? All I’ve been through, and you complain?” “I didn’t mean—” “You don’t deserve it.” Andrew spat the words at her like mud. “After everything I’ve done for you, you still find something to whinge about.” Ksenia fell silent. She always did—it was just easier that way. Easier to live, easier to breathe, easier to pretend everything was fine. Strangely, Andrew always managed to find money for nights out with friends. Pubs, watching the football, café meetups every Thursday. He’d come home tipsy and cheerful, reeking of sweat and cigarettes, falling onto the bed without noticing Ksenia was still awake. She told herself: this is just how things are. Love means sacrifice. Love means patience. He’ll change. Of course he’ll change. I just have to wait a bit longer, love him a bit harder, give him all the support he needs—he’s been through so much… …Any talk of a wedding was like walking through a minefield. “We’re happy as we are—why do we need a piece of paper?” Andrew would shrug off the subject as if batting away a fly. “After what happened with Marina, I need time.” “Three years, Andrew. Three years is a long time.” “You’re putting pressure on me! It’s always the same with you.” He’d storm out of the room and end the conversation. Ksenia really wanted children. Her own, flesh and blood. She was twenty-eight, and her biological clock seemed to tick louder every month. But Andrew wasn’t up for being a father again—he already had a son, and, in his mind, that was plenty. …That Saturday she only asked for one day. Just one single day. “The girls have invited me round. We haven’t seen each other in ages. I’ll be back by evening.” Andrew looked at her as if she’d just announced plans to run off to another continent. “And Max?” “You’re his dad. You can spend the day with your son.” “So now you’re abandoning us? On a Saturday? When I was planning to have a break?” Ksenia blinked. Then blinked again. In three years she had never left them alone. Not once. She cooked, cleaned, helped with schoolwork, did the washing, ironing—all while holding down a full-time job. “I just want to see my friends. For a few hours… And he’s your son, Andrew. Surely you can spend one day with him without me?” “You should love my son as you love me!” Andrew suddenly roared. “You’re living in my flat, eating my food, and now you’re showing your true colours?!” His flat. His food. Ksenia was the one paying the rent. Ksenia bought the food from her wages. For three years she’d supported a man who shouted at her for wanting a day with her friends. She looked at Andrew—at his twisted face, the vein bulging on his forehead, clenched fists—and for the first time, truly saw him. Not the tragic victim of fate, not some lost soul in need of saving, but a grown man who was a master at exploiting someone else’s kindness. To him, Ksenia wasn’t a beloved partner or a future wife—just a financial backer and unpaid housekeeper. Nothing more. When Andrew left to drop Max off with Marina, Ksenia pulled out a travel bag. Her hands moved calmly, confidently—no shaking, no doubt. Passport. Phone. Charger. A couple of T-shirts. Jeans. The rest she could buy later. The rest didn’t matter. She didn’t bother leaving a note. What was the point of explaining things to someone who never really saw her anyway? The door closed quietly behind her. No drama. The phone calls started within the hour. First one, then another, then a deluge—an incessant ringing that made the phone vibrate in her hand. “Ksenia, where are you?! What’s going on?! I come home and you’re not here! How dare you? Where’s dinner? Am I supposed to go hungry? What’s all this nonsense?” She listened to his voice—angry, demanding, full of self-righteous outrage—and was amazed. Even now, when she’d left, Andrew only thought about himself. His inconvenience. Who would cook for him now? Not a single “sorry.” Not one “are you okay?” Just “how dare you.” Ksenia blocked his number. Then she found his profile in her chat app—blocked it. Social media—blocked. Every avenue he could use to reach her, she built a wall. Three years. Three years of living with a man who didn’t love her. Who used her kindness like it was disposable. Who convinced her that sacrificing herself was what love was all about. But love isn’t like that. Love doesn’t humiliate. Love doesn’t turn a living, breathing person into the hired help. Ksenia walked through the London evening—and, for the first time in ages, breathing came easy. She vowed to herself: never again would she confuse love with self-sacrifice. Never again would she rescue those who only trade on pity. Always, from now on, she would choose herself. Only herself.
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