З життя
Як 91-річний старець врятував цуценя і сам знайшов порятунок
Ярмо долі не завжди можна обійти: одинокий 91-річний дідусь врятував цуценя, сам того не знаючи, що незабаром той врятує його.
Після втрати дружини та сина 91-річний Микола перестав вірити у дива. Його життя в маленькому селі поблизу Житомира стало низкою сіротовки днів, де кожен крок нагадував про біль у старих кістках. Усе змінилося лише тоді, коли він знайшов покинуте цуценя у порваній коробці на узбіччі. А через два роки, коли цей пес зник, пошуки привели Миколу до дива, про яке він навіть не мріяв.
Осінній вітер гнав жовте листя пустинною стежкою до старої церкви. Микола повільно ішов, спираючись на потерту палицю, і кожен його крок був випробуванням. У свої 91 рік він рухався обережно, а кожен вдих нагадував, як довго він живе — і як самотньо. Після смерті дружини Ганни і сина Петра, загиблих у страшній аварії багато років тому, його світ зруйнувався, залишивши лише пустку.
Туман стелився над землею, окутуючи все навколо примарним серпанком, коли слабкий звук змусив його зупинитися. Жалібний писк, ледь чутний, долинав із мокрої картонної коробки, кинутої на узбіччі. Сустави, знесилені артритом, нищили, коли він, стогнучи, нахилився подивитися. Усередині тремтіло маленьке цуценя — чорно-білий клубок з великими очима, наповненими благанням. На кришці коробки висіла записка: «Подбайте про нього!»
Серце Миколи, окам’яніле від горя та самотності, здригнулося. Він прошепотів, дивлячись у ці очі:
— Видно, Бог усе-таки про мене не забув…
Тремтячими руками він підняв маленького, загорнув у старий піджак і рушив додому. Церква зачекає — цей крихітний ангел потребував його більше.
Цуценя він назвав Левком — так Ганна хотіла назвати їхню другу дитину, яку доля їм не подарувала. У добрих очах пса було щось від її м’якості, і ім’я лягло на душу, як рідне.
— Сподіваюсь, ти мене полюбиш, малий, — сказав Микола, а цуценя у відповідь виляло крихітним хвостиком.
З першого дня Левко вірвався в життя Миколи, наповнивши його радістю і дзвінким гавкотом. Він виріс у великого пса з білою зіркою на грудях. Вранці приносив Миколі капці, а вдень сидів поруч, поки той пив чай, ніби відчуваючи, що дідусю потрібна його теплота. Два роки вони були нерозлучні. Левко став для Миколи сенсом вставати зранку, виходити на вулицю, усміхатися світу. Їхні вечірні прогулянки селом стали звичною картиною: згорблений дідусь і його вірний пес, що спокійно йдуть в сутінках.
А потім настав той жахливий жовтневий четвер. Левко цілий день був на взводі — його вуха тремтіли, він то й діло вив, притискаючись до вікна. Того дня в селі було галасливо: неподалік, біля занедбаного саду, зібралася зграя бродячих собак. Пізніше Микола дізнався, що їх привабила течка однієї з собак. Левко метушився біля дверей, скиглив, наче щось його кликало.
— Заспокойся, друже, — лагідно сказав дідусь, взявши повідок. — Після обіду погуляємо.
Але тривога Левка тільки наростала. Коли Микола випустив його на огороджене подвір’я, як робив завжди, пес рвонувся у дальній куток, застиг, щось прислухаючись до далекого гавкоту. Старий пішов у дім готувати їжу, але через п’ятнадцять хвилин, покликавши Левка, не почув відповіді. Калитка була привідкритою, у поштовій скриньці лежали листи, а пса не було. Може, листоноша забув зачинити? Паніка стисла груди Миколи. Він хрипко кликав Левка, обходив подвір’я, але той зник.
Години перетворилися на дні. Микола майже не їв, не спав, сидів на ганку, стискаючи нашийник Левка. Ночі стали нестерпними — тиша, до якої він звикнув, тепер розривала душу, а тікання старого годинника било по нервах. Коли сусід Іван прибіг із новиною про збитого пса на шосе, ноги дідуся підкосилися. Серце розлетілося на осколки. Дізнавшись, що це не Левко, він зітхнув із полегшенням, але тут же відчув провину. Він поховав того пса, шепочучи молитву, — не міг залишити його без прощання.
Два тижні надія згасала. Біль у суглобах терзала сильніше — чи то від пошуків, чи то від повернення самотності. І раптом тишу розірвав дзвінок телефону.
— Микола Іванович, це дільничний Сергій, — голос здригається від хвилювання. — Я не на службі, гуляв у лісі за старим млином. Чую гавкіт із закинутого колодязя. Здається, це ваш пес. Приїжджайте!
Дідусь, дрижачи, схопив палицю, побіг до Івана, благаючи відвезти його. Біля колодязя їх чекав Сергій з мотузками та ліхтарями.
— Він там, — сказав він. — Бачив білу зірку на грудях, коли посвічив.
— Левко! — крикнув Микола, голос зривався. — Синку, ти чуєш мене? Озовися!
Із глибини почувся знайомий гавкіт. Через годину приїхали рятувальники. Один спустився вниз, і незабаром натовп ахнув від радості. Левка дістали — брудного, виснаженого, але живого. Як тільки його відпустили, він кинувся до Миколи, збиваючи його з ніг.
— Синку мій, — плакав той, вчепившись у шерсть. — Наслідив ти мене до смерті…
Люди навколо аплодували, хтось витер сльози. Старенька з сусіднього будинку прошепотіла:
— Два тижні він ходив, кликав пса, поки голос не сів. Ось вона, справжня любов…
Сергій допоміг дідусю піднятися.
— Поїхали додому, — сказав він.
Наступного вечора дім Миколи гудів від голосів. Він приготував свій знаменитий борщ, а Левко ходив між гостями, але завжди повертався до ніг господаря. Пізніше дідусь сів у крісло, пес заснув поруч. Вітер за вікном тихо шепотів.
— Ганна завжди казала, що родина знайде одне одного, які б шляхи не обрала доля, — пробурмотів Микола.
Левко вві сні виляяв хвостиком, погоджуючись. Тієї ночі вони спали спокійно, знаючи, що тепер разом назавжди.
For Two Years, Maria Was Just the Carer for Her Mother-in-Law Maria Managed to Marry a Very Distinguished Gentleman: All Her Friends Were Jealous. Her Husband Owned His Own Business, a Gated Luxury Home, Several Cars and a Cottage in the Countryside, All by Thirty-Two. Maria, Having Just Graduated and Worked as a Teacher for a Year, Married Him That Summer. After the Wedding, Her Husband Said There Was No Need for His Wife to Work for Peanuts. He Asked Her to Stay Home and Prepare for Children, and Maria Did Not Object. The First Year of Marriage Felt Like a Fairy Tale: Maria and Her Husband Travelled, Creating Memories and Buying Expensive Things. Yet Maria Had Nowhere to Wear Her New Clothes—Her Friends Were Busy Working and Spending Weekends With Their Families. Her Husband Often Partied Without Ever Inviting Maria. Maria Was Bored. Unable to Have Children, Her Feelings for Her Husband Faded. After Finishing Her Household Tasks, She Roamed Room to Room, Wondering About Her Future. A Year Passed. Her Husband Was Rarely Home, Often Returning in the Evenings, Exhausted and Irritable, Claiming His Business Was Struggling. First, He Told His Wife to Spend Less. Then He Demanded She Account for Every Purchase and Expense, Calculating and Insisting They Could Live Just as Well for Half the Amount. Maria Grew Worried. She Wanted to Work, But Couldn’t Find a Teaching Position. She Decided to Enrol on a Course, But Then Her Mother-in-Law Fell Ill, and Maria Had to Take Care of Her for Two Years. Her Husband Moved His Mother In. Maria Did Everything, Caring for the Sick. Her Husband Came Home Even Less. When Her Mother-in-Law Passed Away, Her Husband Grew Even More Distant—Barely Speaking to Maria, Withdrawn, Spending Most of His Time at Work and Seldom Returning Home. Maria Couldn’t Understand What Had Happened Until She Visited Her Mother-in-Law’s Old Flat, Where She Hadn’t Been for Ages. Behind Closed Doors, She Heard a Child Crying. Surprised, Maria Rang the Bell. A Young Woman Opened the Door—Maria Learned Her Husband Had Started a Second Family Before His Mother’s Illness, and Then Installed Them in His Mother’s Flat. For Maria, It Was a Shock. She Realised She Couldn’t Save Her Marriage. She Left for Another City, to Her Aunt, Practically With Nothing but a Small Bag—Not Wanting Anything Reminding Her of Her Marriage or How Badly Her Life Had Turned Out…
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“We’ll Be Staying With You For A While, We Can’t Afford To Rent A Flat!” – Said My Friend I’m a very active woman. Even though I’m 65, I still manage to visit fascinating places and meet interesting people. I recall my youth with both joy and nostalgia—back then, you could holiday wherever you liked! You could go to the seaside, or camping with friends, or set sail down any river, all for little money. Sadly, those days are gone. I always loved meeting new people, be it on the beach or at the theatre, and many friendships lasted years. One day, I met a woman named Sarah. We were holidaying at the same seaside guesthouse and parted as friends. Years passed and we’d occasionally exchange letters. Then, one day, I received an unsigned telegram: “The train arrives at three in the morning. Meet me!” I couldn’t imagine who would send it. My husband and I didn’t go anywhere, but at four in the morning, there was a knock at our door. Opening it, I was stunned—standing there was Sarah, two teenage girls, her mother, and a man, with a mountain of luggage. My husband and I were bewildered, but we let them in. Then Sarah asked me: “Why didn’t you come to meet us? I sent you a telegram! And you know, that cost me!” “Sorry, but we didn’t know who sent it.” “Well, you gave me your address. So, here I am.” “I thought we’d just write letters, that’s all!” Sarah explained that one of the girls had just finished school and wanted to attend university. The family had come to support her. “We’ll be living with you! We have no money for a flat or hotel!” I was shocked—we weren’t even family! Why should we let them stay with us? We had to feed them three times a day. They’d brought some food, but didn’t cook, just ate ours. I ended up looking after everyone. I couldn’t take it anymore, so after three days I asked Sarah and her family to leave. I didn’t care where to. There was an awful row. Sarah started smashing crockery and screamed hysterically. I was utterly appalled. As they packed up, they managed to steal my bathrobe, several towels, and—astonishingly—even a large saucepan. I still don’t know how they got it out, but that pan simply vanished! And so ended our friendship—thank goodness! I never saw or heard from her again. How can people be so shameless? Now, I’m much more wary when meeting new acquaintances.
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You Don’t Deserve It — “After my divorce, I thought I’d never be able to trust anyone again,” Andrew said, turning an empty espresso cup between his fingers. His voice broke and trembled so convincingly that Ksenia instinctively leaned closer. “You know, when you’ve been betrayed, it’s like losing a part of yourself. She left a scar I’ll never get over. I truly believed I wouldn’t survive it…” Andrew sighed heavily and talked for a long time—about the wife who never appreciated him, about the pain that wouldn’t let go, about how terrified he was to start over. Every word settled in Ksenia’s heart like a warm pebble, and she already imagined she’d be the woman to restore his faith in love. Together, they would heal his wounds. He’d finally see that real happiness was possible—with her. It wasn’t until their second date, between dessert and coffee, that Andrew mentioned Maxim… “I have a son, by the way. He’s seven. He lives with his mother, but spends every weekend with me. 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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