З життя
«Когда болезнь изменила мужа: он сошёл с ума, а я сбежала»
Мой муж после болезни стал совсем другим. Он словно слетел с катушек, а я… я просто сбежала.
Год назад я бы рассмеялась, если бы кто-то сказал, что уйду от Игоря. Двенадцать лет вместе, обожание, любовь… Все подруги твердили: «Тебе так повезло с мужем!» И правда, он был идеалом: заботливый, надёжный, прекрасный отец. А сейчас я живу у сестры в Мытищах, с двумя детьми и мыслью, что иначе нам было не выжить.
Всё начиналось обычно: скромная однушка, потом ипотека на трёшку в новостройке. Ремонт, мебель, уют. Два сына — Сашка девяти лет и маленький Ваня. Я преподавала в музыкалке, не ради денег, а по любви. Игорь хорошо зарабатывал, был опорой. Путешествовали, праздники устраивали — жизнь казалась идеальной.
Но в один момент всё рухнуло.
Позвонили с работы: Игорь упал в обморок. Скорая, больница, обследования… Оказалось — запущенная доброкачественная опухоль мозга. Операция была сложной, рискованной.
Он выжил. Врачи говорили — чудо. Но моего Игоря словно подменили. Лицо искривилось, слух ухудшился. Но страшнее было то, что творилось внутри. Дом превратился в кошмар.
Он уволился. Заявил:
— Я своё отпахал. Теперь твоя очередь.
Я взяла вторую работу, выбивалась из сил. А он… Целыми днями валялся на диване, тупил в телефон, орал на нас. Никакой помощи — только упрёки. Срывался на мне, на детях. Даже на Ванечке, который и понять-то ничего не мог.
Потом пошли странности. Целыми днями смотрел передачи про апокалипсис, скупал гречку, тушёнку, спички. От лекарств отказывался, врачей ненавидел. Если я уговаривала, кричал, что хочу «сдать его в дурку», что у меня «полный город любовников».
Дом стал полем боя. Дети боялись отца. Я не могла оставлять их в этом аду. И… ушла. Забрала сыновей и сбежала к сестре.
Развод был неизбежен. Не потому что он заболел. А потому что отказался лечиться, стал чудовищем, перестал быть мужем и отцом.
Теперь его родня шипит: «Бросила, когда стало тяжело! Сидела на его шее, а потом сбежала!» Но никто не видел, как я плакала ночами от усталости. Никто не слышал, как он орал на детей. Никто не помогал, когда я тащила две работы.
Я бы не ушла, если бы он согласился к врачу. Если бы остался хоть немного собой. Но я должна была спасти детей.
Иногда вспоминаю прежнего Игоря — доброго, смешного, заботливого. Сердце сжимается. Но когда вижу, как Сашка и Ваня спокойно играют, понимаю: я сделала правильно. Спасла их. И себя. Хоть и ценой сломанного сердца.
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She’s got grandchildren, even though she’s about fifteen years younger than me. But her childhood, her memories—they’re so different from mine. I just long for a chat with peers, people like me,” Nina Anderson explained, though she realised perfectly well that her daughter wouldn’t understand. She was still young. Her time wasn’t gone—it was just outside the window. She didn’t yet yearn for memories. Sveta was wonderful and caring; it wasn’t about her. “Mum, I got us tickets for a night of classic ballads on Tuesday. Remember you wanted to go? No more sulking—put on your burgundy dress, you look stunning in it!” “All right, darling, everything’s fine. I don’t know what came over me, good night, we’ll speak tomorrow. Go to bed early—you hardly get any sleep,” Nina changed the subject. “Yes, Mum, goodnight. Bye,” and Svetlana hung up. Nina Anderson gazed silently at the glittering evening lights outside… Year Eleven, also spring. So many plans. It seemed so recent. Her friend Irene fancied Simon Mallory from their class. But Simon liked Nina. He’d call her every evening, invite her out. But Nina thought of him as just a friend—why raise his hopes? Later Simon left for the army. He came back, married, lived in Irene’s old house. Back then everyone had a landline. The number… Nina Anderson dialled the number from memory. The tone didn’t come at once—then someone picked up, there was rustling and then a quiet man’s voice: “Hello, I’m listening.” Maybe it’s too late? Why did I call? Maybe Simon doesn’t even remember me, or maybe it’s not him at all! “Good evening,” Nina’s voice rasped a little with nerves. There was more static on the line, then suddenly she heard an astonished voice: “Nina? Is that really you? Of course it is. I’d know your voice anywhere. How did you find me? I’m only here by chance….” “Simon, you recognised me!” A wave of joyful memories swept over Nina Anderson. No one had called her by her name for ages—just “mum”, “granny”, or “Mrs Anderson”. Well, except Irene. But just “Nina” sounded so wonderful, so fresh—as if the years hadn’t passed at all. “Nina, how are you? I’m so glad to hear from you.” Those words made her ridiculously happy. She’d feared he wouldn’t recognise her, or her call would be out of place. “Do you remember Year Eleven? When Simon and Victor took you and Irene out in that rowing boat? He’d blistered his hands on the oars and tried to hide it. Then we ate ice cream on the riverside while the music played,” Simon’s voice was soft and wistful. “Of course I remember!” Nina laughed joyfully, “And that class camping trip? We couldn’t get the tins open, we were so hungry!” “Oh yes,” Simon chuckled, “Then Victor opened them and we sang songs by the campfire. Do you remember? After that, I decided to learn the guitar.” “And did you?” Nina’s voice rang with youthful delight at all these shared memories. It was like Simon was reviving their happy past, recalling detail after detail. “So, how are things now?” Simon asked, but immediately answered himself, “Actually, I can tell from your voice you’re happy. Children, grandchildren? You still writing poems? I remember: ‘To dissolve into the night and be reborn by morning!’ So full of hope! You always were like sunshine, Nina! You bring warmth to everyone, no one could be cold around you. Your family’s so lucky—to have a mum and granny like you is pure gold.” “Oh, come off it, Simon, I’m long past that. My time’s over, I—” He interrupted. “Come on, you give out so much energy I think my phone’s about to melt! Just kidding. I don’t believe you’ve lost your zest for life—not a bit. That means your time isn’t over yet, Nina. So live—and be happy. The sun shines for you. And the breeze chases clouds across the sky for you. And the birds sing for you!” “Simon, you’re still such a romantic. What about you? I’m going on and on about myself…” But suddenly there was a crackle and the call cut out. Nina sat there, phone in hand. She wanted to ring back, but it was late—better not. Another time. What a wonderful chat they’d had—so many memories! The sudden ringtone made Nina jump. Her granddaughter. “Yes, Daisy, hello, I’m still up. What did Mum say? No, my mood’s fine. I’m going to a concert with Mum. Are you coming over tomorrow? Wonderful, see you then. Bye.” In an unexpectedly good mood, Nina Anderson went to bed, head full of plans. As she drifted off, she found herself composing lines for a new poem… In the morning, Nina decided to visit Irene. Just a few stops on the tram—she wasn’t a creaky old nag yet. Irene was delighted: “At last! You’ve been promising for ages. Ooh, is that an apricot tart? My favourite! Well, spill, what’s brought this on?” Irene coughed, pressing her hand to her chest, then waved Nina’s concern away. “It’s all right, new inhaler—I’m better. 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