З життя
Мама по судьбе и истинная любовь: незабвенная история
**Названная мать и верное сердце: история, которая не стареет**
Поздним вечером Катерина вошла в деревенский двор. Едва отворила калитку, как увидела мать — та сидела на крыльце с вязанием в руках.
— Катенька! — воскликнула женщина, с трудом поднимаясь. — Да почему не предупредила? Наварила бы твой любимый щавелевый суп!
Катя пристально взглянула на неё и вдруг спросила резко:
— А ты почему молчала?
— О чём? — растерялась мать, не понимая, к чему клонит дочь.
За день до этого Катя собиралась в долгожданное путешествие с друзьями. Вместе с Дмитрием, её суженым, они уже сложили рюкзаки. Но звонок младшей сестры Ольги перевернул всё: у матери подозревали тяжёлую хворобу. Не раздумывая, Катя отменила поездку, взяла билеты и улетела домой.
— Мне с тобой ехать? — тревожно спросил Дмитрий.
— Нет, оставайся. Просто пиши, если сможешь. И… будет не хватать тебя, — тихо ответила она.
Катя была твёрдой, привыкла держать чувства при себе. Она знала цену предательству и несчастливому браку — не понаслышке. Потому и не спешила рассказывать родителям о Дмитрии. Ждала уверенности: это на всю жизнь.
Дорога домой выдалась тяжёлой. Две пересадки, долгие часы ожидания, а главное — гнетущее предчувствие. За два года Катя бывала в деревне считанные разы. Любимая работа унесла её далеко от родных стен, и с каждым приездом сердце сжималось всё сильнее.
Мать… Она не была ей родной по крови. Мачеха. Но Катя с Ольгой всегда звали её мамой. Потому что она не просто вошла в их жизнь — она исцелила родину.
Когда-то их настоящая мать ушла из семьи — измены, гулянки, равнодушие. Отец, пытаясь спасти брак, вернулся с заработков и забрал дочерей домой. Растил их один, как мог. Но было нелегко. Хозяйство, две девочки, школа, быт — всё лежало на его плечах.
А потом появилась Галина. Мать троих детей, учительница, сама попавшая в несчастливый брак. Однажды её младший сын прибежал к соседям в слезах: “Папа опять кричит на маму”. Отец Катерины вмешался. А через несколько дней Галина переехала к ним.
— А если я женюсь на тёте Гале? — спросил он у дочерей.
Оленька сразу закивала: “Здорово!” А Катя молчала. Не хотела делить отцовскую любовь. Но всё перевернулось, когда Катя слегла с горячкой. Галина не отходила от её постели, ночами сидела у кровати, днём поила тёплым морсом.
— Ты всегда будешь такой? — прошептала тогда Катя.
— Может, я и не заменю вам мать… Но никогда не сделаю вам больно, — ответила Галина.
С того утра всё изменилось. Катя приняла её. Не как мачеху. Как родную.
Теперь, спустя годы, она вернулась — с тревогой в груди.
— Почему не сказала, что болеешь? — сдержанно спросила Катя, глядя на посеревшее от усталости лицо.
— Завтра скажут точно… — тихо ответила та. — Но сегодня, Катенька, ты дома. Разве не счастье?
Семья собралась за столом — будто на праздник. Все старались скрыть волнение. Оля уже окончила институт, преподаёт в школе. Михаил помогает отцу на лесопилке. Артём готовится поступать на юрфак. А маленькая Настенька мечтает о сцене.
А Галина… Завела коз, учится вязать и шутит, что пора готовиться к внукам:
— Я уже связала три костюмчика. Ждём-с!
Поздно ночью Катя осталась с матерью на кухне. Обняла её, провела рукой по морщинистой ладони.
— Завтра будет лучше. Я чувствую, — сказала она.
— У вас все работа… Внуков я, видно, не дождусь, — вздохнула Галина.
— А вот и нет. — Катя достала телефон и показала фото с Дмитрием. — Знакомься. Это Дима.
— Красивый… И заботливый, — пробормотала мать, читая его сообщение: “Как ты? Может, приехать?”
Катя улыбнулась. Да, теперь она знала — пора сказать о нём семье. Он — её судьба.
Утром они поехали в больницу. Анализы оказались хорошими. Болезнь не подтвердилась. Мать заплакала от облегчения, а Катя крепко прижала её к себе:
— Не зря приехала. Ещё навяжем костюмчиков для внучат!
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Bitterness at the Bottom of My Soul “The children’s home has been waiting for you for ages! Get out of our family!” I screamed with a trembling voice. The target of my wild indignation was my cousin, Dima. God, how I loved him as a child! Blond hair, bright blue eyes, cheerful nature — that was Dima. …Relatives often gathered around the festive table. Of all my cousins, I singled out Dima. He could spin tales with his tongue like a lace maker and he drew brilliantly. Sometimes he would churn out five or six sketches an evening. I would stare, entranced by their beauty, quietly gathering his drawings and hiding them in my desk. I carefully treasured my cousin’s artwork. Dima was two years older than me. When he turned 14, his mother died—gone so suddenly, she just didn’t wake up… The question arose—what would happen to Dima? Naturally, they first turned to his father, but finding him was no easy feat. He and Dima’s mother were long divorced, and the new family “couldn’t be disturbed.” The rest of the relatives just shrugged: “We have our own families, our own problems.” Turns out, during the day, family is there, but come nightfall, not a soul to be found. So, with two kids of their own, my parents became Dima’s guardians—after all, Dima’s late mother was my dad’s younger sister. At first, I was happy that Dima would be living with us. But then… On his very first day in our home, Dima’s behavior set me on edge. To comfort her orphaned nephew, my mum asked, “Is there anything you’d like, Dima? Don’t be shy, just say.” And Dima immediately replied, “A model train set.” Now, this wasn’t a cheap toy. I was shocked—your mum just died, the most important person in your life, and all you want is a train set? How could you even think of that? But my parents immediately bought him his dream. Then it was, “Buy me a tape player, jeans, a designer jacket…” This was the eighties, mind you, and not only was this stuff pricey, but it was impossible to get. My parents made sacrifices for the orphan, even at our own expense. My brother and I understood and didn’t complain. …When Dima turned sixteen, he discovered girls. And he wasn’t afraid to show his affection. Worse yet, he started making advances toward me—his own cousin. But as a sporty girl, I skillfully dodged his unwelcome attention. We’d even come to blows. I would cry and cry. I never told my parents—they didn’t need the heartache. Kids don’t talk about such things. After I fended him off, Dima wasted no time turning to my friends, who actually competed for his attention. …But Dima was also a shameless thief. I remember my piggy bank: saving on school lunches to buy presents for my parents, only to find it empty one day! Dima denied everything—didn’t bat an eye, didn’t blush, just outright lied. It broke my heart. How could he steal while living under our roof? He was wrecking our family from within, but Dima really didn’t understand why I was upset. He truly believed everyone owed him. I began to hate him. That’s when I finally screamed at him: “Get out of our family!” I lashed him with my words—said things that can never be taken back… My mum barely managed to calm me. From that day on, Dima ceased to exist for me. I ignored him completely. Later, I learned the other relatives knew what a “character” Dima was—they lived nearby and seen it all. Our family lived across town. Even Dima’s former teachers warned my parents: “You’re making a big mistake. Dima will ruin your other children too.” …At a new school, he met Katy—she loved Dima all her life. She married him straight out of school. They had a daughter, and Katy put up with his lies and cheating without protest. As they say: single life is hardship, married life is double. Dima joined the Army, stationed in Scotland. There, he started another family—he somehow managed it during leave. When his service ended, he stayed in Scotland. He had a son there. Katy, not hesitating, went after him and, by hook or by crook, brought him back home. My parents never received a word of thanks from cousin Dima—not that they expected it. Now, fifty years on, Dmitri is an active member of the local Anglican church. He and Katy have five grandchildren. On the surface, all seems well, but the bitterness of life with Dima remains… No amount of sugar could ever sweeten it.
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Bittersweet Happiness – “What’s wrong with that young lady? She’s a good girl. Modest, neat, a hardworking student. She loves you,” Helen Edwards chastised her son. “Mum, I’ll handle it…” Denis clearly ended the pointless conversation. Helen left the room. “He’ll handle it… How many girls has he turned away… Nearly forty, and soon no one will do. Nothing’s ever right for him…” she thought with a heavy sigh. “Son, dinner’s ready,” Helen called from the kitchen. Denis responded instantly, tucking into his mother’s homemade stew. “Thank you, Mum. Delicious, as always.” “You should be saying that to your wife, not me,” Helen couldn’t let it go. “Mum…” Denis drank his compote and prepared to leave. “Wait, son. Do you know, I once visited a fortune-teller? She took one look at me and said: ‘Your son will have happiness, but it will be bittersweet.’” “Oh, Mum, don’t believe such things,” Denis grinned. …Through the years, different women—some loved, some not—came and went in Denis’s life. …Inna was smart, cultured, shockingly wise for her age. She often gave sound advice to the nine-years-older Denis. At first he liked this, but then he began to see Inna more as a mentor than anything else. Everything felt colourless. They split up. Polly had an eight-year-old son. Try as he might, Denis couldn’t get through to the boy, though he loved Polly. She was beautiful, but too headstrong. Whenever they quarrelled, he’d try to patch things up with gifts. The arguments felt senseless. Something was always missing—maybe peace and stability. Vera was everything he’d ever wanted in a woman. Denis almost married her. She was decent, pure, balanced—he felt like he had to “wear kid gloves” just to speak to her. He even moved into her flat. He was ready to start a family. But… He came home unexpectedly from a work trip to find Vera in bed with her old school friend. Classic… After that, Denis moved back in with his mum. Enough romance, he decided. “I’ll be a bachelor—a solid family of one,” he joked to his mum. Helen would shrug and sigh: “Will you ever find your one, son?” But fate had its own plan. Suddenly, unexpectedly. Denis was travelling for work, claimed his usual bottom bunk in the train carriage. A woman entered: “Excuse me, would you mind swapping? Can I have your lower bunk? Please.” “No trouble,” Denis replied. He looked her over—nothing remarkable. Yet his heart skipped. “Maybe she’s the one…” He clambered onto the top bunk and dozed off… “Glad you’re awake! Come, have some tea,” the stranger cooed. Denis climbed down and they started talking. “Larissa,” she introduced herself. “Denis. Nice to meet you, Larissa.” They talked throughout the evening. Denis felt instantly at ease. He didn’t try to impress her; everything just flowed, as if he’d known her forever. They exchanged numbers, just in case… A couple of weeks later, he couldn’t resist calling her. One thing led to another… Dates, kisses, promises… Denis couldn’t imagine his life without Larissa. At forty years old! He’d always let previous girlfriends go easily—but not this one… He wanted to lose himself entirely in her life. Larissa surrounded Denis with love, care, and understanding. Three months in, he offered his heart and hand. “Denis, I’m seven years older than you. I have three children. We live in a council flat,” Larissa admitted. She never lied. “I know, Lara. I’ve met your kids—you’ll all move in with me. It’s sorted. I love every inch of you. You’re my last and only,” said Denis, kissing her tenderly. “All right, Denis, let’s give it a try,” murmured a shy Larissa. “No, not try, Lara. We’ll be together. For good,” Denis squeezed her hand. “Do you hear me? Forever.” When Helen learned his plans, all she could say was: “You’ve really outdone yourself this time… The plainest girl of them all…” …Nine months later, their daughter was born—a child with Down’s syndrome. Denis felt both joy and worry for Larissa. Would she cope? Having a child with special needs is never easy. …Today, Denis and Larissa’s daughter is eight. The whole family adores her. Denis worships Larissa. Bittersweet, but happiness…
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