З життя
Моя дружина покинула мене та двох дітей заради багатого чоловіка після 10 років шлюбу
Моя дружина після 10 років шлюбу пішла до заможного чоловіка, залишивши мене з двома маленькими дітьми — через 2 роки я знову зустрів її, і це було по-справжньому поетично.
Марина проміняла свою родину на “краще життя” з багатим чоловіком, залишивши мене, Олексія, з двома маленькими дітьми і розбитим серцем. Через два роки, коли я випадково зустрів її знову, ця мить не могла бути більше поетичною… Той день змусив мене вірити в карму.
Ніколи не думаєш, що людина, з якою прожив десять років, стане для тебе чужинцем. Ми з Мариною були разом десять років. У нас було двоє чудових доньок: Софійка (5 років) і Емілія (4 роки). Життя не було досконалим, але воно було нашим, і я думав, що все стабільно.
Я заробляв достатньо, щоб ми жили комфортно — не розкішно, але могли дозволити собі сімейні поїздки двічі на рік. У дівчат була няня на півставки, поки Марина працювала фрілансером з дому. Я завжди намагався допомагати: прибирав щотижня, купував продукти, навіть готував їжу. Я не хотів, щоб вона відчувала, ніби ведення домашнього господарства — лише її обов’язок.
Але щось змінилося. Спочатку я не міг зрозуміти, що саме — дрібниці, наприклад, те, що вона подовгу сиділа з телефоном, переписуючись ночами, коли її обличчя світилось у темряві перед екраном.
— З ким ти переписуєшся? — одного разу запитав я випадково.
— З друзями, — занадто швидко відповіла вона. — Просто спілкуємось.
Її соцмережі стали активнішими. Майже кожного дня з’являлися нові фото — вона усміхається в кафе, з покупками в руках, позує з друзями, яких я не знав. Але вдома її обличчя завжди було втомленим та відстороненим. Вона все менше часу проводила з Софійкою та Емілією, відмахуючися від них, коли вони просили допомогти з уроками або погратися.
— Не зараз, люба, — відповідала вона, навіть не піднімаючи очей, продовжуючи гортати телефон.
Між нами також зникла іскра. Пізні розмови, легкий сміх… ми все це втратили. Вона частіше виходила з дому, кажучи, що «на шопінг» або «провітритися», а поверталася з таким сяйвом на обличчі, якого я не бачив вже кілька місяців.
Під час вечері вона колупала їжу, думками явно перебуваючи десь далеко. Я намагався повернути її у наше життя, але це було все одно, що намагатися схопити дим.
А потім, одного дня, вона подивилася мені в очі, витерла руки об рушник і сказала слова, які зруйнували все, що, я думав, ми побудували.
— Я йду, Олексій.
Я застиг, моргнувши, ніби ослухався.
— Йдеш? Про що ти говориш?
Вона не здригнулася.
— Я більше не можу так жити. Я знайшла себе… і знаю, чого хочу. Я не створена для того, щоб варити тобі їжу і прибирати за тобою.
Я шукав на її обличчі хоча б тріщину, хоча б натяк на жарт.
— Марина… у нас двоє дітей.
Її голос став різкішим.
— Ти впораєшся. Ти чудовий батько. Краще, ніж я коли-небудь була матір’ю.
— А що ж Софійка і Емілія? Вони ж ще зовсім маленькі, Марино! — мій голос дрижав, а по щоках текли сльози. Але мені було байдуже. Хто сказав, що чоловіки не плачуть? Востаннє я плакав від щастя, тримаючи на руках свою новонароджену дочку. Але це… це було іншим. Це було боляче.
Вона зітхнула. Здавалося, їй нудно. Ніби вона не раз обдумувала цю розмову в голові.
— Мені потрібна свобода, Олексій. Мені потрібно бути щасливою. Більше не можу так жити.
— А як же ми? Хіба нічого не значить те, що ми побудували разом?
— Для мене цього більше недостатньо, — сказала вона, схопила валізу і грюкнула дверима, залишивши нас у минулому.
Важко пояснити, який холод наповнив кімнату після її відходу. Тиша кричала гучніше, ніж будь-які сварки.
Тієї ночі Софійка потягнула мене за рукав, поки я сидів на дивані, застигнувши в порожнечі.
— Тато, мама на нас образилася? Вона повернеться?
Я відкрив рот, але не зміг нічого сказати. Як пояснити п’ятирічній дитині, що її мама просто пішла?
Наступні тижні були жахливими. Я не міг ні їсти, ні спати. Найважчим було не відсутність Марини, а те, що вона залишила після себе. Діти. Їхні питання. Їхня наївна впевненість у тому, що «мама скоро повернеться».
А потім я побачив її в Instagram.
Марина сяяла в дизайнерській сукні, п’ючи шампанське на яхті з якимось Максимом. Він був гладко одягненим чоловіком у костюмі, небрежно обнявши її за талію. Вона виглядала безтурботно. Ніби не залишила двох дочок і розбиту родину.
Через два роки я випадково зустрів її в супермаркеті.
Вона виглядала блідою, втомленою, з пригаслими очами. Зовсім не тією жінкою з фотографій.
Вона спробувала втекти. Але наступного дня все ж погодилася зустрітися.
На лаві у парку переді мною сиділа зломана Марина.
— Він був аферистом, Олексію, — схлипнула вона. — Він обманув мене, забрав всі мої гроші, а потім пішов. Я бідна. У мене нічого немає.
Я дивився на неї, не вірячи своїм вухам.
— Ти зруйнувала свою родину заради брехні, — сказав я жорстко.
Вона розридалася.
— Я хочу повернутися до дівчаток. Я хочу все виправити.
Я згадав ночі, коли я тихо плакав після того, як клав їх спати. Згадав, як Софійка запитувала: «Тато, а ти думаєш, мама сумує за нами?»
Я подивився Марині в очі.
— Виправити? Ти думаєш, можеш просто повернутися, ніби нічого не сталося?
— Будь ласка, Олексію…
— Ні, — твердо відповів я. — Ти не побачиш дівчаток. Ты залишила їх. Вони заслуговують на краще. І я теж.
Я встав.
— Сподіваюся, ти знайдеш спосіб налагодити своє життя. Але не за наш рахунок.
Коли я повернувся додому, Софійка побігла до мене.
— Тато, можна нам зробити млинці?
Я усміхнувся і міцно обняв її.
— Звісно, принцесо.
Марина думала, що свобода — це залишити нас. Але вона не знала, що таке справжнє щастя. А я знав. І це, чорт забирай, було по-справжньому поетично.
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Bitterness at the Bottom of My Soul “You belong in a care home, and you know it! Get out of our family!” I shouted at the top of my lungs, my voice breaking with emotion. The target of my outrage was my cousin, Dima. Lord, I loved him so much as a child—his golden hair, cornflower-blue eyes, cheerful nature. That was Dima all over. Family gatherings would often bring us all together around the table, but out of all my cousins, it was always Dima who stood out. With his silver tongue, he could weave tales like intricate lace, and he was a gifted artist. By the end of any evening, he’d have sketched five or six pencil drawings with ease. I would marvel at his work, unable to tear myself away from its beauty, and quietly stash his drawings in my desk for safekeeping, cherishing his creativity. Dima was two years older than me. When he was fourteen, his mother died suddenly and unexpectedly—she simply never woke up. Everyone wondered what would become of Dima. They looked first to his biological father, but finding him was not easy—his parents had long been divorced, and his father had another family and wasn’t about to disrupt his “peaceful life.” Then the rest of the relatives collectively shrugged—each had their own families and worries. Suddenly, our extended family was nowhere to be found when needed most. So, with two children of their own, my parents agreed to take Dima in—the late woman was my father’s younger sister, after all. At first, I was happy that Dima would be living with us. But… On his very first day in our home, I noticed something odd about my favourite cousin’s behaviour. Trying to bring him some comfort, my mum asked, “Is there anything you’d like, Dima? Don’t be shy, just tell us.” Immediately, Dima answered, “A model railway set.” This toy was quite expensive, and his wish surprised me. I thought—your mum just died, the most important person in your world, and all you can think about is a train set? How could he? Still, my parents bought it for him immediately. But soon Dima’s requests snowballed. “Buy me a tape recorder, jeans, a branded jacket…” This was the 1980s. Not only were these things pricey, but difficult to find. Yet my parents, depriving their own children, tried to fulfil every wish of the orphan. My brother and I endured this in silence, understanding it was for Dima. When Dima turned sixteen, he started chasing after girls. He became infatuated with me—his own cousin. But I, being sporty and quick, dodged his advances, even fighting him off physically at times and ending up in tears. My parents never knew—I didn’t want to upset them. Most kids keep such things to themselves. After I made it clear I wasn’t interested, Dima quickly moved on to my friends, who actually competed for his attention. Dima also stole from us, brazenly and without shame. I remember saving my school lunch money in a piggy bank for a present for my parents—one day, it was empty. Dima swore blind he hadn’t touched it, didn’t so much as blush. My soul was torn to pieces—how could he steal in the very house we shared? Dima shattered our family’s trust, as if nothing mattered to him. I began to hate him. That’s when I screamed, with all my might: “Get out of our family!” I let rip at Dima, said more than fit in a hat—words I can’t take back. My mother barely managed to calm me down. Since then, Dima ceased to exist for me. I avoided him in every way. Later, it turned out the other relatives all knew what “sort” Dima was—they lived nearby and had seen plenty. Only our family, living farther away, had been in the dark. Dima’s former teachers even warned my parents: “You shouldn’t have taken him in. Dima will only ruin your own children.” At a new school, he met Kate, who would fall head-over-heels for Dima and marry him right after graduation. They had a daughter. Kate patiently endured his wild whims, endless lies, and countless betrayals. As the old saying goes: “single and you suffer, married and it’s double.” Dima was later conscripted for military service in Kazakhstan. There, he formed a “second family”—apparently during breaks from service. He fathered a son. After his discharge, Dima stayed in Kazakhstan, but Kate went after him and, by hook or by crook, brought him back to his family. My parents never heard a word of thanks from Dima—not that they expected it. Now, Dmitry Eugene is sixty. He’s a devout parishioner at the local English church, with Kate and five grandchildren. Everything seems fine, but the bitterness from my relationship with Dima still lingers… A taste too bitter, even for honey.
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POSTAGE STAMP… “Ilya’s left Katya,” Mum sighed heavily. “What do you mean?” I didn’t understand. “I don’t get it myself,” Mum said. “He was away on business for a month, came back all changed. Told Katya he loves someone else.” “Did he really say that? Must be some mistake—how awful,” I fumed at Katya’s husband. “Sonia called me—said Katya was unwell, had to call an ambulance. Turned out Katya had some kind of neurological swallowing disorder,” Mum blinked rapidly. “Alright, Mum, calm down. Honestly, Katya shouldn’t have put Ilya on a pedestal like that. She was always dancing attendance on him. Now she’s left picking up the pieces. Poor Katya. I hope Ilya isn’t serious about this new woman—he loves Katya and Sonia,” I refused to believe what I’d heard. …Ilya and Katya’s wild passion, their whirlwind romance—they married after just two months. Their daughter Sonia was born. Life was measured, calm, and then—everything tumbled downhill… Like a Rolling Boulder… I rushed straight to my sister. Some conversations are hardest with those closest to you. “Katya, how could this happen? Did Ilya even explain? Has he lost his mind?” I barraged my sister. “I’m in shock myself, Nina. Who is this woman? Did she cast some sort of spell? Ilya dashed off to her, obsessed. Threw his stuff in a bag, left. Feels like I’ve been dragged across concrete. I don’t understand…” Katya sobbed endlessly. “Let’s wait, Katya. Maybe your runaway will come to his senses. These things happen,” I hugged her. He Didn’t Come Back. Ilya made a new life in another city, and with a new wife. Ksenia was eighteen years Ilya’s senior, but the age gap didn’t prevent their happiness. “Souls don’t have ages,” Ksenia said. Ilya was smitten. Ksenia became his lodestar. She had a tough streak—could be tender, could be ruthless. Ilya adored her. Every time he’d marvel, “Where have you been all my life, Ksenia? I’ve searched half my life for you…” Meanwhile, Katya decided to seek vengeance—all men now fair game. Beautiful, she turned heads everywhere. She had a fling with her boss, entranced him. “Katya, marry me. I’ll make you rich. You’ll be treated like a queen.” “No thanks, Dmitri—I’ve had enough marriages… Let’s go to the seaside instead. I want Sonia to get some fresh air,” Katya winked. “Alright, my dear…” Sasha was simpler—helped around the flat, did her renovations, but never proposed—he was already married. Katya strung both along—no love, just distraction from her misery. She still yearned for Ilya, saw him in dreams, woke up in useless tears. Couldn’t let go of those memories. “How do you un-weld someone from your life? What did I do wrong? I was loyal, caring—never argued…” …Years went by. Katya’s life was split between Dmitri’s tender invites, Sasha’s handyman help. …Sonia was twenty when she decided to visit her father. Bought a train ticket, wondered how to address “the other woman.” Arrived in a new city. …Rang the bell. “You must be Sophia,” an interesting woman opened the door. “Mum is much prettier…” Sonia thought. “Ksenia, right?” Sonia guessed. “Yes, come in. Your dad’s not home but will be soon,” Ksenia led her to the kitchen. “How are you? How’s your mum?” Ksenia fussed, “Tea, coffee?” “Ksenia, how did you manage to steal my dad away? He loved my mum—I know that for sure,” Sonia looked her straight in the eye. “Sophia, life’s unpredictable. Love has no guarantees. Sometimes passion sweeps in and one meeting changes everything. Fate intervenes. Sometimes, you just have to change partners in the dance. It can’t be explained,” Ksenia slumped into a chair. “But can’t you just stop? Think of your duty to family…” Sonia couldn’t grasp Ksenia’s reasoning, glaring at the woman she loathed. “You can’t, child,” Ksenia replied simply. “Thank you for your honesty,” Sonia refused the coffee. “Sophia, want some cheeky advice? A man is like a postage stamp—the more you spit on him, the better he sticks. And in general, you need to be steel one day, velvet the next… By the way, your dad and I had a big row.” “Thanks for the tip. Should I wait for Dad?” Sonia asked anxiously. “I’m not sure. He’s been living in a hotel this week. Here’s the address,” Ksenia scribbled it on a scrap of paper. Sonia was relieved—now she could talk to her dad alone. “Goodbye, thanks for the coffee,” she left quickly. She found the hotel, knocked on his door. Ilya was happy—if a bit embarrassed—to see his daughter. “I was planning on returning today—after the row and all…” “That’s your business, Dad. I just wanted to see you,” Sonia carefully took her father’s hand. “How’s your mum?” Ilya asked. “All’s well. We’ve gotten used to life without you.” They spent a warm evening in the hotel room—talking, laughing, shedding quiet tears. “Dad, do you love Ksenia?” Sonia suddenly asked. “Very much. I’m sorry, darling,” Ilya answered surely. “Got it. I need to run—my train’s soon,” Sonia gathered her things. “Come by, Sonia—we’re family, after all,” Ilya’s eyes dropped. “Of course… see you soon,” Sonia left. …Returning home, she decided to follow Ksenia’s advice: Don’t love, don’t treasure, don’t believe empty men’s words. Brush them off… …But three years later, the right man came along: Kirill. He was made for Sonia, sent by fate… She knew instantly, sensed it… When you meet your true love, nothing else even tempts you… Kirill wrapped his woman in his heart and never let go. He touched her soul in ways unseen. Sonia fell deeply, utterly, without conditions…
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For two years, Maria was only the carer for his mother. Maria managed to marry a highly respected English gentleman—envied by all her friends. Her husband owned a successful business, a luxurious home in the suburbs, several cars, and a cottage in the countryside—all by the age of thirty-two. Maria, meanwhile, had just finished her university degree and worked for a year as a teacher. That summer, they married. After the wedding, her husband insisted there was no need for his wife to work for pennies. He wanted her to stay home and prepare for children. Maria didn’t object. The first year of marriage was like a fairy tale: travelling together, making memories, buying expensive clothes. Yet Maria rarely had a chance to wear her new outfits. Her friends were busy with work and family, and her husband was always attending events—never taking Maria with him. She grew bored. Unable to have children, Maria’s feelings for her husband began to fade. Each day, after housework, she wandered room to room, thinking about her future. Another year passed. Her husband was rarely home, always returning late, exhausted and irritable, complaining that business wasn’t going well. First, he told Maria to spend less. Then he demanded an account of every purchase and expense, insisting they could live well for half the cost. Maria was worried. She wanted to go back to work, but couldn’t find a job in her field. She enrolled on a course, but then her mother-in-law fell ill. Maria had to care for her for two years when her husband moved his mother into their home. Maria did everything—she was the nurse and companion. Her husband came home even less. After his mother passed, Maria’s husband grew increasingly distant, barely spoke, avoided her gaze, and spent most of his time at work. Maria couldn’t understand what was happening until she visited her old mother-in-law’s flat—where she hadn’t been in ages. Behind a closed door, she heard a child crying, even though she thought the flat was empty. She rang the bell. A young woman answered. Maria learned that her husband had started a second family before his mother’s illness and moved them into his mother’s flat. It was a shock. Maria knew she couldn’t save her marriage. She left for another city to stay with her aunt, practically empty-handed, with only a small handbag. She didn’t want a single item to remind her of her marriage—and how tragically it had turned out…
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