З життя
Моя сестра безжально вигнала мене на вулицю.
Моя сестра без жалю вигнала мене з дому.
Моя сестра Оксана завжди була для мене найважливішою людиною на цьому світі. Після смерті наших батьків ми пообіцяли одна одній завжди допомагати і підтримувати одна одну.
Коли мій син став дорослим, він переїхав до столиці, а я залишилася у Львові. Потім я розлучилася з чоловіком і втратила власний дім.
У цей час моя сестра дозволила мені жити у своїй квартирі, адже вона рідко бувала вдома і часто їздила за кордон.
Оскільки я працювала у фірмі свого колишнього чоловіка, я опинилася не лише без житла, але й без роботи. Жити стало важко, спочатку я витрачала заощадження, а згодом знайшла роботу покоївки. На той момент я прожила в Оксани вже більше двох років.
Настав день, коли сестра сказала, що я маю скоро виїхати з квартири, адже вона вирішила її здавати і вже розмовляла про це з рієлтором.
Не знала, що їй сказати, і єдине, що вдалося вимовити, це “Добре”. Я так розлютилася, що аж важко було дихати. Треба було заспокоїтися і подумати, що робити далі, куди йти, це була справжня проблема.
Коли Оксана повернулася до своєї квартири, вона щебетала щось про рахунки на комунальні послуги і зустріч з рієлтором, але я навіть не могла зосередитися на її словах. Того ж вечора вона полетіла на Кіпр на чотири місяці, така щаслива. Я завжди раділа за неї, коли вона була в такому стані, але не цього разу.
Мене не покидала лише одна думка — де тепер я знайду житло, бо оренда невеличкої квартири у Львові коштує багато, а моя зарплата покриває лише оренду сарайчика на околиці міста. Почала роздумувати над різними варіантами, але нічого вартого уваги в голову не прийшло.
Місяць потому задзвонив дверний дзвінок.
Зайшла якась дівчина й сказала, що вона рієлтор моєї сестри, а потім попросила мене негайно залишити квартиру, оскільки орендарі мали заїхати тієї ж ночі. Я почала пояснювати їй, що не маю куди переїхати, і що сестра мені нічого не сказала. Але вона навіть слухати не хотіла. Я намагалася зателефонувати Оксані, але у нас була різниця в часі, і на Кіпрі вже була глибока ніч.
Зібрала речі та вийшла надвір. Цю ніч я провела на дитячому майданчику. Вранці отримала від сестри повідомлення: “Кохана, пробач, що так вийшло. Думаю, ти вже знайшла собі нове місце для життя”.
Її слова розірвали моє серце на мільйон частин. Як вона могла це зі мною зробити? Це ж була моя рідна сестра!
Добре розуміла, що їй потрібні гроші, але не могла збагнути, чому вона поставила мене перед фактом?
Мені було сумно, що гроші стали важливішими за найближчих рідних.
Мені вдалося орендувати маленьку кімнату в старому будинку на околиці міста. З часом знайшла кращу роботу, і стало трохи легше.
Зараз сиджу в своєму маленькому куточку, наче мишка, намагаючись не заважати, щоби знову не втратити це місце.
Було дуже боляче, що Оксана так і не попросила вибачення за цей інцидент.
Згодом вона почала дзвонити й запитувати, як у мене справи. Але тепер у моєму серці для неї більше немає місця, і я відповідаю, що в мене все добре, як у всіх.
Ось лист, який ми отримали від читачки зі Львова. У цьому листі немає злості до сестри, лише заклик берегти тих, хто дороге нашому серцю. Зрозуміло, що вона має образу, але якщо щиро попросити вибачення, людина здатна пробачити все.
Поміркуй над цим, можливо, ти ненароком образив когось, і зараз саме час попросити в цієї людини вибачення.
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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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