З життя
Не треба! – крикнула вона, але тут же отримала снігом у відповідь. Схилившись, щоб зробити більший сніжок, вона завмерла.
– Не треба! – скрикнула Оксана і тут же отримала снігом у обличчя. Вона нахилилася, щоб зліпити сніжку більшу та застигла. На безіменному пальці правої руки не було персня. Заручального, того самого, з діамантом. Серце у неї затріпотіло і впало в чоботи з хутряною опушкою.
– Андрію! – закричала вона.
– Що сталося?! – Андрій кинув сніжку, вискочив з-за пам’ятника Шевченку і підбіг до Оксани.
– Персня немає!
– Якого персня?! Оксано, як ти мене налякала! Я думав, з тобою щось трапилось.
– Звісно ж трапилось. Я перстень загубила! Ось поглянь.
Вона показала почервонілу від холоду руку. Перстня і справді не було.
– Як ти могла його загубити? Він же ледь наліз!
– Не знаю! Краще скажи, що тепер робити?
Він потер перенісся.
– Як що? Весни чекати, ну, або взяти дитячі лопатку і сито…
– Дуже смішно! Я буду шукати… Він має бути десь тут.
– Ти жартуєш?
Вони озирнулися. Пам’ятник Шевченку був занесений снігом. Бульвар був безлюдним. Сутеніло. Ліхтарі кидали косі відблиски на снігові замети, змушуючи сніг іскритись, як шалене ігристе у кришталевому келиху.
– Щоб його знайти, потрібне диво. Ну, або снігоочисна машина. – усміхнувся Андрій.
Та Оксана його не чула. Сівши навпочіпки, вона нишпорила в снігу, підсвічуючи собі телефоном.
Андрій опустився на коліна і став перетирати пальцями крижинки.
Через десять хвилин зовсім стемніло.
– Оксано, це дурна затія. – сказав Андрій. – Ну справді. Ми не знайдемо його тут… Перстень… давай, я тобі інший подарую, ще кращий буде. Не засмучуйся ти так.
– Ти не розумієш! – Оксана схлипнула. – це ж такий поганий знак – загубити перстень.
– Дурненька… – Андрій усміхнувся і взяв Оксанину руку, підніс її до губ. Зігрів диханням. – Дивись, замерзла зовсім. Головне – що ми є одне в одного.
Він встав, підняв Оксану і пригорнув до себе. Вона уткнулася носом йому в плече, і він відчув, як вона тремтить.
– Дурненька, ми завжди, завжди будемо разом. Навіть не думай від мене колись відокремитись. Не відпущу.
Він ще міцніше зтиснув її в обіймах. Потім трохи відсторонився, підняв пальцями її підборіддя.
– Подивись на мене.
На довгих віях, які обрамляли сіро-сині озера її очей, блищали крапельки сліз, а на щоках залишилися сліди від туші.
Андрій дістав з кишені хустинку, витер чорні розводи і поцілував Оксану в ніс.
– Ти все зрозуміла?
Оксана зітхнула.
– А все ж шкода. Що коту під хвіст…
– Ну, не коту, а Шевченку. Шевченку не шкода, він же гений. Все, стій тут, я піду, піджену авто. Поїдемо в одне місце, там такий глінтвейн роблять, закачаєшся…
Андрій розвернувся і пішов до стоянки.
Оксана подивилася на його віддалюючуся спину і ще раз зітхнула. Раптом на носа їй впала сніжинка.
Вона підняла обличчя.
Почав падати сніг. Великими пухнастими шматинами він падав з неба, немов хтось десь високо на верху розпоров величезну подушку. Оксана раптом почула тишу, яка буває тільки взимку і тільки ввечері на засніжених бульварах і парках, і незрозуміло чому на душі у неї стало легко і тепло, наче її загорнули в теплу ковдру.
Вона подумала про Андрія, про те, що зараз вони поїдуть у кафе, будуть пити глінтвейн, сміятися і триматись за руки. А потім, увечері дивитися разом кіно, укутавшись на дивані пледом…
Втрата персня вже не здавалася їй вселенською трагедією.
– Дівчино! – раптом покликав її хтось.
Оксана озирнулася на голос. Перед нею стояв високий старий у сірому балоновому пальто до п’ят. Сива борода звисала клаптями, а з-під кумедної смугастої шапки з помпоном стирчало таке ж сиве волосся.
«Мабуть, безхатько» – майнула у неї в голові думка. «Але звідки він тут взявся?»
Вона озирнулась – навколо не було ні душі.
– Це випадково не ваше? – старий простягнув до неї руку і розжав кулак.
На долоні лежав перстень.
– Мій, мій! – вигукнула Оксана. – А як ви його…
Оксана схопила перстень і з труднощами наділа його на палець.
– Як я можу вас віддячити…? – не договоривши, Оксана підняла очі, але нікого перед нею вже не було.
Розгублено вона глянула навкруги. Старий ніби крізь землю провалився.
– Оксана!
Андрій визирнув з вікна машини і помахав їй рукою.
– Ти не бачив тут старого? Такого високого, у шапці з помпоном? – випалила скоромовкою Оксана, коли відкрила передні дверцята.
– Якого ще старого? Тут же нікого немає…
– Ти не уявляєш, що я тобі зараз розповім… – сказала Оксана, сідаючи в машину.
… Після її розповіді вони їхали мовчки. Трималися за руки і усміхалися тихим, невловимим щастям.
– Андрію, ти віриш в янголів? – раптом запитала Оксана. – Ну, в тих, що приходять до нас з неба, щоб допомогти…
– Звичайно. – серйозно відповів Андрій. – На одній я навіть зібрався одружитися.
A Husband Worth More Than Bitter Grudges: My Turbulent Journey from Heartbreak and Hardship to Risking It All for a Second Chance at Love
MY HUSBAND MATTERS MORE THAN BITTER GRIEVANCES James, thats the last straw! Im done, were getting a divorce! Dont bother...
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…
For two years, Mary was nothing more than a nurse to his mother. I remember how Mary managed to marry...
“We’ll Stay at Your Place for a While Since We Can’t Afford to Rent a Flat!” – My Friend Announced At 65, I’m a lively woman, never letting age stop me from exploring new places or meeting fascinating people. I look back at my youth with both joy and a touch of sadness. Back then, you could holiday anywhere you fancied! From seaside trips to camping adventures with friends, even sailing down any river you chose—all for just a little money. Sadly, those days are behind me now. I always loved meeting new people—on the beach, at the theatre, anywhere really. Many of those acquaintances became lifelong friends. One summer, I met Sara while staying at the same B&B. We parted as friends, keeping in touch with the occasional letter over the years. Then one day, I received an unsigned telegram: “The train arrives at 3 a.m. Please meet me!” Puzzled about who had sent it, my husband and I stayed put. But at four in the morning, our doorbell rang. To my shock, there stood Sara with two teenage girls, a grandmother, and a man, all surrounded by heaps of luggage. My husband and I were baffled but let these unexpected guests in. Sara exclaimed: – “Why didn’t you meet us? I sent you a telegram! Besides, that’s not cheap! – Sorry, we didn’t know who sent it! – Well, you gave me your address. So here we are. – I thought we’d stick to letters, nothing more!” Sara explained that one of the girls had just left school and decided to go to university, so the whole family came to support her. – “We’ll be living with you! We can’t afford to rent a flat or stay in a hotel!” I was stunned. We weren’t even related—why should we let them stay? We had to feed them three times a day; although they brought a bit of food, they cooked nothing and ate ours. I was left to serve everyone. After three exhausting days, I asked Sara and her family to leave—I didn’t care where to. That sparked a row. Sara smashed crockery and screamed hysterically. I was appalled. As they packed, they even managed to steal my dressing gown, a few towels, and somehow my large cooking pot vanished too—no idea how! That was the end of our friendship—and thank heavens! I’ve never heard from her since. How could anyone be so cheeky?! Now, I’m much more wary when I meet new people.
Well be staying at yours for a while. We dont have any money to rent a flat!my friend declared. I...
A Christmas Eve Miracle: How Forgetting a Gift, a Stray Kitten, and a Chance Encounter Turned the Holidays Around for Peter, Anna, and Little Masha in London
Miracle on New Year’s Eve Tom, seriously, how could you forget? Emily said, exasperated, glaring at her husband from across...
He Hated His Wife. Hated Her… They Spent 15 Years Together, Fifteen Mornings Waking Up Side by Side—But Only in the Last Year Did Her Habits Begin to Drive Him Mad, Especially One: Stretching Out Her Arms in Bed and Sleepily Saying, “Good Morning, Sunshine! Today Will Be a Wonderful Day.” What Seemed a Simple Phrase, Her Slim Arms, Her Sleepy Face, Now Filled Him with Disgust. She’d Rise, Walk Past the Window, Gaze Out for a While, Then Slip off Her Nightdress and Head to the Bathroom. Early in Marriage, He’d Adored Her Body, Its Natural Confidence That Seemed Almost Indecent—But Now, Though She Was Still Beautiful, Her Nakedness Made Him Angry. Once, He Even Considered Pushing Her to Hurry Her Morning Routine but Only Managed a Gruff: “Get a Move On—I’ve Had Enough!” She Refused to Rush or Let His Affectionless Hostility Change Her Pace—She Knew About His Affair, Even Recognized the Young Woman He’d Been Seeing for Three Years. Time Dulles the Sharp Sting of Pride, Leaving Only a Lingering Sense of Uselessness. She Forgave Him—the Aggression, the Neglect, His Need to Relive His Youth—But She Wouldn’t Let Him Rob Her of Living Mindfully, Cherishing Each Moment. She’d Made Up Her Mind When She Learned She Was Ill. The Disease Was Slowly Consuming Her; It Would Win Soon. Her First Urge Was to Confess to Everyone—To Lessen the Brutal Truth by Sharing the Burden with Loved Ones. Yet She Endured the Hardest Day Alone, Accepting Her Fate, and Then Resolved to Remain Silent. Life Slipped Away, Yet Each Day She Gained the Wisdom of a True Observer. She Found Solace in a Quiet English Countryside Library, a Ninety-Minute Walk Each Way. Every Day, She’d Hide in the Narrow Aisles Marked “Life & Death’s Secrets” by the Elderly Librarian and Lose Herself in Books She Hoped Contained Every Answer. He’d Go to His Lover’s Flat, Where Everything Felt Warm, Bright, Familiar. Their Love Affair Had Grown Wild—Three Years of Passion, Jealousy, Heartache, and Asphyxiating Desire. Today He Came With a Decision: Divorce. Why Torment All Three of Them? He Didn’t Love His Wife—No, He Hated Her—and Here, He Could Start Fresh, Find Happiness. He Tried to Recall His Feelings for His Wife, but There Was Nothing—He Couldn’t Even Remember Caring for Her on That First Day. He Pulled Out a Photo of Her from His Wallet, Tore It Into Pieces—Determined to End It. They Arranged to Meet at the Restaurant Where, Six Months Earlier, They’d Celebrated Fifteen Years as Husband and Wife. She Arrived First. He Stopped Home to Find the Divorce Papers, Ransacking Drawers in a Panic Until He Spotted a Dark Blue Folder He’d Never Seen Before. He Ripped Off the Seal, Expecting Dirty Secrets—But Found Only Medical Reports, Official Documents. His Wife’s Name on Every Page. Realisation Struck Like Lightning; She Was Ill. He Googled the Diagnosis: “6–18 Months Life Expectancy.” Six Months Had Already Passed. He Remembered Little of What Happened Next—Only the Words “6–18 Months” Looping Relentlessly in His Mind. She Waited for Forty Minutes. No Answer from His Phone. She Paid the Bill and Went Outside. The Autumn Weather Was Glorious—The Sun Gentle, Comforting. “Life Is Beautiful, the World So Wonderful, So Warm.” For the First Time Since Her Diagnosis, She Felt Sorry for Herself. She’d Found the Strength to Hide Her Secret from Everyone, Sparing Them the Pain at the Cost of Her Own Crumbling Life. After This Year, She Would Be Nothing but a Memory. She Wandered Down the Street, Watching Bright Faces Filled With Hope Of Winters and Springs Yet to Come—As If the Future Were Theirs To Shape. She Would Never Know That Feeling Again. Bitterness Swelled and Burst Forth as Tears She Couldn’t Stop… He Paced the Room. For the First Time, He Felt The Swift Passage of Life as a Physical Ache. He Remembered His Wife Young, Full of Hope When They First Met—He’d Loved Her Then. In That Moment, Fifteen Years Vanished: Happiness, Youth, and Life Still Ahead. In Her Final Weeks, He Became Devoted, At Her Side Every Hour, Overcome by a Joy He’d Never Known. He Was Terrified She’d Leave—He Would Have Given His Own Life to Save Hers. Had Someone Reminded Him Of His Hatred Just a Month Ago, He’d Have Sworn: “That Wasn’t Me.” He Witnessed Her Battle to Say Goodbye, Weeping Secretly at Night When She Thought He Slept—He Understood No Punishment Was Worse Than Knowing Your Days Are Numbered. He Saw Her Fight for Every Moment, Grasping Even the Smallest Hope. She Died Two Months Later. He Covered the Path from Home to Cemetery in Flowers. He Wept Like a Child as Her Coffin Was Lowered—He Felt Centuries Older. At Home, Beneath Her Pillow, He Found a New Year’s Wish She Had Written: “To Be Happy With Him Until My Last Day.” They Say All New Year’s Wishes Come True—Perhaps They Do, For That Year He Wrote: “To Be Free.” In the End, Each Got Exactly What, It Seemed, They Had Wished For…
He loathed his wife. Loathed her. Theyd spent fifteen years togetherfifteen whole years in which he saw her each morning,...
My Father-in-Law Was Speechless When He Saw the Shocking Conditions We Were Living In
My father-in-law was speechless when he saw how we were living I met my husband at a wedding of a...
The Grey Mouse Is Happier Than You
Emily, honestly, are you kidding me right now? Jessica stared at her faded cotton dress with a look reserved for...
She Got My Mother-in-Law Back on Her Feet—Yet I’m Furious Because I Didn’t Weed the Vegetable Beds — “What are you doing here?” Standing in the middle of the swan-shaped flower beds, my mother-in-law shouted, “There’s never been such disgrace here before! I had seven children—never a single weed!” Her shriek drew the neighbours, who clung to the fence like crows and immediately dissected everything they heard. Seeing her audience, my mother-in-law took great pleasure in performing. I stood, speechless, as she went on. At last, worn out from shouting, she drew a breath and said loudly enough for all the neighbours to hear: I didn’t say a word. I walked calmly past my mother-in-law, holding my child even closer. Once inside, I divided up, in a special box, everything my mother-in-law was to take that evening and the next morning. Without folding anything, I tossed my son’s things and mine into a bag. I left without saying a word. Three days later, my mother-in-law called: “What did you do with all those things the professor gave her? I asked the neighbour to buy a few, but she said one jar is very expensive. The ones with foreign labels, well, we don’t use those or exchange them. So what am I to do? You left, offended for some reason, and here I am, about to meet my maker!” I didn’t reply. I turned off my phone and took out the SIM card. That’s it. I can’t go on—I have no physical or emotional strength left. A year ago, just before my son was born, my husband lost control of his car on an icy road. I vaguely remember saying goodbye for the last time, the ambulance taking him away, and waking up the next morning as a new mother… I didn’t care about anything. The world felt empty and pointless without my beloved husband. I nursed and rocked my son like clockwork, because that’s what I was told to do. A phone call snapped me out of my stupor. “Your mother-in-law is in bad shape. Apparently, she won’t last much longer.” I made my decision at once: after settling things, I sold my flat in London. I invested some of the money into building a home, so my son will have something of his own when he grows up. And I went to save my mother-in-law. This past year, I haven’t really lived—I’ve just existed. I had no time for sleep, caring for both my mother-in-law and my baby son. The baby was restless, and my mother-in-law required round-the-clock care. At least I had the money. I called in the best specialists from all over the UK; I bought every medication prescribed. Eventually, my mother-in-law returned to normal life. At first, I wheeled her through the house, then around the garden. By the end, she was strong enough to walk—on her own—as if nothing had happened… I don’t want to know her now, or hear from her ever again. Let her work out everything she needs for her recovery herself. At least I was wise enough not to spend all the money on her recovery. My son and I moved to our new flat. I never imagined it would end like this. I wanted to be close with my husband’s family, since I am an orphan myself. But now it’s just me. I need to teach my son: not everyone deserves kindness. Some people care more about a tidy vegetable patch.
I managed to get my mother-in-law back on her feet. But honestly, Im fuming because I didnt get around to...