З життя
Після тренування вона поспішала додому, обіцяючи зварити юшку чоловікові.
Після тренування, Оксана поспішала додому, обіцяла чоловікові зварити борщ. Зайшовши в квартиру, вона побачила, як її чоловік Андрій сидить на кухні і п’є вино.
— Ого, сам?! Андрій, не вистачило терпіння мене дочекатися? Давай хоч закуску приготую…
— Не потрібно, сядь, нам потрібно поговорити…
Оксана ніколи не бачила чоловіка таким. Засмучений, розгублений. Боже, що ж трапилося?
— Не знаю навіть, з чого почати… Ай, скажу, як є… Моя секретарка Катерина вагітна від мене, я йду до неї…
— Нічого собі… Як у поганій мелодрамі… І скільки ти з нею?
— Близько року. Вона відразу, як прийшла, почала проявляти увагу, ну, я й не встояв. Молода, красива, весела, як ти в молодості… Закохався, як хлопчисько! Хотів одразу тобі зізнатися, та не вистачило хоробрості, шкода було тебе…
А тепер нема куди діватись, скоро ми станемо батьками. Ти ж розумієш, що мені завжди хотілося свою дитину… Твій Ігор мені як рідний, але не по крові… А мені потрібен спадкоємець, кому я передам свою справу? І з нею мені добре, ніби молодію… Мабуть, це криза середнього віку, чула про таке?
Оксано, я звісно ж негідник. Але тебе і Ігоря я не ображу. Квартира, машина — все вам залишу, допомагати грошима буду, не переживай. Навчання оплачуватиму, як і обіцяв. Я вже купив новий будинок, на Катю оформив, адже вона буде матір’ю моєї дитини.
— Зрозуміло, Андрію, важко встояти перед такою красунею, як Катя, а ти ж у нас справжній чоловік… І дитину кинути не можеш, це благородно. За фінансову допомогу дякую, не відмовлюсь, хочу почати подорожувати, жити для себе.
Коли виїжджаєш? Може, допомогти зібрати речі?
Андрій з подивом дивився на дружину. Така спокійна… Це навіть і на краще, ніяких скандалів і істерик.
— Ну, прощавай, чоловіче, дякую за прожиті разом роки, мені було добре поруч з тобою! Але у життя свій сценарій… Може, й я когось полюблю і буду щаслива з новим чоловіком. Ну, все, йди, а то Катя переживає, напевно, думає, я клещами в тебе тут вчепилася…
Андрій швидко схопив валізи, ніяково посміхнувся і пішов до ліфта.
Закривши двері, Оксана пішла на кухню. Дістала з холодильника пляшку шампанського, відкоркувала її, налила повний келих і випила. Її покинув чоловік. Як же безглуздо це звучить.
Ніколи вона навіть не думала про таке. Адже всі ці роки вони жили мирно, може божевільного кохання не було, але була прив’язаність, звичка, повага.
Ладно, нема чого розкисати. Нова життя, нові правила! Вона знайде, чим зайнятися, а платитиме чоловік. Дурню відмовлятися від грошей, з ними можливостей більше. Але, треба звикнути до нового статусу самотньої…
І Оксану закружило у вирі нових вражень. Вона записалася на танці й ходила після роботи. По вихідних гуляла по музеях, кіно, тренуваннях. Благо, було з ким. Сусідка Ірка, самотня, з радістю складала їй компанію.
Син Ігор навчався в іншому місті, приїжджав рідко. Оксана залишилася сама. Готувала тільки те, що любить, не потрібно ні під кого підлаштовуватися. Займалася тим, що подобається, ніхто їй нічого не забороняв. Про нового чоловіка вона навіть не думала, і одній було добре.
Розлучення з чоловіком відбулося тихо і спокійно. Оксані довелося побачити Катю в коридорі суду, красуня, що тут скажеш… Хороший, всеж таки, у її чоловіка смак!
Андрій переводив кожного місяця гроші, як і обіцяв. Оксана була вдячна йому за таку щедрість. Вона знала, що гроші у нього є, бізнес процвітає, і він безболісно може спонсорувати її та Ігоря. Як подяку за прожиті роки. Катя, ймовірно, про це не знала, навряд чи вона б схвалила.
Пройшов рік. В житті Оксани нічого не змінилося, танці, тренування, пару разів їздила за кордон. Допомога від Андрія перестала приходити, Оксані було ніяково запитувати причину. Скоріш за все, Катя заборонила. Ну, нічого, переживе. Ігор непогано заробляв, навчаючись у вузі, за навчання міг платити сам. Зарплати Оксані вистачало на свої потреби.
Вихідний, нікуди поспішати не треба. Оксана насолоджувалася кожним днем. Зваривши борщ, виявила, що нема хліба, а його вона дуже любила. Вибігла на вулицю в булочну і зіштовхнулася з Андрієм.
— Андрій, як ти тут?
— Привіт, Оксана. Та я це… Живу тут недалеко… Квартиру купив.
— Вау, новини… А Катя як же? Дитина? До речі, хто у вас народився?
— Донька… Та там така історія вийшла… Уявляєш, Катя ця була підослана конкурентом. Влізла в довіру, я закохався, далі ти знаєш… Потім вона почала тиснути на мене, щоб я переписав бізнес на неї, боялася, що я її кину й залишу ні з чим…
Я погодився, після народження доньки, на емоціях все переписав їй. Собі залишив деяку суму на рахунку, про яку вона не знає. У результаті, вона мене вигнала. Донька виявилася не моя, бізнес відійшов конкуренту… Ось у такій халепі я опинився… Смішно, правда? Точно, як у поганій мелодрамі все вийшло…
Купив ось квартиру, знайшов роботу, не бідував, але й колишньої життя у мене вже не буде. І тобі ось тепер не можу допомагати… Вибач… Ти ж тепер зі мною навіть спілкуватися не захочеш, напевно, образив так тебе, проміняв на цю…
Оксані стало шкода його. Виглядав він неважливо… Ось же Катя аферистка яка! Він стільки праці і сил вклав у бізнес!
— Дурень ти, Андрійку! Ходімо до мене, я як раз борщ зварила, твій улюблений…
Вони душевно поговорили на кухні, де стільки років зустрічалися кожного дня, обговорювали новини. Але тепер вони вже не були чоловіком та жінкою.
Потім вони періодично спілкувалися телефоном. Про те, щоб зійтися знову, не йшлося. У кожного своє життя. Оксана на танцях познайомилася з чоловіком, вийшла за нього заміж і була щаслива.
Андрія вона запросила на весілля, він прийшов, і навіть радий був за колишню. На весіллі він познайомився з сестрою нареченого… Через півроку Оксана з новим чоловіком гуляли на його весіллі…
Все ж таки життя, не передбачувана річ! Ніколи не треба впадати в розпач і ставити хрест на собі, що б не сталося. Адже ніколи не знаєш, що трапиться, треба просто жити і радіти кожному дню!
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THE MOTHER-IN-LAW Anna Petrovna sat in the kitchen, watching the milk quietly simmer on the stove. Three times she’d forgotten to stir it, and each time she remembered too late: the froth would rise and spill over, and she’d wipe the stovetop in irritation. In those moments, she realized: it wasn’t about the milk. Ever since her second grandchild was born, it was as if everything in the family had gone off the rails. Her daughter grew weary, lost weight, and spoke less. Her son-in-law came home late, ate in silence, and sometimes retreated straight to the bedroom. Anna Petrovna noticed all this and thought: how could anyone leave a woman alone like this? She spoke up—first gently, then with more edge. At first to her daughter, then to her son-in-law. But she began to notice a strange thing: after her words, things in the house didn’t get lighter—they got heavier. Her daughter defended her husband, her son-in-law grew more withdrawn, and she herself went home with the feeling she’d once again done the wrong thing. That day, she went to the vicar not for advice, but because she simply had nowhere else to go with these feelings. ‘I suppose I’m just a bad person,’ she said, not looking at him. ‘I do everything wrong.’ The vicar was sitting at his desk, writing. He put down his pen. ‘Why do you think that?’ Anna Petrovna shrugged. ‘I wanted to help. But it seems all I do is make everyone angry.’ He looked at her kindly, without judgment. ‘You’re not a bad person. You’re tired. And very anxious.’ She sighed. That felt like the truth. ‘I’m scared for my daughter,’ she said. ‘She’s so different after giving birth. And him…’ she waved a hand. ‘It’s like he doesn’t even notice.’ ‘And do you notice what he does?’ asked the vicar. Anna Petrovna thought. She remembered last week, when he quietly washed the dishes late at night, thinking no one noticed. Or on Sunday, when he took the pram out for a walk, even though it was clear he just wanted to lie down and sleep. ‘He does things… I think,’ she said uncertainly. ‘But not the way he should.’ ‘And what is “the way he should”?’ asked the vicar calmly. Anna Petrovna wanted to answer right away, but suddenly realized she didn’t know. In her head: more, more often, more attentively. But specifically what, she couldn’t say. ‘I just want it to be easier for her,’ she said. ‘Then say that,’ the vicar responded gently. ‘But say it to yourself, not to him.’ She looked up at him. ‘What do you mean?’ ‘I mean that right now, you aren’t fighting for your daughter—you’re fighting with her husband. And fighting means tension. Everyone gets tired of that. You. Them.’ Anna Petrovna was silent for a long time. Then she asked: ‘So what should I do? Pretend everything’s fine?’ ‘No,’ he said. ‘Just do what helps. Not words, but actions. And not against anyone, but for someone.’ On the way home, she thought about this. Remembered how, when her daughter was little, she didn’t lecture her but just sat beside her when she cried. Why was it different now? The next day she showed up without warning. Brought soup. Her daughter was surprised, her son-in-law awkward. ‘I won’t stay long,’ Anna Petrovna said. ‘Just came to help.’ She watched the children while her daughter slept. Left quietly, without saying a word about how hard things must be or how they ought to live. A week later, she came again. And a week after that. She still saw her son-in-law wasn’t perfect. But she began to notice other things too: how carefully he lifted the youngest, how he tucked a blanket around her daughter at night, thinking no one saw. One day, she couldn’t help herself and asked him in the kitchen: ‘Is it hard for you right now?’ He looked surprised, as if no one had ever asked him that. ‘It’s hard,’ he said after a pause. ‘Really hard.’ And that was it. But after that, something sharp disappeared from the air between them. Anna Petrovna realized: she’d been waiting for him to change. But what needed to change was herself. She stopped discussing him with her daughter. When her daughter complained, she didn’t say, ‘I told you so.’ Just listened. Sometimes she took the children so her daughter could rest. Sometimes she called her son-in-law to ask how he was. It wasn’t easy. It was much easier to get angry. But slowly, the house grew quieter. Not better, not perfect—just quieter. Without the constant strain. One day her daughter said: ‘Mum, thank you for being with us now, not against us.’ Anna Petrovna thought about those words for a long time. She realized something simple: peace isn’t when someone admits they’re wrong. It’s when someone is the first to stop fighting. She still wished her son-in-law was more attentive. That wish didn’t go away. But living alongside it was something more important: wanting peace in the family. And every time the old feelings came up—indignation, bitterness, the urge to say something sharp—she asked herself: Do I want to be right, or do I want life to be easier for them? The answer almost always told her what to do next.
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