З життя
Похила жінка чекала в коридорі на лаві.
На лавці в коридорі жіночої поліклініки сиділа літня жінка. Поряд з нею була тендітна дівчина, років п’ятнадцяти, у короткій спідниці, з-під якої визирали гострі коліна. Бабуся привела онучку на переривання вагітності. Бабуся постійно важко зітхала. Онучка з переляканим поглядом розглядала все навколо. Поруч з нею стояла сумка. Підійшла жінка, років тридцяти, і сіла поруч.
— Ви до цього кабінету?
— Так… А скажіть, це не боляче?
— Неприємно, звісно, але знеболять. Головне, що це швидко, хвилин п’ять, якщо термін маленький. Так кажуть, я тут перший раз. І сама боюся, якщо чесно. І розумом розумію, що дитина ні в чому не винна…
— Господи, як же так сталося… Бачите, це моя онучка, в 9 класі вчиться, а хлопець її обманув, залишив… А вона вагітна. Він знати нічого не хоче про дитину. А нам що робити? Їй же треба школу закінчити… Батьків у неї немає, сама її виховала… Ох, біда-то яка…
— Бабусю, вистачить вже, не рви мені серце, і так важко… Он жінка сказала ж, що не боляче буде, раз і все…
— Ох, онучко, там же дитина у тебе, жива, а ти раз і все… Дитина не винна ні в чому, правильно жінка сказала. Знаєш що, вставай, підемо, нічого, виростимо. У війну народжували, і нічого. Впораємось. І твій Петро не потрібен, назвався батьком… Вставай, бери сумку, йдемо додому, немає нам тут чого робити.
Дівчина ніби цього й чекала. Взяла сумку і пішла до виходу, бабуся вийшла слідом. Жінка, яка сиділа на лавці, посміхнулася, дивлячись їм услід, думаючи про своє…
Двадцять років потому
— Мамо, я його люблю, у нас все серйозно, вже повір! Діма гарний хлопець, у нього велике майбутнє!
— Ну яке там майбутнє, якщо ви одружитесь… Закінчите університет, а там видно буде!
— Мамо, нам вже по 20 років, не маленькі. Весілля навчанню не завадить, тим більше, ми не будемо витрачати гроші, розпишемось і все, навіщо нам ці формальності. Пообідаємо в ресторані з батьками Діми та його бабусею і все, з друзями ми самі потім відзначимо. Діма дуже любить бабусю, вона його виховала.
— Ох, Машо, ну що ж не зробиш заради улюбленої доньки! Треба ж нам познайомитися з батьками Діми, будемо сватами, як-не-як…
— Запроси їх у гості, мамо…
— Вітаю, заходьте! Я мама Маші, Юлія. Сідайте за стіл…
Дивлячись на бабусю Діми, Юлі здалося, що вона її вже десь бачила. Мати Діми, Аня, була дуже молодою, виглядала трохи старше сина. У розмові з’ясувалося, що народила його в 16 років, від однокласника, який спочатку відмовлявся від дитини, а потім був змушений одружитися з Анею, щоб не потрапити в тюрму. Тільки на папері вони були чоловіком і дружиною, не жили разом, а потім і розлучилися.
— Ви знаєте, Юля, соромно зізнатися, але ми ж хотіли спочатку позбутися від Дімочки… Анька тоді ще була дитиною, яка з неї мати… Батьків у неї не було, мати померла ще молодою, а батько загинув у тюрмі. Я її одна виховала. І тут приніс у подолі… Ну кому народжувати, кому?
Коли прийшли вже в лікарню, чекали черги на процедуру цю, підійшла одна жінка. Також на аборт. Каже, діти ні в чому не винні, і мене ніби по лобі стукнули, хіба ж можна дитину невинну вбивати… Це був знак згори, щоб зупинилися і зберегли Дімку.
Ту жінку сам Бог, очевидно, послав. Ми з Анькою пішли з лікарні додому. До останнього вона ходила в школу, закінчила 9 класів, а більше нам і не треба було. Народився Діма, я з ним сиділа, а Аня ходила в училище, вивчилася на кондитера. Петро, батько Діми, ніяк не допомагав, і його батьки також. Нічого, впоралися. Аня потім вийшла заміж за гарного чоловіка, дочку ще народила. Печуть тепер торти на замовлення і непогано заробляють. Не переживайте, якщо Діма з Машею одружаться, їм є де жити, дам їм свою квартиру, а сама до Ані переберусь. Ось така у нас історія.
Юля не вірила своїм вухам. Це були ті самі бабуся з онучкою, які пішли з лікарні. Адже завдяки їм, вона наважилася залишити дитину, свою улюблену Машу…
Після розмови з бабусею тоді, їй раптом стало спокійно, вона зрозуміла, що треба народжувати, все буде добре. Дитина була від одруженого чоловіка, який був її першою любов’ю. Життя розвело їх у різні боки, і коли вони знову зустрілися, він вже був одружений. Тільки раз у них була зустріч, після якої вона зрозуміла, що вагітна. Сім’ю його вона не хотіла руйнувати, про дитину нічого не сказала, вирішивши, що не має права народжувати, псуючи життя і собі і дитині.
Вирішивши на аборт, Юля вмовляла себе, що так буде краще. Але бабуся з онучкою за 5 хвилин змінили її погляд на цю тему. Якщо вже вони впораються, то вона тим більше. Визначила це як знак згори. Юля вийшла з лікарні, слідом за ними. Вагітність і пологи пройшли добре, народилася її єдина донечка, найулюбленіша людина на Землі.
І ось їх знову звела доля. Тільки тепер з радісного приводу. Діти, яких могло не бути, збираються одружитися. Хіба це не знак долі?
Часто люди отримують знаки згори. Хтось прислухається, хтось ні. Іноді буває достатньо 5 хвилин, щоб змінити своє життя. Наприклад, рішення залишити дитину, яку не хотіли, не чекали. А потім життя не уявляють без цієї дитини і з жахом думають, що вона могла б і не бути…
Усяке в житті буває, але якщо ви відчуваєте, що робите помилку, не поспішайте, адже іноді 5 хвилин багато вирішують…
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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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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