Connect with us

З життя

Ricardo Salazar Stood Still for What Felt Like an Eternity.

Published

on

Richard Salter stands motionless for a long moment.

The world he has convinced himself he can purchasepeople, conscience, a futurecrumbles in a handful of sentences spoken by a girl whose shoes are worn thin.

Who showed you that? he finally croaks.

Nobody, Mr. Salter, Blythe answers quietly. I just understand it. Sometimes the languages speak for themselves.

Evelyn Clark, her mother, stands off to the side, hands clenched, trying not to shake. She watches a flicker of uncertainty cross the face of the man everyone in the building has been too frightened to even look at.

Youre lying, he snaps, almost rude. This is a trick. A gimmick to impress me.

He rises, strides to his desk and presses a button. An image of an old manuscript appears on the screen.

Here. The professors at Oxford couldnt translate this. If you give me even one true sentenceIll give you a thousand pounds. If notyour mother loses her job.

Mr. Salter, dont do it! Evelyn shouts. Its a child!

Silence! he cuts her off.

Blythe does not flinch.

Fine, she says. But you wont like the answer.

She leans toward the screen, runs a finger down the lines.

This isnt just text. Its a warning.

Ha! And what warning is that? Richard laughs nervously.

For you.

For me?! irritation and a hint of doubt colour his voice.

Blythe whispers:

The one who rises above all will fall from his own pride. His name will be erased by the wind, and his house will burn in flames.

Silence falls.

Suddenly a flash of lightning splits the sky outside. The room dims, and Richards face lights up for an instantpale, tense, eyes wide.

A coincidence just a coincidence, he mutters.

Blythe turns to him.

You mock the people who clean your floor, but do you know who wrote the code your empire rests on?

What what do you mean? his voice trembles.

My father.

Evelyn bites her lip.

Blythe no, stop

Yes, Mum, he needs to hear it, Blythe says, never breaking eye contact with Richard. He was a programmer in the cybersecurity department. He worked on your system at night while you were holidaying by the sea. When he fell ill, you signed his dismissal order.

How what was his name? Richard, now paling, asks.

Andrew Clarke.

Richards eyes widen.

He was the one who wrote the protective code? The same one that brought millions from the German bank?

Yes, Blythe answers. And you stripped him of everything.

A hush settles. Only the rain tapping the windows can be heard.

We dont want revenge, Evelyn whispers. Just justice. And peace.

I didnt know Richard murmurs, his words hollow.

You knew, Blythe replies. You just didnt care.

He leans back in his chair. Everything he has built suddenly feels empty.

What do you want from me? Money? Education? A home? Ill give you everything.

Blythe watches him calmly.

We want nothing. But rememberGod sometimes speaks through the voices you cannot see.

She grabs her mothers hand.

Lets go, Mum.

Evelyn turns to him.

Ill finish the cleaning today. After that find yourself another woman.

The two women leave. The door closes slowly.

Richard remains alone.

He stands for a long stretch, unmoving. Then he opens a drawer and pulls out an old fileA. Clarke.

Inside is a request to extend a contract for health reasons. At the bottom, his signature reads: Denied.

Salter places the file on the desk, then slowly removes his watch and leaves it beside it.

Outside, rain pours down the panes like liquid shame.

The next day the headlines blare:

Businessman Richard Salter donates all his assets and company shares to a fund for the education of children from lowincome families.

A month later, the Crystal Tower is sold to Oxford University to become a freelearning centre.

And in a modest school on the outskirts of town, a girl named Blythe starts a language club for children without means.

When asked why she does it, she smiles:

Because knowledge is power. But true power is to forgive.

Epilogue

Evelyn and Blythe leave London. No one hears of them again.

And Richard Salter disappears from public life.

A few months later, on the top floor of the Crystal Tower, a plaque appears:

The real wealth is learning from those who speak with their hearts.

Click to comment

Leave a Reply

Ваша e-mail адреса не оприлюднюватиметься. Обов’язкові поля позначені *

18 − 13 =

Також цікаво:

З життя2 години ago

“YOU MISSED IT, MARINA! THE PLANE’S GONE! AND WITH IT YOUR JOB AND YOUR BONUS! YOU’RE FIRED!” — HER BOSS YELLED DOWN THE PHONE, AS MARINA STOOD IN THE MIDDLE OF A TRAFFIC JAM, STARING AT THE OVERTURNED CAR SHE’D JUST PULLED SOMEONE ELSE’S CHILD FROM. SHE’D LOST HER CAREER, BUT FOUND HERSELF.

“YOU DIDN’T MAKE IT, KATHERINE! THE FLIGHT’S GONE! AND WITH IT, YOUR POSITION AND YOUR BONUS! YOU’RE FINISHED!” Her boss...

З життя2 години ago

Oksana, Are You Busy? A Festive Night of Mishaps, Kindness, and New Beginnings on a Snowy New Year’s Eve in England

Emma, are you busy? Mum asked, popping her head round the door. One minute, Mum. Let me just send this...

З життя11 години ago

A Parent’s Love: Family Gatherings, Christmas Surprises, and a Lesson in Protectiveness on a Winter’s Day

Parental Love Mum always said, Children are the flowers of life, shed laugh, and Dad would grin and add, Flowers...

З життя11 години ago

Igor Never Returned From His Holiday: When Your Husband Disappears by the Seaside, a Wife’s Search, Tense Family Reunion, and the Painful Truth That Comes Home

Since his holiday, Stanley never came back Hasnt your husband written or called yet? Not a word, Vera, not after...

З життя12 години ago

“Oh, You Drive Me Mad!… I Eat Wrong, I Dress Wrong, I Do Everything Wrong!”—Pavel’s Voice Broke Into a Shout. “You Can’t Do Anything Right!… Can’t Even Earn a Decent Living… And You’re No Help Around the House, Ever!”—Marina Sobbed, “…And There Are No Children…” She Whispered. Belka, the Ten-Year-Old Ginger-and-White Cat, Watched Silently from Atop the Cupboard as Another Family “Tragedy” Unfolded. She Knew, Even Felt, That Mum and Dad Loved Each Other Dearly—So Why Say Such Hurtful Things? Mum Ran Off Crying, Dad Chain-Smoked by the Window, and Belka Thought to Herself: “What This Home Needs Is Happiness, And Happiness Means Kids… Somehow, We Need to Find Children…” Belka Herself Couldn’t Have Kittens—She’d Been Neutered Long Ago. As for Mum, The Doctors Said It Was Possible, But Something Never Quite Worked Out… The Next Morning, After Mum and Dad Left for Work, Belka Squeezed Out the Window and Went to See Her Neighbour, Whiskers, for Advice. “Why On Earth Would You Want Kids?” Sniffed Whiskers. “Ours Always Come Over—Hide From Them If You Can! They Smear My Muzzle With Lipstick Or Squeeze Me ‘Til I Can’t Breathe!” Belka Sighed, “We Need Proper Children… But Where On Earth Do We Get Them?” “Well… That Stray Molly on the Street Just Had Five… Take Your Pick…” Whiskers Shrugged. On Her Own Daring, Belka Tiptoed Balcony to Balcony Down to the Street, Squeezed Through The Bars of a Basement Window, and Called Out, “Molly, Could You Come Here for Just a Moment?” From Deep Within the Cellar Came the Desperate Squeaking of Kittens. Belka Cautiously Approached. Underneath the Heater, Five Blind, Mismatched Kittens Searched The Air, Wailing Hungrily. Molly Hadn’t Been There for At Least Three Days. The Babies Were Starving… Feeling She Might Cry, Belka Carefully Carried Each Kitten to the Entrance of Her Building. Lying Beside the Screeching, Hungry Bunch, She Waited Anxiously for Mum and Dad to Come Home. When Pavel and Marina Returned from Work, They Were Astonished—There Was Belka, Never Before Out Alone, Being Nursed by Five Noisy Kittens. “How on Earth Did This Happen?” Pavel Stammered. “It’s a Miracle…” Whispered Marina. They Scooped Up Belka and the Kittens and Rushed Inside. As Pavel Watched Their Purring Cat in a Box Full of Babies, He Asked, “So… What Are We Going To Do With Them?” “I’ll Hand-Feed Them… When They’re Grown, We’ll Find Them Homes… I’ll Call My Friends,” Whispered Marina. Three Months Later, Still Stunned By The Miracle, Marina Sat Stroking Her Feline Clan, Repeating to Herself, “This Can’t Be Real… This Can’t Happen…” And Soon After, She and Pavel Wept for Joy, Laughing and Embracing, “I’m So Glad We Finished Building This House!” “Yes! Perfect for a Child to Play Outside!” “And the Kittens Can All Run Around!” “There’s Room for Everyone!” “I Love You!” “Oh, I Love You Even More!” Wise Old Belka Wiped Away a Tear—Life Was Finally Coming Together…

Im so fed up with you! Nothing I do is right for you! The way I eat, what I wearits...

З життя12 години ago

Excuse Me, Sir, Please Don’t Push—Oh, Is That Smell Coming From You? A Chance Encounter, a Perfectly Laid Bathroom Tile, and a Second Wind: How Rita’s Life Changed at 53 When a Homeless Stranger with Sapphire Eyes Built Her Happiness and Challenged Her Son’s Inheritance Plans

– Excuse me, sir, please dont push. Oh, goodness. Is that smell coming from you? – Sorry, the man muttered,...

З життя13 години ago

Mother-in-Law Anna Peters was sitting in her kitchen, watching the milk quietly simmering on the stove. She had forgotten to stir it three times already, each time remembering too late: the milk would froth, spill over, and she would clean the stove irritably with a cloth. In those moments she felt it keenly: it wasn’t really about the milk. Ever since her second grandchild was born, everything in the family seemed to derail. Her daughter grew tired, thinner, and quieter. Her son-in-law came home late, ate in silence, sometimes heading straight to the bedroom. Anna saw this and thought: how can you just leave a woman to cope alone? She spoke up. At first gently, then more sharply. First to her daughter, then to her son-in-law. And then she noticed something strange: after she spoke, the house didn’t feel lighter, but heavier. Her daughter defended her husband, he grew gloomier, and Anna returned home with a sinking feeling that once again, she hadn’t done things right. That day she went to see their vicar, not for advice, but because there was nowhere else to go with this feeling. “I suppose I’m just not a good person,” she said, not meeting his gaze. “I always do things wrong.” The vicar was sitting at his desk, writing. He set his pen aside. “Why do you think that?” Anna shrugged. “I tried to help. Instead, I only seem to make everyone angry.” He looked at her attentively, but without judgment. “You’re not a bad person. You’re just exhausted. And very anxious.” She sighed. That rang true. “I’m so worried for my daughter,” she said. “She’s so different since the baby. And him…” She waved a hand. “It’s like he doesn’t even notice.” “Do you notice what he does?” the vicar asked. Anna thought for a moment. She remembered how, last week, he washed the dishes late at night when he thought no one saw. How on Sunday he took the pram out for a walk, even though he looked as if he’d rather collapse into bed. “He does help… I suppose,” she replied doubtfully. “But not the way he should.” “And what way is that?” the vicar asked gently. Anna wanted to reply at once, but realised she didn’t know. She could only think: more, better, more attentively. But what, exactly, was hard to explain. “I just want things to be easier for her,” she said. “Then say that,” the vicar replied quietly. “Not to him, but to yourself.” She looked at him. “What do you mean?” “I mean you’re not fighting for your daughter — you’re fighting her husband. And fighting means being tense. That exhausts everyone: you, and them.” Anna was silent for a long while. Then she asked, “So what should I do? Pretend everything’s fine?” “No,” he replied. “Just do what helps. Not words, but actions. And not against someone, but for someone.” On her way home, she thought over his words. Remembered how, when her daughter was a little girl, she would just sit beside her quietly if she cried — never lecturing. Why was it different now? The next day, she arrived unannounced. She brought soup. Her daughter was surprised; her son-in-law embarrassed. “I won’t stay long,” Anna said. “Just wanted to help.” She watched the children while her daughter slept. Left quietly, without a word about how hard things were, or what they ought to do. The next week, she came again. And again, the week after. She still noticed that her son-in-law was far from perfect. But she began to see other things: the way he gently picked up the baby, how at night he tucked a blanket around her daughter when he thought no one was looking. One day, in the kitchen, she couldn’t help herself and asked him, “Is it hard for you right now?” He looked startled, as if no one had ever asked before. “It’s hard,” he answered, after a pause. “Very.” And nothing more. But something sharp in the air between them was gone. Anna realised she’d been waiting for him to change. But it needed to start with her. She stopped discussing him with her daughter. When her daughter complained, she didn’t say “I told you so.” She just listened. Sometimes she took the children to give her daughter a break. Sometimes she called her son-in-law to ask how things were. It wasn’t easy. It was much easier to stay angry. But gradually, the house grew quieter. Not better, not perfect — just quieter. Free of endless tension. One day her daughter said, “Mum, thank you for being with us now, not against us.” Anna thought about those words for a long time. She understood something simple: reconciliation doesn’t come from someone admitting they’re wrong. It comes when someone is willing to stop fighting first. She still wanted her son-in-law to be more attentive. That wish hadn’t gone away. But alongside it lived something more important: for her family to have peace. And every time the old feeling — frustration, resentment, the urge to criticise — rose up, she asked herself: Do I want to be right, or do I want to make things easier for them? Almost always, the answer showed her what to do next.

Mother-in-Law Margaret Williams sat in the kitchen, her eyes resting on the saucepan of milk gently simmering on the hob....

З життя13 години ago

Excuse Me, Sir, Please Don’t Push—Oh, Is That Smell Coming From You? A Chance Encounter, a Perfectly Laid Bathroom Tile, and a Second Wind: How Rita’s Life Changed at 53 When a Homeless Stranger with Sapphire Eyes Built Her Happiness and Challenged Her Son’s Inheritance Plans

– Excuse me, sir, please dont push. Oh, goodness. Is that smell coming from you? – Sorry, the man muttered,...