З життя
Сестри розлучені двадцять років: історія втраченої зустрічі.
Ольга не бачила старшу сестру понад двадцять років. Анна ще в десятому класі переїхала до бездітної тітки в Київ. Розповідали, що готується до вступу в університет.
– Київські ж університети не такі, як наші. З таким дипломом де завгодно можна працювати, – міркувала мати. А Ольга заздрила.
– Мені так ніколи не пощастить.
За двадцять років Анна закінчила школу, потім університет. У міжнародну компанію влаштувалася працювати. Кар’єру зробила. Квартиру собі, правда, так і не купила. Не хотіла обростати добром.
Дивилася Ольга на фотографії старшої сестри з заздрістю. Ось вона в Парижі, а тут у Венеції, тут у Туреччині з подругами, а тут вже в Карпатах. І казала матері:
– Щастить Анці. Я б теж так хотіла.
– Та що ж тут доброго, – заперечувала мати, – адже ні дому, ні дітей. Заміжня, а сім’ї немає.
– Нічого ти, мам, не розумієш, – Це справжнє життя. Звикли ви над златом чахнути та барахлом обростати. А я на її весільні фото дивлюсь і заздрю. Подивися, які гарні, фото професійним майстром зроблені.
– А жити на орендованій квартирі теж нормально?
– Зате ділити нема чого. Тому нема спокуси розлучитися. Вони однією роботою зв’язані, а не добром накопиченим. Тому й шлюб міцний. Подивися, з класу Аніного, скільки розлучених. Сім’ї-то пальцями перерахувати можна. Нічого ти, мам, не розумієш, зараз все по-іншому. Зараз люди для себе живуть. Для свого задоволення.
– Це ти нічого не розумієш, – тихо додала мама, – шкода мені Анцю, не склалося в неї життя. Я у багато в чому винна. – Вона відвернулася, щоб молодша дочка сліз не бачила. Невже і в Ольги щастя не буде. Не тих кумирів вибрала. Треба б їй усе розповісти, та як тепер розкажеш? Виходить, що ми брехали їй. Як відчували, розмову цю затіяли. Вже наступного дня зателефонувала Анна:
– Мамо, можна мені приїхати, – спитала вона, потім після мовчання, – я без Івана.
– Що сталося? – Не повірила своїм вухам, – як без Івана?
– Так можна чи ні? – Тетяна Вікторівна відчула, що Анна втрачає терпіння.
– Звичайно, звичайно можна. Приїдеш, тут і розберемося.
– Дякую. – Анна відключила телефон, а у Тетяни Вікторівни на серці важко стало. Вона і раніше знала, що у старшої доньки не складається. А після дзвінка впевнилася. Навіщо приїжджає, чому без чоловіка і надовго чи ні?
Наступні дні передчуттями були сповнені. Жартома чи не бачили лише на фото дочку. Олексій Іванович з кута в кут хвилювався ходив. А Тетяна Вікторівна пироги пекла. Вона пам’ятала, як Анечка їх любила. Ждали її на машині, а вона поїздом приїхала. Несміливо в двері постукала, Тетяна Вікторівна як побачила її, лише руками сплеснула. В руках у Анни пакунок був, який та дбайливо до себе притискала.
– Дитинка… – ахнула мати, – та звідки? Заходь, заходь, – метушилася Тетяна Вікторівна
– Залишили, – спокійно відповіла Анна, – під дверима.
– А Іван що ж?
– Іван не хоче дитини. Я б раніше приїхала, та поки документи оформлювала, потім розлучення…
– Та як же? Навіщо?
– Мамо, дай я цього разу сама розберуся, вже не маленька. Якщо ти не хочеш, я завтра поїду.
– Нікуди ти не поїдеш, – втрутився Олексій Іванович, – досить дурниць у нашу сім’ю. У нас жити будете. Ольга все одно до нас рідко приїжджає, ми вдвох з матір’ю. А у вас є власний дім. Правильно зробила, що приїхала.
– Дякую, тату. – Обняла батька Анна.
– Що відбувається-то? – пролунав голос Ольги, вона весь час при дверях стояла. У метушні її не помітили. – Що за таємниці в нашій родині? Що сталося? Яких дурниць у нас вистачає. – Ольга вимагала негайної відповіді. Малюк заплакав, Анна метушилася, намагаючись його заспокоїти.
– Я сама Олі все поясню. Зрештою, це моя вина. – Тетяна Вікторівна обернулася до молодшої дочки, – розумієш, тоді Анна від однокласника свого завагітніла. Ну, куди їй дитину у шістнадцять-то років? Ось я її до тітки Лариси і відправила. Все-таки столиця, хто нас там знає. Людей багато, загубитися можна. У неї подруга в маленькому районному центрі працювала в лікарні. Ми вмовили Анну там …, зрештою, ми позбавилися дитини.
Анна тоді переживала дуже, вони з Сергієм одружитися після школи вирішили. Дитину залишити хотіли. А я настояла. Ось Анна і не приїжджала додому з тих пір. Та що не приїжджала, навіть говорити зі мною не хотіла. Скільки років минуло, а не пробачила мене Анна. Ось так-то.
– Як ти могла, мамо, – Ольга не вірила своїм вухам. – Це ж треба, такі таємниці.
В ту ніч не спали, розмовляли, плакали, пробачення просили. Ольга вперше дізналася, що не було жодного щастя у її сестри. Що не удача, а образа тримала її далеко від родини.
– Нічого, тепер все налагодиться, – повторював Олексій Іванович, головне, що ми разом. Все виправимо, Михайлика виростимо. Все добре буде.
***
Сергій в рідному місті залишився. Тут університет закінчив, тут працювати влаштувався. От тільки так і не одружився. А коли дізнався, що Анна повернулася, одразу до неї прийшов. Через півроку весілля зіграли, веселе сільське.
– Пробачте мене. Я все життя вам зіпсувала, – каялася на весіллі Тетяна Вікторівна
– Нічого ти не зіпсувала, – виправив її Олексій Іванович, – неможливо нічого зіпсувати, якщо люди одне одного люблять. Скільки шляхам не звиватися, а життя їх все одно на вірний шлях виведе. З дитини все почалося, дитина все виправила. І хто знає, як воно краще.
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…
BITTERSWEET JOY What is it you dont like about this young lady? Shes a lovely girl. Polite, tidy, bright enough...
The Postage Stamp: How Illya Left Katya for Another Woman, Katya Swore Revenge on All Men, and Daughter Sonia Discovered the Secret of Real Love
A POSTAGE STAMP Toms left Emily, Mum sighs heavily. What do you mean? Im confused. Im baffled myself. He was...
A Lifetime with My One True Wife: Love, Patience, Broken Porcelain, and the Bittersweet Legacy of a Brother’s Secret Regret
MY OWN WIFE How have you managed to stay with the same wife all these years? Whats the secret? My...
A Husband Worth More Than Bitter Resentment: From Loss and Iron-Selling to New Love, Second Chances, and Family Turmoil – My English Tale of Marriage, Heartbreak, and Hope
MY HUSBAND IS WORTH MORE THAN BITTER RESENTMENT Henry, that was the final straw! Were getting a divorce. No need...
A Christmas Eve Miracle: How Paul Forgot His Daughter’s Gift, Adopted a Kitten, and Found the True Spirit of the New Year
A Christmas Eve Miracle Tom, can you please explain how you managed to forget? Sarah looked at me with a...
Broken by Nagging: The Night Stepan Finally Let His Tears Fall – A Village Story of a Silent Man, a Demanding Wife and Mother-in-Law, and the Healing Power of a Kind Word
So, listen, Ive got to tell you about something that happened a while back stuck with me, honestly. This bloke...
He Hated His Wife. Hated Her… They Spent 15 Years Together—Every Morning He Saw Her Face, But Only in the Last Year Did Her Habits Begin to Grate on Him, Especially the Way She Stretched Out Her Arms in Bed and Sleepily Said, “Good Morning, Sunshine! It’s Going to Be a Wonderful Day.” At First He’d Loved Her Body, Her Freedom, Her Morning Rituals—Now Even Her Nakedness Filled Him with Anger. She Knew of His Three-Year Affair, But Time Had Healed Her Wounded Pride and Left Only a Sad Sense of Uselessness. Secretly, She Struggled with a Terminal Illness, Finding Solace in a Quiet Village Library. When He Finally Decided to Leave Her for His Lover, He Discovered a Hidden Folder with Her Medical Records—The Diagnosis Gave Her 6–18 Months to Live, and Six Months Had Already Passed. At a Restaurant Where They Once Celebrated Their Anniversary, She Waited for Him in the Autumn Sunshine, Tears Flowing as She Realized Her Life Was Slipping Away Unnoticed. In the End, He Cared for Her Every Moment Until She Passed, Realizing Too Late the Depth of His Loss; Under Her Pillow He Found Her New Year’s Wish: “To Be Happy with Him Until the End of My Days.” That Same Year, He’d Wished for Freedom—And in the End, Each Received Exactly What They’d Requested…
He despised his wife. Truly, despised her They had shared their lives for fifteen years. For every one of those...
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.
BITTERNESS AT THE BOTTOM OF THE SOUL You should have been in a childrens home ages ago! Get out of...