З життя
Ти не самотня, доню
Ви не одна, доню…
— Костенко, вам дитину приносити на годування?
— Ні, я ж казала. Відмову буду писати.
Медсестра похитала головою і вийшла. Оксана повернулася до стіни і заплакала. Кормлячі мами в палаті перезирнулися і продовжили годувати своїх малюків.
Оксана поступила вночі з переймами, народила швидко. Хлопчик, 3 кг 500 грамів. Здоровий, красивий. Поглянувши на нього, новоспечена мати заплакала, але якось нерадісно.
— Ну, все гаразд, чого плачеш. Хороший у тебе такий хлопчик, міцненький. Доньку хотіла, мабуть? Нічого, потім за донькою прийдеш.
— Я залишу його. Не буду забирати…
— Ну ось тобі й раз… Що за причина? Ти, дівчино, не дурій, час є подумати, це ж твоя дитина, невже не шкода?
Дарія, Оксани сусідка по палаті, сиділа на лавці з чоловіком у коридорі для відвідувачів. Розповідала, як смішно крутить носиком їхня донечка, вони весело сміялися. Зайшла жінка з пакетом, попросила покликати Оксану.
Даша сходила в палату і привела Оксану.
— Доню, як ти? Як синочок? До речі, ім’я вже придумала?
— Нема у нього імені… Нехай нові батьки потім називають, як захочуть. Залишу я його, мамо… Нікому ми не потрібні, одні на всьому білому світі…
Оксана закрила обличчя руками і затряслася від ридань. Даші було ніяково перебувати при такій сцені, вона швидко попрощалася з чоловіком і пішла.
— Ти не одна, доню, я в тебе є. А Сашко мерзотник, що тут сказати. Це коханка його наговорила, що дитина не від нього, нагуляла ти, ось і розлютувався. Нічого, одумається і прийде. Ось тобі гостинець принесла, їж, щоб молоко ситне було. А сина Ванечкою назви.
Оксана зайшла у палату і запхнула пакет у тумбу. У коридорі розносився дитячий крик, нервово, пронизливо. Оксана вийшла у коридор.
— Це не мій кричить так?
— Твій…
— Давайте погодую його…
Медсестра підхопилася і принесла малюка. Він верещав не своїм голосом, личко було червоним від напруги.
— Ну, не кричи так. Зараз мама тебе погодує.
Оксана незграбно намагалася прилаштувати кричущу дитину до грудей. Даша підійшла і допомогла їй. Малюк замовк, процес пішов. Обличчя Оксани розплилося в усмішці, який же він смішний, цей карапуз, пихтить, старається.
Тепер на кожне годування Ванечку приносили мамі. Оксані подобалося розглядати його носик-гудзик, насуплені брівки.
— Оксано, це мама до тебе приходила? Приємна жінка така.
— Та ні, це свекруха. Мама померла, коли я ще малою була, батько спився, мене тітка виховувала. Потім я заміж вийшла і переїхала до чоловіка в дім. Добре жили, поки коханку не завів. Пішов до неї, а мене знати не хоче. Я сама не своя була від такої новини, а тут перейми почалися…
— Куди ж ти тепер з дитиною підеш?
— Свекруха пропонує з нею жити, вона одна, чоловіка немає, син один — і той утік… Вона хороша, добра жінка, завжди до мене добре ставилася.
— От і йди до неї, з онуком буде няньчитись, допомога яка. А чоловік одумається і повернеться…
Оксана так і зробила. Анна Петрівна допомагала у всьому, в онукові душі не чаяла.
Коли Ваню виповнився місяць, виявився батько. Оксани не було вдома, пішла в магазин.
— Мамо, я з Катею їду на північ, роботу там запропонували. Ось зайшов сказати і попрощатися. І це… грошей попросити, скільки не шкода…
— Шкода. Ти дружину кинув на сносях, мерзотник, вона мало не залишила в лікарні дитину від горя. Ех, ти… Немає батька, а то всипав би по перше число за такі фокуси. Грошей не дам. У мене онук росте, йому потрібніше, а ти заробиш.
Тут закричав Ванечка, Анна Петрівна кинулася до ліжечка.
— Що, навіть на сина не глянеш? Копія ж ти.
— Та який він мені син… Нагуляла його Оксанка, навіщо мені чуже.
— Ну і дурень ти, Сашко. Іди, живи далі без розуму.
Анна Петрівна вийшла на пенсію, а замість неї взяли Оксану на роботу. Ваня пішов в дитсадок, жили дружно і весело втрьох.
— Аню, чому це невістка твоя виїжджати не думає? Де це видано, що свекруха з невісткою живе, а сина вигнала.
— Мені Оксана дорожча сина — дурня, й онук найулюбленіший. Для них і живу, Віро. А ти свій поганий язик притримала б…
Сусідка Віра похитала головою і пішла далі по своїх справах. Вона щиро не розуміла поведінки Анни, вже у неї все — по-іншому було б, синок був на першому місці завжди. П’яниця, звичайно, але видно, доля така.
Заметила Анна Петрівна, що стала Оксана причепурюватися, та вечорами бігати кудись.
— Оксано, ну як його звати?
— Кого, мамо?
— Ну, того, до кого бігаєш.. Розкажи, доню, мені ж цікаво.
— Ой, та ми просто гуляємо… Він військовий, приїхав у гості до родичів, випадково познайомилися.
— А що ж, знає він про Ванечку?
— Звісно, все знає…
— Ну, приводи знайомитися, нема чого його ховати від мене. Якщо хороша людина, то так і бути…
Олексій, так звали знайомого Оксани, приніс кошик з ягодами і пиріг, який спекла його тітка. Вані подарував іграшкову машину і футбольний м’яч.
Вечір пройшов весело, Олексій розповідав смішні історії з життя, Оксана заливалася сміхом, і Анна Петрівна сміялася до сліз.
Проводивши гостя, Оксана відразу ж поцікавилася :
— Ну як він вам? Хороша людина, як думаєте, мамо?
— Хороший, доню… Поважний, цікавий, вихований добре. І головне, любить він тебе. Гідний кавалер, не втрачай свого щастя!
Через місяць Олексій прийшов просити руки Оксани у Анни Петрівни.
— Ви вже будьте спокійні, Оксаночку ніколи не ображу з Ванятком. Жити ми будемо в Черкасах, там у мене великий будинок. Любимо ми одне одного, і Ванечка, мені як син. Благословіть нас.
Анна Петрівна проводила Оксану з Олексієм і Ванею. Все, виїхали в місто, обіцяли писати, приїжджати в гості… Як вона тепер одна тут, без них…
Минув рік, заявився син, Сашко. Брудний, недоглянутий.
— Господи, на кого ти схожий, Сашко? Що ж твоя Катя не пере одяг, що, чи що?
— Ай… Та немає більше Каті. Втекла до чоловіка з грошима… Свої ми всі пропивали, нічого немає за душею… Згадав ось, що у мене мати є і свій дім…
— Вчасно ти згадав, стільки років знати не знав, жива я тут чи ні…
— І про сина сказала, що збрехала мені тоді, щоб із сім’ї забрати, а я і повірив… Тому буду знайомитися з синочком… Де він, до речі?
— Пропустив ти своє щастя. Оксана вийшла заміж за пристойну людину і щаслива. Ванечку записали на нього, так що немає у тебе сина. А я збираю речі і їду до них. Оксана народила дівчинку, допомогти хочу, та внучку поняньчити. А ти живи тут, і стеж за домом, зрозумів?
Анна Петрівна їхала в поїзді і думала, як буває в житті цікаво виходить. І яке щастя, коли ти комусь потрібний, коли є кому допомогти і підтримати, як колись вона підтримала Оксану. Адже не допоможи тоді, невідомо як склалося б життя у них у всіх…
The Manor Smelled of French Perfume and Lovelessness. Little Lizzie Knew Only One Pair of Warm Hands—Those of the Housemaid Nora. But One Day Money Went Missing from the Safe, and Those Hands Disappeared Forever. Twenty Years Passed. Now Lizzie Stands at a Doorstep Herself—With a Child in Her Arms and a Truth That Burns in Her Throat… *** The Scent of Dough Was the Scent of Home. Not the grand house with marble staircase and three-tiered chandelier where Lizzie spent her childhood—but a real home. The one she’d dreamed up while sitting on a kitchen stool, watching Nora’s work-worn, red hands knead the elastic dough. “Why does dough breathe?” five-year-old Lizzie would ask. “Because it lives,” Nora would reply, not pausing in her work. “See how it bubbles? It’s happy it’s going into the oven. Odd, isn’t it? Being happy for the fire.” Lizzie hadn’t understood then. But now—she understood. She stood by the edge of a broken country road, clutching four-year-old Michael to her chest. The bus had gone, leaving them in the pale February twilight, surrounded by that particular village silence where you can hear snow crunching under a stranger’s boots three houses away. Michael didn’t cry—he’d almost forgotten how in the last six months. He only watched with solemn, grown-up eyes, and each time Lizzie shivered: Michael’s father’s eyes. His chin. His silence—always hiding something. Don’t think about him. Not now. “Mum, I’m cold.” “I know, darling. We’ll find it soon.” She didn’t know the address. Didn’t even know if Nora was still alive—twenty years had passed, a whole lifetime. All she remembered: “Pinewood Village, Sussex.” And the scent of that dough. And the warmth of those hands—the only ones in the big house that stroked her head just because, for no special reason. The lane led past sagging fences. Here and there, yellow lights glowed in windows—dim, but alive. Lizzie stopped at the last cottage—because her legs couldn’t go any farther, and Michael had become much too heavy. The gate creaked. Two snow-covered steps to the porch. The door—old, warped, paint peeling off. She knocked. Silence. Then—shuffling footsteps. The sound of a bolt sliding back. A voice—cracked, aged, but achingly familiar, making Lizzie’s breath catch: “Who’s out there in the dark at this hour?” The door opened. A tiny old woman in a knitted cardigan over her nightgown stood on the threshold. Her face—like a baked apple, wrinkled a thousand ways. But her eyes—the same. Faded, blue, still alive. “Nora…” The old woman froze. Then slowly raised the same hardworking, knotty hand to Lizzie’s cheek. “Oh, my word… Lizzie?” Lizzie’s knees buckled. She stood, clutching her son, unable to utter a word—only tears running hot down her cold cheeks. Nora asked nothing. Not “where from?”, not “why?”, not “what happened?”. She simply took her old coat, hanging on a nail by the door, and wrapped it around Lizzie’s shoulders. Then gently lifted Michael—who didn’t even flinch, just watched with those dark eyes—and held him close. “There now, you’re home, my little sparrow,” she said. “Come in. Come in, love.”
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Is the Orchid Really to Blame? “Polly, take this orchid or I’m throwing it out,” Kate said, carelessly picking up the clear pot from the windowsill and handing it to me. “Thanks, Kate! But what’s wrong with this orchid?” I was surprised. After all, three more gorgeous, well-tended orchids stood in her window. “It was a wedding gift for my son. And you know how that all ended,” Kate sighed heavily. “I know your Denis got divorced before their first anniversary. I won’t ask why—I bet it was a serious reason. Denis adored Tanya,” I said gently, not wanting to reopen a fresh wound. “I’ll tell you the full story one day, Polly. For now, it’s just too much,” Kate said, getting a bit teary. I brought the “banished” and “rejected” orchid home. My husband looked sympathetically at the wilting plant. “Why do you want that poor thing? There’s no life in it. Even I can see that. Don’t waste your time,” he insisted. “I want to revive it. Give it some love and care. You’ll see—soon you’ll be impressed by this orchid!” I replied, determined to breathe life back into the drooping flower. He winked playfully: “Who ever turns down a bit of love?” A week later, Kate called: “Polly, can I come over? I can’t keep this bottled up anymore. I want to tell you everything about Denis’s failed marriage.” “Of course, Kate. I’m here whenever you need me,” I assured her—remembering how she’d supported me through two rocky marriages of my own… After all, we’d been friends for years. Kate arrived within the hour, settled in the kitchen, and for hours, over a glass of dry wine, a mug of coffee, and some dark chocolate, she shared the whole, tangled tale. “I never imagined my ex-daughter-in-law was capable of such things. Denis and Tanya were together for seven years. Denis left Annie—who I adored, by the way—for Tanya, who was just stunning. He was absolutely besotted, following her around like a lovesick puppy. Tanya looked like a model—men couldn’t help but stare. But for all those years, they never had a child. I figured Denis wanted everything by the book—get married, then have kids. Denis is private, and we never pried. Finally, Denis told us: ‘Mum, Dad, I’m marrying Tanya. We’ve booked the registry office. I’m throwing a huge wedding—no expense spared.’ He was thirty. We were thrilled that he’d finally settle down. But, Polly, the wedding date had to be postponed twice—once Denis got sick, then I was held up at work. It felt odd, but Denis was glowing with happiness—I didn’t say anything. Denis even wanted to have a church wedding with Father Christopher, but the priest was called back to his home parish. Nothing was going smoothly. It seemed like the world was warning us… The wedding was spectacular, noisy, extravagant. Here—look at the wedding photo. You see that orchid? Glorious, in full bloom. Its leaves stood tall like soldiers. And now? Just limp rags remain of it. …Denis and Tanya planned their honeymoon in Paris, but right at the airport, Tanya was barred from leaving the country—something about an unpaid fine. Denis swatted away these troubles like flies. …But then Denis got seriously ill. Ended up in hospital, things looked grim. Doctors were at a loss. Tanya visited for a week, then bluntly told him: ‘Sorry, but I can’t handle being married to an invalid. I’m filing for divorce.’ Polly, imagine my son—bedridden—hearing that. But he only said: ‘I understand, Tanya. I won’t fight you.’ So they divorced. But Denis got better—thanks to a wonderful doctor named Peter. And Peter had a lovely 20-year-old daughter, Mary. At first, Denis turned up his nose: ‘She’s just a slip of a girl—not even pretty.’ ‘Give her a chance, son. Looks aren’t everything. You’ve already had a model for a wife…Better to be happy drinking water together than sipping honey in sorrow.’ …Time passed. Mary totally fell for Denis—called all the time, trailed after him everywhere. So we tried nudging them together—day at the park, barbecue, campfire. Denis looked miserable, barely noticing Mary’s devotion. I told my husband: ‘It’s hopeless. Denis is still obsessed with Tanya. She’s a thorn in his heart.’ …Three or four months later—ding dong! It’s Denis, holding that infamous orchid. ‘Here you go, Mum—remnants of past happiness. Do as you like with it—I’m done with it.’ I took it reluctantly and basically ignored it, blaming the poor flower for my son’s heartbreak. One day, a neighbour says: ‘Kate, I saw Denis with that petite girl. His ex-wife was more glamorous, for sure.’ But then Denis announced, hand-in-hand with Mary: ‘Meet my wife—Mary. We got married quietly at the registry office, then Father Christopher married us in church. Mum, Dad, no big fuss this time! It’s forever now.’ I pulled him aside: ‘Denis, are you sure you love her? Is this for revenge against Tanya?’ ‘No, Mum. I’m over it. That woman is my past—I’m done even saying her name. Mary and I are right for each other.’ And that’s the tale, Polly. Kate finished her story, right down to the last detail. …Two years passed. Life swept us along. But the orchid? It flourished again—blooming beautifully after care and love. Flowers know how to say thank you. I met Kate at the hospital maternity ward: ‘Hi, mate! What brings you here?’ ‘Mary just had twins—being discharged today!’ Kate beamed. Denis and his dad hovered nearby, Denis clutching red roses. Out came exhausted but glowing Mary, with two sleeping bundles in tow. Then came my daughter, holding my own new granddaughter. Meanwhile, Tanya was begging Denis for forgiveness and a fresh start. …But glue a broken teacup, and no one really wants to drink from it…
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Raw Nerves: In This Family, Everyone Lived Their Own Separate Lives. Dad, Alexander, Had Not Just a Wife but a String of Lovers. Mum, Jenny, Turned a Blind Eye, but She Had Her Own Secret Romance with a Married Colleague. Their Two Sons Were Left to Fend for Themselves. Nobody Really Raised Them, So They Wasted Days Wandering Aimlessly. Jenny Claimed the School Was Responsible for Their Upbringing. On Sundays, the Family Would Gather in Silence Round the Kitchen Table, Wolf Down Lunch, and Disperse to Their Separate Interests. They Might Have Continued in Their Broken, Flawed but Comfortably Familiar Existence—Until Irreversible Tragedy Struck. When the Younger Son, Daniel, Was Twelve, Alexander First Took Him to the Garage as His Little Helper. While Daniel Curiously Inspected the Tools, Alexander Stepped Next Door to Chat with Fellow Car Enthusiasts. Suddenly, Black Smoke and Flames Billowed from Alexander’s Garage. (Later, It Would Emerge that Daniel Had Accidentally Knocked a Lit Blowtorch onto a Can of Petrol.) Nobody Understood What Had Happened. People Were Frozen, Panicking, as Fire Raged. Water Was Thrown Over Alexander, and He Bolted into the Inferno. In Moments, He Emerged, Carrying His Motionless Son, Daniel’s Body a Mass of Burns—Only His Face, Shielded by His Hands, Remained Unscathed; His Clothes Were Completely Burned Away. Someone Had Already Called the Fire Brigade and Ambulance. Daniel Was Rushed to Hospital—He Was Alive! He Was Taken Straight to Surgery. After Agonising Hours, the Surgeon Came Out to Daniel’s Parents and Said, “We’re Doing All We Can. Your Son Is in a Coma. His Chances Are One in a Million. Science Is Powerless. Only Extraordinary Willpower—and a Miracle—Can Save Him Now.” Desperate, Alexander and Jenny Raced to the Nearest Church—in a Torrential Downpour. Drenched and Sobbing, They Entered the Sanctuary for the First Time in Their Lives, Begging the Priest, Father George, for Help. “…How grave are your sins?” Father George asked. Alexander, sheepish, replied, “Not murderers, if that’s what you mean…” “But where is your love? Dead underfoot,” the priest reproached. “There’s more space between you than a fallen oak log. Pray to Saint Nicholas for your son’s health—pray fiercely! But remember, it’s God’s will…” At the icon, Alexander and Jenny knelt, weeping and praying passionately—swearing to cut all affairs, vowing to change their lives. The next morning, the phone rang. The doctor reported Daniel was out of his coma. Alexander and Jenny never left his bedside. Daniel whispered to his parents, “Mum, Dad, promise me you’ll stay together,” and, “When I have children, they’ll have your names…” His parents thought he was delirious—after all, he couldn’t even move his finger. But Daniel began to recover. The family’s energy and savings—and even their summer cottage—went into his treatment. The garage and car had burned to ashes, but the main thing was: Daniel was alive. The grandparents pitched in to help, and the family came together through the crisis. A year on, Daniel was in a rehabilitation centre, able to walk and look after himself. He befriended Mary, a girl his own age who’d also been burned in a fire—her face badly scarred after multiple operations, too shy to look in a mirror. Daniel was drawn to her kindness, wisdom, and vulnerability. The two became inseparably close, bonding over pain, recovery, and endless conversation. Time passed… Daniel and Mary celebrated a modest wedding. They had two beautiful children: daughter Alexandra, then three years later, son John. At last, the family could breathe easy. But the ordeal had left Alexander and Jenny drained. They decided to part ways, both craving peace and relief from each other. Jenny moved to stay with her sister in the suburbs, visiting Father George before leaving—he, now a confidant, urged her not to go for long; “A husband and wife are one.” Alexander remained alone in the empty flat, sons with families of their own. Visiting grandchildren was done separately, timings carefully coordinated to avoid crossing paths. And so, after all they’d suffered, every member of the family finally found their own, peculiar peace…
CUT TO THE QUICK… In this family, everyone lived their own separate lives. Jack, the father, in addition to his...