З життя
– Ти жартуєш? Як таке можливо? Тобі ж всього двадцять один! Чому ти нічого не казала раніше?!
— Ти жартуєш? — здивувався Нікіта, — як таке можливо? Тобі ж усього двадцять один рік! І чому ти раніше нічого не сказала?!
Оля пригорнулася до чоловіка, віддано заглянула в очі:
— Я боялася, що ти розлюбиш мене і передумаєш одружуватися…
— А тепер? На що ти розраховуєш зараз?!
***
Вони познайомилися випадково. Оля сильно закупилася в супермаркеті, вийшла на вулицю з двома величезними пакетами, а там — ожеледь. Дівчина посковзнулася на сходах і, напевно, впала б, якби якісь сильні руки не підхопили її буквально в польоті.
— Обережніше, — почула вона поряд із собою бархатистий чоловічий голос, — тримайтеся за мене…
Відчувши, що стоїть міцно, Оля підвела очі на свого рятівника:
— Дуже дякую…
— Що ж ви так навантажилися? — з посмішкою запитав незнайомець, — та ще й у таку погоду?
— Батьків в гості чекаю, — просто відповіла Оля, — їдуть перевірити, як я в місті живу. От і…
— Зрозуміло. І далеко вам усе це нести? Може, вас підвезти?
— Та ні, незручно. Ви й так мені допомогли. Я сама дійду. Потихеньку. Он мій дім — зовсім поряд.
Оля, обережно ступаючи, пішла у вказаному напрямку. Чоловік пішов своєю дорогою…
Цілий день він намагався зосередитися на роботі, але марно: у пам’яті постійно виринала прекрасна незнайомка. Саме так він називав її у своїх видіннях.
«Яка ж чарівна, — думав він, — відкритий погляд, мінімум косметики, здається, навіть губної помади не було. І рум’янець… Такий ніжний, ледь помітний… І голос… Як дзюркотливий струмок… Ні, я повинен її знайти. Вона сказала, що живе зовсім близько…
Нікіта не був дамським угодником, швидше навпаки: ставився до прекрасної статі дуже насторожено, весь час чекав підступу.
Причина тому — нещасливе перше кохання, що закінчилося банальною зрадою. З п’ятого класу Нікіта був закоханий в однокласницю, яка, провівши його в армію і пообіцявши чекати, за пів року вийшла заміж за сина якогось бізнесмена.
Коли Нікіта повернувся, вона, ні трохи не соромлячись, повідомила:
— Нікіта, ну не переживай ти так. Якщо тебе це заспокоїть, знай: я досі тебе люблю. Але, кохати і виходити заміж — це різні речі. Що ти мені можеш запропонувати? Життя в орендованій квартирі чи, ще краще — в гуртожитку? З вічно порожнім гаманцем? Ні вже. Я хочу жити нормально. Сподіваюся, ти мене розумієш…
Нікіта все зрозумів. Страждав довго. Навіть почав пити. Але потім взяв себе в руки, влаштувався на роботу, вступив заочно до університету…
І ось тепер, він — тридцятирічний, самотній, цілком успішний чоловік мріяв про дівчину, яку бачив лише раз у житті. Та й то — мигцем.
А все тому, що на серці потепліло. Він стільки років цього чекав. І ось тепер — йокнуло. А він навіть імені її не дізнався…
Два тижні Нікіта тинявся в тому самому супермаркеті. Чекав на прекрасну незнайомку. І вона з’явилася.
Ввечері після роботи Оля зайшла купити щось на вечерю… Дуже розгубилася, коли якийсь чоловік буквально кинувся їй до ніг зі словами:
— Нарешті я вас знайшов!
Узнавши свого рятівника, усміхнулася:
— А навіщо ви мене шукали?
— Ми забули познайомитися! Я — Нікіта, а ви?
— Мене звати Оля, — дівчина з цікавістю дивилася на схвильованого чоловіка, — і що далі, Нікіта?
— Далі? А далі на нас чекає чудова вечеря у ресторані! Ви погоджуєтеся?
— Не знаю, так несподівано…
— Погоджуйтеся, Оля! — вмовляв чоловік, — мені так багато потрібно вам сказати…
Він розповів їй про себе все. Про перше кохання, про роки самотності, про те, як радий, що зустрів її і вважає це подарунком долі…
Оля уважно слухала… Цей чоловік, такий зворушливий і трохи наївний все більше їй подобався…
Вони почали зустрічатися. Практично щодня. І чим більше зустрічалися, тим більше прив’язувалися один до одного. Їм добре було разом, незважаючи на те, що Оля виявилася дівчиною цнотливою, до себе Нікіту не підпускала.
Спочатку чоловіка це здивувало, а потім привело в справжній захват. Тепер він був абсолютно впевнений, що Оля призначена йому долею і чекала лише на нього!
Він познайомив Олю зі своєю мамою. Оля звозила Нікіту до своїх батьків у село.
Там Нікіті все дуже сподобалося. Простий уклад життя, прості стосунки. Гостинні господарі.
Саме там, у присутності батьків, Нікіта зробив Олі пропозицію…
На реєстрації були лише найближчі: так захотіла Оля. Сказала, що не хоче великого торжества, але зате мріє про справжню весільну подорож. Нікіта погодився. Купив путівки. Від’їзд планувався через місяць після весілля.
І ось вже другий тиждень молодята жили разом. Нікіта не міг повірити своєму щастю. Щодня після роботи летів додому, як на крилах…
В один із прекрасних сімейних вечорів Нікіті здалося, що Оля чимось стривожена.
— Що з тобою, люба? — турботливо запитав він, — ти здорова? У тебе все гаразд?
— Нам потрібно поговорити, — тихо відповіла молода дружина…
— Говори, я весь увагою.
— Не знаю, як ти до цього поставишся, — почала Оля, зі скрутнощами добираючи слова.
— Звичайно нормально, — Нікіта бачив, що дружина сильно хвилюється і спробував її заспокоїти, — що б не сталося. Ти ж знаєш, як я тебе кохаю…
— Я розумію, що мала сказати раніше… Але не змогла…
— Оля, не зволікай, — Нікіта вже став напружуватися, — ти мене розлюбила?
— Ні, звичайно. Просто… Пробач… У мене є діти… Двоє…
— Що? Ти жартуєш? — здивувався Нікіта, — як таке може бути?
— Я не жартую…
— Але тобі ж усього двадцять один рік! Коли ти встигла? І чому раніше нічого не сказала?!
Оля пригорнулася до чоловіка, віддано заглянула в очі:
— Я боялася, що ти розлюбиш мене і передумаєш одружуватися…
— А тепер? На що ти розраховуєш зараз?!
— Не знаю. Сподіваюся, ти зрозумієш мене і пробачиш…
— Пробачу?! Я?! — Нікіта все ще не вірив у те, що почув…
— Розумієш, у мене, як і у тебе, була в житті сумна історія. Ми дуже кохали одне одного. Дізнавшись, що я вагітна, він кинув мене. Злякався. Мені ж тоді всього сімнадцять було. Коли народився син, він одумався, вибачення попросив. Я пробачила. Ми стали жити разом. Ще через рік дочка народилася. А він, поки я вагітна ходила, іншу собі завів. Арині було шість місяців, коли він знову мене покинув. Тепер уже з двома дітьми.
— І де ж тепер твої діти? Жах якийсь… Я ж був у вас у селі… Твої батьки нічого не сказали. Теж приховали, виходить…
— Діти поки що живуть у родичів. У них своїх дітей немає, от і запропонували, щоб я малюків у них залишила.
— А батьки, що ж? — не вгамовувався Нікіта, — невже не шкода онуків?
— Вони їх регулярно відвідують, але до себе брати відмовляються. Кажуть, що не впораються.
— Зрозуміло. Сімейка — ще та…
— Навіщо ти так? Я не хотіла, щоб так вийшло. Зауваж, я ж не нав’язувалася тобі. Ти сам мене знайшов…
— Та вже…, — кинув Нікіта, — і невинність ти круто розіграла… Я навіть повірив у твоє цнотливість…
— Я просто боялася сильно до тебе прив’язатися. Думала: раптом у нас нічого не вийде…
— А у нас вийшло?
— Звісно! Ми ж кохаємо одне одного!
— І ти можеш це говорити після такої жахливої брехні? Ти могла розповісти мені це раз сто до весілля! Але ні! Ти кажеш про це зараз, коли ми вже одружені!
— А що змінилося? Це було єдине, що я приховувала. Тепер ти мій чоловік і я більше не хочу тебе обманювати. А ось чи зможеш ти прийняти те, що я сказала, залежить від твоєї любові.
— Тобто, якщо погоджуся виховувати твоїх дітей, значить — люблю. А, якщо відмовлюся — значить ні?
— Якщо відмовишся, вони залишаться у моїх родичів. Ось і все. Якщо хочеш, я навіть не буду з ними зустрічатися.
— Іншими словами, ти готова відмовитися від власних дітей заради мене?
— Готова.
— Але це жахливо! Невже ти не розумієш?!
— Просто я дуже сильно люблю тебе…
Нікіта більше не міг цього слухати. Він схопив куртку і вискочив з квартири.
Довго ходив вулицями, намагаючись ні про що не думати. Намагався заспокоїтися.
Потім вирішив зайти до матері. Йому просто необхідно було з кимось поговорити…
— Не знаю, що й сказати, синок, — задумливо промовила мати, вислухавши Нікіту, — тут ти сам маєш вирішувати.
— Що вирішувати, мамо? Я ж заздалегідь усе знаю: якщо погоджуся — погано буде мені, якщо відмовлюся — позбавлю дітей матері і всі вони будуть нещасні.
— Тоді не поспішай щось робити. Подумай. Хоча… Не уявляю, як ти будеш жити з людиною, здатною на таке…
— Я теж не уявляю…
— Тоді, може, краще вам розлучитися?
— Я люблю її, мамо…
— Тоді не знаю…
Нікіта залишився з дружиною. Запропонував забрати дітей, але Оля відмовилася:
— Не хочу вішати на тебе такий вантаж, — сказала вона абсолютно спокійно, — нехай живуть у родичів, а ми будемо їх відвідувати.
— У якості кого? — втомлено запитав Нікіта, — вони, напевно, твою тітку вже мамою називають.
— І нехай. Їм там добре, я впевнена. А це найголовніше.
— Дивись сама, — кинув у відповідь Нікіта і більше не повертався до цієї теми.
До дітей вони з’їздили кілька разів. Спостерігаючи, як дружина возиться з ними, Нікіта мимоволі думав:
— Цікаво, що буде, коли у нас народиться дитина? Раптом, зі мною щось трапиться? І що тоді? Вона і його сюди відвезе?
Через рік Нікіта подав на розлучення…
Не зміг так жити…
Та й кохання кудись зникло…
I’ll Remind You “Miss Mary, I can’t get this swirl right,” whispered little Archie, the Year 2 boy, despondently poking his brush at the stubborn green leaf of his painted flower. “Try a lighter touch, sweetheart—like you’re stroking a feather across your palm. That’s it—beautiful! That’s not a swirl, it’s a masterpiece!” smiled the elderly teacher. “And who is such a wonderful painting for?” “For my mum!” Archie beamed, triumphant over the defiant leaf. “It’s her birthday today! It’s my present!” The pride in his voice after the teacher’s praise was unmistakable. “Well, your mum is a lucky lady, Arch. Don’t close your sketchbook just yet—let those colours dry a minute, so they don’t smudge. And when you get home, gently tear out this page. Your mum will absolutely love it, you’ll see!” Miss Mary cast a last, fond glance at the boy’s dark head, bent over the page, then returned to her desk, inwardly smiling. A birthday gift for Mum! It had been too long since she had seen such beautiful presents. Archie truly had a gift for art—she must call his mother and suggest the art school; such talent deserves to be nurtured. And she’d ask her old pupil if she liked the present. Miss Mary couldn’t tear her eyes from the flower’s leaves, almost expecting them to stir and shimmer to life. Definitely takes after his mum! When Lottie was his age, she was just as good at drawing… ***** That evening, the teacher’s phone rang. “Hello, Miss Mary, it’s Lottie—Archie Cottam’s mum,” the young woman’s voice came crisply. “Just calling to say Archie won’t be in tomorrow.” “Hello, Lottie! Did something happen?” Miss Mary asked kindly. “Yes! That scamp ruined my whole birthday!” the voice bristled. “Now he’s laid up with a fever, ambulance just left.” “How’s that? He went home healthy, with a present for you…” “You mean those scribbles?” “What scribbles? Lottie, he drew you flowers! I was going to call to ask about enrolling him at art school!” “I’ve no idea about flowers, but I certainly wasn’t expecting a soggy, flea-ridden bundle!” “A bundle? What are you talking about?” Miss Mary was baffled as she listened, her frown deepening with each anxious word from the mother. “You know what, Lottie—do you mind if I come round now? I’m only next door…” A few moments later, after Lottie agreed, Miss Mary slipped into the hallway clutching her thick, battered album—full of faded photos and cherished childhood drawings from that first, long-ago class she’d ever taught. In Lottie’s bright kitchen, chaos reigned. As Lottie cleared away cake and dishes, she told the story: How Archie had come home late, dripping mud and water from his bag, coat, and trousers… How he’d pulled a soaking wet puppy from under his jumper—reeking to high heaven! He’d climbed into a frozen ditch for it, where some big boys had chucked it! His ruined textbooks, the ruined sketchbook—now nothing but blots and stains—and a fever which shot up near forty in an hour… How the guests had left, no one tasted the cake, and how the paramedic had scolded her—the negligent mother who hadn’t kept an eye on her son… “So, I took it back to the dump when Archie fell asleep. His sketchbook’s there on the radiator—there’s not a trace left of the flowers, just blotches!” Lottie sniffed. And as she rattled on, she never noticed how, with every word, every harried phrase, Miss Mary’s face grew darker. But when she heard what had happened to the puppy Archie rescued, her frown turned thunderous. She stroked the tattered sketchbook fondly and began quietly: She spoke of green swirls and living flowers… of a boy’s diligence and courage beyond his years. Of a gentle heart, quick to stand up to bullies, to defend the weak. Of the cruelty of those children who’d thrown a helpless pup into that frozen ditch. Then she led Lottie to the window. “There’s the ditch,” she pointed. “It could have swallowed Archie, let alone a tiny puppy. Did Archie care about that? Or was he thinking about those flowers he’d been so careful not to spoil, the gift for his mother?” And maybe, she went on, Lottie had forgotten the day back in the ’90s when she was a girl herself, sobbing on the bench outside school, clutching a scruffy kitten rescued from the bullies. How the whole class had stroked the cat and waited for Lottie’s mum; how Lottie hadn’t wanted to go home, how she blamed her parents when they’d thrown out that “flea-ridden bundle”—only to relent later. Miss Mary dug out an old photograph of that day—a little girl in a white pinafore, hugging a kitten, surrounded by classmates, smiling so warmly—and a faded drawing of a girl holding a fluffy kitten in one hand and clinging to her mum with the other. “I’ll remind you,” Miss Mary’s voice was stern now. “I’ll remind you of Tilly, and Patch, that lolloping mongrel who walked you all the way to university, and even the old rook with the broken wing you nursed back to health… I’ll remind you of the kindness that once blossomed bright as wildflowers in your heart.” She paused, brushing away a tear, and added: “If it were up to me, I’d have kissed that rescued puppy and Archie both! I’d frame those colourful blotches! For what better gift is there for a mother than raising a child with a kind heart?” And she never noticed, as she spoke, how Lottie’s face transformed—how she cast worried, guilty glances at Archie’s closed bedroom door, clutching the battered sketchbook with limp, pale fingers. “Miss Mary! Please—could you watch Archie for a moment? Just for a few moments. I won’t be long, I promise!” Under her teacher’s watchful gaze, Lottie grabbed her coat and dashed outside, heedless of puddles or mud, running for the far-off rubbish tip. She called and searched, looking under dirty boxes, sifting through bin bags, casting anxious glances back at home… Would she be forgiven? ***** “Arch, who’s got his nose in your painting there? Is that your friend—Digger?” “That’s him, Miss Mary! Does he look like him?” “He certainly does! And that star-shaped patch on his paw! Remember how your mum and I scrubbed them clean?” she laughed warmly. “I wash his paws every day now!” Archie declared proudly. “Mum says, ‘If you have a friend, you look after him!’ She bought us a special bowl, just for the job.” “You have a lovely mum,” smiled Miss Mary. “Are you drawing her another present?” “Mm-hmm—for a frame. She keeps those blotches in one, and she always smiles at them. Can you really smile at blotches, Miss Mary?” “At blotches? Maybe you can, if they come from the heart. Tell me, how’s art school? Is it going well?” “Really well! Soon I’ll be able to paint Mum’s portrait. She’ll be so happy! And look—” Archie pulled a folded paper from his rucksack. “This is from my mum—she draws too.” Miss Mary unfolded the sheet and gently squeezed the little boy’s shoulder. There, on the bright paper, Archie grinned brilliantly, hand resting on the head of an adoring black mongrel. Beside them stood a tiny, blonde girl in old-fashioned uniform, clutching a fluffy kitten… On the left, from behind a desk piled with books, smiled an ageless teacher, her wise and gentle eyes alive with joy. In every brushstroke and every vibrant hue, Miss Mary felt the quiet, boundless pride of a mother’s love. Brushing away tears, she smiled—there, nestled in the corner of the painting, in looping, flower-coloured letters and delicate green swirls, was a single word: “Remember.”
ILL REMIND YOU Miss Mary, the swirl here just isnt working. The quiet, sad words came from little Tom, a...
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Fed up with the mother-in-law and the wife That evening, the quietest, most stoic fellow in all our village paid...
A Life Back in Order – “Lada, I Forbid You From Speaking to Your Sister and Her Family!” My Husband Gave Me an Ultimatum, Enraged at My Bond With My Sister Natasha, While His Own Drinking and Cheating Tore Our Marriage Apart – But When a Stranger Turned Up With His Secret Son, I Finally Found The Strength To Break Free and Discover True Happiness with Kind-Hearted Dr. Herman Lewis
LIFE, SORTED Lydia, Im forbidding you from seeing your sister and her family again! They’ve got their life, weve got...
Bitterness at the Bottom of My Soul “The children’s home has been waiting for you for ages! Get out of our family!” I screamed with a trembling voice. The target of my wild indignation was my cousin, Dima. God, how I loved him as a child! Blond hair, bright blue eyes, cheerful nature — that was Dima. …Relatives often gathered around the festive table. Of all my cousins, I singled out Dima. He could spin tales with his tongue like a lace maker and he drew brilliantly. Sometimes he would churn out five or six sketches an evening. I would stare, entranced by their beauty, quietly gathering his drawings and hiding them in my desk. I carefully treasured my cousin’s artwork. Dima was two years older than me. When he turned 14, his mother died—gone so suddenly, she just didn’t wake up… The question arose—what would happen to Dima? Naturally, they first turned to his father, but finding him was no easy feat. He and Dima’s mother were long divorced, and the new family “couldn’t be disturbed.” The rest of the relatives just shrugged: “We have our own families, our own problems.” Turns out, during the day, family is there, but come nightfall, not a soul to be found. So, with two kids of their own, my parents became Dima’s guardians—after all, Dima’s late mother was my dad’s younger sister. At first, I was happy that Dima would be living with us. But then… On his very first day in our home, Dima’s behavior set me on edge. To comfort her orphaned nephew, my mum asked, “Is there anything you’d like, Dima? Don’t be shy, just say.” And Dima immediately replied, “A model train set.” Now, this wasn’t a cheap toy. I was shocked—your mum just died, the most important person in your life, and all you want is a train set? How could you even think of that? But my parents immediately bought him his dream. Then it was, “Buy me a tape player, jeans, a designer jacket…” This was the eighties, mind you, and not only was this stuff pricey, but it was impossible to get. My parents made sacrifices for the orphan, even at our own expense. My brother and I understood and didn’t complain. …When Dima turned sixteen, he discovered girls. And he wasn’t afraid to show his affection. Worse yet, he started making advances toward me—his own cousin. But as a sporty girl, I skillfully dodged his unwelcome attention. We’d even come to blows. I would cry and cry. I never told my parents—they didn’t need the heartache. Kids don’t talk about such things. After I fended him off, Dima wasted no time turning to my friends, who actually competed for his attention. …But Dima was also a shameless thief. I remember my piggy bank: saving on school lunches to buy presents for my parents, only to find it empty one day! Dima denied everything—didn’t bat an eye, didn’t blush, just outright lied. It broke my heart. How could he steal while living under our roof? He was wrecking our family from within, but Dima really didn’t understand why I was upset. He truly believed everyone owed him. I began to hate him. That’s when I finally screamed at him: “Get out of our family!” I lashed him with my words—said things that can never be taken back… My mum barely managed to calm me. From that day on, Dima ceased to exist for me. I ignored him completely. Later, I learned the other relatives knew what a “character” Dima was—they lived nearby and seen it all. Our family lived across town. Even Dima’s former teachers warned my parents: “You’re making a big mistake. Dima will ruin your other children too.” …At a new school, he met Katy—she loved Dima all her life. She married him straight out of school. They had a daughter, and Katy put up with his lies and cheating without protest. As they say: single life is hardship, married life is double. Dima joined the Army, stationed in Scotland. There, he started another family—he somehow managed it during leave. When his service ended, he stayed in Scotland. He had a son there. Katy, not hesitating, went after him and, by hook or by crook, brought him back home. My parents never received a word of thanks from cousin Dima—not that they expected it. Now, fifty years on, Dmitri is an active member of the local Anglican church. He and Katy have five grandchildren. On the surface, all seems well, but the bitterness of life with Dima remains… No amount of sugar could ever sweeten it.
SORROW AT THE BOTTOM OF MY HEART Youve needed a childrens home for years! Get out of our family! I...
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...