З життя
Він йшов на операцію, а вона заспокоювала його кілька днів.
Він готувався до операції, а вона кілька днів заспокоювала його перед цим. Планова операція, вже давно час зробити, нічого страшного, всього кілька годин, подібні операції вже поставлені на потік, у нього гарні аналізи, міцне серце… Постійно повторювала ті самі слова, мов заведена. Він усміхався, гладив її руку і мовчав. Їй здавалося, що він її не чує, що все це вона говорить сама собі, себе заспокоює, собі пояснює.
Та так і було. Він слухав, але не чув. Просто дивився, як вона рухається по квартирі. Як накриває на стіл. Як п’є каву, дбайливо зварену ним на сніданок. Як хмуриться і турбується. Як сто разів перебирає в пакеті його лікарняні речі. Як нагадує зателефонувати сестрі у далеку країну.
Вже давно вони жили лише вдвох. Половину того життя, що прожили з батьками, сином, онуками. Батьків поховали, синові купили квартиру. Залишилися вдвох і на вихідних накривали столи, як колись, запрошували друзів. Влітку їздили на відпочинок. І постійно трималися за руки.
Переступили за 60-річний рубіж, а рук так і не роз’єднали.
Вони були таким єдиним цілим, що навіть імена не було сенсу вимовляти окремо.
Що вони пережили, розповідати довго. Всього було. Вона із дитячого будинку. Але раптом, коли її дитина вже виросла, знайшлася мама. Хвора, покинута, нікому не потрібна. Вона, не замислюючись, взяла її до себе. У свою тісну міську квартиру. Практично всі крутили пальцем біля виска. Мама залишила її в крихітному віці. І ніколи, ніколи в житті не згадувала, що в неї є донька. Вона дійсно не розуміла, чого від неї хочуть? Щоб вона кинула маму? Так само, як мама кинула її? Але ж їй було боляче, всі ці роки було дуже боляче! Вона не хоче, щоб так було з мамою…
Маму доглядали разом із чоловіком. Вона пролежала кілька років, два останні роки втратила розум. Але вони не нарікали, мовчки доглядали, годували, поїли, міняли підгузки і постіль, лікували…
Вона, властиво, могла все. Коли він був поруч. І нічого її не лякало. Коли він був поруч.
На операцію вона його провела. І сиділа під дверима. Чекала. Невелика операція, але все одно купа переживань. Він ніколи серйозно не хворів. І їй було трохи дивно сидіти і чекати закінчення його операції.
Машинально сунула руку в сумочку, намацала конверт. Здивувалася, наче жодних конвертів у неї в сумочці не повинно бути. Витягнула. Ще більше здивувалася — лист від нього. Коли він встиг написати? Коли в сумочку встиг підкласти? Вони ж наче весь час були разом, вона б помітила.
Прочитала. Дуже дивний лист. Він наче прощався. Вона сиділа, боячись рухнутися. Вона все зрозуміла. Ще до того, як лікарі вийшли з операційної.
Не переніс він незначної операції. Зупинилося серце. Те саме, наче здорове і ніколи не боліло…
А потім, після похоронів, валер’янки, порожнечі, неймовірного болю, вона витягнула з шафи свою кофту і намацала в кишені листок. Це була кумедна записка. Від нього. Пітемніло в очах. Полізла в іншу кишеню зимового пальта. І там записка. З пририсованою смішною рожицею.
У неї в квартирі був мільйон цих його записок. Написаних до зупинки серця на операційному столі. І знайдених нею після його похоронів.
Вона спочатку плакала, не могла читати, фізичну біль викликав навіть його почерк…
Потім почала читати. Він жартував, підбадьорював, питав, передбачав, шкодував, любив… Він був живим і колишнім у тих записках.
І, дивлячись мені в очі, вона раптом каже: — Розумієш, мені навіть соромно зізнатись у тому, що я тобі скажу. Соромно, коли навколо багато горя і багато проблем, коли наче так і не буває, всі одне на одного жаліються… Розумієш, я була дуже щаслива, як жінка. Дуже. Я не можу про це розповісти. Але я була дуже щаслива.
І десять років, щовечора, вона перечитує його записочки. Ті, які знаходила в квартирі ще довгий час. Ті, які їй тоді допомогли не зійти з розуму. Ті, які продовжують зберігати його тепло. І його любов.
His Wife Packed Her Bags and Vanished Without a Trace — When Manipulation Backfires and Family Ties Are Tested
His wife packed her things and disappeared without a trace. “Stop acting like a saint. Itll all work out. Women...
Grandson Doesn’t Matter: When a Mother-in-Law Favors One Grandchild and Ignores the Other, a Father’s Loyalty is Tested
Mum thinks that Sophie cant cope, my husband finally muttered. She says she needs more help because she hasnt got...
Came Home Early: A Heavily Pregnant Wife Surprises Her Husband, but Instead of a Warm Welcome, She’s Sent Shopping for Beef and Left Waiting on the Street While He Cleans the Flat
Returned Home Early Tuesday, 7th March Are you at the bus stop? Toms voice shot up sharply on the phone....
The Carer for the Wife — What do you mean? — Lida thought she must have misheard. — Where am I supposed to go? Why? What for? — Oh, can we just skip the dramatics, please? — he grimaced. — What’s not clear here? There’s no one left for you to take care of. Where you go is none of my concern. — Ed, what’s wrong with you? Weren’t we planning to get married…? — That was your idea. I never said any such thing. At 32, Lida decided to turn her life around and leave her small hometown. What was left for her there? Endure her mother’s nagging? Her mother simply couldn’t stop scolding Lida about the divorce, constantly asking how she managed to “lose” her husband. Yet Vas’ka wasn’t worth a kind word—drunk and a womaniser! How did she end up marrying him all those eight years ago? Lida wasn’t at all upset about the divorce—in fact, she felt she could finally breathe again. But she argued constantly with her mum about it, and they also fought about money, which was always in short supply. So, she’d head off to the county town and land a great job there! Look at Svetka—her old school friend—she’d been married for five years to a widower. Who cares if he’s 16 years older and hardly a heartthrob, at least he has a flat and a decent income. And Lida reckoned she was just as good as Svetka! — Well, thank heavens! You’ve come to your senses! — Svetka encouraged her. — Pack your things, you can stay with us for a bit, and we’ll sort out the job situation. — Won’t your Vadim Petrovich mind? — Lida was unsure. — Don’t be silly! He does whatever I ask! Don’t worry, we’ll get by! Still, Lida didn’t want to stay long at her friend’s place. After just a couple of weeks and her first wages, she rented her own room. And just a couple of months later, she had a stroke of luck. — Why is a woman like you working in the market? — said one of her regulars, Edward Boris, with concern. Lida knew all her regulars by name by now. — It’s cold, it’s hard work—not ideal. — Gotta earn money somehow, — she shrugged, — unless you have another offer? Edward Boris wasn’t exactly a dreamboat in her eyes—twenty years older, a bit pudgy, starting to bald, and with a shrewd look in his eye. He was always particular about choosing his vegetables and paid to the penny. But he dressed well and drove a nice car—definitely not a down-and-out, not a drunk. He also had a wedding ring, so she never considered him as husband material. — You strike me as responsible, steady, and clean, — Edward Boris switched to a familiar tone, — have you ever cared for anyone who was ill? — I used to look after a neighbour, actually. She had a stroke, her children live far away, so they paid me to help. — That’s great! — he exclaimed, and then put on a somber face: — My wife, Tamara, has had a stroke too. The doctors say she has little chance of recovery. I’ve brought her home, but I haven’t got time to look after her. Will you help? I’ll pay you properly. Lida didn’t have to think long—much better to be in a warm flat changing bedpans than freezing on the market for ten hours a day serving picky customers! He even suggested she live there, so no more rent. — They’ve got three spare rooms! You could play football in there! — she delightedly told her friend. — No children either. Tamara’s mother was a real madam—even at 68, she acted half her age. She’d just remarried and was busy with her husband. No one else to care for the invalid. — Is she really that sick? — Oh yes, poor thing can’t move or speak. She won’t get better. — You almost sound happy about it, — Svetka eyed her. — Of course not, — Lida looked down, — but once Tamara’s gone, Edward Boris would be free… — Are you for real, Lida? Wishing someone dead for a flat?! — I’m not wishing anyone dead—I’m just not going to miss my chance! Easy for you to say, you’ve got it made! They had a huge fight and didn’t speak for half a year—until Lida confessed to Svetka her romance with Edward Boris. They couldn’t live without each other, but of course, he’d never leave his wife—not that type! So for now, she’d remain his lover. — So you’re shacking up with him while his wife is dying in the next room? — her friend was appalled. — Do you even see how vile that is? Or are you that blinded by his money—if he’s even got it? — Trust you to never say a kind word, — Lida retorted. They stopped talking again, but she barely felt guilty—well, perhaps just a bit. She cared for Tamara with real diligence, and since her affair with Edward Boris began, she took on all the housework too. After all, a man needs more than just a woman in his bed—he wants a good meal, crisp shirts, a clean flat. Lida thought her lover was very content, and she was enjoying her life too. She barely noticed Edward had stopped paying her for caring for his wife. Not that it mattered now—they were almost like husband and wife! He gave her money for shopping, and she managed the budget, not realising it was tight. And his job paid well enough—but never mind, once they got married it would all become clear. With time, the spark between them dulled, and Edward lingered less at home, but Lida put it down to the strain of having a sick wife. She pitied him, even though he barely spent a minute a day checking on Tamara. Even so, Lida wept when Tamara finally passed away. She’d given a year and a half of her life to that woman—you can’t get that time back. She organised the funeral too—Edward was “too grief-stricken.” He gave her the bare minimum for expenses, but she did everything properly. No one could accuse her of a thing. Even the neighbours, gossiping about her and Edward—nothing escapes them!—nodded approvingly at the funeral. His mother-in-law too seemed satisfied. So Lida never expected what Edward said next. — You understand there’s no need for your services anymore, so I’m giving you a week to move out, — he said on the tenth day after the funeral. — What do you mean? — Lida’s voice faltered. — Where should I go? Why? — Please, do we have to have this scene? — he sighed. — There’s no one left for you to care for, and where you go is none of my business. — Ed, what’s wrong with you? We were supposed to get married… — That’s your fantasy. I never said anything of the sort. Next morning, after a sleepless night, Lida tried to talk again, but he just repeated the same words and urged her to move quickly. — My fiancée wants to renovate before the wedding, — was all he said. — Fiancée? Who’s that? — None of your business. — Oh, none of my business?! Well, I’ll move out, but you’ll pay me for my work first. You were meant to pay forty grand a month. I only got paid twice. So you owe me £8,000. — You can do the sums, can’t you! — he snorted. — Don’t get carried away… — And you owe for cleaning too! I won’t nit-pick, just pay me ten grand and we’ll call it even. — Or what? You’ll go to court? There’s no contract. — I’ll tell Tamila—remember, your mother-in-law owns this flat. Edward’s face changed, but he recovered quickly. — Who’d believe you? — he huffed. — You know what? I don’t want to see you. Get out now. — You’ve got three days, darling. No ten grand, and there’ll be a scandal, — Lida replied, heading for a cheap hostel. She’d managed to save some of the housekeeping money. On the fourth day, having had no answer, Lida went back to the flat. Tamila, the mother-in-law, was there. Lida could see from Edward’s face she’d never get paid. So she told Tamila everything. — She’s making it all up! Don’t listen! — the widower protested. — Well, well, I’d heard rumours at the funeral, but I didn’t believe them — Tamila’s stare was fierce. — Now it all makes sense. And you, my dear son-in-law, don’t forget who owns this flat? Edward froze. — So, I want you out of here within the week. No—within three days. Tamila turned to leave, then paused at Lida. — And you, standing there like you expect a prize? Get out! Lida bolted from the flat, realising there’d be no money for her—not now. Back to the market again; there’d always be work there… **The Carer’s Devotion: Betrayal Behind Closed Doors in Suburban England**
A Carer for My Wife What do you mean? Linda could hardly believe what she was hearing. Where am I...
We Refused to Let Our Daughter in: A Family’s Tense Night of Tough Love, Despair, and Final Chances
Why didnt you let her back in? Kate finally asked, her voice barely above a whisper. It was the question...
Don’t Bother Unpacking – You’re Moving Out Tonight: Leona Was Sprawled on the Sofa When Irina Walked In, Only for Her Husband to Announce Their Divorce After a Fateful New Year’s Eve Discovery Involving a Dodgy “Bunny” Costume, Some Holiday Deceptions, and the Truth Unraveling Faster Than Tinsel on a Christmas Tree
Dont bother unpacking your suitcase youre moving out So, whats going on? demanded Emma, her voice leaving no room for...
The Summerhouse Standoff: A Daughter Takes Back What’s Hers
The Summer House Issue Daughter Gets Her Due Lucy, you have to understand, its a dire situation, Geoffrey Taylor pinched...
Even the Good Ones Get Left Behind
A fine woman can be left behind too In the looking glass, Alice saw herselfa lovely woman of thirty-five with...