З життя
Все життя я мріяв бути на місці брата, але незабаром усе змінилося
Весь час я мріяв бути на місці брата, але скоро все змінилося.
Моя мама завагітніла мною у вісімнадцять років. Батько покинув нас, щойно почув новину — йому не потрібна була сім’я, лише безкінечні вечірки і друзі. Батьки мами, мої дідусь та бабуся, були в гніві. У маленькому містечку під Харковом дитина без чоловіка вважалася ганьбою, і дідусь вигнав її з дому з криком: “Не хочу бачити таку безвідповідальну доньку!”. Я не можу уявити, як їй було — молодій, самотній, з малям на руках. Але вона вистояла: вступила на заочне, знайшла роботу, працювала понад силу. Їй виділили кімнату у гуртожитку, і ми почали життя вдвох. Мені довелося дорослішати швидше, ніж іншим дітям — я ходив за продуктами, прибирав, розігрівав їжу. Ігри? На них не було часу. З малих років я був її опорою, її єдиним чоловіком.
Я ніколи не скаржився — пишався цим. Але скоро в нашому житті з’явився Віктор. Він мені подобався: приносив цукерки, пригощав смаколиками, дбав про маму. Вона розквітала поруч з ним, і одного разу сказала: “Ми з Віктором одружимося, переїдемо у великий будинок”. Я був щасливий — мріяв про справжнього батька, і сподівався, що Віктор ним стане. Спочатку все було як у казці. У мене з’явився свій куток, я міг відпочивати, слухати музику, читати книги. Віктор допомагав мамі, і її очі сяяли від радості.
Але потім вона оголосила, що чекає дитину. Невдовзі Віктор сказав: “Тобі, Сашко, доведеться перебратися в комору. Там буде дитяча”. Я не зрозумів: у домі повно кімнат, чому саме я? Наступного дня мої речі вже лежали в тісній комірчині, де ледве поміщалося ліжко. Це було несправедливо, але я промовчав — звик терпіти.
Коли народився братик Михайлик, почався кошмар. Його крики не давали мені спати, я ходив як зомбі. У школі оцінки знизилися, вчителі сварили, а мама кричала: “Ти повинен бути прикладом для брата! Досить ганьбити нас, ледарю!” Михайлик підріс, і на мене звалили нові обов’язки — гуляти з ним, возити коляску у дворі. Друзі сміялися з мене, а я червонів від сорому, але мовчав. Все найкраще — іграшки, одяг — купувалося Михайликові. Я просив щось для себе, а Віктор сухо відповідав: “Грошей немає”. Я водив брата в садочок, забирав, годував, прибирав дім — жив в очікуванні, коли він виросте і дасть мені свободу.
Михайлик пішов до школи, і мама наказала допомагати йому з уроками. Він був розбещеним, примхливим — вчився відверто погано, а мої спроби його врозумити закінчувалися його скаргами мамі. Вона завжди ставала на його бік, а я отримував догану: “Ти старший, повинен бути терпеливішим!” Його переводили з школи в школу, але він всюди провалювався. Врешті віддали в приватну, де за гроші закривали очі на його двійки. Я ж пішов до технікуму на автослюсаря — не тому, що хотів, а щоб втекти з дому.
Потім були заочні курси, робота — я працював день і ніч, копив на своє житло. Одружився, знайшов спокій. А Михайлик? Віктор подарував йому квартиру, але він все одно живе з батьками, здає житло і витрачає гроші на дурниці. Працювати не хоче, валяється перед телевізором. Одного разу на Новий рік ми зібралися у батьків. Прийшла його чергова дівчина, Олена. Я випадково почув їхню розмову на кухні.
— Тобі пощастило з братом, — говорила вона моїй дружині, Таню. — Сашко такий працьовитий, відповідальний. Чому ж Михайлик не такий? Я прошу його з’їхатися, завести сім’ю, а він лише до мами липне. Гроші з оренди є, а користі?
— Так, Сашко молодець, — усміхнулася Таня. — Кинь Михайлика, він тебе не вартий. З нього чоловік не вийде.
Я завмер. Михайлик змінював дівчат, як рукавички, але жодна не затримувалася — мама їх усіх проганяла, вважаючи недостойними свого “золотого хлопчика”. А він і не пручався, жив у своїй ліні, як у коконі. І тут я зрозумів: я більше не заздрю йому. Все, про що я мріяв — бути на його місці, — виявилося порожнім. Доля дала мені випробування, але і нагородила за них. У мене є сім’я, любляча дружина, донька, дім, який я збудував власними руками. Я пишаюся собою, і вперше в житті мені не шкода, що я не Михайлик. Моє життя — моя перемога, вистраждана і справжня.
I Never Took What Wasn’t Mine: The Story of Martha, Anastasia, and the Choices That Changed Their Lives Forever
NEVER CLAIMED ANOTHERS DUE Even as a schoolgirl, Martha looked down on Anne and, at the same time, envied her....
Worn Down by the Mother-in-Law and the Wife: That Night, the Most Stoic Man in Our Village—Steadfast Stephen—Came to My Countryside Surgery, Silent and Broken, Longing to Walk Away from the Nagging, Until a Kind Word Proved the Best Medicine for a Weary Soul
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...
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...