З життя
З трепетом у серці вона постукала у двері. У відповідь – тиша.
З трепетом у серці Ніна постукала у двері. У відповідь – тиша. Вона невпевнено дістала з сумочки ключ, відчинила двері… Боже, як давно вона тут не була! Все залишилося як було, нічого не змінилося в цьому колись рідному та улюбленому домі, лише все стало непривітно чужим.
Минув майже рік після сварки з Максимом. Вони й раніше, бувало, сперечалися. Ніна брала на руки Софійку і зі сльозами на очах йшла до мами. Здебільшого Максим, скучивши, тікав миритися вже наступного дня. Життя знову налагоджувалося, перемир’я вносило різноманітність у їхні стосунки. Але цього разу все було інакше…
Скинувши спогади, Ніна рішуче попрямувала до шафи, щоб знайти потрібні документи. Папери лежали нетронутими, дбайливо упаковані в папку її ж рукою. Вже два місяці за Ніною наполегливо доглядав хлопець, який давно був закоханий у неї. Відносин між ними ще не було, але тиждень тому він офіційно попросив її руки.
І весь цей тиждень Ніна не могла заснути, щось гнітило її, вона ніяк не могла ухвалити рішення.
Спочатку здавалося, що непорозуміння з Максимом має розв’язатися. Він постукає у двері, як завжди проникливо загляне в саму душу і скаже: “Як же я скучив!”.
Але дні йшли, місяці минали, а в житті нічого не змінювалося. З Максимом бачилися мимохідь, він ставав усе більш відчуженим і холодним, між ними немов розверзлася прірва. Він приходив лише до Софійки, мовчки брав її за руку і вів до себе. Потім так само мовчки приводив назад. Софійка весело щебетала, хизуючись татусевими подарунками – крутилася біля дзеркала у новій суконці чи туфельках. А Ніна лише сумно згадувала, як блищали очі Максима, коли він приносив подарунки для неї. А зараз… на Ніну він навіть і не дивився, вони відчували себе ніяково наодинці, і вона поспіхом зникала у своїй кімнаті. Мама, яка не мала особливих симпатій до Максима, часто повторювала: “Що Бог дає, то на краще”. Поступово й сама Ніна в це повірила.
Глибоко зітхнувши, Ніна прощальним поглядом обвела кімнату і… здригнулася від несподіванки: на дивані спав Максим. Напевно, після зміни. Першим бажанням було швидше піти, але щось змусило її залишитися. До болю знайома кожна риса, обличчя огрубіло, заросло щетиною, кола під очима… Ніна повільно сіла поруч. Що вона знає про цю людину, з якою прожила пліч-о-пліч не один рік? Які думки ховаються за цим нахмуреним чолом? Перед внутрішнім зором Ніни раптом промайнуло напівзабуте обличчя молодого Максима: віддані хлопчачі очі, а усмішка була світлою-світлою… Їй завжди здавалося, що саме в цю усмішку, яка перевернула її душу догори дригом, вона колись закохалася. Невже той усміхнений хлопчик і цей втомлений похмурий чоловік – одна і та сама людина? А часу з тих пір минуло зовсім небагато. Знову згадалася світла усмішка. І так живо, так реально було це бачення, ніби докір їй, Ніні…
Господи, куди ж усе це поділося? Вона безпорадно озирнулася, немов шукаючи когось, винного в її зруйнованому житті. Серце занило, затріпотіло, забилося в лещатах нахлинулих безрадісних спогадів. Їх колись затишний і казковий світок поступово заповнили дріб’язкові суперечки й образи, сльози і безутішне відчуття нерозуміння. Вічно втомлений Максим, який вертівся на трьох роботах, щоб забезпечити її і Софійку і нікому не бути зобов’язаним… У Ніни було час усе обдумати і зрозуміти, що їй елементарно не вистачило терпіння, жіночої гнучкості та мудрості…
А вони ж колись були невимовно щасливі. І це не маячня її хворої фантазії. Ніна схвильовано підвелася, їй нестерпно захотілося довести це самій собі. Її погляд упав на руку Максима, що лежала на їх… весільному альбомі, на фотографії, де вони були просто осліпно щасливі…
Рука її невільно здригнулася, і фотографії з м’яким шелестом посипалися на підлогу. Озирнулася і застигла… На неї дивився Максим.
– Ніно, ти повернулася? – його очі захопливо сяяли, і їй стала нестерпною думка, що півгодини тому вона могла піти назавжди…
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You Don’t Deserve It — “After my divorce, I thought I’d never trust anyone again,” Andrew admitted, fidgeting with his empty espresso cup. His voice cracked and wavered so convincingly that Kate found herself leaning closer. “You know, when someone betrays you, you lose a part of yourself. She left me with wounds I thought would never heal… I honestly didn’t think I’d survive.” Andrew’s stories poured out for a long time: about his wife who never appreciated him, the pain that wouldn’t let go, the fear of starting over. Each word settled in Kate’s heart like a warm little stone. She imagined herself as the woman who could restore his faith in love—how they’d heal his scars together, how he’d realize true happiness was possible with her by his side. He first mentioned Max on their second date, casually dropped in between dessert and coffee… — “I have a son, by the way. He’s seven. Lives with his mum, but stays with me every weekend. The court said so.” — “That’s wonderful!” Kate beamed. “Children are a blessing.” She started daydreaming: Saturday morning breakfasts for three, trips to the park, TV evenings together. The boy needed a woman’s care, a mother’s warmth. She could become a second mum—not a replacement, but someone close, someone family… — “Are you sure you don’t mind?” Andrew watched her with a crooked smile she mistook for wariness at the time. “A lot of women run when they hear about a kid.” — “I’m not most women,” she said proudly. Her first weekend with Max was a celebration. Kate made blueberry pancakes—his absolute favourite, as Andrew had tipped her off. Patiently, she helped him through his maths homework. She washed his dinosaur T-shirt, pressed his school uniform, made sure he was in bed by nine sharp. — “You should have a rest,” she told Andrew after he’d sprawled out on the sofa with the remote. “I’ve got this covered.” Andrew nodded—or so it seemed then, gratefully. But now she realized it was the nod of a man taking his due. Time marched on. Kate worked as a logistics manager, out by eight, home after seven. Decent salary by London standards—enough for two. But there were three. — “Hold-up on site again,” Andrew would say as if announcing a hurricane, “Client’s pulled out. But there’s a big contract coming, I promise.” The “big contract” hovered on the horizon for a year and a half, sometimes getting closer, mostly never arriving. But the bills always came—rent, utilities, internet, groceries, child support for Marina, new trainers for Max, school contributions. Kate paid all of them, quietly. She skimped on lunches, brought in tupperware pasta, walked home in the rain to save on cabs. She hadn’t had a manicure in a year—did her own nails and tried not to remember the luxury of professional treatments. Three years, and Andrew had given her flowers exactly three times. Kate remembered each bouquet—cheap roses from the convenience kiosk near their tube stop, droopy and with snapped-off thorns. Probably on special offer… The first was an apology after Andrew called her hysterical in front of Max. The second came after an argument about a friend who visited unannounced. The third, when he missed her birthday because he lingered with mates—simply forgot. — “Andrew, I don’t want expensive gifts,” she tried to keep her voice gentle. “Just… sometimes I’d like to know you’re thinking of me. Even a card…” His face contorted instantly. — “So it’s all about money for you, is it? Presents? Don’t you care about love? Or what I’ve been through?” — “That’s not what—” — “You don’t deserve it.” Andrew spat the words at her like dirt. “After all I do for you, you still complain.” She fell silent. She always did—it made things easier. Easier to live, to breathe, to pretend everything was fine. Yet, for mates’ nights, Andrew always found cash. Pubs, football at the local, café Thursdays. He’d come home tipsy, reeking of sweat and cigarettes, flop onto the bed without noticing Kate was still awake. She convinced herself this was how love worked. Love meant sacrifice. Love meant patience. He would change, surely. She just had to be even more attentive, love even harder—after all, look at what he’d suffered… Talk of marriage became a minefield. — “We’re happy as we are, why do we need a piece of paper?” Andrew waved the question away like a pesky fly. “After what happened with Marina, I need time.” — “It’s been three years, Andrew. That’s a long time.” — “Now you’re pressuring me—always pressuring!” He stormed off, ending the conversation. Kate longed for children of her own. She was twenty-eight, the ticking biological clock growing louder each month. But Andrew wasn’t interested in a second round of fatherhood—he had a son, and that was enough for him. Then came that Saturday—she asked for just one day. One day. — “The girls are inviting me over. We haven’t seen each other in ages. I’ll be back by evening.” Andrew looked at her as though she’d announced she was emigrating. — “And Max?” — “He’s your son, Andrew. Spend the day with him.” — “So you’re abandoning us? On a Saturday? When I’m expecting to relax?” She blinked. In three years she’d never left them alone. Never asked for a day to herself. She cooked, cleaned, tutored homework, washed, ironed—while holding a full-time job. — “I just want to see my friends. It’s only a few hours… And he’s your son. Can’t you spend a day with him on your own?” — “You’re supposed to love my child as much as me!” Andrew suddenly roared. “You live in my flat, eat my food, and now you’ve got the nerve to make demands?!” His flat. His food. Kate paid the rent. Kate bought the food. Three years supporting a man who yelled at her for wanting to spend a day with her friends. She looked at Andrew—twisted face, throbbing temples, fists clenched—and saw him for the first time. Not as a wounded soul, not a helpless victim in need of rescue, but an adult who had learned to expertly exploit kindness. Kate, to him, was not a beloved partner, not a future wife. She was a walking wallet and a live-in maid. That was all. When Andrew left to drop Max back to Marina, Kate took out her suitcase. Her hands moved calmly, no shakes, no doubts. Passport. Mobile. Charger. A couple of shirts and jeans. The rest could be bought later. The rest didn’t matter. She left no note. What could she explain to a man who never valued her? The door closed behind her quietly, no fuss, no drama. The calls started within an hour—one, then another, then a barrage—a shrill, endless trill that made her phone quiver. — “Kate, where are you?! What’s going on?! You’ve gone, there’s no dinner! Am I supposed to go hungry now? What the hell?!” She listened—his voice angry, demanding, full of righteous indignation—and marvelled. Even now, as she’d left, Andrew thought only of himself. How inconvenient this was. Who would make his tea? No “sorry”. No “what happened”. Just “how dare you”. Kate blocked his number. Blocked him on Messenger. On every social platform—brick by brick, she built herself a wall. Three years. Three years with someone who never loved her. Who used her empathy as a disposable resource. Who convinced her that self-sacrifice was love. But that’s not love. Love doesn’t humiliate. Love doesn’t reduce someone to a servant. Kate walked through the twilight streets of London and for the first time in ages, she could breathe. She vowed she’d never again confuse love with self-neglect. Never again give herself away to those who prey on pity. And always, always choose herself. Just herself.
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