З життя
Залишили саму в заметі: нехай виживає сама!
Залишимо її тут, нехай сама помирає! – казали вони, скидаючи бабусю в сніг. Підступні не підозрювали, що бумеранг повернеться швидше, ніж вони думали.
Валентина Петрівна підходила до свого під’їзду. Бабусі на лавочці обговорювали ситуацію з автомобілем, що нещодавно припаркувався поруч.
– До кого це? – поцікавилася Валентина.
– Нам доповіді не надають! – відповіла одна з бабусь. – Напевно, до Маші. До стареньких такі машини не під’їжджають.
– До нас тільки швидка приїжджає! – підхопила інша бабуся.
Сусідки ще трохи поспілкувалися, обговорюючи владу та всі чутки. І тут вийшла та сама Маша, до якої приїхали на дорогій машині. Вона пішла по своїх справах, не звернувши уваги на сусідок і припарковану автомобіль на газоні. Валентина Петрівна поспішила повернутися додому.
– Валентино Петрівно? – сказав чоловік, побачивши жінку на сходах. – Ви мене пам’ятаєте? Ми нещодавно розмовляли. Я – ваш родич.
– Ах, Льоша! – вигукнула Валентина, впізнавши його. – Чому не попередив, що приїдеш? Твоя машина на газоні стоїть?
– Так, моя.
– Тоді піди приберись її звідти, поки люди не допомогли! І нащо це ти задумав ставити автомобіль на квіти?
Родич швидко вийшов на вулицю, а Валентина Петрівна пішла гріти чай. Їй потрібно продати квартиру, не хотілося б залишати сусідам пошкоджений газон.
Колись до неї приїжджав дядько зі своїм сином. Потім родичі не цікавилися одне одним. І ось, молодший з’явився знову! Але щось у ньому відштовхувало Валентину Петрівну. Він багато палить. Хоч і молодий, а зуби вже жовті. Добре, що хоча б приїхав. Жінка не стала наймати ріелтора для продажу квартири. Краще племіннику заплатить. Але він відмовився від грошей.
Так сталося, що Валентина залишилася в старості без чоловіка і дітей. Захотілося їй ближче до землі переїхати. Все-таки на свіжому повітрі краще, ніж з четвертого поверху постійно спускатися. А в селі є город. Поки є сили, посадить собі овочі. До кінця осені знайшовся покупець на квартиру.
– Завтра зима. Давай по весні почнемо продавати, – вирішила Валентина Петрівна відкласти покупку дому.
– Але ж будинки подорожчають навесні! – заперечив племінник. – Коли холодно, легше і опалення перевірити. Більше того, вже є покупець. Раптом потім відмовиться?
– Але ж дім мені ще не підібрали! Де я жити буду? Знайдемо будинок, тоді й продамо квартиру, – зітхнула Валентина Петрівна.
Олексій погодився.
Довго чекати не довелося. Через кілька днів родич знайшов варіанти житла. Вибравши домовлені будинки, вони вирушили в село. Оглянувши їх, Валентина Петрівна трохи засмутилася. По всіх потрібен був ремонт. Але за отримані з продажу квартири гроші жінці вистачило б і на дім, і на ремонт.
Олексій розумівся на будівництві та зміг розповісти тітці, скільки коштуватимуть їй будівельні матеріали та зарплата робітникам. Племінник обіцяв допомогти.
Бабуся журилася:
– Зима на носі. Не хочеться мені з цими ремонтами морочитися. Хочеться зайти в дім та жити, як усі нормальні люди.
– Я ж допоможу Вам! – відповів молодий чоловік.
Валентину Петрівну насторожувало те, що племінник намагається якомога швидше продати квартиру і купити їй хоча б якийсь будинок. Все ж вона вирішила, що вигоди Олексій від цього не отримає, та й її справи з продажем йому незручні. Дякувати, що взагалі погодився допомагати.
Вибравши собі будинок, бабуся призначила день угоди.
Покупець і нотаріус прибули вчасно. Олексій заварив усім чаю. Жаль стало бабусі продавати житло. Все ж своя квартира. Весь вік тут прожила. Нічого вже не виправиш. Речі зібрано, угоду оформлено.
– Ну ось. Тепер можна і в новий дім заїжджати! – заявив племінник, коли папери підписали.
– Почекай, що, прямо зараз? Я ще із серванта посуду не виклала, – заперечила було літня жінка, проте Льоша наполягав перевезти її сьогодні. Мовляв, покупцю ніде ночувати!
– Ну добре, сьогодні так сьогодні. Тільки посуду зберу швидко, – погодилася Валентина Петрівна.
Незабаром вони їхали по шосе на вантажівці. Бабуся почала клювати носом і заснула міцним сном. Свідомість іноді поверталася до неї, і вона бачила дорогу за вікном машини, чула, як чоловіки перемовляються між собою.
– Бабусю, ти мене чуєш? – наче здалеку чувся голос Льоші. Сил відповісти у неї не було.
– Давай тут її залишимо, – знову почула вона, прийшовши до тями наступного разу. Все відбувалося, як у тумані. Кинули бабусю прямо в сніг.
– Помре сама, – сказав Олексій.
Дійшло до старенької, що племінник її обманув. Виявилося, що до чаю він щось їй підмішав, щоб вона заснула і підписала довіреність. Заплющивши очі, Валентина приготувалася зустрічати смерть.
Тим часом за всім спостерігала дівчина. Проїжджаючи повз машину, зупинену у кюветі, вона подумала, що водієві потрібна допомога, і вирішила зупинити авто. Проте пізніше побачила, як чоловіки несли щось із вантажівки до лісу. Йшов сильний сніг. Молода жінка зацікавилася, навіщо людям посеред дороги у негоду щось вивантажувати. Може, займаються чимось нелегальним?
Трохи прогнавши машину вперед і вимкнувши фари, дівчина приготувалася чекати. На випадок записала номер автомобіля. Коли незнайомці сіли та поїхали, дівчина поспішила туди, куди вони відносили мішок. Помітивши стареньку, вона перевірила пульс. Жива! Щоправда, непритомна. Молода рятівниця одразу зателефонувала чоловікові і повідомила про бабусю.
Коли чоловік приїхав, вони допомогли старій жінці сісти в машину. Дорогою Валентина Петрівна прийшла в себе.
– Де я? – запитала вона.
– Ми вас знайшли, – відповіла Ірина. – Ви пам’ятаєте, як опинилися в снігу?
– Так. Пам’ятаю. Ми з племінником квартиру продавали. Потім чай пили. Ох цей чай… Льоша мені щось у нього насипав! Потім їхали в село, двоє кинули мене в сніг. Розібрався з тіткою родич!
– Давайте, я вас розітру, – запропонувала дівчина, дістаючи з аптечки крем.
– З вами тепліше, – посміхнулася бабуся. – Так би і загинула я.
Пізніше сім’я Ірини і сама Валентина Петрівна звернулися в міліцію. Почалося розслідування. Молода жінка запропонувала Валентині пожити тимчасово у них з чоловіком. Буває всяке в житті, адже поки квартиру повернеш, потрібен свій дах над головою.
Через пару тижнів літній жінці повернули її квартиру. Олексія і його спільника ув’язнили за шахрайство. А навесні, як і планувала Валентина, вона продала квартиру і придбала будинок у селі. Ремонт у ньому не вимагався, і бабуся з радістю зайнялася садом. Влітку в гості Ірину з чоловіком запрошувала. Доброту цієї родини старенька ніколи не забувала.
The Grey Mouse Is Happier Than You
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She Got My Mother-in-Law Back on Her Feet—Yet I’m Furious Because I Didn’t Weed the Vegetable Beds — “What are you doing here?” Standing in the middle of the swan-shaped flower beds, my mother-in-law shouted, “There’s never been such disgrace here before! I had seven children—never a single weed!” Her shriek drew the neighbours, who clung to the fence like crows and immediately dissected everything they heard. Seeing her audience, my mother-in-law took great pleasure in performing. I stood, speechless, as she went on. At last, worn out from shouting, she drew a breath and said loudly enough for all the neighbours to hear: I didn’t say a word. I walked calmly past my mother-in-law, holding my child even closer. Once inside, I divided up, in a special box, everything my mother-in-law was to take that evening and the next morning. Without folding anything, I tossed my son’s things and mine into a bag. I left without saying a word. Three days later, my mother-in-law called: “What did you do with all those things the professor gave her? I asked the neighbour to buy a few, but she said one jar is very expensive. The ones with foreign labels, well, we don’t use those or exchange them. So what am I to do? You left, offended for some reason, and here I am, about to meet my maker!” I didn’t reply. I turned off my phone and took out the SIM card. That’s it. I can’t go on—I have no physical or emotional strength left. A year ago, just before my son was born, my husband lost control of his car on an icy road. I vaguely remember saying goodbye for the last time, the ambulance taking him away, and waking up the next morning as a new mother… I didn’t care about anything. The world felt empty and pointless without my beloved husband. I nursed and rocked my son like clockwork, because that’s what I was told to do. A phone call snapped me out of my stupor. “Your mother-in-law is in bad shape. Apparently, she won’t last much longer.” I made my decision at once: after settling things, I sold my flat in London. I invested some of the money into building a home, so my son will have something of his own when he grows up. And I went to save my mother-in-law. This past year, I haven’t really lived—I’ve just existed. I had no time for sleep, caring for both my mother-in-law and my baby son. The baby was restless, and my mother-in-law required round-the-clock care. At least I had the money. I called in the best specialists from all over the UK; I bought every medication prescribed. Eventually, my mother-in-law returned to normal life. At first, I wheeled her through the house, then around the garden. By the end, she was strong enough to walk—on her own—as if nothing had happened… I don’t want to know her now, or hear from her ever again. Let her work out everything she needs for her recovery herself. At least I was wise enough not to spend all the money on her recovery. My son and I moved to our new flat. I never imagined it would end like this. I wanted to be close with my husband’s family, since I am an orphan myself. But now it’s just me. I need to teach my son: not everyone deserves kindness. Some people care more about a tidy vegetable patch.
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For Two Years, Maria Was Just the Carer for Her Mother-in-Law Maria Managed to Marry a Very Distinguished Gentleman: All Her Friends Were Jealous. Her Husband Owned His Own Business, a Gated Luxury Home, Several Cars and a Cottage in the Countryside, All by Thirty-Two. Maria, Having Just Graduated and Worked as a Teacher for a Year, Married Him That Summer. After the Wedding, Her Husband Said There Was No Need for His Wife to Work for Peanuts. He Asked Her to Stay Home and Prepare for Children, and Maria Did Not Object. The First Year of Marriage Felt Like a Fairy Tale: Maria and Her Husband Travelled, Creating Memories and Buying Expensive Things. Yet Maria Had Nowhere to Wear Her New Clothes—Her Friends Were Busy Working and Spending Weekends With Their Families. Her Husband Often Partied Without Ever Inviting Maria. Maria Was Bored. Unable to Have Children, Her Feelings for Her Husband Faded. After Finishing Her Household Tasks, She Roamed Room to Room, Wondering About Her Future. A Year Passed. Her Husband Was Rarely Home, Often Returning in the Evenings, Exhausted and Irritable, Claiming His Business Was Struggling. First, He Told His Wife to Spend Less. Then He Demanded She Account for Every Purchase and Expense, Calculating and Insisting They Could Live Just as Well for Half the Amount. Maria Grew Worried. She Wanted to Work, But Couldn’t Find a Teaching Position. She Decided to Enrol on a Course, But Then Her Mother-in-Law Fell Ill, and Maria Had to Take Care of Her for Two Years. Her Husband Moved His Mother In. Maria Did Everything, Caring for the Sick. Her Husband Came Home Even Less. When Her Mother-in-Law Passed Away, Her Husband Grew Even More Distant—Barely Speaking to Maria, Withdrawn, Spending Most of His Time at Work and Seldom Returning Home. Maria Couldn’t Understand What Had Happened Until She Visited Her Mother-in-Law’s Old Flat, Where She Hadn’t Been for Ages. Behind Closed Doors, She Heard a Child Crying. Surprised, Maria Rang the Bell. A Young Woman Opened the Door—Maria Learned Her Husband Had Started a Second Family Before His Mother’s Illness, and Then Installed Them in His Mother’s Flat. For Maria, It Was a Shock. She Realised She Couldn’t Save Her Marriage. She Left for Another City, to Her Aunt, Practically With Nothing but a Small Bag—Not Wanting Anything Reminding Her of Her Marriage or How Badly Her Life Had Turned Out…
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My Husband Brought a Colleague to Our Christmas Eve Dinner—So I Asked Them Both to Leave
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“We’ll Be Staying With You For A While, We Can’t Afford To Rent A Flat!” – Said My Friend I’m a very active woman. Even though I’m 65, I still manage to visit fascinating places and meet interesting people. I recall my youth with both joy and nostalgia—back then, you could holiday wherever you liked! You could go to the seaside, or camping with friends, or set sail down any river, all for little money. Sadly, those days are gone. I always loved meeting new people, be it on the beach or at the theatre, and many friendships lasted years. One day, I met a woman named Sarah. We were holidaying at the same seaside guesthouse and parted as friends. Years passed and we’d occasionally exchange letters. Then, one day, I received an unsigned telegram: “The train arrives at three in the morning. Meet me!” I couldn’t imagine who would send it. My husband and I didn’t go anywhere, but at four in the morning, there was a knock at our door. Opening it, I was stunned—standing there was Sarah, two teenage girls, her mother, and a man, with a mountain of luggage. My husband and I were bewildered, but we let them in. Then Sarah asked me: “Why didn’t you come to meet us? I sent you a telegram! And you know, that cost me!” “Sorry, but we didn’t know who sent it.” “Well, you gave me your address. So, here I am.” “I thought we’d just write letters, that’s all!” Sarah explained that one of the girls had just finished school and wanted to attend university. The family had come to support her. “We’ll be living with you! We have no money for a flat or hotel!” I was shocked—we weren’t even family! Why should we let them stay with us? We had to feed them three times a day. They’d brought some food, but didn’t cook, just ate ours. I ended up looking after everyone. I couldn’t take it anymore, so after three days I asked Sarah and her family to leave. I didn’t care where to. There was an awful row. Sarah started smashing crockery and screamed hysterically. I was utterly appalled. As they packed up, they managed to steal my bathrobe, several towels, and—astonishingly—even a large saucepan. I still don’t know how they got it out, but that pan simply vanished! And so ended our friendship—thank goodness! I never saw or heard from her again. How can people be so shameless? Now, I’m much more wary when meeting new acquaintances.
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You Don’t Deserve It — “After my divorce, I thought I’d never be able to trust anyone again,” Andrew said, turning an empty espresso cup between his fingers. His voice broke and trembled so convincingly that Ksenia instinctively leaned closer. “You know, when you’ve been betrayed, it’s like losing a part of yourself. She left a scar I’ll never get over. I truly believed I wouldn’t survive it…” Andrew sighed heavily and talked for a long time—about the wife who never appreciated him, about the pain that wouldn’t let go, about how terrified he was to start over. Every word settled in Ksenia’s heart like a warm pebble, and she already imagined she’d be the woman to restore his faith in love. Together, they would heal his wounds. He’d finally see that real happiness was possible—with her. It wasn’t until their second date, between dessert and coffee, that Andrew mentioned Maxim… “I have a son, by the way. He’s seven. He lives with his mother, but spends every weekend with me. The court decided that.” “That’s wonderful!” Ksenia gave a bright smile. “Children are such a blessing.” She pictured Saturday morning breakfasts for three, trips to the park, cozy evenings watching TV. The boy would need a woman’s care, a mother’s warmth. She would be his second mum—not to replace the real one, of course, but to be someone close, someone he could rely on… “You’re really sure you don’t mind?” Andrew looked at her with an odd smirk that Ksenia mistook for distrust. “Most women run for the hills when they hear I have a child.” “I’m not most women,” she replied proudly. …The first weekend with Maxim was a proper celebration. Ksenia made blueberry pancakes—his favourite, as Andrew had warned her. She patiently sat with a maths textbook, making problems easy to understand, washed his dinosaur T-shirt, ironed his school uniform, made sure he was in bed by nine. “You should take a break,” she told Andrew one day, noticing how he sprawled out on the sofa with the remote in his hand. “I’ve got this.” Andrew nodded—gratefully, so she thought at the time. Now she realised it was the nod of a man accepting what was rightfully his. …Months became years. Ksenia worked as a manager in a logistics company—out at eight in the morning, back at seven at night. The pay was pretty decent, as far as London went. Enough for two. But there were three of them. “They’ve delayed the project again,” Andrew would announce as if reporting a natural disaster. “The client bailed. But there’s a big contract just round the corner, I promise.” The big contract hovered on the horizon for a year and a half. Sometimes it seemed closer, sometimes it drifted away, but it never actually arrived. The bills, on the other hand, showed up right on cue. Rent. Electricity. Internet. Groceries. Child maintenance for Marina. New trainers for Max. School fees. Ksenia paid the lot without complaint. She saved on lunches, brought in tubs of pasta, refused to take a taxi even in the pouring rain. She hadn’t splashed out on a manicure for over a year—did her own nails, trying not to think about how she used to afford pampering at the salon. In three years Andrew gave her flowers exactly three times. She remembered each bunch—cheap, slightly withered supermarket roses from the corner stall, the thorns already broken off. Probably a discount… The first bouquet came as an apology after Andrew called her hysterical in front of Max. The second—after a row when her friend visited with no warning. The third was brought home after he missed her birthday because he stayed out with his mates (or simply forgot…) “Andrew, I don’t need expensive presents,” she tried to keep her voice gentle, choosing every word. “But sometimes, I’d just like to know you’re thinking of me. Even a card…” His face twisted instantly. “Money, it’s always about money with you, isn’t it? Presents, presents. Does love mean anything to you? All I’ve been through, and you complain?” “I didn’t mean—” “You don’t deserve it.” Andrew spat the words at her like mud. “After everything I’ve done for you, you still find something to whinge about.” Ksenia fell silent. She always did—it was just easier that way. Easier to live, easier to breathe, easier to pretend everything was fine. Strangely, Andrew always managed to find money for nights out with friends. Pubs, watching the football, café meetups every Thursday. He’d come home tipsy and cheerful, reeking of sweat and cigarettes, falling onto the bed without noticing Ksenia was still awake. She told herself: this is just how things are. Love means sacrifice. Love means patience. He’ll change. Of course he’ll change. I just have to wait a bit longer, love him a bit harder, give him all the support he needs—he’s been through so much… …Any talk of a wedding was like walking through a minefield. “We’re happy as we are—why do we need a piece of paper?” Andrew would shrug off the subject as if batting away a fly. “After what happened with Marina, I need time.” “Three years, Andrew. Three years is a long time.” “You’re putting pressure on me! It’s always the same with you.” He’d storm out of the room and end the conversation. Ksenia really wanted children. Her own, flesh and blood. She was twenty-eight, and her biological clock seemed to tick louder every month. But Andrew wasn’t up for being a father again—he already had a son, and, in his mind, that was plenty. …That Saturday she only asked for one day. Just one single day. “The girls have invited me round. We haven’t seen each other in ages. I’ll be back by evening.” Andrew looked at her as if she’d just announced plans to run off to another continent. “And Max?” “You’re his dad. You can spend the day with your son.” “So now you’re abandoning us? On a Saturday? When I was planning to have a break?” Ksenia blinked. Then blinked again. In three years she had never left them alone. Not once. She cooked, cleaned, helped with schoolwork, did the washing, ironing—all while holding down a full-time job. “I just want to see my friends. For a few hours… And he’s your son, Andrew. Surely you can spend one day with him without me?” “You should love my son as you love me!” Andrew suddenly roared. “You’re living in my flat, eating my food, and now you’re showing your true colours?!” His flat. His food. Ksenia was the one paying the rent. Ksenia bought the food from her wages. For three years she’d supported a man who shouted at her for wanting a day with her friends. She looked at Andrew—at his twisted face, the vein bulging on his forehead, clenched fists—and for the first time, truly saw him. Not the tragic victim of fate, not some lost soul in need of saving, but a grown man who was a master at exploiting someone else’s kindness. To him, Ksenia wasn’t a beloved partner or a future wife—just a financial backer and unpaid housekeeper. Nothing more. When Andrew left to drop Max off with Marina, Ksenia pulled out a travel bag. Her hands moved calmly, confidently—no shaking, no doubt. Passport. Phone. Charger. A couple of T-shirts. Jeans. The rest she could buy later. The rest didn’t matter. She didn’t bother leaving a note. What was the point of explaining things to someone who never really saw her anyway? The door closed quietly behind her. No drama. The phone calls started within the hour. First one, then another, then a deluge—an incessant ringing that made the phone vibrate in her hand. “Ksenia, where are you?! What’s going on?! I come home and you’re not here! How dare you? Where’s dinner? Am I supposed to go hungry? What’s all this nonsense?” She listened to his voice—angry, demanding, full of self-righteous outrage—and was amazed. Even now, when she’d left, Andrew only thought about himself. His inconvenience. Who would cook for him now? Not a single “sorry.” Not one “are you okay?” Just “how dare you.” Ksenia blocked his number. Then she found his profile in her chat app—blocked it. Social media—blocked. Every avenue he could use to reach her, she built a wall. Three years. Three years of living with a man who didn’t love her. Who used her kindness like it was disposable. Who convinced her that sacrificing herself was what love was all about. But love isn’t like that. Love doesn’t humiliate. Love doesn’t turn a living, breathing person into the hired help. Ksenia walked through the London evening—and, for the first time in ages, breathing came easy. She vowed to herself: never again would she confuse love with self-sacrifice. Never again would she rescue those who only trade on pity. Always, from now on, she would choose herself. Only herself.
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