З життя
Жінка біля підземки: історія продажу простих товарів біля станції.
Агафія Василівна стояла біля підземного переходу поруч із залізничною станцією та продавала нехитрі товари. Щодня вона приходила сюди, як на роботу, з двох причин. По-перше, це була хоч якась справа, а по-друге, пенсія у неї була маленька, хоча все життя чесно працювала, але так склалося…
Сидіти вдома одній їй було нудно. Чоловік Агафії давно вже пішов з життя, минуло років двадцять, і від нудьги вона почала в’язати. Спочатку в’язала для себе, потім сусідам почала дарувати шкарпетки, рукавиці, потім вже всіх обдарувала настільки, що нікуди було більше, і стала Агафія в’язати на продаж.
Не лише в’язані вироби продавала бабуся. І коли огірки солоні пропонувала, і коли капусту квашену. А часом і кімнатні квіти: фіалки та кактуси.
Собаку собі завела, дворнягу безпородну. Побачила якось із нашийником загублену, стало жаль її, взяла до себе додому, оголошення повісила, хто втратив. Але господарі не знайшлися. Мабуть, навмисно покинули тварину. Ну, і куди ж тепер її? Пожаліла Агафія пса. Так і живуть тепер удвох дружно. І на “роботу”, до підземного переходу щоразу супроводжує бабусю пес. Сяде поруч і сидить, охороняє. А бабуся його хлібом підгодовує. Купує собі половинку батона і псу шматочок відломить. Чайком із термоса запиває — ось і обід виходить.
***
Дмитрик йшов зі школи засмучений. Світлана Тимофіївна, вчителька математики, поставила двійку. Майже ні за що. Несправедливо. «Хіба в математиці враховується українська?» — дивувався хлопчик. Ну, задачу він трохи неправильно вирішив, ну, в прикладах помилки наробив. Так це ж математика! «А за граматичну помилку в відповіді щоб знижувати оцінку — це вже занадто!» — міркував про себе хлопчик. Але мамі цього не поясниш. І хто тільки вигадував цей електронний щоденник! Тепер від батьків двійки зовсім не приховаєш. Часи були раніше! Вирвав сторінку з щоденника, і порядок…
Йшов він і не помітив, як майже до свого будинку дійшов. Лишилося тільки через підземний перехід перейти. «О, бабуся стоїть. Знову зі своїми шкарпетками. Величезні такі. Хто їх тільки купує», — думав Дмитрик. Раптом він помітив на підстилці, яка лежала на асфальті та слугувала вітриною у бабусі, дуже красиву фіалку в баночці з-під сметани. Ну, просто неймовірну. Пелюсточків у неї було стільки, що вони виглядали мов маленькі трояндочки, колір теж рожевий, а листочки з різьбленими краями. Захопився хлопчик, зупинився та стоїть. Під фіалкою ціна на папірці — 50 гривень. А в Дмитрика було аж вісімдесят.
«Що як мамі купити квітку?» — подумав хлопчик. «І Восьме Березня невдовзі, ну майже. Вона квіти любить, зрадіє і забуде про двійку!»
Купив Дмитрик фіалку, приніс додому і поставив мамі на стіл, прямо на кухні. Потім трохи подивився телевізор, прихопив з пательні котлету. Потім зазирнув до холодильника і з тугою подивився на каструлю із супом, який мама веліла обов’язково з’їсти.
— Його ж підігрівати треба! Та ну! Не хочеться! — сказав Дмитрик і побіг на двір гратися.
Фокус із фіалкою вдався. Мама дійсно зраділа і забула перевірити Дмитрикові оцінки. Вона весь вечір клопоталася з квіткою, пересаджувала і намагалася знайти найкраще для неї місце в квартирі.
А Дмитрик подружився з Агафією Василівною. Відтоді, як він придбав у неї фіалку, вони стали при зустрічі вітатися. Потім він почав розмовляти з бабусею, ділитися з нею нехитрими шкільними новинами, потім якось у розмові з’ясувалося, що вона колишня вчителька математики і всю шкільну програму чудово пам’ятає. А Дмитрику ж погано? Сяде поруч із бабусею на розкладний стільчик, і вона йому всю домашню роботу пояснить. Що на що множити і як задачу вирішувати. А бабусин пес, Архип, поруч крутиться, носом у руки тицяє, хоче, щоб Дмитрик погладив його і за вухом почухав.
Але якось раз йшов хлопчик зі школи, а бабусі біля переходу не було. Тільки Архип сидів на тому місці, де зазвичай бабуся свої в’язані шкарпетки розкладала. Побачивши Дмитрика, пес підскочив і побіг до нього, наче чекав. Хвостом махав, відбігав, знову повертався, всім своїм виглядом показуючи, що потрібно кудись іти. Дмитрик пішов за Архипом. Але довго йти не довелося. Біля сусіднього будинку, на лавочці сиділа бліда Агафія Василівна, поруч із нею стояла її велика сумка на коліщатках. Побачивши хлопчика і пса, вона посміхнулася і сказала:
— Ну, куди ти втік, неслухняний! Рятувати мене надумав? Все вже добре. Я таблетку випила. Відпустило. Трішки посиджу і піду на робоче місце.
— Бабусю! Навіщо ви весь час ходите туди, до переходу? Вам потрібно вдома лежати, телевізор дивитися, серіали.
— Ох, онучок! Та на що вони мені здалися!
— Ну, адже все одно нічого ніхто не купує!
— Це так, — зітхнула бабуся. Потім подивилася сумно на Дмитрика і тихо сказала:
— Дома я пропаду. А так хоч при ділі.
— Ви б спробували щось інше зв’язати. Ну, може, іграшки м’які? А то шкарпетки ці ваші, знаєте, ну якось не дуже популярні… Знаєте що, давайте ви спробуєте зв’язати кого-небудь, а я оголошення розміщу в інтернеті! Там все-все можна продати!
— Ну, — невпевнено протягнула бабуся, — А чом би не спробувати-то? Хто там у вас зараз наймодніший? Свинка Пеппа? Я дещо знаю, бо ж телевізор теж дивлюся, — хитро прижмурилася старенька.
— І її можна! — усміхнувся хлопчик.
Агафія Василівна виявилася чудовою майстринею. Надівши величезні окуляри із товстими скельцями, вона так вправно взялася в’язати різноманітних персонажів мультфільмів, і сучасних, і радянських, і просто симпатичних звіряток, що бізнес у неї пішов угору. Клієнти в чергу записувалися. Зранку до ночі телефонували. Спочатку Дмитро їй допомагав, із комп’ютера свого оголошення викладав. А на перші заробітки бабуся купила собі простенький смартфон, замість старенького кнопкового телефона, і через інтернет стала постійно спілкуватися з замовниками. Іграшки у неї виходили на славу, бо в кожну з них Агафія Василівна вкладала часточку своєї душі. Тепер ні біля якого переходу їй стояти не потрібно було. У теплі, посьорбуючи чайок, вона заробляла собі надбавку до пенсії. Та й спілкування у неї додалося. Тепер точно не засумуєш.
Одного разу, Дмитрик вирушив до магазину за хлібом і побачив, як бабуся сідає в таксі.
— Ось, онучок, хочу в платну клініку з’їздити. До доброго лікаря показатися. Добре, що тепер можу собі дозволити! — усміхнулася Агафія Василівна, — Дякую тобі! Допоміг мені знайти ринкову нішу! О, як! — засміялася вона.
При цих словах старенької Дмитро усміхнувся, водій таксі теж заусміхався і, розвернувши машину, швидко помчав Агафію Василівну в платну клініку.
He Hated His Wife. Hated Her… They Spent 15 Years Together—Every Morning He Saw Her Face, But Only in the Last Year Did Her Habits Begin to Grate on Him, Especially the Way She Stretched Out Her Arms in Bed and Sleepily Said, “Good Morning, Sunshine! It’s Going to Be a Wonderful Day.” At First He’d Loved Her Body, Her Freedom, Her Morning Rituals—Now Even Her Nakedness Filled Him with Anger. She Knew of His Three-Year Affair, But Time Had Healed Her Wounded Pride and Left Only a Sad Sense of Uselessness. Secretly, She Struggled with a Terminal Illness, Finding Solace in a Quiet Village Library. When He Finally Decided to Leave Her for His Lover, He Discovered a Hidden Folder with Her Medical Records—The Diagnosis Gave Her 6–18 Months to Live, and Six Months Had Already Passed. At a Restaurant Where They Once Celebrated Their Anniversary, She Waited for Him in the Autumn Sunshine, Tears Flowing as She Realized Her Life Was Slipping Away Unnoticed. In the End, He Cared for Her Every Moment Until She Passed, Realizing Too Late the Depth of His Loss; Under Her Pillow He Found Her New Year’s Wish: “To Be Happy with Him Until the End of My Days.” That Same Year, He’d Wished for Freedom—And in the End, Each Received Exactly What They’d Requested…
He despised his wife. Truly, despised her They had shared their lives for fifteen years. For every one of those...
Bitterness at the Bottom of My Soul “You belong in a care home, and you know it! Get out of our family!” I shouted at the top of my lungs, my voice breaking with emotion. The target of my outrage was my cousin, Dima. Lord, I loved him so much as a child—his golden hair, cornflower-blue eyes, cheerful nature. That was Dima all over. Family gatherings would often bring us all together around the table, but out of all my cousins, it was always Dima who stood out. With his silver tongue, he could weave tales like intricate lace, and he was a gifted artist. By the end of any evening, he’d have sketched five or six pencil drawings with ease. I would marvel at his work, unable to tear myself away from its beauty, and quietly stash his drawings in my desk for safekeeping, cherishing his creativity. Dima was two years older than me. When he was fourteen, his mother died suddenly and unexpectedly—she simply never woke up. Everyone wondered what would become of Dima. They looked first to his biological father, but finding him was not easy—his parents had long been divorced, and his father had another family and wasn’t about to disrupt his “peaceful life.” Then the rest of the relatives collectively shrugged—each had their own families and worries. Suddenly, our extended family was nowhere to be found when needed most. So, with two children of their own, my parents agreed to take Dima in—the late woman was my father’s younger sister, after all. At first, I was happy that Dima would be living with us. But… On his very first day in our home, I noticed something odd about my favourite cousin’s behaviour. Trying to bring him some comfort, my mum asked, “Is there anything you’d like, Dima? Don’t be shy, just tell us.” Immediately, Dima answered, “A model railway set.” This toy was quite expensive, and his wish surprised me. I thought—your mum just died, the most important person in your world, and all you can think about is a train set? How could he? Still, my parents bought it for him immediately. But soon Dima’s requests snowballed. “Buy me a tape recorder, jeans, a branded jacket…” This was the 1980s. Not only were these things pricey, but difficult to find. Yet my parents, depriving their own children, tried to fulfil every wish of the orphan. My brother and I endured this in silence, understanding it was for Dima. When Dima turned sixteen, he started chasing after girls. He became infatuated with me—his own cousin. But I, being sporty and quick, dodged his advances, even fighting him off physically at times and ending up in tears. My parents never knew—I didn’t want to upset them. Most kids keep such things to themselves. After I made it clear I wasn’t interested, Dima quickly moved on to my friends, who actually competed for his attention. Dima also stole from us, brazenly and without shame. I remember saving my school lunch money in a piggy bank for a present for my parents—one day, it was empty. Dima swore blind he hadn’t touched it, didn’t so much as blush. My soul was torn to pieces—how could he steal in the very house we shared? Dima shattered our family’s trust, as if nothing mattered to him. I began to hate him. That’s when I screamed, with all my might: “Get out of our family!” I let rip at Dima, said more than fit in a hat—words I can’t take back. My mother barely managed to calm me down. Since then, Dima ceased to exist for me. I avoided him in every way. Later, it turned out the other relatives all knew what “sort” Dima was—they lived nearby and had seen plenty. Only our family, living farther away, had been in the dark. Dima’s former teachers even warned my parents: “You shouldn’t have taken him in. Dima will only ruin your own children.” At a new school, he met Kate, who would fall head-over-heels for Dima and marry him right after graduation. They had a daughter. Kate patiently endured his wild whims, endless lies, and countless betrayals. As the old saying goes: “single and you suffer, married and it’s double.” Dima was later conscripted for military service in Kazakhstan. There, he formed a “second family”—apparently during breaks from service. He fathered a son. After his discharge, Dima stayed in Kazakhstan, but Kate went after him and, by hook or by crook, brought him back to his family. My parents never heard a word of thanks from Dima—not that they expected it. Now, Dmitry Eugene is sixty. He’s a devout parishioner at the local English church, with Kate and five grandchildren. Everything seems fine, but the bitterness from my relationship with Dima still lingers… A taste too bitter, even for honey.
BITTERNESS AT THE BOTTOM OF THE SOUL You should have been in a childrens home ages ago! Get out of...
POSTAGE STAMP… “Ilya’s left Katya,” Mum sighed heavily. “What do you mean?” I didn’t understand. “I don’t get it myself,” Mum said. “He was away on business for a month, came back all changed. Told Katya he loves someone else.” “Did he really say that? Must be some mistake—how awful,” I fumed at Katya’s husband. “Sonia called me—said Katya was unwell, had to call an ambulance. Turned out Katya had some kind of neurological swallowing disorder,” Mum blinked rapidly. “Alright, Mum, calm down. Honestly, Katya shouldn’t have put Ilya on a pedestal like that. She was always dancing attendance on him. Now she’s left picking up the pieces. Poor Katya. I hope Ilya isn’t serious about this new woman—he loves Katya and Sonia,” I refused to believe what I’d heard. …Ilya and Katya’s wild passion, their whirlwind romance—they married after just two months. Their daughter Sonia was born. Life was measured, calm, and then—everything tumbled downhill… Like a Rolling Boulder… I rushed straight to my sister. Some conversations are hardest with those closest to you. “Katya, how could this happen? Did Ilya even explain? Has he lost his mind?” I barraged my sister. “I’m in shock myself, Nina. Who is this woman? Did she cast some sort of spell? Ilya dashed off to her, obsessed. Threw his stuff in a bag, left. Feels like I’ve been dragged across concrete. I don’t understand…” Katya sobbed endlessly. “Let’s wait, Katya. Maybe your runaway will come to his senses. These things happen,” I hugged her. He Didn’t Come Back. Ilya made a new life in another city, and with a new wife. Ksenia was eighteen years Ilya’s senior, but the age gap didn’t prevent their happiness. “Souls don’t have ages,” Ksenia said. Ilya was smitten. Ksenia became his lodestar. She had a tough streak—could be tender, could be ruthless. Ilya adored her. Every time he’d marvel, “Where have you been all my life, Ksenia? I’ve searched half my life for you…” Meanwhile, Katya decided to seek vengeance—all men now fair game. Beautiful, she turned heads everywhere. She had a fling with her boss, entranced him. “Katya, marry me. I’ll make you rich. You’ll be treated like a queen.” “No thanks, Dmitri—I’ve had enough marriages… Let’s go to the seaside instead. I want Sonia to get some fresh air,” Katya winked. “Alright, my dear…” Sasha was simpler—helped around the flat, did her renovations, but never proposed—he was already married. Katya strung both along—no love, just distraction from her misery. She still yearned for Ilya, saw him in dreams, woke up in useless tears. Couldn’t let go of those memories. “How do you un-weld someone from your life? What did I do wrong? I was loyal, caring—never argued…” …Years went by. Katya’s life was split between Dmitri’s tender invites, Sasha’s handyman help. …Sonia was twenty when she decided to visit her father. Bought a train ticket, wondered how to address “the other woman.” Arrived in a new city. …Rang the bell. “You must be Sophia,” an interesting woman opened the door. “Mum is much prettier…” Sonia thought. “Ksenia, right?” Sonia guessed. “Yes, come in. Your dad’s not home but will be soon,” Ksenia led her to the kitchen. “How are you? How’s your mum?” Ksenia fussed, “Tea, coffee?” “Ksenia, how did you manage to steal my dad away? He loved my mum—I know that for sure,” Sonia looked her straight in the eye. “Sophia, life’s unpredictable. Love has no guarantees. Sometimes passion sweeps in and one meeting changes everything. Fate intervenes. Sometimes, you just have to change partners in the dance. It can’t be explained,” Ksenia slumped into a chair. “But can’t you just stop? Think of your duty to family…” Sonia couldn’t grasp Ksenia’s reasoning, glaring at the woman she loathed. “You can’t, child,” Ksenia replied simply. “Thank you for your honesty,” Sonia refused the coffee. “Sophia, want some cheeky advice? A man is like a postage stamp—the more you spit on him, the better he sticks. And in general, you need to be steel one day, velvet the next… By the way, your dad and I had a big row.” “Thanks for the tip. Should I wait for Dad?” Sonia asked anxiously. “I’m not sure. He’s been living in a hotel this week. Here’s the address,” Ksenia scribbled it on a scrap of paper. Sonia was relieved—now she could talk to her dad alone. “Goodbye, thanks for the coffee,” she left quickly. She found the hotel, knocked on his door. Ilya was happy—if a bit embarrassed—to see his daughter. “I was planning on returning today—after the row and all…” “That’s your business, Dad. I just wanted to see you,” Sonia carefully took her father’s hand. “How’s your mum?” Ilya asked. “All’s well. We’ve gotten used to life without you.” They spent a warm evening in the hotel room—talking, laughing, shedding quiet tears. “Dad, do you love Ksenia?” Sonia suddenly asked. “Very much. I’m sorry, darling,” Ilya answered surely. “Got it. I need to run—my train’s soon,” Sonia gathered her things. “Come by, Sonia—we’re family, after all,” Ilya’s eyes dropped. “Of course… see you soon,” Sonia left. …Returning home, she decided to follow Ksenia’s advice: Don’t love, don’t treasure, don’t believe empty men’s words. Brush them off… …But three years later, the right man came along: Kirill. He was made for Sonia, sent by fate… She knew instantly, sensed it… When you meet your true love, nothing else even tempts you… Kirill wrapped his woman in his heart and never let go. He touched her soul in ways unseen. Sonia fell deeply, utterly, without conditions…
THE POSTAGE STAMP Olivers left Emily, Mum sighed heavily. What do you mean? I didnt understand. Im as lost as...
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June 22nd I roused my mother-in-law back to her feet, but truthfully, Im furious at myself for not weeding the...
A Husband Worth More Than Bitter Grudges: My Turbulent Journey from Heartbreak and Hardship to Risking It All for a Second Chance at Love
MY HUSBAND MATTERS MORE THAN BITTER GRIEVANCES James, thats the last straw! Im done, were getting a divorce! Dont bother...
For two years, Maria was only the carer for his mother. Maria managed to marry a highly respected English gentleman—envied by all her friends. Her husband owned a successful business, a luxurious home in the suburbs, several cars, and a cottage in the countryside—all by the age of thirty-two. Maria, meanwhile, had just finished her university degree and worked for a year as a teacher. That summer, they married. After the wedding, her husband insisted there was no need for his wife to work for pennies. He wanted her to stay home and prepare for children. Maria didn’t object. The first year of marriage was like a fairy tale: travelling together, making memories, buying expensive clothes. Yet Maria rarely had a chance to wear her new outfits. Her friends were busy with work and family, and her husband was always attending events—never taking Maria with him. She grew bored. Unable to have children, Maria’s feelings for her husband began to fade. Each day, after housework, she wandered room to room, thinking about her future. Another year passed. Her husband was rarely home, always returning late, exhausted and irritable, complaining that business wasn’t going well. First, he told Maria to spend less. Then he demanded an account of every purchase and expense, insisting they could live well for half the cost. Maria was worried. She wanted to go back to work, but couldn’t find a job in her field. She enrolled on a course, but then her mother-in-law fell ill. Maria had to care for her for two years when her husband moved his mother into their home. Maria did everything—she was the nurse and companion. Her husband came home even less. After his mother passed, Maria’s husband grew increasingly distant, barely spoke, avoided her gaze, and spent most of his time at work. Maria couldn’t understand what was happening until she visited her old mother-in-law’s flat—where she hadn’t been in ages. Behind a closed door, she heard a child crying, even though she thought the flat was empty. She rang the bell. A young woman answered. Maria learned that her husband had started a second family before his mother’s illness and moved them into his mother’s flat. It was a shock. Maria knew she couldn’t save her marriage. She left for another city to stay with her aunt, practically empty-handed, with only a small handbag. She didn’t want a single item to remind her of her marriage—and how tragically it had turned out…
For two years, Mary was nothing more than a nurse to his mother. I remember how Mary managed to marry...
“We’ll Stay at Your Place for a While Since We Can’t Afford to Rent a Flat!” – My Friend Announced At 65, I’m a lively woman, never letting age stop me from exploring new places or meeting fascinating people. I look back at my youth with both joy and a touch of sadness. Back then, you could holiday anywhere you fancied! From seaside trips to camping adventures with friends, even sailing down any river you chose—all for just a little money. Sadly, those days are behind me now. I always loved meeting new people—on the beach, at the theatre, anywhere really. Many of those acquaintances became lifelong friends. One summer, I met Sara while staying at the same B&B. We parted as friends, keeping in touch with the occasional letter over the years. Then one day, I received an unsigned telegram: “The train arrives at 3 a.m. Please meet me!” Puzzled about who had sent it, my husband and I stayed put. But at four in the morning, our doorbell rang. To my shock, there stood Sara with two teenage girls, a grandmother, and a man, all surrounded by heaps of luggage. My husband and I were baffled but let these unexpected guests in. Sara exclaimed: – “Why didn’t you meet us? I sent you a telegram! Besides, that’s not cheap! – Sorry, we didn’t know who sent it! – Well, you gave me your address. So here we are. – I thought we’d stick to letters, nothing more!” Sara explained that one of the girls had just left school and decided to go to university, so the whole family came to support her. – “We’ll be living with you! We can’t afford to rent a flat or stay in a hotel!” I was stunned. We weren’t even related—why should we let them stay? We had to feed them three times a day; although they brought a bit of food, they cooked nothing and ate ours. I was left to serve everyone. After three exhausting days, I asked Sara and her family to leave—I didn’t care where to. That sparked a row. Sara smashed crockery and screamed hysterically. I was appalled. As they packed, they even managed to steal my dressing gown, a few towels, and somehow my large cooking pot vanished too—no idea how! That was the end of our friendship—and thank heavens! I’ve never heard from her since. How could anyone be so cheeky?! Now, I’m much more wary when I meet new people.
Well be staying at yours for a while. We dont have any money to rent a flat!my friend declared. I...
A Christmas Eve Miracle: How Forgetting a Gift, a Stray Kitten, and a Chance Encounter Turned the Holidays Around for Peter, Anna, and Little Masha in London
Miracle on New Year’s Eve Tom, seriously, how could you forget? Emily said, exasperated, glaring at her husband from across...