З життя
Зрада від найближчих: той, кого вважала сином, завжди тримав кинджал за пазухою
Людмила довго йшла вулицею. Від такого зрадництва найближчих людей аж жити не хотілося. Вона вважала його сином. А виявилося, що він завжди камінь за пазухою тримав. Якесь дивне вираження, завжди стереотипи її дратували. Думала по-доброму: поганих людей не існує, бувають лише дурні вчинки. Через такі вчинки та страждають рідні.
З Ігорем був її другий шлюб. Перший виявився невдалим, довго не могла після цього отямитися. Навіть обіцяла собі, що ніколи більше не вийде заміж. Але минув час, і все змінилося.
Разом з Ігорем працювали багато років. Він був одружений на її найкращій подрузі. І коли Людмила переживала життєві негаразди з невдачливим чоловіком, вони були поруч. Усе про неї знали. Коли Валентина захворіла, настав час віддавати борги. Тож Людмила збирала гроші на операцію, прала, готувала, прибирала, поки подруга в лікарні лежала. Але всі зусилля виявилися марними, Валя померла.
Після смерті дружини, Ігор був у відчаї. Тому Людмилі довелося взяти всі клопоти по похованню на себе. Потім допомагала виховувати Сергійка. А коли після церемонії річниці смерті Валі, Ігор буденним тоном сказав:
– Залишайся у нас.
Вона погодилася. Дійсно, Сергію без матері не можна. Чужа жінка навряд чи полюбить чужу дитину.
Хто знає, чи це була любов, чи просто звичка, але родина вийшла хорошою і дружньою. Сергій почав було Людмилу мамою кликати, та вона зупинила його:
– У тебе мама Валя. Ніколи не забувай про неї.
Дві маленькі квартири об’єднали в одну велику. Як належить, записали на главу родини. Кілька разів Ігор пропонував Людмилі оформити стосунки, але вона все відмовлялася. Навіщо нам, ми ж не дітей хочемо заводити? Хіба нам мало клопоту з Сергієм? І справді з ним було достатньо клопоту. Хлопчик зростав добрим, але непосидючим. Коли в садок ходив, вихователі скаржилися. А вже зі школи так і взагалі телефонували кілька разів на день. Ігор сердився, сварив, навіть бив намагався.
А Людмила захищала його:
– Себе згадай. Теж, мабуть, не був подарунком. – Ігор посміхався, згадуючи себе.
– Що ж тепер, всі такими безладниками мають бути? Мене батько знаєш, як ганяв…
– Ти кращим від цього став?
– Ні, але все-таки. Як пояснити, що таке добре, а що таке погано?
Людмила засмутилася від спогадів, коли ж це сталося. Так би й не дізналася, якби не помер Ігор. Так не мало б статися. Людина не може в сорок п’ять років померти від якогось тромба. От якби він хворів, встигли б підготуватися. Ігор заповіт би склав. Але його смерть була настільки несподіваною, настільки нелепою. Здавалося, що вона разом з ним померла.
Сергій вже дорослий хлопець, в університеті навчається, зустрічається з дівчиною. Не очікувала від нього Людмила нічого поганого. А він прийшов після похорону ввечері з бабусею. Видно, сам не міг цього зробити, потрібна була підтримка. І сказав:
– Квартира моя і бабусина. А ти тут ніхто. Даємо тобі місяць, щоб виїхала.
Людмила навіть нічого не могла сказати, так її ці слова шокували. З іншого боку, якщо син, якого вона виховала, міг її як бездомну собаку вигнати, значить, поганою була вона матір’ю. Значить, все життя даремно пройшло. Тим самим їй. Але куди тепер звернутися, як жити. Невже все потрібно спочатку починати?
Минуло вже два тижні після візиту сина, а Людмила так і не придумала, що робити. Нікому не розповідала, соромно було. Вона ж ним пишалася, хвалилася його успіхами. Як він сам в університет вступив, яка дівчина у нього хороша. А що тепер? Не її це син. Вона йому не потрібна. Немає їй місця у його житті.
Людмила переверталася, не могла заснути. У двері постукали. Вона неохоче піднялася, натягла на себе халат, тапочки і пішла відчиняти двері. Скільки разів Ігор казав їй питати, хто прийшов. Не навчилася, вірила вона людям. Надавала надію, що нічого поганого з нею не трапиться. На порозі стояв Сергій:
– Мамо Людо, пробач мене. Це все бабуся, – сльози заважали йому говорити, – бабуся казала, що ти все собі забереш. Говорила, що в наш дім когось приведеш, і мені вже нічого не дістанеться. Сам не знаю, як так вийшло. Живи тут скільки хочеш, хоч усе життя. Це ж твій дім. А мені нічого не треба. Я хочу, щоб у мене, як раніше, мама була. – Людмила плакала, Сергій витирав їй сльози рукою.
– А чому ж ти не відкрив своїм ключем? – запитала Людмила.
– Не хотів у твоє життя вторгатися.
– Дурненький, яке в мене життя без тебе?
Вони ще довго стояли прямо через поріг, дивлячись один на одного, плакали. Поки, нарешті, першою не отямилася Людмила.
– Що ж ми стоїмо, ходімо чай пити.
– Ходімо, мені стільки тобі потрібно розповісти!
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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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