“Marina, you can’t leave me! What will I do without you?”
“The same as always, drink from morning till night!”
I slammed the front door and collapsed into the drivers seat, tears streaming down my face. How had it come to this? A year ago, our family had been the picture of happinessenvied, of course. People always envy what they dont have. Thats just the way of the world.
****
“Marina, hurry up, pack your thingsand Vlads too! Ive got a surprise for you. Dont forget warm clothes.”
My husband, Nicholasor “Nick,” as I called him when he was in one of his whimsical moodsloved surprises. This time, he was taking us out of London to ride snowmobiles. His colleague had recently bought a cottage about sixty miles from the city. A cottage? More like a medieval fortress, complete with turrets and a stone wall around the property. Calling it a fence would have been an insult.
“Well, what do you think?” he asked, grinning at my stunned expression.
“Theres something about this place gives me the creeps.”
“Youre just cold. Come insideyou havent seen the fireplace yet.”
The interior was even more unsettling than the outside. But the men loved it, and who was I to argue about taste? The stuffed animal heads mounted on the wallsthough Nick insisted they were replicasdid nothing to ease my discomfort. Meanwhile, Vlad, ever the little adventurer, dashed around with a toy sword, battling imaginary monsters. I kept my eyes fixed on the flames in the hearth, trying to ignore the eerie decor.
Perhaps the reason that dayand that houselingered in my memory like a nightmare was because it marked the end of our old life. Later, the owner would wheel out two snowmobiles from the garage, and one of them would take my sons life. Nick, consumed by guilt, would spiral into alcoholism, drowning in a bottle to escape his own private hell.
I dont know why I held myself together better. The pain I carried every day for nearly a year was indescribable, but I refused to let it consume me. My grief was mine aloneno one else suffered as I did. People around me carried on with their cheerful lives, oblivious to the weight I bore.
Sometimes, I was tempted to join Nick in numbing the pain with drink. But I knew it would only make things worse. Drunkenness amplifies emotion, and emotion was our enemy nowbreeding anger, resentment, bitterness. Nick hid behind those feelings like a tortoise in its shell, refusing to come out no matter what I did.
I hadnt planned to leave him. My nerves were simply frayed, and I needed space. I started the car and drove aimlessly, snowflakes drifting onto the windshield like perfect digital creations. I stopped at petrol stations, drank coffee in roadside cafés, even checked into a hotel for a brief rest.
My mind was blank. I wasnt driving toward anythingjust away. I dont remember when or why I left the motorway, but eventually, the road led me to a sleepy little town. I parked near a small park and sat there, motionless, for who knows how long.
“Youll freeze out here,” a voice tapped at my window.
A group of teenagers passed by, and I was surprised by their concern. Then I saw heran elderly woman walking a small, curly white poodle, its fur as pristine as the snow beneath its paws. For some reason, I stepped out and approached her.
“Youve been sitting here a while with the engine off. I worried something was wrong.”
“Something is wrong,” I whispered.
Why is it easier to confess your soul to a stranger? Maybe because they dont know your past, so they cant dredge up old mistakes or blame you for your suffering. My own mother would say Nick drank because of some distant great-uncle whod been a drunkard. A stranger wouldnt dig for excuses. And if they did, you could always shut them out.
Somehow, I found myself sitting on a stool in a cozy kitchen with blue curtains, a steaming cup of chamomile tea in my hands, and a crumpled tissue damp with tears. Id thought Id cried myself dry in those first months after Vlads death. But nothere were still tears left. Id just buried them deep, tired of empty condolences.
“Marina, Ive made up the sofa for you. Rest, then carry on to wherever nowhere is.”
“Alright,” I sighed, knowing I wouldnt make it to the car anyway.
That morning, I woke up smiling for the first time in ages. The clock ticked softly on the wall, sunlight seeped through the thin curtains, and a rough tongue licked my nose.
“Ginger,” I rememberedthe poodles name. The dog looked up at me with what could only be described as a grin. I giggled at the absurdity of it.
“Ginger, leave the poor girl alone. Shes hungry.”
Aunt Rosemy newfound acquaintanceentered with a tray, the scent of fresh coffee and cinnamon buns filling the air.
“Dont be surprised,” she said. “When I cant sleep, I bake. And this time, it worked out nicely. Heretry these. But dont praise them out loud. Buns prefer silent admiration.”
“Hows that?” I asked.
“Roll your eyes and sigh. Theyll understand.”
I took a bite and nearly melted. These buns could get away with anything.
Aunt Rose left me to my breakfast, and for the first time in months, a memory of Nick bringing me breakfast in bedsometimes toast, sometimes even kippersmade me smile instead of ache.
I didnt apologize for intruding. It wouldve felt wrong. After breakfast, I dozed off again, waking at dusk to find Ginger curled beside me, radiating warmth. Id never slept so soundly.
“Goodness, whats wrong with me?” I muttered, scrambling up. The house was quiet, dim. Only Ginger and I seemed to be home. “Have I lost my mind? Sleeping a full day in a strangers house, in a town I dont even know the name of!”
I dressed quickly, noticing the rooms decorposters on the walls, a dumbbell by the window, a desk cluttered with knickknacks. A framed photo of two young men in uniform sat on the shelf.
The front door creaked open. “Sleepyheads!” Aunt Rose called. “Dinners ready!”
I met her in the hallway. “Im so embarrassed. I dont know what came over me.”
“Good sleep heals all,” she said. “Now, lets eat. I even bought cake. We deserve a little celebration.”
Five minutes later, we were devouring the most delicious rabbit stew Id ever tasted. Aunt Rose explained it was a gift from an admirera man with a rabbit farm.
“One hundred thirty-five rabbits, all named. Mad, but hardworking. Keeps asking me to marry him, but Im not ready for life on a rabbit farm.”
“Aunt Rose, how long have you lived alone?” I ventured.
“Thirty years. My storys like yoursI lost my son, too. Only he was older. Mine died in an accident during his military service. After the funeral, my husband and I grew apart. Two years of misery, then divorce. He drank himself to death back in his village. I nearly followed him, but an old woman once told me I had to keep livingotherwise, Id never see my boy again. So I endure. The pain changed over time became softer, almost sweet. Now Im just grateful for the love I had.”
After that, I didnt want to leave. It felt like Id always lived therewith Aunt Rose, Ginger, the ticking clock, the floral wallpaper.
The next morning, the doorbell rang. Nick stood on the doorstep, disheveled and scowling. He stepped inside without a word.
“No lover, then,” he muttered, glancing around.
“What lover?”
“Any lover. Judging by this backwater town, probably some half-baked one.”
“Whats the name of this town?”
“Brilliant. My wifes been living here and doesnt even know.”
Aunt Rose chuckled. “Ill make pancakes. Young man, do you like wild mushrooms with yours?”
“I think so? My grandmother used to serve them.”
“City folk and their delicacies,” she scoffed. “Out here, we eat proper food. Youll see.”
Nick and I stood frozen before collapsing into each others arms. Id missed himthe real him, not the drunken shadow hed become.
Over pancakes, we talked. Nick admitted hed smashed a bottle against the wall after I left, then woke up terrified Id never return. Hed tracked my phone to this “godforsaken speck on the map,” convinced Id run off with another man.
We stayed two more days, wandering the snowy lanes hand in hand, feeding pigeons, splitting the last pastry between us. To outsiders, we must have looked like any happy couplenot the shattered shells wed been.
Eventually, we had to go back. You cant hide from life forever.
As we neared home, fear crept in. Would the spell break? But Nicks hand tightened around mine, steadying me. “Worst case, Ill run away again,” I thought, shooting him a mischievous smile.
“Well need a new rug,” he said, eyeing the cognac stain.
“Or keep it as a reminder. Like the dumbbell in Aunt Roses spare room.”
For the first time, we talked about Vlads roomthe one wed avoided for a year. Without a word, we went upstairs and began sorting his things. We packed toys for charity, set aside keepsakes for his friends. We were brave. Not a single tear fell.
That night, in bed, we were braver still. Nick finally admitted he wasnt to blame for the accident. No one couldve avoided that fall. It was like blaming a hare that darted across the snowmobiles pathor the tree Vlads head struck.
I fell asleep in his arms for the first time in ages. In the morning, I woke to the smell of coffeeNick holding a mug.
“What about me?” I grumbled.
“Half each,” he said, smiling.
***
Nine months later, Vlad got a little sister. Im certain she was conceived that night. When I told Nick, he kissed me long and hard, then pressed his palms gently to my belly.
We never did take that seaside holiday. Instead, we visited Aunt Rose in her quaint little town. Shed finally accepted her rabbit-farming suitors proposal, and we were invited to the wedding.
“Be brave,” shed advised when I confessed my pregnancy fears. So I was.
“Nick, I cant help itIm pregnant.”
“What?”
“Pregnant.”
“You mean were having a baby?”
“Well, yes, sort of”
He didnt answer. Just kissed me, his hands warm over the tiny life inside me.
