“I’ll ruin all of you! Just wait!” screamed Laura, my brother’s wife, in a fit of rage.
“What for, Laura? I gave you the entire amount. What’s your complaint?” my mother asked, bewildered by the threats from her daughter-in-law.
“Where’s it written down that you gave us money? Where are the witnesses? A receipt? You owe Alex and me for half of that apartment!” Laura stubbornly stood blocking the doorway.
“Listen, Laura. You had better leave now. I was there when the money was handed over. Is that enough for you? And give my regards to my brother. He needs to put you in line. Don’t come back here,” I had to step in. My mum was defenseless.
“You’ll regret this, and it will be too late by then! I’ll go to a witch and curse you!” Laura shouted as she left.
…After our father died, my brother and I encouraged Mum to sell the house in the village and move in with me in my three-bedroom flat. I was a widow with a five-year-old son, George. Mum moved in happily.
“Sarah, would you mind if I gave half the proceeds from the house sale to little Alex? He’s my son after all, and Laura keeps nagging him about not being a good provider,” Mum looked at me pleadingly.
“For heaven’s sake, of course, give it to him! It’s only fair,” I agreed wholeheartedly.
…We invited Alex and Laura over, and Mum handed them the money directly. Two years later, Laura shows up demanding more money, threatening and cursing us.
I showed her the door, closed it, and put Laura out of my mind. We didn’t speak to Alex or Laura for years. It was as if a black cat had crossed our path. And then, troubles poured onto us like an endless waterfall. Misfortune followed misfortune. As the saying goes, when troubles come, they come not single spies but in battalions.
Mum took to her bed, I fell ill with some unknown ailment, and George developed oozing eczema. Our home, smelling of medicines, was plagued by misfortunes. Things constantly broke, fell, and shattered. The wall clock stopped in the dead of night. I, a police officer, had to retire early. Although I planned to continue until they politely suggested I should leave, I had to care for my bedridden mum and get medical treatment for my son. Money just seemed to slip through my fingers.
…I remember transforming our flat into a place filled with violets. I grew, propagated, and sold them at the market. Those little flowers kept us from debt. People eagerly bought them.
Once a year, relatives came to visit. They stayed a week, leaving us with worn but clean clothes and some groceries: meat, pasta, grains, flour… We were grateful for everything. They left, and the cycle repeated.
…Poverty, sickness, despair. To stave off hopelessness, I created a flower bed near the entrance. In the spring, I planted flower seeds. Simple ones grew: snapdragons, night-scented stock, marigolds. But it provided my sole source of inspiration.
One day, our neighbor Michael stopped by, looked thoughtfully at my modest flower bed:
“Good day, neighbor! Could I offer you some money for more flowers? Get plenty, to make everyone envious.”
I shrugged uncertainly. Michael slipped some money into the pocket of my robe:
“Take it, our dear gardener! Don’t be shy. You’re making beauty for us all.”
Encouraged, I bought exotic flowers and shrubs. My flower bed became a burst of color and fragrance. Neighbors gasped at the paradise I’d created.
Michael often stopped by to admire it:
“Only a good person could create such a flower riot.”
He frequently gave me chocolates and sweets:
“This is for you, Sarah, for your tireless efforts.”
I was genuinely pleased by the kindness of this stranger.
Years passed, and our home slowly returned to normal.
Mum regained her health and spirits. George’s skin cleared up. Suddenly, I felt like a lady in white lace. I longed to love and be loved, regardless of my autumn years.
Inspired by his sick grandmother, George decided to become a doctor. He got into medical school with ease, working alongside in a hospital. Soon, he was assisting in surgeries. Neighbors often sought his help to diagnose illnesses, give injections, or set up IVs.
George trained to be a resuscitation specialist.
Together, we redecorated our home. George bought a second-hand car. He’s planning to marry his colleague, Anna, a cardiologist. We are content and at peace.
Then, Laura called recently, her voice hoarse:
“Hello, Sarah. Perhaps you could visit? I’m in hospital.”
I went to the address she provided. I found Laura’s bed in the ward.
“What happened, Laura?” I asked, surprised by the worn-out figure before me. Her eyes were empty.
“See, Sarah… we were in the woods walking. Found a human skull in the grass, took it home, cleaned it, coated it in lacquer, made it into an ashtray. Six months later, your brother died in a crash. Two months after, our son suffocated in the garage, having drunk with friends. I’m now ill with pneumonia. Why did we bring that cursed skull home? That’s where my misery started,” Laura wept bitterly.
“No, Laura, it all began the moment you went to those dark witches. The skull was just a consequence,” I couldn’t help but say. She had brought too much misfortune to our family.
“You’re right, Sarah. I admit it. I cursed you, and it ruined me instead. Let’s forget our foolish quarrels. In my youth, wings grew on my back; now, a boomerang sticks there. I feel its burn,” Laura reflected quietly.
I told George everything. He was sympathetic:
“Mum, let’s move Aunt Laura to my hospital. She’ll get better care there. She’s still family.”
“Let’s do it, son,” I completely forgave Laura. She needed compassion now, having lost both husband and child.
…Michael suggested we unite our lives. He lived a floor above.
“Sarah, move in with me; it’ll be more fun. You’re a widow, I’m a widower. We’ll have much to talk about. Agreed?”
“Yes, Michael,” I couldn’t believe my unexpected happiness. It felt like a gift from the heavens, warming my soul, making it shine.
Mum rejoiced for me:
“See, Sarah, your fate was beside you all this time, slowly drawing close, watching you. You deserved this happiness.”
Laura is recovering fast and wants to visit. Should I invite her? I’ll discuss it with George and Michael…
