Like a Bird Drawn to the Call – “Girls, you only get married once in your life. You should stay with the one you love till your last breath, rather than drifting endlessly, searching for your ‘other half’—or you’ll end up like a nibbled apple core. Married men are strictly off-limits. Don’t even think about getting involved; telling yourself ‘just a quick fling’ will only send you both spiraling into disaster while happiness slips past… My parents have been together fifty years, the perfect example. I promised myself I’d find my soul mate and cherish him with all my heart—wise words from my grandmother that I believed completely. My friends always laughed: ‘Don’t be silly, Ksyusha. Wait till you fall for a married man—let’s see how easily you let him go…’ But I never told my friends that before marriage, my mother had my older sister by someone unknown—a scandal that haunted us for years. Five years later, I was born in wedlock; Dad fell madly in love with Mum, and they stuck together through it all. We had to move away, and from then on I swore: no affairs, no children out of wedlock. But fate had its own plans… My sister Sonia and I never saw eye to eye. She always felt our parents favored me; she’s never stopped being jealous. It was always a silent contest for parental love—a bit ridiculous. I met Yegor at a club—he was a cadet, I was a nurse. We hit it off instantly, married within a month, and I was completely smitten. After Yegor’s training, we moved far from home, and soon enough the arguments began. I had no one to turn to—Mum was in another country. Our daughter Tanya was born in the ‘90s, with all the upheaval of the times. Yegor left the army, began drinking heavily. I tried to console him, saying it would all pass, but he slipped further away—disappearing for days, once even a month, before returning and tossing a briefcase stuffed with cash on the table. I stashed it away, untouched—something felt wrong. When he finally came back, exhausted and demanding my gold jewellery to pay off some ‘serious’ people, I was terrified. I handed him the case and told him it was enough; Tanya and I would cope. In the end, he made love to me with the wild desperation of someone already leaving. The next morning, he was gone again—for years. At the hospital where I worked, a married doctor, Dmitri, began courting me. I resisted, still married although my husband was a ghost. Then Yegor returned, asking for a divorce—he’d fathered another son and wanted to be a proper dad. I agreed without emotion; ‘You can’t gather spilt water,’ as the saying goes. He didn’t even care to see Tanya. That was the last time they met. Stranded in loneliness, I let myself be swept up by Dmitri, even though he was married. Our affair lasted three years. He proposed, but I refused to build our happiness on someone else’s heartbreak. Finally, I transferred jobs to end our romance for good. Then came Vasily, a patient at my new hospital—a single dad bringing up his son after his wife left him for another man. The jokes and banter turned into love. His son Denis was seven, my Tanya eight; our families blended under a lucky star. There were stresses and struggles, but Vasya and I always stood together with no secrets. Thirty years on, I treasure him more than anything. Just the other day, Yegor called my mum, saying, ‘I’ve never met a woman like Ksyusha…’”

LIKE A LARK TO HIS CALL

Girls, you must marry only once, and make it last until your final breath. Stay true to the one you choose, instead of flitting restlessly about, searching for someone new. If you dont, youll end up like a half-eaten apple, tossed aside.

A married man should always be off limits. Dont even think of starting anything, thinking youll just have a bit of fun and then walk away. That path leads into the abyss for you both, and happiness will give you nothing but the cold shoulder.

My own parents were together for fifty years, setting a shining example for me. I told myself I would seek out my destiny and guard it jealously, come what may. This conviction I voiced to my friends on my twentieth birthday, words planted firmly in my head by my grandmother. I trusted everything she said without question.

My friends, though, only chuckled amongst themselves.

Oh, dont be such a bore, Mary, they teased. Fall for a married bloke and lets see if you give him up so willingly…

But there was something I hadnt told my friends: my mother had my older sister from a man no one knew, before she ever married my father. It was the sort of scandal that stains a village for a lifetime. Five years later, I was born into wedlock. My father had adored my mother beyond all else, and together they weathered everything in life, side by side. They left the village behind. So from a young age, I made it my guiding ruleno men or children out of wedlock, not ever.

But fate, as ever, had its own ideas.

My sister, Susan, and I never truly understood one another. She always thought our parents preferred meshowered me with affection and left her out in the cold. She resented it deeply. We carried on this silent rivalry: who could capture more of our parents love? It was all quite childish, really.

I met George at a dance at the village hallhe was a cadet, I was working as a nurse. The band played, the spirits soared, and right from the start, there was a spark between us. A month later, we wed. My happiness bubbled over; I trailed after George as eagerly as a lark to a huntsmans call.

After George finished at the military academy, we moved far from my childhood home to his new post. Soon enough, the arguments beganstrangers in a distant place, no wise mother to cry to, no old friend to confide in.

Our daughter, Annie, was born as the country struggled through lean, uncertain years. Nothing seemed solid. George left the army and started drinking a little too much. At first, I tried to comfort him, telling him life would settle again.

He would just shake his head, a sad smile on his lips. I know, Mary. But I cant seem to stop. After a drink, everything feels bearable.

Before long, George would disappear for days at a stretchsometimes a week, then, terrifyingly, a month. One night, he returned, thin and drawn, dumping a battered suitcase full of twenty-pound notes onto the table.

Where on earth did this come from? I demanded, heart trembling.

Whats it matter? he replied, proud as a peacock. Use it. Ill bring more.

But I didnt touch a penny. I tucked the suitcase away, wanting nothing to do with it.

George drifted off again. When he returned, six months later, he was gaunt and haunted, a storm in his eyes.

Mary, I need your gold jewellery. I owe people, dangerous men, he muttered, not meeting my gaze.

Absolutely not, George! My parents gave me those as wedding gifts. Id sooner be cut in two than part with them. Whats going on? Remember, you have a family!

Dont go on, Mary. Its complicated… Will you help me or not? George stepped closer, voice tight.

I was frightened, yet I fetched the case. Take your precious loot. Annie and I will manage on our own.

He opened it. Did you touch this?

Not a shilling. That moneys not for us.

Still not enough, he sighed. No matter. Ill think of something.

That night, he showered me with affection in a way I hadnt known for years. I clung to the memory, forgiving him everything.

In the morning, he was packing up to leave.

How long this time, George? I asked, desperately searching his face.

I dont know, Mary. Wait for me, he said, kissing me goodbyeand then he was gone.

So I waited. One year. Two.

At the hospital, where I worked, the local doctorRichardbegan paying me kind attention. He was married. I tried to keep my distance, mindful of my own vows, and the tangled shame of mothers past, which hunted me like a spectre. But my own husband had been a ghost now for years. No letters. No word. Nothing but silence.

The New Year approached, the streets wrapped in festive bustle, oranges scenting the air, everywhere holly and laughter. The bell rang.

There was George.

I flew into his arms, tears streaming down my face. At last, George! Where have you been?

He stepped back, shifting from foot to foot, unable to meet my eyes. Mary, we need to get divorced. I have a son now. I cant make him grow up fatherless.

The world cracked. My heart was a cinder beneath ashes. Yet Id seen this coming. My face didnt betray a thing.

Very well, George. As they say, theres no gathering up spilled water. I wont stop you. After the holidays, well divorce. Our whole lives turned upside down.

Dont you want to see your daughter? Annies at a friends. I can fetch her if you wait.

Sorry, Im in a rush. Ill see her another time, he said, and slipped quietly away.

There was never another time. George never saw Annie again. We became strangerskin in name only.

Richard, feeling my loneliness, swept me into a romance so irresistible I forgot he was spoken for. All barriers fell away. He courted me beautifully, made me feel alive again. It lasted three years before he offered marriage.

No, Richard. There cant be happiness built on the tears of your wife and child. Were travelling different roads, I told him, though the words nearly choked me. I managed to end the madness, but it meant moving to another hospitalout of sight, out of mind.

It was there that I met Thomas.

He was raising his son alone, his wife long gone with another man. I met Thomas when he became a patient. He joked and carried on until laughter blossomed into something deepera boundless, insatiable love.

His son, James, was seven; Annie, eight. We came together as if fated, and, under a lucky star, built a real family. The children flourished. Thomas and I made all decisions together, bore every burden as one, had no secrets between us. I was lucky beyond measure with my second husband. I cherish him as my own hearthe is the light of my life.

Its been thirty years.

Just recently, George phoned my mother. I never met another woman like Mary, he told her.

But in truth, that chapter is long closed. And as I look back, I can only be grateful for the happiness I have nowand hope my Annie continues the legacy of loving rightly, just once, and forever.