A Life Put Right: “Lada, I forbid you from speaking to your sister and her family! They’ve got their life, we’ve got ours. Have you been ringing Natasha again? Complaining about me? I warned you.” Bogdan gripped my shoulder painfully. As usual in these arguments, I retreated to the kitchen, fighting back bitter tears. I’d never once complained to my sister about my home life; we simply talked, especially about our aging parents. But Bogdan loathed Natasha—her family had peace and plenty, unlike ours… When I married Bogdan, I was the happiest girl in all of England. He swept me off my feet, and I didn’t care that he was a head shorter than me, or that his mother arrived at our wedding barely able to stand. Only later did I learn she was a longtime alcoholic… Blinded by love, I saw no evil—but after a year, I began to doubt my promised bliss. Bogdan drank heavily, stumbling home drunk, then came a string of affairs. I worked as an NHS nurse—hardly a generous wage. Bogdan preferred spending time with his drinking buddies and provided nothing for me. Once, I’d dreamed of children; now I poured my love into a pedigree cat. The thought of having children with my drunken husband no longer crossed my mind, even though I still loved Bogdan. “Lada, you silly thing! Look at all those blokes eyeing you, but you stay glued to your little leprechaun! What do you see in him? Always covered in bruises, thinking no one notices beneath that concealer? Leave him before his anger gets you killed.” That was my friend—the colleague who always tried to save me. Yes, Bogdan often gave in to unprovoked rages. Once, he locked me in our flat and took the key. After that, I lived in terror. My soul shrank, heart pounded whenever I heard the key in the lock. I imagined he blamed me for not giving him a child, for being a ‘bad’ wife. So, I never fought back—just took the pain, the insults, the mockery… Why did I still love Bogdan? I remembered his mother, a real witch, telling me: “Lada, do as your husband says. Love him with all your heart—forget your family, your friends, they’ll only lead you astray.” So, I did—I gave up everything for Bogdan. I even liked it when he begged forgiveness, knelt and kissed my feet. Make-ups were sickly-sweet, magical, our bed strewn with roses. I knew full well he pinched them from the garden of a mate’s wife—a fellow drunk. The wives would swoon over their stolen roses and forgive. Most likely, I’d have stayed a slave to Bogdan for life, rebuilding my fantasy heaven from broken pieces, had fate not intervened. “Let Bogdan go,” an unknown woman said to me once. “I’ve got his son—you’re barren. Just let him go for my child’s happiness.” I snapped, “Get out of here, now.” Bogdan tried to deny it, but when I demanded he swear the boy wasn’t his, he could only stay silent. And I understood everything… “Lada, you never look happy. Trouble at home?” my boss, the hospital director, unexpectedly asked. “Everything’s fine,” I mumbled, embarrassed. “It’s good to have everything in order—then life’s wonderful,” he said with a mysterious smile. The director, Dr. Herman Lewis, was single again after a rocky marriage; he wasn’t striking, but up close, something about him set my heart fluttering—a heady scent, or maybe it was just kindness. His simple words unsettled me: “It’s good when everything is in order.” Me—my life was a mess. But time doesn’t wait for anyone to sort themselves out… So, I left Bogdan, went home to my parents. “Did he throw you out?” Mum asked. “No, I’ll explain later,” I lied—too ashamed of my marriage. Later, Bogdan’s mother rang and screamed curses, but I’d straightened my back and drawn a deep breath. Thanks, Dr. Lewis… Bogdan stalked and threatened me, not realising he’d lost all control over my life: “Don’t waste your time, Bogdan. Take care of your son. I’ve turned our page,” I told him calmly. Finally, I returned to my sister Natasha and our parents. I became myself again, not someone else’s puppet. “You’re a different woman, Lada. Glowing, happy—a true bride,” my friend smiled. Then Dr. Herman Lewis proposed: “Lada, marry me! I promise, you won’t regret it. Only one thing—just call me ‘Herman’ at home.” “But do you even love me, Herman?” He smiled and kissed my hand. “Sorry, I forgot women need words. Yes—I probably love you, but I trust actions more.” I said yes—with more joy than I’d ever known. …Ten years have flown by. Every day Herman proves his love—not with empty words, but with care and protection. We never had children together—perhaps I really was ‘barren’. But Herman never blamed or hurt me. “Lada,” he’d say, “just means we’re meant to be together—just us.” His daughter gave us a granddaughter, little Sasha—our beloved girl. And as for Bogdan, he drank himself to death before turning fifty. His mother shoots me evil looks if we meet at the shops, but her hateful arrows melt away in thin air. I just feel sorry for her. As for us, well—everything is in order. Life is beautiful.

LIFE IN ORDER

“Charlotte, I forbid you to speak with your sister and her family! They have their own lives, we have ours. Did you ring Emily again? Complained about me, did you? I warned you. Dont blame me if something happens” William grips my shoulder painfully.

As Ive done before in times like these, I leave the room in silence and head for the kitchen, fighting back bitter tears. No, Ive never complained to my sister about my home life. We simply talk. Our parents are elderly and there is always something to discuss. William cannot stand it. He despises my sister Emily. Peace and comfort reign in her family, a stark contrast to our home.

When I married William, there was no happier girl in England. He swept me up in a whirlwind of passion that made everything else fade away. His height never bothered mehe stands a head shorterbut that was nothing. Nor did I dwell on his mother stumbling into our wedding, barely able to stand. I later learned my mother-in-law had been drinking for years.

Blinded by love, I ignored the red flags. After a year of marriage, though, I began to question if happiness truly lived in our home. William drank heavily, often crawling home drunk. Soon, there were endless affairs. I worked as a nurse in the local hospital. My pay was nothing to write home about, but William preferred whiling away the days with drinking mates.

He refused to provide for me, and where once Id dreamed of children, I soon found comfort only in caring for our pedigree cat. The thought of having children with an alcoholic faded. Even then, I still loved William.

“Charlotte, youre daft! Look aroundyoure surrounded by blokes who would do anything to be with you, but all you see is your little man! What on earth do you see in him? Youre always hiding bruises under layers of foundation. Do you really believe no one notices? Leave him before hes the end of you!” warned Anna, my friend and colleague.

William, in his drunken rages, often lashed out. Once, he hit me so badly I couldnt go in for my shift. He even locked me in the flat and left with the key. From that day, I began to fear him terribly. My heart raced every time I heard the key turn in the lock. It felt as though William blamed me for not giving him children, for being a bad wifefor everything. So I stopped resisting when the violence came, when the insults and humiliation followed. For some reason, I still loved William.

I remembered his mother, who resembled an unkind fairy-tale witch, telling me, “Charlotte, do as your husband says, love him with all your heart, and forget about your family and friends. Nothing good comes from meddling.”

And so, I forgot about friendship, stopped seeing family, submitted to my husband. I was entirely in Williams power.

There were moments, too, when he begged forgiveness with tears, kneeling at my feet, kissing them. Our reconciliations were sweet, sickly even, and magical. William would strew rose petals over our bed, intoxicating the air with fragrance. I would soar, feeling lifted to the clouds where I found myself in heaven. Of course, deep down I knew the roses came from a drinking mates wife, who nurtured them in her garden, then watched as her husband passed them off to his fellow drunks for next to nothing. The wives, bewitched by the gifted roses, would always forgive their wayward husbands.

But perhaps I would have carried on so, trapped by my own invented paradise, forever picking up the pieces, if fate hadnt taken a hand.

“Let William goI have his son. Youre barren. Childless,” announced a stranger one day, brazenly asking me to give up my husband for her illegitimate childs future.

“I dont believe you! Leave now or Ill call someone,” I snapped at her.

William denied everything, as always.

“Swear to me hes not your son!” I insisted, knowing he could never disown his own child.

Williams silence told me everything.

“Charlotte, you never look happy. Trouble at home?” Dr. Graham, the hospitals chief, surprised me with his concern; I always thought he hadnt noticed me before.

“Everythings perfectly fine,” I mumbled, embarrassed before my boss.

“Its wonderful when ones life is in orderthats when true joy shines through,” Dr. Graham remarked with a small smile.

Dr. Graham had once been married with a daughter, or so the rumours go. Divorced following his wifes affair, he now lives alone, aged forty-two. Hes rather unremarkableglasses, early balding, on the short side. Yet, when he stands near me, I feel inexplicably drawn to him, intoxicated by the faint scent of some aftershave, subtle and alluring.

It became impossible to ignore the charm of Dr. Graham. I tried to run from temptation quicker each time. But after his words, “Its wonderful when ones life is in order,” I couldnt shake them. Such simple words, but they struck deep. My own life was chaos. And the years were racing byyou couldnt just press pause to untangle your mess.

And so, eventually, I left William and returned to my parents home. Mum was surprised.

“Charlotte, whats happened? Did William throw you out?”

“No, Mum, its not like that. Ill explain everything eventually,” I mumbled, ashamed to reveal the truth of my marriage.

Williams mother later phoned, swearing at me, blaming, cursing me. But I stood taller, breathed in clean air, refreshed and renewed. Thank you, Dr. Graham.

William raged, threatened, followed me everywhere, still convinced he had control. He had no idea hed already lost it.

“Dont waste any more of your time on me, Williamfocus on your son. He needs you now. Ive turned the page on our life together. Goodbye,” I told him calmly.

At last, I returned to Emily and our parents. I became myself againa woman in her own right, not a puppet.

Anna, my friend, noticed the transformation right away. “Charlotte, youre changedhappier, fresher, blooming! Like a bride all over again!”

Dr. Graham soon made his feelings clear. “Charlotte, will you marry me? I promise, no regretsjust one request: call me Graham outside work, save the formalities for the hospital.”

“Do you love me, Graham?” I wasnt expecting a proposal.

“Oh, forgive meI forget women need to hear the words. Yes, I think I do, but I believe more in actions,” he replied, gently kissing my hand.

“Yes, Graham. Im sure Ill learn to love you too,” I answered, elated.

Ten years have since flown by.

Every day, Graham has shown, through his kindness and care, the depth of his love. No empty gestures, no pointless words. Just actionssurprising, generous, honest. We never had children together, and perhaps I truly am barren, but Graham has never blamed, never uttered a single word of reproach.

“Charlotte, perhaps we are meant to be just us two. Youre more than enough for me,” he tells me every time I mourn what might have been.

Grahams daughter has given us a granddaughter, little Sophie, who is the sunshine of our lives.

As for William, he finally drank himself into an early grave before reaching fifty. His mother, when we occasionally pass at the market, still shoots me a glare cold as ice. But her arrows of resentment fade away before they reach me, dissolving into the air. I only feel pity for her, nothing more.

As for Graham and meour life really is in order. And life is beautiful.