ARE YOU MY HAPPINESS? To be honest, marriage was never part of my plan. If it hadn’t been for my future husband’s relentless courtship, I’d probably still be flying free as a bird. Artem fluttered after me like a lovesick moth, never letting me out of his sight, eager to please, never missed a detail. Eventually, I gave in. We got married. Artem instantly felt like home—a familiar, comforting presence, as easy as slipping into cosy slippers. A year later, our son Svyatoslav was born. Artem worked in another city, coming home once a week, always bringing tasty treats for me and our little Svya. During one of those visits, as I prepared to do his laundry, I went through the pockets—and out tumbled a neatly-folded list. I unfolded it. It was a long list of school supplies (it was August), and at the end, in a child’s handwriting: “Daddy, come home soon.” So that’s what my husband gets up to on the side! A double life! Instead of causing a scene, I packed my bag, grabbed Svya (not quite three yet) by the hand, and moved in with Mum. Mum gave us a room: “Stay until you make up.” Thoughts of revenge crept in. I remembered my old classmate, Roman. He’d never taken no for an answer, at school and beyond. So I called him. “Hi, Romka! Married yet?” “Nadia? Hello! Married…divorced…it’s all the same! Shall we meet?” My unplanned fling with Roman lasted six months. Artem brought child support for Svya every month, handing it silently to my mum and leaving. I knew he was living with Katya Yevseyeva, who had a daughter from her first marriage. Katya insisted her little girl call Artem ‘Daddy’. They all lived in Artem’s flat. As soon as Katya found out I had gone, she moved with her daughter to Artem from another city. Katya worshipped him—knitted socks, warm jumpers, cooked delicious meals. I’d only hear about it later. I still tease Artem about Katya to this day. Back then, our marriage seemed dead in the water. …Yet, over coffee (to discuss the divorce), Artem and I were suddenly swamped by fond memories. He confessed to an all-consuming love, repented, and admitted he didn’t know how to get rid of persistent Katya. I felt unbearably sorry for him. We reunited. For the record, Artem never learned about Roman. Katya and her daughter left town for good. Seven happy years flew by. Then Artem was in a car accident. Several surgeries, rehab, a walking cane—the recovery lasted two years. It wore him out. Artem began drinking heavily, shutting down completely. Words failed; he wore himself and us out. Refused help. Meanwhile, at work, my “shoulder to cry on” was Paul. Paul listened to me in the smoking area, walked me home, comforted me. He was married, expecting his second child. I still don’t know how we ended up in bed together. Madness. He was a head shorter than me, not remotely my type! And so it began! Paul dragged me to exhibitions, concerts, ballet. Once his wife had their daughter, Paul stopped the fun, quit our office, got another job. Maybe he thought: ‘out of sight, out of mind’? I never made demands, so I let him go. He only numbed my heartache. I never meant to interfere in another family’s love. My husband drank on. …Five years later, Paul and I bumped into each other. He seriously proposed. I just laughed. Artem managed to pull himself together—briefly—and went to work in the Czech Republic. While he was away, I was the model wife and mother, every thought revolving around my family. He came back after six months. We renovated the flat, bought appliances, and Artem finally fixed his foreign car. Life should have been perfect. But no—he relapsed. Hell resumed. His friends carried him home. I’d run round our neighbourhood in search of my absent husband, finding him asleep on benches, pockets turned out, dragging him back. …One spring day, I was waiting at a bus stop, feeling low. Birds chirping, sunshine sparkling, but I couldn’t care less. Someone softly whispered in my ear: “May I help with your troubles?” I turned. Good heavens! What a handsome, fragrant man. And at 45, could I really become a berry again? I flushed like a shy girl. Thankfully, the bus arrived. I hopped on, escaping temptation. He waved. All day at work, my thoughts drifted to him. For a few weeks, I played hard to get, just for show… But Egor—so he was called—powered through my defences like a tank. He waited for me every morning at the same stop. I’d watch for him. He’d spot me and blow kisses. One morning, he brought a bouquet of red tulips. “What am I supposed to do with flowers on my way to work? The girls will suspect something!” Egor smiled, handed the bouquet over to an intrigued old lady. “Thanks, dearie! May you find a passionate lover!” I blushed at her words—thank heaven she didn’t wish for a younger one! Egor said: “Come on, Nadia, let’s both be guilty! You won’t regret it.” Honestly, the offer was irresistible and timely. My husband was out of action, lying in a drunken stupor. Egor was a teetotal, non-smoking former athlete (57 years old) and a wonderful conversationalist. Divorced. Something enchanting about him! I plunged headlong into this affair! It was a whirlwind of passion for three years. I was torn between home and Egor, my soul in turmoil. Stopping wasn’t an option—but when the desire to leave did come, I lacked the strength. As they say, ‘the girl drives the lad away, and he won’t go.’ Egor completely possessed me, body and soul! When Egor was nearby, I could barely breathe! It felt like madness! But I knew this obsession would end badly. I didn’t love Egor. Coming home drained (after my fiery lover), I just wanted to cuddle my husband—blearily drunk, smelling foul, but so familiar and pure! Better plain bread with your own than someone else’s fancy cakes! That was my truth. Passion—as in suffering—made me want to get it over with and return to family life, not keep chasing excitement. At least, that’s how my mind reasoned. My body ignored it. Still, I couldn’t stop myself. My son knew about Egor. He saw us at a restaurant with his girlfriend; I had to introduce them. They shook hands. Later, Svya looked at me for an explanation. I joked: a colleague invited me to discuss a new project. “Right…in a restaurant,” he replied knowingly. Svya never judged me—asked me not to divorce Dad. Maybe he’d come round. I felt like a lost lamb. My divorced girlfriend urged me to “ditch these miserable lovers and settle down.” Her advice carried weight—she’d finished off husband number three. Though, it was all logical, I could only stop when Egor raised his hand to me. That was the breaking point. As my friend warned: “The sea’s calm as long as you stay on shore…” The scales fell from my eyes. Life was in colour again! Three years of anguish—gone. Freedom and long-awaited peace! Egor kept chasing me everywhere, begging publically for forgiveness. I stood firm. My friend kissed me and gave me a mug that said “You Did the Right Thing!” As for Artem, he knew all about my escapades. Egor called him, told him everything. My lover was sure I’d leave my family. Artem told me: “When I heard your suitor’s serenading, I just wanted to quietly die. But I brought this on myself. Lost my wife to drink. What could I say to you?” …Ten years have passed since then. We have two granddaughters. One day, sitting at our kitchen table, sipping coffee, I gaze out the window. Artem gently takes my hand: “Nadia, stop looking around. I am your happiness! Do you believe it?” “Of course I do, my one and only…”

ARE YOU MY HAPPINESS?

Truth be told, I never really planned on getting married. If it werent for the determined courtship of my future husband, Id probably still be a free spirit. William fluttered around me like a moth to a flame, never letting me out of his sight, always trying to please me, dusting off every little speck. In the end, I gave in. We tied the knot.

William instantly became someone familiar, safe, and closea proper homebody. Life with him was comfortable and easy, like slipping into a pair of cosy slippers.

A year later, our son Edward was born. Williams job was in another city, so hed only make it home once a week. Hed always bring treats for me and little Eddie. One visit, I was getting ready to do his laundry, going through his pockets as usualit had become my habit, ever since I once washed his driving licence by mistake.

After that incident, I was careful to check every pocket before starting the wash. This time, a folded piece of paper dropped out of his trousers. I opened it and found a long list of school supplies (it was August). At the bottom, in a childs scrawl: Daddy, come home soon.

So thats how my husband amused himself on the side! A double life, eh?

I didnt cause a sceneI just grabbed my bag, took Eddie (who wasnt even three yet) by the hand, and left for my mums. For ages. She gave us our own little room, saying, Stay here till you sort things out.

Vengeance crept into my thoughts. I remembered my old school friend Tom, who never gave me peace at school or after. I rang him up.

Hi, Tom! You havent married yet, right? I began, playing coy.

Hi, Olivia! Married, divorceddoes it matter? Fancy meeting up? Tom perked up.

And so began my fling with Tom, which lasted a good six months. William would quietly drop by each month to hand my mum the child support for Eddie, then leave without a word.

I knew William was living with Catherine Evans. She had a daughter from her first marriage. Catherine insisted her girl call William Dad. They all lived at Williams flat. As soon as she found out Id left, Catherine moved in with her daughter from another city on the spot. She adored Williamknitted him woolly socks and warm jumpers, fed him heartily. Later on, I found all this out. Ill probably always reproach my husband over Catherine. Back then, it felt like our marriage had run its course, collapsed in ruins.

Still, when William and I sat down over coffee to negotiate the divorce, we found ourselves swept up in fond memories. William confessed to loving me more than life itself and wished he could rid himself of persistent Catherine.

I felt terribly sorry for him, and we reconciled. For the record, my husband never found out about Tom. Catherine and her daughter left our city for good.

Seven blissful years passed before William got into a road accidentoperations on his leg, months of rehab, a walking stick. It took him two years to recover. The whole ordeal wore him down completely. Thats when William started drinking heavily. Hed lost all spirit, withdrawing from us both. Watching it happen was torture. No amount of coaxing helped. He was draining himself and Eddie, refusing any help.

At work, I found someone to confide inPaul. Hed listen to me on smoke breaks, stroll with me after hours, offer comfort and advice. Paul was married and his wife was expecting their second child. To this day, I dont quite know how we ended up in bed togetherit was madness. He was a head shorter than me, slight, entirely not my type.

But so it began. Paul whisked me off to galleries, concerts, ballets. Then, when his wife had their baby girl, Paul pulled back from our outings, quit our company, and found another job. Maybe he thought, out of sight, out of mind? I didnt lay claim to him, so it was easy to let him go. Hed only dulled my ache for a while; I never meant to intrude on someone elses family.

My husband continued with his drinking.

Five years later, I bumped into Paul by chance. He seriously suggested I marry him. I had to laugh.

William got his act together for a short while and headed to the Czech Republic for work. In the meantime, I played the role of dutiful wife and caring mother, focusing entirely on my family.

After half a year abroad, William returned. We did up the flat, bought new appliances. William finally repaired his foreign car. Life shouldve been perfect. Except it wasnthe relapsed, and the old cycle of drinking began again. His mates would drag him home, barely able to walk himself, sometimes only crawling Id wander our neighbourhood searching for my temporarily deranged husband, find him passed out on a bench, pockets empty, lug him home by myself. There were plenty of incidents.

One spring day, despondent at the bus stop, birds singing all around and sunshine beamingthe joys of April holding no charm for meI heard someone gently whisper in my ear, Maybe I can help with your troubles?

I turned. And there stood an absolute charmer! I was forty-five thencould I truly be a blossom again? For a moment, I blushed like a shy maiden. Thankfully, the bus arrived and I hopped on quickly, putting temptation behind me. The man waved in farewell. All day, I couldnt stop thinking about him at work. I resisted for a couple of weeksjust to keep up appearances.

But George (that was his name) was relentless. Like a tank, he broke through my defences. Every morning, he waited for me at the same stop. Id leave early, peering aheadwas my dashing gent waiting? As soon as he saw me, George would beam and send me air-kisses.

Once, he handed me a bunch of red tulips. I told him, Wherem I supposed to go with flowers to work in the morning? The girls will have me pegged in no time!

George just laughed. Oh, didnt think of those dire consequences. He gave the bouquet to a granny watching us, making her day. Thanks, son! Hope you find a passionate sweetheart! she exclaimed. I turned crimson. Lucky she didnt wish for a younger oneId have sunk into the pavement.

George grinned at me. Well, Olivia, shall we both be guilty together? You wont regret it.

Ill be honestthe offer was both tempting and timely. After all, things with William were, well, utterly dead in the water. Hed lie motionless on the bed, lost to the drink.

Georgeteetotal, a non-smoker, a retired athlete (he was fifty-seven) and great company. Divorced. There was something magnetic about him.

I dove headfirst into that passionate affair! It was a whirlpool of desire. Three years, I oscillated between home and Georgemy spirit in turmoil.

I had neither the strength nor the will to stop. Yet, when I finally wanted out, I still couldnt find the courage. As the saying goes, the girl pushes the lad away, but he doesnt budge. George had utterly commandeered my soul and body! You knowthe heart wants what it wants. When George was nearby, I could hardly breathe. It was pure madness! But I sensed it wouldnt end well. I didnt love him.

Returning home, drained from my fiery lover, I longed to nestle close to Williameven if he was sozzled to the gills, smelled awful, but was just so familiar and dear. Ones own crust is fuller than anyone elses pie. That, I thought, was the truth of life While this passion felt more like suffering. I just wanted to get it over with and finally come home for good, not squander myself on fleeting pleasure. My mind reasoned, but my body still chased that delicious edge. I was a prisoner of blazing passion, unable to rein myself in.

My son, Edward, was aware of George. Once, he saw us together at a restaurant when he arrived with his girlfriend. I was forced to introduce George to him. They shook hands, exchanged polite nods. Later, at dinner, Edward looked at me expectantly, waiting for an explanation. I joked it offsaid a colleague wanted my input on a new project. In a restaurant, huh? he replied understandingly. Eddie never judged, just begged me not to divorce his dad. Maybe dad would come round?

I felt like a lost lamb, wandering off the path. A divorced friend firmly advised me to chuck all those ragged lovers and settle down. Shed had three husbandsshe knew a thing or two. I paid attention. Yet, logic could only take me so far. I only managed to stop when George raised his hand to me.

That was it, the turning point. No wonder my friend warned: The sea is calm as long as you stay on the shore The veil lifted. My three years of turmoil endedI could breathe easy again. Sweet freedom at last!

George spent ages trying to win me backwaiting around, begging for forgiveness on his knees in public. I stayed firm! My friend, the adviser, showered me with kisses and gave me a mug that read, Youre right!

William, meanwhile, knew everything about my escapades. George had called and told him. My lover was convinced Id leave my family. William told me, When I heard your suitors babble, I wanted to die quietly. I was to blame! I let you go, traded you for drink. What could I say?

Ten years have passed since then. Now William and I have two lovely granddaughters. We sit together at the table, having coffee. I gaze out the window. William takes my hand and says gently, Olivia, dont look elsewhere. Im your happiness. Do you believe it?

Of course I do, my one and onlyI squeezed his hand, feeling the warmth and steadiness of it, veins tracing years of living together, of forgiving and faltering and finding our way. The hum of life drifted in from outsidelaughter, footsteps, the scent of fresh bread from my mothers kitchen next door. Edwards voice rose up as he called for the girls, the sound of their giggling trailed through the hallway. My heart, after years of wandering, felt like it had finally come home.

I turned to William, searching his tired but gentle eyes. Yes, I whispered, tears threatening but refusing to fall. You are my happiness. I think you always were.

A breeze fluttered the curtains, carrying the echoes of old heartbreaks and the sweetness of forgiveness. The coffee cooled, untouched. I leaned my head on his shoulder and closed my eyes, listening to the songbirds outside and the love insideold, battered, but ours.

At last, I could breathe in the morning and know: happiness isnt what you chase, its what you come back to. And mine, I found, was quietly waitingall along.