FATE ON A HOSPITAL BED Miss, please, take this and look after him! I darent even stand near him, let
NEVER TOOK ANOTHER’S Looking back now, I remember school days, when Margaret held nothing but disdainand
LIFE IN ORDER “Vivian, I forbid you to speak with your sister and her family! They have their own
Bittersweet Bliss – Why Don’t You Like That Young Lady? She’s Sweet, Tidy, Smart—and She Loves You, My Son: Elena’s Stern Advice, Denis’s Reluctance, Failed Loves, And the Unexpected Destiny on a Train That Led to an Unassuming Woman, Three Kids, and Their ‘Sunshine Child’—A Story of Difficult, Yet Cherished, Happiness BITTERSWEET HAPPINESS Whats wrong with this young lady then? Shes a good girl. Well-mannered, tidy, studies hard.
My Beloved Wife
—How have you managed to live with the same wife for so many years? What’s the secret?—my brother would ask me every time he visited.
—Love and enormous patience. That’s the whole secret,—I’d always reply.
—That recipe isn’t for me. I love all women. Each one is a mystery. As for living with a book I’ve already read—no, thank you,—my brother would smirk.
My younger brother Peter married at eighteen; his bride was ten years his senior. Kind-hearted Anna fell hopelessly in love with Peter for life. For Peter, she was little more than a fleeting amusement.
Anna became a proper part of her husband’s household—one bustling with relatives—and gave birth to a son, Michael. The newlyweds received a tiny room to themselves.
Anna treasured her delicate collection of porcelain figurines—ten rare pieces, all displayed proudly on an old dresser. Our large family knew how precious they were to her. She’d often stand, gazing at them in quiet admiration.
Back then, I was only getting ready to start a family of my own, searching for that one special woman to be my wife for life. To my delight, I found her and we’ve now been married for over fifty years.
Peter and Anna were married for ten years, but it brought Anna little to boast of. She tried her best to be a devoted wife and loving mother, compliant, gentle, agreeable. Still, something was missing for Peter.
One evening, my brother came home the worse for drink. Something about Anna annoyed him—her look, her manner—so he started picking at her, joking crudely, grabbing her arms. Sensing an argument brewing, Anna silently left the room, taking little Michael outside. Suddenly, a terrible crash rang out. Anna knew instantly—it was her figurines. She rushed inside and couldn’t believe her eyes.
Her beloved collection lay smashed on the floor, all but one piece miraculously spared. Anna picked up the lone survivor, kissed it, but said nothing to her barbarian of a husband. Only her tear-filled eyes spoke.
After that, a deep rift formed between Peter and Anna. I think Anna, in her mind, grew distant from the family. She still did all her wifely duties, kept house well, but it was with effort, without enthusiasm.
Peter turned more often to drink. Vulgar women and shady friends began turning up. Anna guessed what was going on, but closed into herself and grew distant, untethered. Peter all but abandoned his family, and Anna—watching his antics—realised you can’t chase the wind across a field. In the end, Anna and Peter quietly divorced—without shouting or blame. Anna took Michael and moved back to her hometown. The sole surviving figurine stood on the dresser, left behind in memory.
Peter didn’t mourn. Instead, he dived headlong into a wild, reckless life. He fell in love easily and parted ways even more so. He married and divorced three more times, drank heavily, and partied without restraint. Yet, curiously, Peter was a respected economist at a university, often called to consult in other cities. Even a textbook bore his name. His future looked bright, but alcohol and chaos ruined everything.
One day, our family thought Peter had finally settled down and was marrying a “stunning” woman. We attended a modest wedding. The bride had a seventeen-year-old son, and it quickly became clear that Peter and the lad would never get along. They were simply too different. Peter ignored the obvious, but after five years, a furious row between the two ended in divorce.
Afterward, a string of fleeting “current” sweethearts—Lila, Natalie, Sarah—flitted through Peter’s life. He adored each one, certain he’d found his forever. But life had other plans: at fifty-three, Peter fell gravely ill. By then, no women were left by his side. Only my sisters and I cared for him as his illness confined him to bed.
—Simon, there’s a suitcase under my bed. Fetch it,—Peter whispered, too weak to move.
I found a dusty suitcase and opened it. Inside—carefully wrapped in soft cloths—was a collection of porcelain figurines.
—I gathered these for Anna. I’ve never forgotten that silent reproach when she saw her smashed collection. She endured so much because of me. Remember my business trips? I bought figurines wherever I could. There’s a false bottom—take the money from there. It’s all my savings. Give it to Anna. Ask her to forgive me. We’ll never see each other again. Promise me you’ll give everything to Anna,—Peter turned to the wall.
—Alright, Peter. I promise,—I choked out, knowing I’d soon lose my brother for good.
—Anna’s address is under my pillow,—he added, never turning to face me again.
Anna still lived in her childhood town. Michael was seriously ill, the doctors perplexed. “Go to Europe,” they said, “perhaps you’ll get help there.” I discovered this from Anna’s letter hidden under Peter’s pillow. Anna and Peter had quietly kept in touch, but only through her letters; Peter never replied.
After Peter’s funeral, I set out to fulfill his last request.
I met Anna at a quiet railway station. She was delighted to see me:
—Oh, Simon, you look so much like Peter! Two peas in a pod.
I handed Anna the suitcase, as Peter wished:
—Anna, forgive your wayward husband. This is for you. There’s money, and something else from Peter. You’ll see at home. Remember, you were always Peter’s beloved wife.
With that, Anna and I parted for good.
Some time later, I received a single letter from her:
“Simon, thank you to both you and Peter. I am grateful God brought Peter into my life. We sold the figurines for a good price—a true collector bought them. I could never look at them without remembering they once passed through Peter’s hands. It’s a pity he left so soon. With the money, Michael and I moved to Canada, as my sister had long invited us. I had nothing left holding me back. I’d hoped Peter would ask me to stay—he didn’t, but he still saw me as his beloved wife. So he didn’t forget me after all. By the way, Michael is doing much better here, and he is happy. Farewell.”
No return address. A WIFE OF ONE’S OWN How do you manage to stay with the same wife for so many years? Whats the trick?
Fed Up With The Mother-in-Law and the Wife That evening, the quietest, most stoic man in our village
THE BITTERNESS AT THE BOTTOM OF THE SOUL Off you go! Youd be better off in a boarding school!
THE POSTAGE STAMP Ians left Katie, my mother sighed heavily, her eyes tired with worry. What do you mean?
A HUSBAND WORTH MORE THAN BITTER RESENTMENTS Graham, that was the last straw! Thats it, were getting divorced!
A Miracle on New Years Eve “Henry, do explain to me how you managed to forget!”
