Chop the salad finer, said Margaret and immediately caught herself. Oh, sorry, love. There I go again
Our relatives drifted into our flat on a peculiar Sunday, their arms a jumble of boxes and baskets, as
Not long ago, I bumped into a woman who was strolling down the street with her one-and-a-half-year-old
Oh, Girl, Don’t Waste Your Greetings on Him – He Won’t Marry You
When Vera lost her mother just after turning sixteen, her father had vanished years ago chasing city work and never returned, no word or money. The whole village turned out for her mother’s funeral, each offering help as they could. Her godmother, Aunt Maria, checked in often, showing Vera the ropes of daily life. After finishing school, they found Vera work at the post office in the neighboring village.
Vera was sturdy, healthy—a true country girl, rosy-cheeked, round-faced, with a bold potato nose but brilliant grey eyes, and a thick blond braid down her back.
Hands-down the most handsome fellow in the village was Nicholas. Back from two years in the army, he was swarmed by girls—village and city vacationers alike. He could’ve starred in Hollywood films, not just driven a truck in the countryside, and he certainly wasn’t planning to settle down anytime soon.
One day Aunt Maria asked Nicholas to help Vera fix her weaving fence, which was falling over—life was hard for single women in the village. Vera could manage the garden but couldn’t tackle the house alone. Nicholas agreed without fuss, arriving to inspect and quickly issuing orders: “fetch this, bring that.” Vera did as he asked, cheeks growing redder, braid swinging. When he tired, she fed him rich borscht and strong tea, silently watching him bite into dark bread with white, healthy teeth.
Nicholas worked on the fence for three days, and on the fourth, he came for a visit. Vera gave him dinner, and as talk spun on, he ended up staying the night. Soon he became a regular, always leaving before sunrise to dodge prying eyes—but in a village, nothing stays secret for long.
“Oh, girl, don’t waste your greetings on him—he won’t marry you. If he does, you’ll suffer. When the city beauties return in summer, what’ll you do? Eat your heart out with jealousy. You need a different kind of man,” Aunt Maria warned.
But who ever listened to old wisdom when young and in love?
Vera soon realized she was expecting. She thought she was ill at first—then the truth hit hard: she was having Nicholas’s child. Despair tempted her to get rid of it; she felt too young. Yet she remembered her mother’s strength and decided she could do it, even alone. At least she wouldn’t be totally by herself. Her own father hadn’t been much help either—always drinking. People would gossip, but they’d eventually move on.
Spring came, Vera shed her winter coat, and the whole village noticed her swelling belly. Nicholas came by to check what she planned to do.
“What else? I’ll have the baby. Don’t worry, I’ll raise him myself. Go on living your life,” she said, tending the fire, her cheeks and eyes aglow with its light.
Nicholas admired her but left—she’d made her decision. He was like water off a duck’s back. Summer drew in, city girls arrived, and Nicholas’s attention strayed elsewhere.
Vera carried on quietly, minding her garden, Aunt Maria helping when she could—being pregnant made everything harder. They predicted a strong baby. “Whoever God gives me,” Vera joked.
One morning in September, fierce pain woke her. She rushed to Aunt Maria, who instantly understood—labour had begun. They scrambled to get Nicholas, who’d been drinking the night before.
Realizing the hospital was ten miles away, Nicholas insisted on driving her immediately, even if it meant taking the truck over pothole-ridden roads. Aunt Maria rode in the back. Vera wriggled in pain beside Nicholas, who gripped the steering wheel, face drawn with worry.
They made it in time. Nicholas and Aunt Maria left her at the hospital, scolded along the way for leaving a young woman alone and with child. By the next morning, Vera held a healthy baby boy. Unsure how to handle him, she followed every instruction, heart trembling with happiness and fear.
“Will someone pick you up before discharge?” the stern doctor asked.
“Unlikely,” she shrugged.
The nurse bundled up her son in a hospital blanket for the journey home, scolding her for the bare means she had.
Fedor, the hospital driver, took them as far as he could—floods had made the last two miles impossible by car. Vera climbed out, cradling her son, trudging through ankle-deep mud, losing a shoe along the way, until she reached the village in near-darkness.
Inside, she found a cot, a pram, new baby clothes—all ready. At the table, Nicholas slept, his head in his arms. Seeing Vera—disheveled, muddy, holding their baby—he rushed to help, took the child, washed her feet, and set out food.
When the baby cried, Vera fed him unashamedly as Nicholas asked, “What did you name him?”
“Sergio. Do you mind?” she replied.
Nicholas’s heart ached at her sorrow and love.
“Good name. Tomorrow we’ll register the boy and get married.”
“That’s not necessary…” Vera started.
“My son needs a father. I’ve had my fun—done playing the bachelor. I can’t say what sort of husband I’ll be, but I won’t abandon my son.”
Vera nodded quietly.
Two years later, they welcomed a daughter, Nadia, named after Vera’s mother.
It doesn’t matter what mistakes you make at the start of life—what counts is that you can always set things right…
That’s how life goes. Share your thoughts in the comments and give us a like! Oh, lass, youre wasting your kind words. He wont marry you. Claire was only sixteen when she lost her mother.
George, where should I sit? I asked quietly, hesitating. He finally glanced my way, and the annoyance
Last year, my mum did something I never expectedshe decided she would sell us vegetables from her own garden.
Changed My Mind About Marriage February 16th I’ve been working late at the university lab again
Married at fiftyI thought I’d finally found happiness, but I never imagined what was in store for
Forty years under the same roof, and now at sixty-three youve decided to change your life? Margaret sat
Chop it finer for the salad, said Margaret Thompson, and immediately caught herself. Oh, sorry, dear.
