**Enduring Life’s Blows**
The office door swung open, and a tall, tanned young man stepped in. His gaze settled on Vicky as he spoke in a warm tone, “Good afternoon, Victoria Romanovna. I’m Mark, your new business partner.”
A jolt shot through her, and she forced a polite smile. “Hello, please sit,” she said, nerves making her fidget. But soon, conversation flowed.
Outside, rain fell in sheets. Near midnight, Vicky checked the clock on the kitchen wall. She stored the untouched dinner in the fridge and headed to bed. Lately, she’d stopped calling her husband or waiting up. The constant worry had worn her down—or maybe she’d just grown used to this life. What good were hysterics now?
She loved Michael. They’d married for love, a spark ignited during their third year at university. A year and a half later, their son Oliver arrived. Now, he was five.
Her parents had gifted them a flat in a new build for the wedding. They lived comfortably, with plans to upsize one day.
Right after graduation, Michael and his mate Gavin started a business. Gavin, a doctor, had worked at a clinic before opening his own private practice. Michael, an economist, joined as a partner. Soon, they expanded, opening two more branches across town.
Vicky stayed home, raising Oliver. She’d wanted to work—she was an economist too—but Michael insisted, “Stay with Ollie. I’ve got us covered. Once he’s in school, you can think about work.”
She agreed, though the days dragged. Still, they lived well—holidays in Thailand, no financial worries. For her birthday, he’d bought her a car. But as his success grew, so did his temper. The kind, playful student she’d fallen for was gone.
Evenings stretched lonely. She waited up past midnight, sometimes serving a cold meal before he collapsed into bed. The distance between them grew; heartfelt talks became relics of the past.
“I need a change,” Vicky decided. A makeover might reignite something. She visited a salon, slipped into a new dress, and surprised Michael at work.
“Vicky? You look stunning!” he said, though his smile seemed strained. “Dinner tonight—my treat.”
The evening was lovely. He gifted her flowers and a small trinket, praising her new look. For a moment, things felt normal.
“Michael, maybe it’s time for another baby,” she ventured.
“Another?” He hesitated. “Let’s see how things go.”
That night, a call shattered the silence. The hospital demanded her presence—no explanation. Trembling, she left Ollie with the neighbour, dread gnawing at her. An accident?
In the ER, a gurney held a bloodied man—Michael. Her husband. Gone. She screamed, denied it, but reality was merciless. Fragments lodged in her mind: crash, ICU, a woman…
After the funeral, Oliver stayed with her parents while she locked herself away. A bottle of whisky drowned days filled with photos and memories.
Police said someone had swerved into their lane. Michael and Gavin’s car took the hit.
Her mother’s voice broke through the fog. “You can’t bring him back, love. Oliver needs you. It’s time to work, for both of you.”
Michael’s share of the business was hers now. Summoning strength, she visited the clinic. A new receptionist sat at the desk.
“Where’s Daisy?” Vicky asked.
“Ah, you must be Victoria Romanovna. Daisy’s in hospital—didn’t you know?”
The words struck like ice. That night’s fragments resurfaced—ICU, the unnamed woman. She rushed to the hospital, but visiting hours were over. Days later, she returned.
Daisy paled at the sight of her. “How’s Michael? And Gavin?”
Vicky’s voice cracked. “They didn’t make it.”
The girl wept, turned to the window. Weeks later, the nurse said, “Daisy’s being discharged tomorrow. She and the baby are fine.”
“Baby?” Vicky froze.
“You didn’t know? She’s pregnant.”
Back in the ward, Daisy confessed, barely audible. “It’s… Michael’s.”
The blow landed hard. First his death, now this. Vicky fled, driving blindly until the city faded. “How could he?” she screamed into the wind. A bitter thought surfaced—perhaps his death spared her worse pain.
She kept Daisy employed until maternity leave. The girl vanished after that.
Then, an early call. Daisy had died in childbirth. The baby, a boy, had no one. Only Vicky’s number filled the emergency contact.
Her mind raced. “This child is Ollie’s brother. Same blood.”
Paperwork, court visits—finally, little Arthur came home.
“Ollie, this is your brother. Dad sent him to us. You’ll love him, won’t you?”
“Will he grow fast?” Ollie asked.
“Just like you did.”
At Michael’s grave, she cradled Arthur. “Your son’s safe with me. He’s mine now too.”
Life trudged on. Her mum quit work to help. The business thrived—Gavin’s brother, Mark, returned from Germany to claim his share.
The day he walked into her office, lightning struck. Both froze, stunned. But she recovered first, offering a chair. Talk stretched for hours.
For Vicky, hope flickered—no more blows. Mark, too, had lost much—his ex-wife and daughter stayed abroad.
Life, relentless, moved forward.
