To women who are far stronger than they realize.
If only we could turn back time and fix our mistakes. Or return, just for a fleeting moment, to see those who are no longer with us. To change a thought, an action, and alter the course of everything that followed.
As we grow older, we find ourselves reflecting more often on the choices we’ve made. Some of us spend a lifetime trying to be kind to everyone, offering help and support, only to be stabbed in the back time and again. We pick ourselves up, vowing never to let anyone humiliate us like that again. But then… then we rush to help once more, forgetting our own promises. Others, though, love only themselves, disregarding the feelings of those around them. They see themselves as indispensable, the best, the smartest. Yet deep down, such a person is often deeply unhappy and vulnerable. Because, as it turns out, only the truly strong can show their emotions. Love, sincerity, tenderness, loyalty, friendship, and honesty—these are feelings that demand courage.
May everyone find the courage to admit their mistakes and ask for forgiveness, the sincerity to be a true friend, the honesty to always speak the truth, and the tenderness and loyalty to share with those they love. May love reign in your families, bringing unforgettable, vibrant moments.
Camilla
The alarm blares, as always, at the worst possible moment. It feels like I’ve just fallen asleep, and already it’s time to get up. I dread crawling out from under my warm blanket and getting ready for work. Especially on a Friday. The weekend is just around the corner, but first, I have to slog through a long, hectic day. I fumble for my slippers and shuffle to the kitchen. The heat’s been off for weeks, and after the cozy bed, the chill in the apartment makes me shiver. To avoid the harsh glare of the overhead light, I move in the dim half-darkness, setting the kettle on and scooping coffee into two mugs.
Then I walk over to the window and gaze out at the dreary weather. It’s been raining for four days straight, and there’s no hope of the sky clearing up today. The dampness has seeped into every corner, under my skin, and settled into my soul. Spring has turned out to be colder than expected. I watch as pedestrians hurry along, umbrellas in hand, darting to catch the bus that’s already pulling away. What time do they even wake up?
I hear my husband stirring, heading to the bathroom. I wonder if he’ll remember our little milestone today. It’s not our wedding anniversary, but it’s the day we first met. Seven years ago, spring felt gentler. Or maybe I was different back then? I didn’t carry this heavy, joyless mood, or the problems that constantly weigh on me. Where did my optimism and zest for life go?
We sip our coffee in near silence. Yuri’s always grumpy in the mornings, so I’m used to it. I gulp down my dose of energy and rush to get ready for work. I brush my teeth, take a quick shower, throw on some clothes, and twist my light hair into a bun. It’s practical— the only hairstyle that survives my daily marathon. I apply light, barely-there makeup, pack my bag, and hurry to put on my coat.
At the door, I pause, watching Yuri leisurely sip his coffee and scroll through something on his phone. It’s his morning ritual, unless he’s on shift at the hospital.
— What time will you be home today? — I ask, buttoning up my coat.
— Around three, — he replies without looking at me.
— I’ll be later. I’m stopping by Natalie’s.
— Again? — He glances up at me.
— You know I always hold out hope.
— Hmm, — he nods, turning away.
— Alright, I’m off, — I say, stepping out the door without waiting for a response.
Over the past six months, this kind of interaction has become the norm. We’re drifting apart, and all my efforts to mend things seem futile. We don’t share hobbies or interests anymore. Even our vacations are spent separately. Sometimes, looking back, I can’t pinpoint the exact moment our five-year marriage started to crumble. But the answer is painfully simple: a relationship takes two people to make it work. And that says it all. Yuri seems perfectly comfortable, paying no attention to my attempts to reconnect.
But I don’t have time to sink into melancholy or despair—the bus pulls up to the stop. And just like that, the most “exciting” part of my morning begins.
I squeeze in as the last passenger, relieved I won’t have to wait for the next one and then sprint to avoid being late. But at the last second, a woman pushes in behind me, pressing so hard I can barely breathe. It wouldn’t be so bad if these rides weren’t so exhausting. You board looking neat and put-together, and by the time you get off, you’re wrinkled and your hair’s a mess. It’s a long ride for me, so I have plenty of time to “enjoy” public transit. Yuri always says we just need to hang in there a little longer, and then we’ll buy a car—we’ve been saving for three years now—and drive in comfort. A car would be great, but I seriously doubt he’d drive me to work in the mornings.
— Driver, could you pass back my change, please? — I squeak, hoping I’m heard. A few seconds later, I get my coins and somehow manage to stuff them into my coat pocket. My bag dangles from my arm, trapped by the man beside me, impossible to free. The woman behind me grumbles something, but I tune her out. Her bag digs painfully into my back. I close my eyes and dream of fresh air.
As soon as the bus stops at my destination, I stumble out behind the woman and check my legs. Phew! No runs in my tights. Natalie always laughs at me for carrying a spare pair in my bag. But what am I supposed to do? Walk around school all day with torn tights? No thanks.
I dart across the street and enter the school grounds. A quick glance at my watch—twenty minutes until class starts. I wave hello to the kids on my way in and head to my classroom. The noise, the chatter, the squeals—it’s the constant soundtrack before lessons and during breaks. The kids’ energy is unstoppable; they race through the halls, burning off steam. I sink into my chair and stretch out my legs. It’s only morning, and I’m already exhausted. I should probably get some vitamins—I’ve been feeling drained lately.
The bell rings, and my chaotic day kicks off. In this whirlwind, there’s no time for myself. But I love my job—or rather, I love working with the kids. As for the job itself, I have my doubts. Sometimes I regret withdrawing my application and not pursuing medical school.
All my life, I dreamed of becoming a pediatrician, but I didn’t get into a funded program. My dream shattered because my mom couldn’t afford the tuition. My dad was never involved in my upbringing. I only saw him a handful of times. As my mom used to say, he wasn’t ready for a child. So, I enrolled in a local teachers’ college on a scholarship instead.
My friend Natalie, on the other hand, had more opportunities. She fulfilled our shared dream and became a skilled professional.
She’s the one who introduced me to Yuri. At a party during one of my visits to her in Zaporizhzhia, she brought us together. That’s when my first serious relationship began. Later, Natalie got married, and she and her husband decided to seek a better life, moving to Kyiv. Yuri didn’t want to be left behind, so as soon as I graduated, we followed their lead. We don’t own a place yet—housing here is outrageously expensive. The only property I have is a small apartment in my hometown of Berdyansk, inherited from my grandmother. My aunt lived there for a while before moving to Zaporizhzhia.
Sometimes, looking at the weather in the capital, I imagine what it’s like back home. I close my eyes and hear the sound of waves crashing against the concrete barrier on the central beach. I smell the salty sea air and hear the cries of seagulls. And I miss it...
The town where we were born and raised will always hold a special place in our hearts. Yuri never understood that. He grew up in a big industrial city, so Kyiv, for him, is just another step toward a better life. But I long for the quiet rhythm of my hometown, uniquely beautiful and endlessly enchanting.