Have you ever felt like you’re missing someone you’ve never even met?
Richard Bach
The cup soared across the room, slammed into the closed bedroom door, and shattered into tiny fragments on the carpet.
“Hysterical!” came my husband’s voice from the other side.
“Jerk!” I yelled back, scanning the room for something else to throw at him. But I didn’t spot anything suitable, and my rage was already starting to fade, leaving behind only exhaustion and apathy.
This quarantine, locking us within the four walls of our apartment for months, had exposed the complete breakdown of our marriage. Before, when we both went to work, hung out with friends, visited family, and only spent a few evening hours alone together, we could still pretend to be a couple doing just fine. But this forced isolation had made us despise each other, dragging up every buried resentment that had piled up over the ten years of our marriage.
That includes the fact that Yura was dead-set against having a wedding at all. Back then, head over heels in love, I agreed that the best solution was to quietly sign the papers, no ceremony, no witnesses. I showed up at the registry office in a green pantsuit, which still hangs in my closet as a silent reproach of that reckless decision. And the groom? He wore jeans, at least pairing them with a decent shirt instead of a skull-printed tee. That momentous event happened exactly ten years ago.
The last day of spring… My grandmother had tried to talk me out of getting married in May: “Marry in May, and you’ll struggle all your days…”
“Superstition,” I scoffed.
But now, I had to admit that the wisdom of our ancestors might have been spot-on. Though, honestly, May probably had nothing to do with it. The fault was mine. Mine alone, and no one else’s.
***
My parents had a close-knit, happy family. And they still do. Mom and Dad are regular working folks, never reaching for the stars, with no fancy connections or influential relatives. Everything they achieved came through hard work, and they raised my sister and me with the same mindset: “Study hard, graduate college, get a decent job… You’re the architect of your own happiness, blah, blah, blah…”
My older sister, Marichka, bought into that philosophy early on and strove for perfection in everything she did. Her goal was to become rich and successful someday. She dreamed of returning to our small hometown years later, leaving everyone’s jaws on the floor in awe.
By the age of ten, she had already mapped out her future with precision. She knew exactly which exams she needed to ace to get into the economics program—back then, economics and law degrees were the ticket to success. She poured her energy into those subjects at school, even convincing our parents to hire her an English tutor. A foreign language was essential for a future businesswoman, my clever sister insisted.
Every morning, she did some elaborate workout routine to keep her figure in check, counted calories, stuck to diets (since she was naturally a bit prone to gaining weight), and carefully chose her outfits, poring over glossy magazines for articles on color types and the latest fashion trends. She’d spend every penny of her birthday money on a bottle of real luxury perfume…
Yes, with her determination, willpower, and knack for adapting to any person or situation, a bright future awaited her. No wonder our parents held her up as a role model for me from the time we were little: “Look at Marichka, so neat and tidy, her shoes always spotless, so polite when greeting adults, such beautiful handwriting… Follow your sister’s example!”
And me?
I was the scrawny ugly duckling—pale, always frowning, antisocial. My biggest dream was for everyone to just leave me alone and stop trying to mold me. I could spend entire days holed up in my room reading books, and that made me perfectly happy.
But when it came time to drag myself out of bed and trudge to school, my mood sank lower than the floorboards. I didn’t like my classmates, though I had a few friends—or, more accurately, acquaintances. I took no part in extracurriculars, and even though I did pretty well academically, my teachers thought I wasn’t exactly reaching for the stars. They, too, held up my older sister as the gold standard—someone who, on top of excelling in her studies, managed to compete in academic Olympiads, perform in talent shows, and serve as class president.
“And you, Rudnytska, you’re so passive,” my homeroom teacher, Ms. Elena, would sigh. “You need to work on yourself, overcome your laziness…”
“I’m not lazy!” I wanted to scream at the top of my lungs. “I just want everyone to leave me alone!”
But now, ten years later, I can see how wrong I was. Maybe I really should have followed my sister’s example. If I had, I might be living in the capital like she is now, with a prestigious job, a respectable husband, and a child enrolled in the best school in the city.
Instead of… all of this.