After checking on my sleeping son and swallowing a handful of sedatives, I sank into darkness like a severed branch. No thoughts. No emotions. …It was the only way to save myself. The key was to avoid revisiting the horrors of that dreadful evening. I’d mastered that skill, and perhaps that’s where my strength lies—because I have someone to hold on for.
Early the next morning, the alarm did its job, and I forced myself to get up despite the weakness in my body and the utter brokenness of my soul. Packing was something I was good at. Mykita never liked eating breakfast early anyway, so within half an hour, I was shoving a bag and my half-asleep son into the car.
- Are we going to see the boats, Mommy? - Mykita asked innocently, munching on cereal with milk at a roadside diner, excited about the adventure ahead.
- No, sweetheart, we’re going to visit Nina. But where she lives, there’s a little boat, and we’ll definitely go for a ride. Do you remember our Nina?
Mykita bombarded me with questions for half the drive, and I answered on autopilot until, exhausted, the poor thing finally dozed off.
By evening, racing against the setting sun and drained from the heat and dust, I finally pulled my battered old Audi to a stop outside a painfully familiar house near Zaporizhzhia, in a small village. A house where I’d once sought the strength to keep going.
Nina was waiting on the porch. Over the phone, I’d only said a few words, but she didn’t need details. Nina understood exactly what I was feeling. This woman, a longtime friend of my mother, knew how to support and comfort me without any fuss or coddling.
- And who’s this serious young man? - Nina pretended to frown, fixing her gaze on Mykita, who was shuffling beside me. - I hope you like ice cream, champ?
- Only if you’ve got a whole bucket of it! - he beamed with a wide grin.
- This kid’s no pushover, - Nina chuckled, pulling me into a hug as she led us inside. - These walls have been missing guests. I’ve been craving the sound of little feet and bright voices. How about some tea by the river? The view at sunset is heavenly, like paradise.
- Sounds good, - I nodded, feeling as if I’d left my burdens at the doorstep. Just Nina’s wise eyes seemed to lift the weight off my shoulders. Her soul was my safe harbor, embracing me and easing the pain.
This remarkable woman was a beacon of courage and resilience for me, embodying immense willpower and a love for life despite the horrors she’d endured. She’d witnessed a gang of robbers murder her husband and severely injure her son, who later died in her arms. Yet, that loss didn’t break her. She lived on because her loved ones had cherished life; she savored it for each of them, finding triple the joy in every sunrise, every fish she caught, every Christmas. Later, when cancer struck, she fought and overcame it with sheer determination to live. No matter how many times fate knocked her down, she rose again with that same warm, smiling gaze.
- Just because it happened again doesn’t mean the world is full of sick, twisted monsters, - she remarked a few days after our arrival, broaching the subject out of the blue. - The truly vile ones are rare. Most are just unloved by their mothers, rejected by society, weak-willed types who boost their egos by humiliating others. You fight people like that; you put them in their place. I don’t want you to lose faith in men entirely, Zlata. The good ones exist—I believe it, I know it, I’ve seen them with my own eyes. Strong, loyal, dependable, loving. You have to believe in that too. You’re raising a son.
- What’s wrong with me, Nina, that these rare monsters keep crossing my path? - My bitterness betrayed my inner turmoil. If even Nina was bringing this up, my pain must have been written all over my face. - Am I so weak that people just want to crush me?
- Oh no, darling, you’re not weak. Physically, maybe, but not in spirit. You’re sensitive and free-spirited, beautiful and proud, and that makes any man want to conquer you—it’s their natural instinct. But the broken ones see that conquest in a twisted way. You’re strong, Zlata, because you heal your own soul. What scares me is that you might close yourself off from a woman’s happiness. Don’t you dare lose faith in yourself or in people.
- Honestly, you’re the one who makes me strong, Nina, with your example. Every woman has her own idea of happiness. Mine doesn’t include men. I have someone to love, and that’s enough for me. So, are we painting the porch or not? If we are, I’ll go grab the paint and take Mykita with me—he’s obsessed with your little shop.
- Of course, go for a walk. I’ll get started on lunch, whip up some soup.
That’s how it always was with us—shifting from raw, painful topics and blunt questions to something lighter and positive, or vice versa.
On the way back, spotting a sleek, expensive car parked outside Nina’s house, I assumed her nephews had finally remembered their aunt, whose little cottage nestled by the Dnipro. She missed her brother’s kids but refused to admit it.
But when I walked into Nina’s living room and saw Zakhar Mazur sitting on her couch, my face froze in shock and outrage.
- Do I need to sign something? - I snapped without a greeting, grinding my teeth and shooting Nina a reproachful look. In my opinion, she should’ve kicked him out and chased him off her doorstep. - Let’s get this over with.
- But I’ve already been invited to lunch, - Zakhar said cautiously, tilting his head with an aristocratic air, attempting to seem friendly.
- That’s a terrible idea! - I shot back sharply, instantly on guard. How dare he taint the one place where I felt safe with his presence?
- Zlata, it’s rude to throw someone out after they’ve driven ten hours to get here, - Nina interjected, only heightening the tension.
- But this esteemed gentleman is perfectly capable of booking a fancy hotel suite and dining at a restaurant instead of slurping your lentil soup here! What’s next, are you letting him stay the night? Why not? I’ll even sleep in the boat shed for his sake!
…I only came to my senses when I realized Mykita was running after me down the path to the riverbank. Turning to my child, I dropped to my knees, and he wrapped his little arms tightly around my neck, his blue eyes wide with fear.
- It’s okay, sweetheart, we’re okay, - I whispered, staring at his shoulder.
Catching a glimpse of Zakhar getting into his car out of the corner of my eye, I let out a sigh of relief.
Expecting a lecture from Nina about my behavior, I braced myself to defend my stance, but to my surprise, she didn’t say a word on the subject. Not even a hint in her eyes. It was as if Zakhar Mazur had been a figment of my imagination.
At lunch, Mykita chattered away with a full mouth despite my reminders, while Nina just smiled mysteriously and stayed silent.
Something was off. Something hung in the air, invisible but palpable, like the heat outside the window.
The next morning, Nina suddenly left to run errands, and Mykita and I started painting the porch a soft blue. Thanks to my son’s antics, the blue ended up on more than just the porch. Nina’s delay didn’t worry me—despite her age, she volunteered at the local hospital, running a support group. She led an active life, often gone for entire days. Still, I had to make lunch myself, and my best dish, frankly, is still just sandwiches.
- Oh, no worries, I ate in town, - Nina said casually with a wave of her hand, glancing at the plate of homemade sandwiches upon her return. - Honestly, I’m exhausted. Sweetie, - she turned to Mykita, who started bouncing around her, - will you come with me to the swings?
- What, am I being punished? - I teased, pretending to pout, suddenly noticing the expression on her face—unease masked by forced cheer.
- You’ll have to talk to Mr. Mazur for a bit, my dear, - Nina murmured softly, almost apologetically, just as Zakhar appeared in the doorway, as if he’d been waiting for a signal.
- I’m not here just for that, - he said impassively as I silently tossed the papers he’d left earlier onto the coffee table. - Given the circumstances, I feel a personal responsibility, so I can’t stand by and ignore your situation, Zlata. Sooner or later, you’ll want to move forward, and with your education, you should be climbing the career ladder, not wasting your potential…
He likely faltered because of the way I was looking at him. I stared at him with pity, as if he were a delusional fool performing for a crowd.
- Don’t you understand, Mr. Mazur, that your very presence forces that day to replay in my mind, making me feel humiliated and trampled all over again? I don’t need your involvement or protection anymore. I’ll figure out my life. On my own.
- I respect proud women. …They often die the same way—standing tall and alone, - Zakhar’s voice was dry and firm. He didn’t break eye contact once. - But I’m a believer in rationality and practicality. Any wound, if it’s not fatal, eventually heals, and you have someone to build a future for. Without false modesty, I’m not a poor man, and I’m far from insignificant in my circles. Asking for nothing and expecting nothing in return, I’m offering you help, protection, and security. The rest is up to you, Zlata. Think about it. You can change your life, give it momentum. …I won’t torment you with my presence any longer.
After he left, I stood frozen like a statue for a few more minutes. Then I walked out of the room, leaving behind all his words and my thoughts. I didn’t want to dwell on it anymore—I wanted to let peace into my heart. Climbing a nearby hill, I immersed myself in the vast, indescribable beauty that healed and offered hope. The shimmering river, the distant slopes, the small town nestled against them, and an extraordinary sunset piercing everything with its colors. I was alive… I was coming back to life… I was gaining strength… I was being reborn. Again.