**»Marina, you cant just leave me! What am I supposed to do without you?»**
**»The same thing you always dodrink from morning till night!»**
I slammed the front door behind me and collapsed into the drivers seat, tears streaming down my face. How had it come to this? A year ago, our family was the picture of happinessenvied, even. But envys just part of life, isnt it?
****
**»Marina, hurry up, get Vlad readyIve got a surprise for you!»** My husband, Nicholasor «Nick,» as I called him when he was in one of his playful moodsloved surprises. This time, hed arranged a snowmobile trip out of town. His colleague had just bought a place about sixty miles awaynot a cottage, but a proper medieval-style mansion, complete with turrets and a stone wall around the property. Calling it a «fence» wouldve been an insult.
**»Well? What do you think?»** he asked, grinning at my stunned expression.
**»Theres something about this place gives me the creeps.»**
**»Youre just cold. Come insideyou havent seen the fireplace yet.»**
The inside was worse than the outside. But the men loved it, so I kept quiet. No point arguing about taste.
I hated the animal heads mounted on the wallseven if they were fake, as Nick insisted, they still made my skin crawl. Meanwhile, the men happily devoured grilled meat right under a boars gaping jaws. Vlad, our son, charged around with a toy sword, battling imaginary monsters. I just stared into the fireplace, avoiding the rest of the room.
Maybe that day sticks in my memory like a dark stainbecause it was the last normal day. Later, the owner would bring out two snowmobiles, and one of them would take Vlads life. Nick, behind the handlebars, would never escape the guilt, drowning himself in whisky.
I dont know why I coped better. The pain was unbearable, but I kept it inside. People around me had no ideathey smiled, oblivious. Sometimes I wanted to join Nick, numb the agony with drink. But I knew itd only make things worse. He hid behind anger, blame, self-loathingshutting me out.
I hadnt meant to leave him. I just needed air. I drove aimlessly, stopping at petrol stations, napping in roadside hotels. Eventually, I ended up in a sleepy little town, parking near a square.
**»Youll freeze out here,»** someone tapped on my window.
An elderly woman, walking her doga fluffy white poodlepeered in. For some reason, I got out.
**»Something happened,»** I whispered.
Funny how its easier to spill your heart to a stranger. No judgments, no digging up the past.
Next thing I knew, I was sitting in her cosy kitchen, clutching a mug of chamomile tea, tears soaking a crumpled tissue.
**»Marina, Ive made up the sofa. Rest, then carry on to your nowhere.»**
I slept deeply for the first time in months. When I woke, sunlight filtered through the curtains, and a rough tongue licked my handGus, the poodle, grinning up at me.
Auntie Rose (that was her name) brought in a tray of cinnamon buns and coffee.
**»Dont compliment them out loud,»** she warned. **»Baking prefers quiet praise.»**
One bite, and I nearly cried. Nick used to bring me breakfast in bed toothough his versions were eclectic. Sandwiches, cottage cheese, even pickled herring once.
The memory made me smile instead of ache. Funny how a bun could lift the weight off your soul.
Later, I noticed the room Id slept inposters on the walls, dumbbells by the windowclearly a young mans. A framed photo showed two lads in uniform.
Auntie Rose didnt hide it. **»My son, Alex. He died years agofreak accident during training. After that, my husband and I well. He drank himself to death. I nearly did too, till an old woman told me living was the only way Id see Alex again.»**
Her pain had softened with time. Mine still felt raw.
The next morning, a knock at the door. Nick stood there, rumpled and unshaven. **»No lover, then?»** he muttered, eyeing the flat.
Auntie Rose fed us pancakes with wild mushrooms, and we stayed two more days, walking snowy lanes, holding hands like newlyweds.
Going home, I was terrified the spell would break. But Nicks grip was firm. **»Well redecorate Vlads room,»** he said.
We sorted his thingsdonated some, kept others. No tears, just quiet smiles. That night, Nick finally admittedit wasnt his fault. The snowmobile crash was just awful luck.
Nine months later, Vlads little sister arrived. When I told Nick, he just kissed me, hands resting gently on my belly.
We still visit Auntie Rose. She married her rabbit-farmer beau. Life moves on.
Sometimes, healing starts with a cinnamon bun and a strangers kindness.
