“You, Lenka, don’t go flapping your gums. The most important thing is to marry well. No matter how it turns out, you’ll come out on top,” lectured the distant relative.
Lena grew up as the only beloved daughter, the apple of her parents’ eye. By the time she finished school, she started talking more and more about wanting to study in London.
“Darling, we’ve got a decent university here. Why bother with London?” her father would ask.
“Dad, I want to be a journalist. After our university, I’ll just end up a teacher.”
Her parents resisted letting her go for a long time. They’d seen too many films about provincial girls whose lives were ruined chasing dreams in the capital. But in the end, they relented. Her father reached out to a distant cousin who lived in London, and she agreed to take Lena in while she studied. Lena was overjoyed. She promised her parents she’d make them proud—that they’d never have to blush for her.
Her father drove her there himself, made sure she was settled, left her some money to start, and returned home.
Lena didn’t live with her cousin for free. She cleaned the flat, ran errands, cooked. Neighbours shook their heads, muttering that cousin Lavinia had turned her into a housemaid. The cousin lived alone—her husband had left years ago for another woman, leaving her the flat. She considered her life a success. After all, she lived in London—the capital! And she schooled Lena:
“Stop dreaming, Lenka. Studying’s all well and good, but it’s not the most important thing for a woman. The main thing is to marry well—to a Londoner. Whatever happens, you’ll be set. Just like me.”
Lena listened with a tolerant smile. Marriage wasn’t on her mind yet. She dreamed of being noticed, of her talents being recognised, of landing a job at a prestigious newspaper—or if luck truly favoured her, working in television.
But dreams were one thing, and life had a way of rewriting ambitious plans. In her third year, Lena fell for Roman. They met by chance—she was celebrating the end of summer exams with her girlfriends, and he was there with a friend. He spotted the pretty girl, asked her to dance, then walked her home.
Her friends urged her not to let a man like that slip away. Eight years older, born and bred in London, owned a flat, handsome. Roman didn’t hide his divorced status or that he had a daughter. But who didn’t make mistakes when young? His daughter lived with her mother—she wouldn’t be in the way. If anything, it showed he loved children.
Lena didn’t scheme, but she liked Roman. He saw her inexperience and didn’t push—no rushed invitations to his place. They strolled through the city, went to exhibitions, theatres, concerts. In all her years in London, she’d never known the city like she did after meeting him.
He spoke more and more of love, of future plans, of children—their children. Lena’s head spun with love. When he finally proposed, she said yes without hesitation. Only one year of studies remained, and then—real life awaited.
He took her to meet his parents. His father smiled politely and disappeared behind his newspaper. His mother, however, made it clear she thought Lena was scheming—that Roman had no shortage of admirers, and she wouldn’t let him make another mistake.
“Couldn’t you have fallen for someone on your level? Same old story,” his mother finished.
“What story? Enough, Mum. Charlotte was a Londoner, wasn’t she? Didn’t stop us divorcing,” Roman cut her off sharply and led Lena away.
She didn’t see his parents again before the wedding. But Roman often brought his daughter Regina home. Named after a grandmother who may or may not have been a famous actress—Lena never quite understood.
Regina was a quiet, sturdy girl, not particularly pretty. Roman was pleased she and Lena got along so well. At the wedding, his mother hinted they shouldn’t rush into children. Lena assured her they wouldn’t—she had studies to finish, work experience to gain. They had time.
When his mother first brought Regina over, she reminded Roman that a father shouldn’t neglect his child. He spent the whole day indulging her. Lena didn’t complain—she’d known what she was getting into.
After graduation, Lena got a job at a London paper—not prestigious, but still in the capital. Her dream had come true: she lived and worked in London, with the man she loved. They visited her parents a few times, bringing gifts. But the real gift was seeing their daughter happy.
Nearly three years passed. One winter, just before Christmas, Lena told Roman she was pregnant.
“I meant to tell you on New Year’s, but I couldn’t wait,” she beamed.
“You said you didn’t want kids yet—how did this happen? You’re on the pill. Did you miss one?” he asked, frowning.
“It wasn’t an accident. I stopped taking them. Thought it’d take time—but it happened right away. Isn’t that wonderful?” Then, seeing his expression, she faltered. “Aren’t you happy?”
“I am, but—why didn’t you talk to me first?”
“If a man leaves contraception to a woman, he’s giving her the right to decide whether to have the child, isn’t he? I want this baby. Wait till I’m forty?” she snapped, fighting tears. She’d thought he’d be overjoyed.
“Don’t shout. What’s done is done. Just hope it’s a boy. You’ll be the one stuck at home with it. What about work?” He hugged her, and peace was restored.
At New Year’s, Roman told his parents. His father shook his hand and clapped him on the back. His mother, though, took the news like a blow.
“I knew this provincial girl would use a child to tie you down. First the visa, now this. Are you sure it’s even yours? She’ll take your flat—mark my words. We can’t afford to buy her one like we did for your first wife.”
“Mum, what are you saying? We love each other. Lena wouldn’t—”
“That’s what you think. Do you even know what’s going on in her head?”
Roman slammed the door and didn’t return. Lena’s pregnancy went smoothly, and nine months later, she gave birth to a healthy son.
His parents still came to the hospital. His mother wore a haughty look—until they brought out the bundle with the blue ribbon. The baby was Roman’s double.
“Now that we’re three, we should think about a bigger place. Our son needs his own room,” Roman mused after a drink.
“He’s still tiny. Plenty of time for that. Once I’m back at work, we’ll have more money—then we can think about moving,” Lena said sensibly. He kissed her, proud of her practicality.
He started seeing his parents again. Lena let him go alone—little Edward was still small, and her mother-in-law showed no interest in the baby. She only talked of Regina, insisting the girl shouldn’t feel sidelined.
Roman brought Regina over often, taking her out while Lena stayed home. The first time Regina saw Edward asleep, she stared silently.
“Isn’t he sweet?” Lena asked.
Regina didn’t answer. She retreated to the sofa, clutching her stuffed bunny. She only played with toys her father gave her—never acknowledging the ones Lena bought.
She often slept over, refusing to share a room unless it was with her father. Lena slept on the couch those nights.
One evening, Roman went out shopping while Lena cooked. The silence in the nursery unnerved her. She peeked in—Regina sat on the sofa as usual, but something in her posture made Lena’s stomach twist. She rushed to the cot. Edward was buried under the blanket.
She yanked it back. He wasn’t breathing—she grabbed him, shaking hard. He woke with a cry. Lena clutched him, shaking.
“Why did you cover his face? He could’ve suffocated!” she screamed.
Roman walked in at that moment. Regina ran to him in tears.
“How could you accuse her? Maybe he rolled over himself! You’re hysterical!” He took Regina and left.
Edward was fine. Lena apologised, and peace returned—until the next visit. His mother accused Lena of keeping Regina away, of overstepping.
“Pack your bags and crawl back to your backwater town!” the older woman sneered.
Roman convinced his mother to leave. But Lena had had enough. The next morning, she took Edward and left for her parents’ house.
She told them she’d missed them—just wanted to stay awhile. Roman came, begged her to return, but she refused. The fights had killed her love. He believed Regina, listened to his mother, blamed Lena for everything.
She quit her London job, found work at a local paper. Life went on. Edward grew tall, athletic—he placed second in a judo competition. Lena wrote an article about it, andYears later, standing on the balcony of her countryside home with her new husband and Edward by her side, Lena watched the sunset and realized that true happiness had nothing to do with London at all.
