INSTEAD OF WINGS, A BOOMERANG BEHIND THE BACK
Ill ruin all of you! Youll regret this! my brothers wife, Laura, shouts frantically.
What for, Laura? I gave you the full amount. What complaints can you have? my mum says, confused by her daughter-in-laws threats.
And wheres the evidence that you paid? Witnesses? A receipt? You owe me and Sam for half this flat! Laura stands firm, blocking the doorway.
Well, Laura, I suggest you leave politely. I personally witnessed the money being handed over. Is that enough for you? And send my regards to my brotherhe ought to control you. Dont come here again, I tell Laura, unable to stay silent while mum stands helpless.
Youll regret this, and itll be too late! Ill go to a witch and curse all of you! Laura yells as she walks away.
After Dad died, Mum sold her cottage in the countryside and moved in with me in my three-bedroom flat in Birmingham. Id been widowed for some years, raising my five-year-old son, George. Mum was more than welcome.
Vera, would you mind if I give Sammy half the money from the house sale? Hes my son. Laura nags him day and night, says hes a useless husband. Mum looks at me pleadingly.
Heavens, of course, give it to him! Its only fair, I say; I truly think so.
We invited Sam and Laura over, handed the money directly. Yet two years later, Laura turns up, demanding more and more, threatening and cursing.
I shut the door in her face and forgot about Laura. For years, there was no contact with my brother or Laura. It was as if a black cat had passed between us. After that, misfortune rained upon us, like an endless waterfall. We tumbled from one disaster to another. As they say, trying to escape sorrow across the river, but its always waiting on the bank.
Mum took to her bed, I fell ill with something unidentifiable, and George developed weeping eczema. Troubles wouldnt leave us alone. In the flat, thick with the smell of medicines, everything seemed to break and shatter. The wall clock stopped in the middle of the night. I, once a police officer, had to retire early. Though Id hoped to work longer, now I needed to care for Mum and treat my son. Money started slipping through my fingers.
I turned my flat into a violet sanctuary: pots everywhere. I grew, propagated, and sold violets at the market. These modest flowers rescued us from debts. People bought them eagerly.
Relatives visited once a year, staying for a week. They brought worn but clean clothes, foodmeat, pasta, grains. Everything was gratefully received. When they left, the cycle of hardship began anew.
Poverty, illness, apathy.
To stave off despair and gloomy thoughts, I dug a flower bed outside the flat block. In spring, I sowed flower seedssimple ones: snapdragon, night-scented stock, marigolds. It was my only source of inspiration.
One day, neighbour Michael walked by and looked approvingly at my modest flower bed:
Afternoon, neighbour! Can I offer you some money for more flowers? Buy a lotmake the whole block jealous.
I shrugged uncertainly. Michael slipped cash into my dressing gown pocket:
Dont be shy, love. Youre making beauty for everyone.
Feeling uplifted, I bought exotic blossoms and shrubs. My little patch bloomed with colours and fragrance. Neighbours marvelled at its heavenly beauty.
Michael always stopped to admire the flowers:
Only a good soul can make flowers flourish like this.
He often treated me to chocolate, sweets, or ice cream:
These are for you, Vera, for all your hard work.
I was touched by the attention from a near stranger.
Years passed, things started to improve slowly.
Mum recovered, cheered up. Georges skin cleared completely. Suddenly, I felt like a woman again, with lace and hope in my heart. I craved love and wanted to be loved, not caring about autumn years.
Having watched his grandmother suffer, George decided to become a doctor. He sailed into med school and worked at the hospital alongside studies. Soon, he was assisting in surgeries, and neighbours often came to him for advice, injections, or IVs.
George trained as a critical care doctor.
Together, we renovated the flat. George bought a used foreign car. Hes preparing to marry his colleague, Anna, a heart specialist. Our home feels calm and happy.
Just recently, Laura called, her voice hoarse:
Hello, Vera. Will you visit me? Im in hospital.
I go to the address, find the ward, and Lauras bed.
Whats happened, Laura? I ask, surprised by her exhausted appearance. Her eyes are empty.
Well, Vera Sam and I were walking in the woods, found a human skull in the grass, brought it home. Cleaned it, varnished it, made it an ashtray. Six months later, your brother died in a crash. Two months after that, our son died in the garagedrinking with mates. And now Im sickpneumonia. God, why did we bring that cursed skull home? My troubles started right then, Laura weeps bitterly.
No, Laura, it began when you started visiting dark witches and cursing us. The skull was only a consequence, I say. Laura has brought too much trouble into our family.
Youre right, Vera. I confess. I put curses on you, filled with black anger. Result: I doomed myself to loneliness. Forgive me. Lets forget these pointless arguments. In my youth, I had wings behind me, now its a boomerang. I feel its sting, Laura admits, subdued and lost in thought.
I tell George everything. He doesnt turn away:
Mum, lets transfer Aunt Laura to my hospital. Shell get better care there. Shes not a stranger to us.
Yes, son, I forgive Laura completely. She needs compassionleft alone, shes lost both husband and son.
Michael suggests we unite our lives. He lives one floor up.
Vera, move in with me. Itll be easier to pass the time. Youre a widow, Im a widower. Well have much to talk about. What do you think?
Yes, Michael, I say, not believing my luck. Happiness falls from the sky, warming my soul.
Mum is pleased for me:
See, Verayour fate was just next door, waiting for you to notice. Youve earned this happiness.
Laura quickly recovers and asks to visit. Shall I invite her? Ill talk it over with George and MichaelI welcome Laura to our home, a little nervous but determined to make peace. She arrives, frail but quieter, carrying nothing but a bouquet of violets and a trembling apology. In the calm living room, the air warms with forgiveness as Mum pours tea and George brings biscuits. Laura looks around, eyes shining not with envy, but relief.
Im grateful, she whispers, voice breaking, for your kindness, Vera. For everyones kindness. Life has taught me humility.
We talk late into the evening, sharing old memories and new hopes, letting grudges drift like autumn leaves. Laura, George, Mum, Michael and Ibound together by sorrow and resiliencefind laughter, even joy, in the simplest things. The violets bloom on every sill, vibrant and persistent, a testament to lifes second chances.
In the weeks that follow, Michael and I blend our lives, neighbours step out to help water the flower beds, and Laura begins volunteering at the hospital. George and Anna marry, filling the flat with celebration and promise.
On warm nights, we gather on Michaels balcony, under strings of lights and the fragrance of marigolds. Laura lifts her glass, voice steady: To all of uswho lost wings, but found each other. To forgiveness, the best kind of magic.
And in that moment, I know: every curse, every sorrow was but a passage leading us here, where love blooms brighter than any grudge, and happinesssometimes latearrives like a boomerang, finding its way home.
