My Husband Was Worth More Than All My Bitter Grievances “Igor, that was the last straw! We’re getting a divorce! Don’t bother dropping to your knees like you always do—it won’t work this time!” I made a firm end to our marriage. Of course, Igor didn’t believe me. He was certain everything would play out as usual: he’d get on his knees, apologise, buy me another ring, and I’d forgive him—just as I always had. But this time, I was determined to break our marital bonds for good. My fingers, down to my pinkies, were covered in rings, but I had no life. Igor drank himself into oblivion. …And yet, it all began romantically. My first husband, Eddie, went missing without a trace—in the wild 90s, a terrifying time. Eddie wasn’t the easiest man: reckless, always stirring up trouble. As they say, all the swagger but none of the strength. If anything displeased him, we’d all be dragged into the drama. That’s why I’m certain Eddie got caught up in some bad business and was killed. No word ever came. I was left alone with our two daughters: Lizzie, five, and Rosie, just two. Five years passed after his mysterious disappearance. I thought I’d lose my mind. I loved Eddie fiercely, for all his temper. We were inseparable. I thought my life was over; I’d just raise my girls and that was that. I gave up on myself. But fate had other plans… Those were hard times. I worked in a factory, paid (believe it or not) in irons. I had to sell them at the market just to buy food. In winter, blue with cold, I stood selling irons when a man approached me. Pity creased his face. “Cold out, love?” the stranger asked gently. “How could you tell?” I joked, teeth chattering. But his presence warmed me. “Fair enough, silly question. How about I help you with your unsold irons and treat you to a hot tea?” “Let’s—we may as well; I’ll freeze if I stay here,” I managed to mumble. We didn’t go to a cafe. I dragged him in the direction of my home, asked him to watch my bag of irons while I dashed off to collect my girls from nursery. My legs were stone from the cold, but inside I felt a glow. Returning, I spotted the man from afar—Igor, he introduced himself—smoking and shifting from one foot to the other. I thought, “Invite him for tea. Whatever will be, will be.” He helped carry my irons up six flights of stairs (the lift was inevitably broken). By the time we slogged up three whole flights, Igor was already heading back down. “Wait, my hero! You’re not leaving until you’ve been properly thanked with a hot cuppa!” I grabbed his sleeve with my icy hand. “I wouldn’t want to intrude,” Igor said, eyeing the kids. “Oh, don’t be silly! You take the girls’ hands—I’ll get the kettle on, no bother at all,” I assured him, feeling an inexplicable attachment. Over tea, Igor offered me a job as his assistant—for more than I’d earn selling irons in a year. I nodded eagerly, wanting to kiss his hands for the opportunity. Igor had been married twice, divorcing his first wife, with a son from that marriage. We got swept up in it all. We married soon after and he adopted my daughters. Life was sweet. We bought a four-bedroom flat, filled it with expensive furniture, even built a holiday home. Every year, we’d go to the seaside—pure bliss. …Seven years of cloudless happiness. Eventually, perhaps from having it all, Igor started drinking heavily. At first I ignored it—he worked hard, he deserved a little fun. But when it grew excessive, even at work, I got worried. Nothing I said worked. For the record—I’m an adventurer. To distract my husband from the drink, I decided…to have a baby with him! I was thirty-nine then—my friends weren’t surprised. “Go on, Tanya, maybe we’ll try being mums again at forty ourselves!” they teased. I always said: “If you get rid of a baby, you might one day regret it bitterly. But if you keep—even an unplanned child—you’ll never be sorry.” We had twins. Suddenly, we were raising four daughters. Igor’s drinking didn’t stop. I grew restless for the countryside, livestock—a healthy life for the children, and maybe less temptation for Igor. We sold the city flat and our holiday lodge, bought a house in a market town, and opened a smart café. Igor took up hunting, buying rifles and all the kit. There was plenty of game around. Life was ticking along—until the next time Igor drank to excess. I’ll never know what he’d had, but he became a madman—smashed dishes, furniture, and turned his rage on us! He grabbed his rifle and fired at the ceiling! The children and I fled to the neighbours. It was horrific. By morning, all was quiet. We crept home. What we found wasn’t for the faint-hearted. Thankfully, the children survived seeing that disaster—everything broken, smashed, nowhere to sit, eat, or sleep. Igor was out cold, sprawled on the floor. I gathered what I could and, with the girls, made for my mum’s house nearby. She moaned: “Oh Tanya, what am I to do with this gaggle of granddaughters? Go back to your husband. What family doesn’t have troubles? It’ll all be water under the bridge.” Mum believed in the motto: bite your lip, because a handsome husband is worth it. …A couple of days later, Igor showed up. That’s when I put my foot down. He remembered nothing of his violent ballet. He scoffed at my “tall tales.” But I was done. No ties left, bridges burned. I couldn’t imagine how I’d go on. But I decided it was better to starve and live than be killed by a drunken husband. I sold the café for a song to get us out of that town as quickly as possible. We settled in a tiny house in a neighbouring village. The older girls found jobs and, thank goodness, soon married. The twins were in Year Five. All my girls loved Daddy Igor and kept in touch with him, so I got news of him from them. Through my daughters, my ex-husband pleaded for me to return. They also begged, “Come on, Mum, give it a rest. Dad has learned his lesson—he’s said sorry a hundred times! Think of yourself—you’re not twenty-five anymore…” But I wouldn’t budge. I wanted a life in peace, with no wild drama. …Two years passed. I began to miss Igor. Loneliness gnawed at me. I had to pawn all the rings he’d ever given me and never did get them back. I began to reminisce about our old life. Our house was always full of love. In truth, Igor had loved all the girls equally, he pitied me and always knew how to apologise. We had been a model family. Everyone has their own happiness—you can’t compare. What more could I have wished for? Now, even my oldest girls just phone—they never visit. I understand: youth is youth. Soon, even my twins will spread their wings and leave the nest. I’ll be left all alone. Girls are like goslings—they grow feathers, then fly away. In the end, I asked the twins to find out how their father was really getting on. Maybe he had a new lady? The girls grilled Igor. It turned out he lived and worked in another city, hadn’t touched a drop, and was still single. He left the girls his precise address—just in case. And so, here we are, together again for five years. Told you—I’m an adventurer at heart…

MY HUSBAND MEANS MORE THAN BITTER GRIEVANCES

Simon, that was the final straw! Thats it were getting a divorce! Dont you get down on your knees now, as you always do it wont make a difference! I made it clear our marriage was over.

Simon, of course, didnt believe me. He thought everything would play out as usual hed beg for forgiveness, buy yet another ring, and Id forgive him. It had happened before. But this time, I truly meant to end things. My fingers, even the little ones, were covered in rings, but I had no real life. Simon was drinking heavily and constantly.

Yet, it all began so romantically.

My first husband, Edward, disappeared without a trace. This was back in the 90s, and life was frightening then. Edward was never one for compromise; he liked to challenge everyone for the sake of it. As the saying goes, Eagle eyes, midges wings. If things werent to his taste, hed start making a complete scene. So Im quite sure Edward was killed in some dodgy encounter I never heard a word from him again. I was left with two daughters. Lucy was five, Alice only two. Five years went by after his mysterious vanishing.

I thought Id lose my mind. I loved Edward deeply, despite his temper. We were inseparable, like two halves of one whole. I made peace with the thought that my life was over Id just raise my girls. I completely gave up on my own happiness.

Those tough times didnt spare me. I worked at a factory and, believe it or not, my wages came in toasters. I had to sell them just to buy groceries. At weekends, Id be at the market come rain, come shine. One winter, as I was shivering with cold, trying to sell toasters, a man approached me. He seemed to feel sorry for me.

Are you freezing, miss? he asked gently.

How could you tell? I tried to joke, though my teeth were chattering. Yet, standing near this stranger, a warmth spread through me.

I suppose its quite obvious, he said. Shall we go somewhere for a cup of tea to warm up? I can help carry your unsold toasters.

Alright, I murmured, barely able to speak from the cold. Otherwise, I really might freeze to death.

We never made it to a café. Instead, I walked him towards my flat, asking him to wait downstairs and watch my bag of toasters while I collected the girls from nursery. I hurried off my legs numb, but my soul strangely content. Returning with the children, I saw the man Simon, as he introduced himself smoking outside and shifting his weight from foot to foot. I thought, Ill invite him in for tea, and what will be, will be!

Simon helped me carry the bag up to the sixth floor the lift, of course, was broken. As I climbed with the girls to the third floor, Simon was already heading down.

Wait, my saviour! Are you leaving? I wont let you go until Ive given you a cup of hot tea! I said, grabbing the sleeve of Simons coat with my freezing hand.

Wont I be in the way? Simon looked anxiously at the children.

Not at all! Take the girls by the hand and Ill dash ahead to put the kettle on, I replied, unafraid.

I didnt want to let this man slip away. He already felt like someone I could trust. Over tea, Simon offered me a job as his assistant, the pay being far better than a years worth of toasters from the factory.

Of course, I nodded readily. I could have kissed his hands for such an offer.

Simon was going through a divorce with his second wife, from whom he had a son.

And so it began…

Before long, Simon and I were married. He adopted my girls. Life finally felt like it was in step. We bought a four-bedroom flat, fitted it out with the best furniture and appliances. Then we built a holiday cottage. Every year, we made sure to take a seaside holiday. Life was sweet, as they say.

Seven happy years went by. But perhaps, having achieved everything, Simon found himself turning more and more to drink. At first, I didnt react. I understood my husband worked hard, got tired, needed some escape. But when Simon started drinking heavily at work, I started to worry. No amount of talking helped.

I should say, Im a bit of a risk-taker. To distract Simon from his drinking, I decided to have a baby with him, even at thirty-nine. My friends werent even surprised.

Go for it, Sarah maybe well all think about having kids at forty! they laughed.

I always replied, If you dont have the baby, you might regret it forever but if you do, youll never be sorry, planned or not.

Simon and I had twins. Now we were raising four girls! Simon didnt stop drinking. I put up with it as best I could, and wanted us to move to the countryside for a quieter life. I thought itd be good for the childrens health, and Simon would be too busy for the bottle.

We sold our flat and cottage, and bought a house in a large village. We opened a splendid café. Simon became a keen hunter, bought a shotgun, and all sorts of gear good job the woods were full of game.

Things were more or less fine until yet another night when Simon came home drunk. What hed taken, Ill never know, but he went wild! He smashed all the dishes, broke the furniture, and even threatened us. He grabbed his shotgun and fired into the ceiling!

I took the children and ran to the neighbours to hide. It was horrific.

By morning, all was quiet. We crept back home. The sight inside wasnt for the faint-hearted. Pity the kids had to see it everything was broken and ruined, nowhere to sit, nothing to eat from, not even a bed to sleep on. Simon slept like the dead on the floor.

I gathered what was left and, with the girls, went to stay with my mum, who lived nearby in the same village.

Oh, Sarah, what am I supposed to do with your gaggle of girls? my mother wailed. Go back to your husband families go through all sorts. Itll pass.

Mum always said: As long as theres a man, the rest will work itself out.

A few days later, Simon turned up. Thats when I told him, once and for all, it was over. He didnt even remember his mad performance didnt believe my stories at all. Honestly, by then, I didnt care. Id cut all ties. The bridges were burned.

I had no idea how Id carry on. But I decided better to go hungry but alive, than be killed by a drunken husband.

I had to sell the café for next to nothing because I was desperate to leave, and took the girls to a tiny cottage in a neighbouring village.

The older girls got jobs, and, thank heavens, soon were married with husbands of their own.

The twins were in Year 5. All my daughters loved their stepdad and kept in touch, so I always heard the latest about Simon. Through them, he begged me to return. The girls urged me too, Mum, stop being so stubborn Dads asked for forgiveness a hundred times! Think of yourself, youre not twenty-five anymore… But I stood firm. I craved peace, no dramas or crises.

Two years passed.

I started missing Simon. Loneliness gnawed at me. I had to pawn all the rings hed given me, and never managed to buy them back. Such a shame. I began thinking over the past. Thered been love in our home. Simon loved all the girls equally, cared about me, knew when to apologise. Ours had been a good family. You cant envy someone elses happiness, its not yours to have. What more could one want?

Now, all the older girls just call occasionally theyre too busy. I get it; youth has its day. And soon enough, the twins will fly the nest, and Ill be left alone. Daughters, like goslings, get their feathers and take off.

So, I told the twins to find out more about their dad his life, if hed met anyone new. They questioned Simon and found out hed moved to another city, working and hadnt touched a drop since. No new woman hes single. He even gave the girls his exact address, just in case…

Long story short, weve now been back together for five years.

I told you, Im an adventurer…