When I married Olivia, her older daughter was three years old, and her younger one was one and a half. I always saw them as my own children… After the death of my beloved wife, her erratic sister wanted to take my girls away from me…
— Hello, Olivia… — I brushed birch catkins off the gravestone and placed the flowers. — Here, your favorite daffodils…
I sat on the bench, pulled a cigarette from the pack, and quickly tucked it back: my wife was so happy when I quit smoking… But after her death, I relapsed.
— Olivia, I swear, I’ll quit again! — I promised guiltily, slipping the pack into my pocket.
She smiled at me from the photograph, and when a loved one smiles like that, you simply can’t betray them.
— Starting today… Not a single puff ever again!
When I brought Olivia’s photograph to the engraver, he turned it over in his hands for a long time.
— Don’t you have another one? — he asked.
— Of course, I do. But I want this one… What’s wrong with it?
— The deceased looks awfully cheerful. People don’t usually put photos like this on gravestones.
— There are strict rules for passport photos, but here… let her remain as she was in life.
— Your call, — the engraver gave in. — What epitaph are we engraving?
— Loved and remembered…
— Mourned, — the man added, nodding knowingly.
— No ‘mourned,’ — I objected. — Just ‘loved and remembered.’
The engraver looked at me with disdain, probably thinking I was some cheapskate trying to save on the inscription. I didn’t explain that it wasn’t about saving money. The pain in my soul doesn’t need to be put on display, and Grace and Violet, at their age, don’t need to mourn. It’s enough for them to simply love and remember their mother.
The girls still haven’t recovered from the shock of Olivia’s death, even though a year has passed. They cry often, only fall asleep with a nightlight on, and won’t let me out of their sight. And they constantly ask:
— Daddy, do you feel okay? Nothing hurts? They won’t take you to the hospital, will they?
I assure them I’m healthy as an ox and will live to a hundred, but they don’t believe me. If their cheerful, vibrant mommy burned out from lymphoma in just four months, then something similar could happen to me. Children shouldn’t be preoccupied with death, but mine have a painful fixation on it.
— Daddy, do all people die? — seven-year-old Violet asks.
I want to lie, but I can’t. It’s impossible!
— Yes, everyone, — I admit.
— And if you die too, will Grace and I be sent to an orphanage? — her little chin starts to tremble.
Any moment now, she’ll cry.
— Oh, sweetheart, what orphanage? — I pull Violet close, kissing her light brown hair. — First, you have your grandparents, and second, I promised your mommy I’d only die after I walk you both down the aisle, meet my grandkids, and help raise them. But by then, I’ll be so old you’ll easily manage without me.
— Really?! — she’s not smiling yet, but her lips no longer quiver, calming down.
— Really.
— Are we going to the zoo tomorrow? — she shifts to a normal kid topic.
— I’d rather go to the amusement park, — Grace declares.
She just walked into the living room with a notebook in hand—probably struggling with another math problem.
— The zoo! — Violet insists.
— No! We’re going to ride the Ferris wheel!
— I don’t want to!
— That’s because you’re a scaredy-cat and afraid of heights!
— Ladies, no arguing, — I step into their dispute. — We have two solutions. First, we flip a coin. Second, we combine the zoo with rides and carousels.
— Combine! Definitely combine! — the girls shout in unison, jumping around me like two little goats.
My heart aches: how much they both resemble their mother! Especially when they smile.
I glanced at my watch and stood up from the bench:
— Olivia, I have to go… In forty minutes, I need to pick the girls up from school. They’re such smarties, and their teachers praise them. Violet has her first rhythmic gymnastics competition next week, so we’ll have another medalist in the family. And Grace got an A in math yesterday. Don’t worry, we’re doing okay…
I waved goodbye to my wife’s photograph as if she were alive.
“Yes, things are more or less okay now,” I thought, heading toward the cemetery exit. “But how much trouble Julia caused me before it all settled!”
Julia is my Olivia’s sister. I can’t fathom how two such different daughters grew up in the same family. One was kind, positive, and sincere, while the other… I don’t even have polite words to describe my sister-in-law. When my wife was alive, I barely knew Julia—over all the years of our marriage, I saw her only a few times when she came to borrow money. Of course, it surprised me that she was so indifferent to her nieces—never taking them out, not even giving a small gift for birthdays or Christmas… Olivia, always defending and excusing everyone, would say:
— Once Julia has her own kids, she’ll learn to love them, and then she’ll care about others too. For now, she just doesn’t know how.
I stayed quiet to avoid upsetting my wife, but I thought to myself that Julia couldn’t love anyone but herself. And I reassured myself: “At the end of the day, she’s none of my concern!”
Even in my worst nightmares, I couldn’t imagine that three years later, my sister-in-law would have business with me. And what business it was!
Julia didn’t contribute a dime to the funeral, though she managed to show up at the cemetery to say goodbye to her sister. On the ninth day, she had urgent matters, but on the fortieth day, she appeared. She waited until everyone who came to honor Olivia had left, then walked into the kitchen where I was washing dishes. I thought she might offer to help, but I was wrong…
— Victor, pack the girls’ things. Just the essentials for now; Tony will come for the rest later (Tony is her husband, whom I’ve never even laid eyes on).
— What for? — I didn’t understand.
— Grace and Violet will live with me now.
— On what grounds?
— Because I’m their real aunt, and you’re nobody!
— Alright, auntie, time to hit the road! — I grabbed her by the shoulders and practically shoved her out of the apartment.
Yes, I was harsh. Maybe you shouldn’t treat women like that. But in that moment, I was so outraged I could barely think straight. To say I’m nobody to my girls!
— Jerk! — Julia yelled, calling the elevator. — I should’ve brought Tony to deal with you like a man! Don’t worry, he’ll knock some sense into you yet!
— Say hi to Tony! — I roared, slamming the door.
…
For a while, I avoided walking through deserted areas. One-on-one, I might handle Julia’s husband, but if he brought friends?… I couldn’t afford to end up in the hospital—not now, when the girls needed me more than ever.
But Julia chose another tactic. Soon, I received a court summons regarding the guardianship of minors Grace and Violet. Julia came prepared for war—she showed up with a lawyer who very professionally outlined the claims. He spoke at length and eloquently, but in short, his argument was this: the children would undoubtedly be better off living with their aunt’s full family rather than with a lonely stepfather who, after his wife’s death, had fallen into a prolonged drinking binge.
The judge (a middle-aged woman) looked at me closely, assessing. I didn’t look my best: I’d lost weight recently, my face was gaunt, with dark circles under my eyes. But I didn’t resemble a chronic drunk, and the judge could tell (her eyes gave it away). Meanwhile, Julia’s lawyer passed some documents to the court through the bailiff.
— These only include the housing inspection report, your income statement, medical certificates from a narcologist and psychiatrist, and a character reference from your workplace, — the judge addressed Julia. — Where are your husband’s documents?
— I’ll be the guardian of my nieces, not my husband. Besides, Tony is… temporarily unemployed.
— How long has he been out of work?
— Three years. But he’s looking!
— Your monthly salary is… — the judge glanced at one of the papers, — fifteen thousand dollars. Do you believe this is enough to support two children?
— For children, money isn’t the most important thing—love and care are! — Julia replied with pathos.
Then she added:
— Besides, as their guardian, I’ll receive benefits for my nieces, and altogether, that’s enough for the four of us to live comfortably.
Her lawyer winced and tugged at her sleeve, signaling her to stop talking. But she was on a roll:
— It’s even good that my husband isn’t working. Someone will be there to look after the girls. But this… defendant… — she shot me a hateful glance, — he sits in an office from morning till night, leaving the kids to fend for themselves!
— That’s not true! — I blurted out.
The judge, calling for order, struck her gavel but gave me the floor:
— Clarify what exactly is untrue.
— I’m a graphic designer by profession. After my wife’s death, I arranged with the publishing house to work from home—remotely.
— How much do you earn?
— My salary is forty-five thousand dollars, and I make about twenty thousand more freelancing each month.
— You can’t give him the children! — Julia screeched, jumping up.
The judge’s gavel slammed down hard on the wooden block.
— Plaintiff, if you behave like this again, I’ll have you removed from the courtroom, — she said sternly, then turned to me:
— Continue…
— I married their mother when Violet was only one and a half and Grace was three. I adopted them almost immediately.
— Officially?
I nodded:
— Yes, officially. But after we married, my wife didn’t change her last name or the girls’. I didn’t insist. My last name isn’t very pleasant-sounding, and I didn’t want them teased at school. When they get their IDs, they can decide whether to take mine or not.
— Why is there no mention of the adoption in the case file?
I shrugged:
— I don’t know. You should ask Grace and Violet who they want to live with.
— I object, Your Honor, — the lawyer interjected. — Children can only…
— I know the law, — the judge cut him off, — but I’d still like to speak with the girls.
— They’re in the hallway with their godmother and a psychologist, — I offered.
— Thirty-minute recess.
…
I stepped out to smoke on the courthouse steps. Julia and her lawyer were talking nearby (they didn’t see me).
— Why didn’t you tell me your nieces were adopted by their stepfather? — the lawyer grumbled. — I would’ve refused this case.
— I didn’t know myself!
— You can consider this case lost. And one more thing. You mentioned suing over your sister’s inheritance? I’m warning you, you have no chance there either.
Right after the recess, the court’s decision was announced: the plaintiff’s claim was denied.
I pulled up to the school just as my “sweet duo” stepped outside. Seeing me, the girls ran toward me with joyful squeals, hanging onto my neck from both sides, their legs dangling in the air. My beloved, my own… I won’t let anyone take you away!!!
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