A young man, staggering slightly, approached a beggar. It was clear the youth was quite drunk. With a sneer, he kicked the bowl of coins, sending them clattering in all directions. An elderly woman passing by glanced at the scattered coins, then at the disabled man in the wheelchair, and muttered irritably:
— Look at all these beggars multiplying. Pretending to be cripples. What you need is a dose of tough discipline to knock the nonsense out of your heads.
She walked on, continuing her monologue to herself.
Nick swallowed his hurt and, with difficulty, leaned down to gather the coins with his frozen hands. He needed to get home. There were few people on the street, and today’s takings were meager—barely enough for a loaf of bread. Snow began to fall, swirling in the gusts of wind, its sharp flakes stinging his frozen cheeks. Common sense told him his earnings for the day were done. The rare passersby hurried to their warm apartments, paying no attention to the disabled man picking up change from the ground.
The young man struggled to turn the wheels of his wheelchair. His knitted gloves were soaked through, as were his feet in his old boots. If only he could get to a warm radiator, thaw out, and think of nothing bad. He just wanted warmth and peace, even without dinner. Anything to avoid the reproachful looks and poorly hidden disdain of those around him.
But peace at home was a distant dream. His mother-in-law, Ellen, and her latest lover were throwing another raucous drinking party. The pair, well into their cups, laughed loudly at the kitchen table. There was no other way to describe it—forgive me, horses.
Ellen Parker was already sixty, but that didn’t stop her from taking a forty-year-old lover. An older woman trying to look thirty, she dyed her hair blonde, caked her face with makeup, and thought she’d shed two decades. She believed alcohol and boisterous laughter would make her pass for a young woman worthy of her freeloader.
Her lover, likely not fond of work, had settled comfortably under the wing of his aging “sugar mama.” As they say, they were a perfect match.
Nick couldn’t influence his mother-in-law. She’d changed drastically after burying her only daughter. At first, their shared grief had brought them closer, but then strange transformations began in Ellen. She started obsessively caring for her appearance and bringing younger men into the house, each one younger than the last.
At first, Nick didn’t mind too much. Everyone copes with stress differently. After all, besides losing her beloved daughter, she had to care for her disabled son-in-law. Their situation was a stalemate: Ellen had no home of her own, and Nick needed care after the hospital. It was a mutually beneficial arrangement.
Thanks to friends, they’d chipped in to buy Nick a wheelchair. He wasn’t bedridden, after all. But Ellen soon grew tired of supporting him on her pension. Though Nick also received a disability pension, she considered it pennies. She quickly forgot she was living in his apartment.
After some thought, she decided, why keep a stranger when she could have her own man? She moved her lover in, and a wild, carefree life began from morning to night.
One day, Ellen issued an ultimatum:
— I’m not feeding a freeloader anymore! Be grateful I didn’t abandon you when you were paralyzed and couldn’t even control yourself. If you want to eat, go beg. The wheelchair works, and you look the part. People around here are soft-hearted; they won’t let you starve.
— Ellen, I could never beg, — Nick said bitterly, hearing her accusation. — I’ve never asked for anything in my life. And who’d give me anything? They’d just mock me, saying a young guy like me should work. I can’t explain to everyone that I can’t feel my legs.
— I can’t feed you on my measly pension. I’m not a charity. And I’m not obligated to spend my life on a former son-in-law in a wheelchair!
— And I’m supposed to stay quiet while you’ve lived in my house for years without paying a dime for utilities, — Nick reminded her.
— I’m practically your servant! Ungrateful cripple, you could at least say thank you! I got you back on your feet, I cook, I clean, — Ellen shouted. — Who else would bother with you? You’d starve without me!
Arguing with her was pointless. Nick didn’t mention the constant mess in the house or that she cooked only once a week on weekends. He lacked the resolve to stand up for his rights and felt pity for the elderly woman.
A year passed. Ellen had disliked Nick from the start. She’d subtly turned her daughter against him. Right after the wedding, she began nagging about buying a country house. That they had no money for it didn’t concern her much. Nick realized the hint was aimed at him to take out a loan. The upside was that Ellen planned to live at the country house, which suited him and his wife.
He went along with it, but on that fateful day, he was firmly against driving to see the house Ellen had picked out. The roads were icy, and wet snow was falling. Ellen insisted…
Nick didn’t want to recall the day the car skidded under a five-ton truck. His wife, Laura, died at the scene, and he was rushed to the hospital. Coma, two months paralyzed. Friends helped however they could, but full recovery was impossible. After the hospital, Ellen sighed but took on caring for her sick son-in-law.
Nick didn’t blame her for what happened. You can’t escape fate. That’s how it was meant to be. But after the accident, he often wondered: How would their lives have turned out without that crash?
He remained grateful to Ellen. There was a time he couldn’t even use the bathroom alone, and she was there. Now he could move in the wheelchair and cook for himself. Thanks to friends, they’d bought the wheelchair and built a ramp for it.
After high school, Nick had studied cooking at a community college. He graduated, worked as a waiter in a well-known restaurant, and later rose to head chef. Before the tragedy, he’d dreamed of opening his own restaurant. Now he was jobless. Who needs a chef in a wheelchair? He tried getting into computers, but it wasn’t his thing. He couldn’t even set anything up.
Ellen nagged him until he took a bowl and went to beg at the subway entrance. He didn’t even ask—just placed the bowl on the pavement and sat in his wheelchair until his spine ached. People gave little, and the local mafia wasn’t asleep. Two men, nearly six feet tall, approached and told him how much to pay for the spot. They didn’t explain the consequences of not paying—it was obvious.
Two days later, Nick realized he couldn’t even earn enough to cover the spot’s fee. He didn’t know how to hold out his hand or bow and plead. So he moved to a quieter spot near an underpass.
Police patrols soon drove him away. He didn’t want to go home, where arguments reeked. So he chose a spot near a store. A few coins were tossed his way, but the weather turned bad. Time to head home.
The door didn’t open right away; he waited ten minutes.
— Done working already? — Ellen smirked, displeased.
— Bad weather—snow’s piling up, — Nick explained, handing over a handful of change.
— Give it here. That’s it? Not even enough for a loaf of bread! You should’ve kept working, not come home!
— It’s never enough for you, — Nick pushed past her and wheeled to the kitchen.
Uncle Mike, in just his underwear, held a glass of brandy in his right hand. On the table were sliced ham, cheese, and pickles. A plate of bread sat at the edge. Nick took a piece of bread, added a slice of juicy ham, but when he reached for the cheese, Ellen snatched the plate away.
— You didn’t earn cheese today! Be thankful for the bread and ham, — she said, pushing his wheelchair toward the door. — Why’d you give him ham?
— Let him eat; he’s so skinny. Might keel over otherwise, — her lover chuckled.
Nick shivered. Hours sitting in the cold, barely moving. He forced down the sandwich and wrapped himself in a warm blanket.
Morning came, and as usual, Ellen woke him. At six a.m., she roused him like it was a job. While she and her lover drank away their pensions, Nick sat in the cold from morning to night, collecting money. At home, they “welcomed” him to take his earnings. That’s how they lived.
Police raids paused, and Nick returned to his spot by the underpass. That cold winter evening, he was about to head home when he saw her. It was Vicky, his old college friend. Back in school, they’d dated. Their feelings were pure and mutual. Victoria had even introduced him to her parents. But her parents opposed their marriage. Back then, he had nothing—no money, no home, just a job as a waiter.
Vicky’s mother didn’t want her daughter living in a dorm and scraping by. She gave her an ultimatum: if they married, she’d offer no help. She scared Vicky with a future as a dishwasher in a café. Young and naive, Vicky, used to comfort, feared adult life, and Nick lacked the courage to insist. So they parted.
He’d feared he couldn’t provide for a family, and she worried their love would crash against the rocks of hardship. For years, he knew nothing of her life.
Today, seeing her in the crowd, he felt unbearable shame for his weakness and folly. Six months after their breakup, he’d found a good job and paid off an apartment loan. He’d lost his love six years ago over his own stupidity.
He tried pulling his hat over his forehead to avoid recognition, but it didn’t work. Vicky approached and extended her hand.
— Hi, Nick! — Her blue eyes looked into his soul. — How are you? Do you need help?
Nick hid the bowl under his coat and shook her hand.
— Everything’s fine. Just heading home… — he stumbled, — I mean, wheeling home.
— Calm down! — Victoria said firmly. — What’s this? Why? — She pointed at the bowl peeking from under his coat. — What happened to you? Tell me everything, I’ll understand…
— Your mother was right, — Nick said quietly with a sad smile. — I really am a complete failure.
He couldn’t stop looking at this lovely girl in a designer winter coat. She radiated care and prosperity. Her fluffy hat barely contained her wavy hair. And him? He saw himself and her as if from the outside. She was a beauty, and he was a repulsive wreck. A disabled man in a tattered second-hand jacket Ellen had deliberately torn for “effect,” in an old wheelchair. He wanted to sink through the earth.
— Want to take a walk? — Vicky suggested casually, grabbing the wheelchair’s handles without waiting for an answer.
— I need to get home, — Nick tried to object.
— What’s the difference? — Vicky laughed brightly, confidently pushing him forward, weaving through passersby.
Later, they sat in a café, drinking hot coffee with milk. They talked a lot, looked into each other’s eyes, and held hands. She’d married a wealthy businessman six months after their breakup, at her mother’s urging. But there was no love or marriage. He wanted a trophy wife to spark envy in his friends and boost his image.
Vicky grew used to his affairs. He was wealthy and didn’t mistreat her. She lacked for nothing—except love and understanding. Her husband was always nervous, fearing something. On his last business trip, he didn’t return. Found shot outside the city. The killer was never caught, as expected. Rumors said he’d crossed competitors. At twenty-two, Vicky became a wealthy widow. She lived apart from her mother, speaking only when necessary. She decided to live alone, without men or love.
Nick briefly shared about his marriage, the accident, his disability, and the reasons he’d ended up like this.
— How can you let her treat you like that? — Victoria fumed. — It’s vile to torment someone like that!
— Nick, you’re a kind and good person, but your softness isn’t your best trait. You need to show some backbone and kick your mother-in-law out. Why keep that leech? You can handle life’s challenges yourself.
— Vicky, I feel sorry for her. Ellen helped me get back on my feet. And she’s alone, having lost her only daughter, — he tried to argue.
— Alone? She’s shameless—bringing a young lover into her former son-in-law’s home at her age! You’re out of your mind! She worked in government; her pension’s probably huge. Let her feed her freeloader and buy his liquor. You’re carrying parasites! Let them rent a place; they can afford it. If not, her lover can get a job, — Vicky raged.
— Maybe you’re right, — Nick said thoughtfully.
— Not maybe—act! Make them pack their bags today. And don’t give up. You went from bedridden to a wheelchair; that’s progress! You can do rehab at a special center and walk again. Ever heard of Nick Vujicic? Born without arms or legs, yet he built a career, married, raised kids, and now helps people worldwide take control and not give up! — Her confidence made Nick feel ashamed.
How had he sunk so low? Imagining himself in a wheelchair, begging into old age, made him sick.
After that chance meeting, they started seeing each other. Nick found a fierce desire to change his life. He was only thirty-one, with his whole life ahead.
The wake-up call spurred action. One evening, Nick returned with a police officer and two workers in overalls.
— What’s going on? How could you? — Ellen stammered, listening to the officer.
Nick directed the workers on which furniture to load into the truck.
— This is your gratitude for all I’ve done? — Ellen wailed, realizing she was being evicted.
— As thanks, I’ve rented you a one-bedroom apartment for a month and paid for moving your furniture. Figure it out from there, — Nick said firmly.
In Ellen’s presence, a locksmith changed the front door’s locks.
— Slam the door when you leave, — Nick said, wheeling outside.
Ellen stood at the window, still in disbelief. A sleek foreign car pulled up. A slim girl jumped out and helped Nick into the back seat.
— Lady, wake up! Everything loaded? — a worker snapped her out of it.
Tears in her eyes, Ellen packed her things. Her lover showed up, and she threw herself at him, complaining about Nick’s betrayal. But his response stunned her. Learning she was moving to a rented one-bedroom on the city’s edge, he snapped:
— Who needs an old fool like you without an apartment? I’ll find a younger woman with a place. You’re not the only one, — he said, brushing her off with disgust.
— What about me? What about us? — Ellen sobbed.
Instead of help, her ex-lover grabbed his things, called a taxi, and left. Her tears and pleas didn’t move him.
Two hours later, after his date with Vicky, Nick returned home. Ellen had obediently left and locked the door. A new door to a new future opened for him. First, he focused on his legs. He found a good doctor at a private clinic and booked an appointment. He feared hearing his hopes were futile, but Vicky supported him.
Everything worked out. He passed all tests, underwent a full exam, and got a positive prognosis from the doctors. They recommended a complex surgery with a 95% chance he’d walk again. The problem was the cost. He couldn’t delay; in a year, the damage to his spine and joints could be irreversible.
Nick decided to sell the house. He saw no other way. He’d tell Vicky after the surgery. He wasn’t afraid to start over. He’d earn enough for a new place eventually, living in a dorm for now.
He barely admitted to himself his new goal: to win Vicky’s heart. He’d realized his feelings for her were rekindling. But she acted like they were just friends, which saddened him, and he didn’t know how to act.
Six months later, Nick sold the house to a young family with three kids, no regrets. The surgery was successful, and two weeks later, he left the hospital. Vicky came to the dorm and insisted he move in with her, especially since he needed care and rehab. Two months of her love and care worked wonders. He stood shakily, then took his first steps—first with a cane, then on his own.
Secretly, he bought a ring and ordered a bouquet. The day came when he proposed. Vicky said yes without hesitation, admitting she’d loved only him all these years.
Two years later, the couple opened their own restaurant. Nick did what he loved, while Vicky handled administrative and accounting tasks. Ellen never called or reached out. Nick heard from friends she’d turned to faith and planned to join a convent.
Vicky’s mother adored her new son-in-law and stayed out of their lives, fearing she’d push her daughter away again. With grandchildren on the horizon, who better to babysit than Grandma?
One chance meeting changed everything.
As an old Chinese legend says: “An invisible red thread connects two people destined to meet. Time, place, and circumstances don’t matter. The thread may stretch or tangle, but it will never break.” What’s meant to happen will, despite any obstacles.
Or, as a Russian proverb puts it, short and true: “What’s meant to be will not be avoided.” In any situation, stay human and don’t fear life’s challenges.
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