— Where are you wandering off to again? You’re only good for fetching death itself!
Mary flinched in fear. What had she done wrong this time? She’d gone, fetched, and brought back exactly what was asked.
— Mrs. Lydia, I gave you everything, showed you everything.
— Are you completely daft? I told you, you bought the wrong thing. Get back there!
At times, Mary felt like she was in a fairy tale, but not the kind where good triumphs over evil. No, this was a tale where evil had firmly taken root, and good would never prevail.
She was Cinderella, indeed. Her father was kind but spineless. Her stepmother was the classic wicked shrew, despising her weak-willed husband’s daughter while doting on her own. Mary knew her story wouldn’t have a happy ending, no prince to sweep her away. She didn’t even have a fairy godmother. So she lived, a timid, beaten-down girl, dreaming of miracles at night and rising at dawn to her stepmother’s shrill commands. Even before school, she was saddled with household chores. School was her only respite, where she threw herself into studies with fervor, eagerly staying late for electives. But evenings brought the same barking orders:
— Where are the peeled apples for the compote? I told you this morning to prepare everything. Where’s the blue dress? Did you forget to iron it, or are your hands just useless? Why is the pantry dusty? You were supposed to scrub it last week! Why did you turn on the dishwasher? Can’t you wash dishes yourself, you freeloader? Do you want your father to overpay for electricity?
It was always like this, no matter where Mary was—her room, the garden, the greenhouse. It seemed her stepmother’s mission was to deny her a moment’s peace, always finding something, anything, for her to do, even if it was pointless. Her father, a soft, spineless man, pitied her. Sometimes he’d quietly slip her some money, urging her to hide it, as if terrified his wife would catch him showing his daughter any kindness and spark another tirade.
Mary endured this until graduation. Without asking anyone’s permission, she left her village for the city, where she easily enrolled in a tailoring school. At last, her life was free—truly free. No one ordered her around, forced her to do things, or dictated her every move. She loved sharing a dorm room with another girl, deciding for herself what to do, what to wear, where to go. Her meager stipend, though small, let her buy the food she liked and COOK only for herself. Without constant humiliation, she blossomed. Watching her roommates, she began caring for her appearance, grew prettier, and started noticing boys.
One day, her roommate asked her to step out for a couple of hours so she could spend time alone with her boyfriend. Mary agreed and headed to the park, where she often sat by the swan pond, soaking in the beauty of nature, relishing the solitude and quiet. Checking her watch and figuring enough time had passed for her roommate’s rendezvous, she got up and left the park.
As Mary stepped onto the road, tires screeched. In a daze, she saw a car speeding toward her. At the last second, the driver swerved, clipping her slightly—but it was enough to send her crashing to the asphalt, crying out in pain. A young man leaped out of the car, rushing to her side in a panic.
— Are you okay?
— No, — Mary said through tears. — Not okay. My leg hurts…
— Don’t worry, I’ll get you to the hospital right now, — he said, scooping her up and gently placing her in the back seat of his car.
He sped off. At the hospital, doctors examined her leg, diagnosed a closed fracture, set the bone, and put on a cast. The young man paced the hospital corridor anxiously, glancing at the operating room. When Mary, now in a cast, was wheeled out to a ward, he rushed to her side.
— Well? Anything serious?
Only now did Mary notice how young and strikingly handsome the driver was. She smiled.
— A fracture.
— Phew… Thank God, — he sighed with relief, then quickly corrected himself. — I mean, that’s awful, I’m so sorry. My brakes failed.
— It’s okay, — Mary waved it off. — These things happen, unfortunately. It’s not your fault.
— Thank you! What’s your name? I’m Alex.
— I’m Mary.
They laughed at the rhyme.
From that day, Alexander visited Mary in the hospital every day, bringing fruit and flowers, spending hours by her bedside. They found endless things to talk about. Alex shared stories of his university life, Mary of her tailoring school. But when Alex spoke about his family, Mary steered clear of the topic, and he didn’t press, sensing it was painful.
When Mary was discharged, Alex drove her to her dorm and turned off the engine. He said:
— Mary, I’ve grown so attached to you these past months. Can we keep seeing each other? I can’t imagine life without our talks.
— Of course, Alex. I’d love that!
Mary felt it too—she was falling in love. This was her first real, overwhelming feeling in a life that had been so empty and bleak.
As time passed, after many dates, Alex confessed his love and proposed. Mary didn’t hesitate to say yes, soaring with happiness. A handsome, wealthy fiancé—she hadn’t dared dream of such a thing. They were in love.
But when Alex told his mother, a nasty surprise awaited.
— Over my dead body! — his mother exploded. — You want us to tie ourselves to that unpolished country girl? Us, respectable, wealthy people? Does she even know which hand holds the fork and which the knife? Don’t get me started on her education—a seamstress! No! That’s my final word! No, no, no!
— Fine, Mom! If you insist, we won’t invite you to the wedding, — Alex said, turning and walking out.
His mother realized arguing was futile and decided to scheme. One day, a stranger, visibly pregnant, burst into Mary’s dorm room without knocking. Mary was alone, and the woman immediately attacked.
— So you’re the one my Alex is fooling around with? What a parasite! I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve fought with him, and he still won’t stop chasing skirts! Our son’s due soon, and this so-called father can’t settle down. Aren’t you ashamed, stealing other women’s men?
Mary whispered, stunned:
— But I didn’t know… He proposed to me…
— Typical. Every time he wants to get a girl into bed, he promises marriage. Now you see—he’ll never marry you. Our wedding’s in two weeks. We want to tie the knot before the baby’s born, so our son’s legitimate. Consider yourself warned!
The woman stormed out, slamming the door.
Mary sat, reeling from the news. Tears streamed down her face, unnoticed. How could this be? He’d declared his love, seemed so sincere, so caring. What was wrong with her? Why did every misfortune fall on her head? This betrayal was the final blow. Numbly, she packed her few belongings, wrote a farewell note to her roommate, and headed to the station to catch the last bus back to her village.
Mary’s village was large compared to others, just a short distance from the city. A few years earlier, a textile factory had been built on its outskirts, and most girls, after finishing school, went to tailoring school and returned to work at the factory.
Though Mary hadn’t completed her course, she got a job at the factory. She knew the basics of sewing, and her natural talent shone through—she’d loved cutting and stitching since childhood. Work offered a brief escape, dulling the pain of Alex’s betrayal. But after hours, hell resumed. Her stepmother, Lydia, was relentless, as if she’d spent Mary’s time in the city bottling up rage to unleash now. She never left Mary alone, always finding new tasks and hurling fresh insults. Unsurprisingly, Mary lingered at work, taking extra shifts, side jobs, and helping with factory events.
One morning at breakfast, Mary was hit with violent nausea and bolted from the table. When she returned, she realized the real torment was about to begin. And it did.
“Bringing shame on us!” was the mildest of Lydia’s insults.
— How dare you disgrace us in front of the whole village? It’s clear what you were up to in the city. Now we can’t walk down the street without people pointing, laughing, and spitting at us! The moment you pop out that bastard, you’re out of this house!
Life became unbearable. Endless humiliation at home, grueling factory work, constant nausea, and aching exhaustion wore Mary down. Then news spread that the factory’s management was changing. Rumor had it a young, unmarried man was the new director. The female workforce came alive. Women and girls bloomed, dressing up, styling elaborate hairdos, and whispering in every corner.
That day, Mary felt especially ill. During the lunch break, all workers were called to the courtyard to meet the new director. When Mary saw the man step out of the car, it was like déjà vu. The world spun, and she nearly fainted.
The new director stood before the women and spoke:
— Good afternoon, esteemed workers! Let’s get acquainted. I’m Alexander Gregory, your new director. I hope we’ll get along.
His gaze landed on Mary, and he froze, speechless. Unable to hold back, Mary pushed through the crowd, ran past the gate, and fled home. At home, her heart pounding wildly, she leaned against the wall. Lydia emerged from the kitchen, eyeing her suspiciously.
— What trouble did you cause now? You’re pale as a ghost! Don’t you dare give birth in my house—go to the hospital! Or did they fire you? Mark my words, I won’t tolerate freeloaders!
A knock came at the door, and Alexander appeared.
— Hello, Mary! Care to explain?
— And who are you? — Lydia snapped. — Mary’s boyfriend or something?
— Mrs. Lydia, this is our new director, Alexander Gregory, — Mary replied wearily.
Lydia transformed instantly.
— Oh, what an important guest! Please, come in, — she fussed. — What’s my stepdaughter done now? No managing her, I swear. Don’t worry, I’ll set her straight.
— Enough, madam, — Alexander grimaced. — I’m here to speak with Mary privately. Leave us, please.
— Of course, of course, I’m going. Call if you need anything, — Lydia left, but curiosity got the better of her, and she left the door ajar.
— Mary, don’t you have anything to say?
Mary took a deep breath and sat, trying to steady her trembling knees.
— What could I say? I’ve done nothing wrong.
— Nothing? I’m planning a wedding with the girl I love, and she vanishes without a trace… I didn’t even know your address. You think that’s normal?
— What else could I do? — Mary sobbed quietly. — I didn’t want to ruin your life. Your fiancée was about to give birth. How could a child grow up without a father? She told me everything.
Alex stared, dumbfounded.
— What are you talking about, Mary? What fiancée? What child?
Sobbing and wiping tears with her palm, Mary recounted her conversation with the stranger.
Alex suddenly understood—his mother’s meddling—and laughed with relief.
— My love, there was never a fiancée, and there still isn’t. I love you, Mary!
— Mrs. Lydia, come here! Mary’s not well!
Mary went pale and began sliding off the chair. Lydia, who’d overheard everything, rushed in, shouting:
— What are you standing there for? Call an ambulance—she’s in labor!
Alex, horrified, looked at the groaning Mary, scooped her up without a word, and carried her to his car. Settling her in the back seat, he quipped softly:
— I feel like my whole life is just rushing you to hospitals. Hang in there, my love. I’ll get you to the maternity ward in no time.
Mary was in labor for hours. Alex paced the hospital corridor, too anxious to sit. Finally, a midwife emerged, smiling.
— Congratulations, Daddy! You’ve got a healthy, beautiful son!
The next day, when Alex was allowed to visit, he arrived with fruit, flowers, and toys for his son, just like the first time.
— Mary, can I see our son?
Mary laughed happily.
— How are you so sure he’s yours? — She gestured to the crib beside her. — Quiet, though. He just ate and fell asleep.
Alex gazed at the sleeping baby, gently touching his tiny hands and feet. He turned to Mary, who watched him with love.
— No denying it—he’s my spitting image. Now will you marry me?
— Of course, Alex! As your so-called fiancée said, a son should be born in wedlock. We’re just a bit late.
Straight from the hospital, Alex brought Mary to his apartment. Mary sighed with relief, learning they’d live alone—just her, her love, and their son.
Mary didn’t want a big wedding. They quietly signed the registry at City Hall and celebrated at home in their kitchen.
From that moment, Mary’s hardships ended. She was happy with a man who’d never hurt or betray her, who’d always protect her. She made one rule for herself: never blindly trust anyone and always seek the truth.
No comments