From childhood, my mother raised me to be a princess, instilling proper manners and enrolling me in English classes and acrobatics. In school, I became deeply passionate about competitive ballroom dancing. Dancing was a part of me. Even when I felt unwell and said, “Mom, I’m not going to school, my throat hurts,” she would reply, “Then you’re not going to practice either.” Those words worked like magic—I’d instantly feel better because missing a dance session was unthinkable.
At school, I didn’t get along with my classmates. The girls and boys didn’t understand my passion, and I couldn’t comprehend how they could spend entire evenings sitting on benches, drinking beer, and cracking sunflower seeds. I moved in a completely different circle with entirely different interests.
After graduating high school, I enrolled in a sports college, planning to become a dance instructor. But life took a different turn. Through a connection, I landed a job at a bar. I started juggling nighttime bartending shifts with my studies and dance practices. There, I met a group of guys shaped by the streets. I don’t know what happened to me, but my interests changed drastically. I abandoned dancing, which I had dedicated ten years of my life to, and began skipping college classes. Soon, I was at risk of being expelled and even ended up at the police station for disorderly conduct. I managed to earn my diploma, but it was a struggle. On the bright side, I visited nearly every nightclub in the city and attended countless parties!
During this chaotic period, my mother received a call from her friend Emily, who was lamenting her lack of a personal life and asked my mom to accompany her to a fortune-teller for moral support. My mother agreed and, while there, decided to have her own reading. She was deeply worried about me at the time. Showing the fortune-teller my photo, she asked what the woman could tell her about me. The response was verbatim:
— The girl was involved in some kind of sport; I see pain in her knee (I had indeed injured my knee during a dance practice, and it still bothers me). She’s fallen in with a bad crowd—keep her away from them. She’ll have two marriages: the first will fail, the second will be happy.
No matter how hard my mother tried to steer me back on track, warning me that I was hanging out with the wrong people, I wouldn’t listen. I was drawn to the bar crowd like a magnet. At 22, I announced the “joyful” news to her: I was marrying Steven, a guy from that scene. Everyone tried to dissuade me—my mother, my friends—begging me to reconsider, insisting he wasn’t the right person to build a life with. But I thought I knew better. We had a wedding—white dress, restaurant, congratulations. I won’t go into details about my first marriage, but I’ll say this: they were right to warn me. The marriage lasted two years, and we divorced.
While we were still together, I visited my friend Sarah to pour my heart out and cry on her shoulder. She told me about a fortune-teller named Lily from a nearby town who gave readings remotely. The process was simple: you call her, provide your name and age, ask your question, and she sets a date and time to call you back with the answer. After the reading, you send $5 to her phone number. If you’re not satisfied, you don’t have to pay. I was in such a bad place that I called her immediately. My questions were typical: What will happen to my family? When will I have children? What does the future hold? After listening, she set a date for her follow-up call.
On the appointed day, Lily called back. Here’s what she said:
— I see changes in your life in a year or so. There’s a car; I see you behind the wheel. You’ll have two children, a boy and a girl, but later, not now.
I thanked her and paid for the consultation, though honestly, I didn’t believe a word of it. A car? Driving? I had no money, only debts. What could possibly change in my life?
In May 2014, I filed for divorce. The very next day, I went to a club with Sarah, the friend who had given me the fortune-teller’s number, to celebrate. Let me be clear: I wasn’t looking to meet anyone. I had sworn that if any man—especially one named Steven—approached me, I’d tell him to get lost.
So, there we were at the club. The DJ played some music, and we hit the dance floor. A man approached me, and we struck up a casual conversation. Then he said his name was Steven. I nearly fainted. Steven was a military man, celebrating Victory Day with friends. When he learned I was celebrating my divorce, he wasn’t fazed. He mentioned he’d been married before and had gone through it all himself. By early morning, he declared I’d be his wife and even wanted to buy me a ring, but at 5 a.m., the stores were closed. We had a blast! I didn’t take him seriously, but we exchanged numbers. A week later, he left the military and moved to a distant city. He said he’d come back for me soon, but I didn’t put much stock in it.
Think a prince on a white horse only exists in fairy tales? Think again! Steven returned two weeks later—not on a horse, but in a white car—and whisked me away to a fairy tale. We drove to the coast for a vacation. On New Year’s, Steven proposed. Not long ago, we celebrated our first wedding anniversary. I wish everyone could find someone who makes you feel secure about tomorrow, someone you’re not afraid to face the future with!
Now, about those predictions. My mother did indeed give birth to a girl—me. I’ve been married twice. My second marriage is truly happy, and my husband was, at the time we met, a military man serving on contract. Lily, the fortune-teller, said she saw me behind the wheel of a car. I never got a driver’s license, but Steven picked me up in a right-hand-drive car, so technically, I was sitting in the driver’s seat. For now, I’m dreaming that the rest of her predictions come true.
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