THE HUSBAND WORTH MORE THAN BITTER RESENTMENTS
“Igor, that was the last straw! It’s overwe’re getting a divorce! Dont bother falling to your knees like you always do; it wont work this time!” I slammed the final nail into the coffin of our marriage.
Igor, of course, didnt believe me. He was sure it would play out like before: hed kneel, beg forgiveness, buy another ring, and Id relent. It had happened more than once. But this time, I was determined to sever the bonds of matrimony. My fingers, down to the last knuckle, glittered with ringsyet my life was hollow. Igor drank himself into oblivion, drowning in cheap spirits.
And it had all begun so romantically.
My first husband, Edward, had vanished without a trace. It was the ’90sa terrifying time to live. Edward had never been one to back down from a fight. He had the eyes of an eagle but the wings of a sparrow. If something didnt suit him, hed start a brawl in the blink of an eye. So, when he disappeared, I was certain hed been killed in some back-alley scuffle. No word ever came. I was left with our two daughtersLily, five, and Rose, barely two. Five years passed in the shadow of his absence.
I thought Id lose my mind. Id loved Edward fiercely, despite his temper. Wed been inseparable, two halves of a whole. I resolved thenmy life was over. Id raise the girls alone and forget any hope for myself. And yet
Those were hard times. I worked at a factory, paid in kettles I had to sell just to put food on the table. Weekends were spent lugging them to market. One freezing winter day, as I stood shivering, my lips blue, a man approached me. He took pity.
“Youre freezing, love,” he said gently.
“What gave it away?” I tried to laugh, though my teeth chattered. But his presence brought warmth.
“Silly thing to say, wasnt it? Fancy warming up in a café? Ill help carry those kettles.”
“Very well. Lead onelse Ill die of cold right here,” I managed.
We never made it to the café. I dragged him toward my flat, asked him to wait by the door with the kettles while I fetched the girls from nursery. My legs were numb, but my heart had thawed. When I returned, there he wasIgor, as hed introduced himselfpacing, cigarette in hand. I thought, *Ill offer him teawhats the harm?*
He helped me haul the kettles to the sixth floorthe lift was broken, of course. By the time Id herded the girls to the third floor, Igor was already on his way down.
“Wait! My rescuer! You cant leave without tea!” I grabbed his sleeve with icy fingers.
“Wont I be in the way?” He glanced at the children.
“Dont be daft! Take their handsIll put the kettle on.”
I couldnt bear to let him go. Already, he felt like family. Over tea, Igor offered me a jobbetter pay than a years worth of kettles. I nodded eagerly, though I wanted to kiss his hands in gratitude.
Igor was twice married, in the midst of another divorce. He had a son from his first wife.
And so it began
Soon, we married. He adopted my girls. Life was goldena four-bedroom house in Surrey, expensive furniture, holidays by the sea. We built a cottage in the Cotswolds. For seven years, it was bliss.
Then, Igor started drinking. At first, I ignored it. He worked hard; a man needed to unwind. But when the drink crept into his work, I grew uneasy. Pleading did no good.
Ever the gambler, I hatched a plan to distract himanother child. I was thirty-nine. My friends barely blinked when I told them.
“Go on, Tessa,” they teased. “Might inspire the rest of us to try for a late bundle of joy.”
Id always said, “If you turn your back on a child, youll regret it. But if you bring one into the worldplanned or notyoull never be sorry.”
We had twins. Four daughters now. But the drink held fast.
I dreamed of escapinga farm, fresh air, no time for the bottle. We sold the house, the cottage, bought a place in a village. Opened a café. Igor took up hunting. Life steadieduntil the night he came home blind drunk.
God knows what hed swallowed, but he turned savagesmashing plates, furniture, then lunging for us. A shotgun blast tore through the ceiling. We fled to the neighbours, trembling.
Morning brought quiet. We crept back to carnageshattered wood, glass, our lives in ruins. Igor lay in a stupor on the floor.
I gathered what I could and marched the girls to my mothers. “Oh, Tessa,” she fretted, “what am I to do with this brood? Go back to him. Every marriage has its storms. Time heals all wounds.”
Mother believed in suffering in silence if it meant keeping a handsome husband.
Two days later, Igor came begging. Thats when I ended it. He didnt even remember his rampage. But I was done. The café sold for pennies; we fled to a cramped cottage in the next village.
The older girls found work, then husbands. The twins started secondary school. They adored their father, so I heard of him stillhis pleas for reconciliation, his sobriety, his loneliness.
Two years passed.
I missed him. The rings hed given me sat in a pawnbrokers, unredeemed. I remembered the love wed had. Hed cherished all the girls, always knew how to mend things. A good family. What more could I want?
The older girls rarely visited now. Soon, the twins would fly the nest. Id be alone.
So, I sent them to prywas there another woman? But noIgor was sober, working in Manchester. Hed left his address, just in case
Long story short, weve been back together five years.
I told youIm a gambler.
