My neighbor Monica and I have been friends for a long time. We met when we were both single girls. Together we dreamed of “a prince on a white horse,” went to visit each other, discussed suitors.
Monica dreamed of marrying a gallant, intelligent man. She herself was from a simple family. Thoughts of theaters and museums kept her busy.
– “We will have intellectual conversations every evening,” she said jokingly.
– And for me the main thing is to love – I answered.
Life partner Monica sought at exhibitions of paintings, though she did not understand it. She also loved to visit libraries. At one of our get-togethers my friend told me
– I met a guy who came from a professor’s family. That’s what I need!
– Do you even like him? – I asked.
– You’ll get used to it, – said Monica confidently.
The new acquaintance showered Monica with flowers. He could spend hours complaining to her. She melted at his words. Trips to museums became regular, she enthusiastically talked about them. I was not encouraged by Monica’s optimism. Something alarmed me in their relationship. When Monica happily announced her pregnancy, I wondered:
– Does the father know about it?
– I’ll let him know today, I can imagine how happy he will be.
In the evening my friend came to me in tears. The young man took the news of the future child coldly.
– You and I – different people. If you want – have a baby, if you don’t want – have an abortion. We’re not going to see each other again.
Monica cried all night at my place.
– And what words he spoke, my love, the only one!
I, as best I could, reassured her friend.
– You know, it’s good that you are now broken up. Nothing good would have come out of it anyway.
Monica had a beautiful baby boy. A year later, she married a guy who worked in a machine shop. He adopted the baby and surrounded Monica with love and care. When I got married, we became family friends. It’s been going on like that for years now. Our men like to go fishing together or dig in their cars.
When my husband and I bought our dacha, the neighbors immediately came to visit. The men argued for a long time over which of them would go to dig the vegetable garden, each wanted to show his prowess. Monica and I watched them and laughed. I remembered the gentleman professor. He probably would not have rubbed his blisters.
However, that topic had long been closed to Monica. Life has taught her to trust deeds, not words and empty promises. I am happy for her. The “rose-colored glasses” she took off when she was young did not come back to her.
