At forty, I decided to marry a man with an injured leg. There was no romance between us.
At forty, I decided to marry a man with an injured leg. There was no romance between us. But on our wedding night, when I pulled back the blanket, I saw something that made me tremble.
My name is Roxana Sokolenko, and I am forty. I wasted my youth on broken relationships. Some men cheated. Others looked at me as if I were just a pit stop.
After every breakup, my mom would sigh and say:
— Roxana, maybe it’s time to stop looking for perfection. Danylo from next door is a good man. He limps, but he has a kind heart.
Danylo Greyko is our neighbor in Maple Hollow. He is five years older than me. When he was seventeen, he was in a car crash, and ever since then, his right leg hasn’t fully worked. He lives with his elderly mother in a small wooden cottage and makes a living by fixing appliances and computers. Quiet, a bit clumsy, but always wearing a gentle smile.
People whispered that Danylo had fancied me for a long time, but never dared to admit it.
I thought: At forty… what else is there to wait for? Maybe it’s better to have a calm, reliable person by your side than to grow old alone.
So, on a windy, rainy autumn day, I said yes. No white dress. No fancy celebration. Just a small dinner with a few close friends.
At night, I lay in our new bedroom, listening to the rain tapping on the porch roof, doubt tangled up in my chest.
Danylo walked in, limping ever so slightly, carrying a glass of water.
— Here, — he said quietly. — Drink this. You must be tired.
His voice was calm and warm, like a midnight breeze. He pulled up the blanket, turned off the light, and sat on the edge of the bed.
The silence grew heavy.
I closed my eyes, my heart pounding somewhere between fear and curiosity.
And a moment later, he spoke in a trembling voice…
What happened next?
The continuation is in the first c0mment
