My husband went on a business trip to another city for a month, and I decided to move his favorite potted cactus to another location, but I accidentally broke it while carrying it. But what I discovered in the broken pot changed my life forever. How strange that our lives can be changed by completely random events.
Small, ordinary, almost insignificant things suddenly turn everything upside down, and then nothing stays the same.
For me, that turning point was an ordinary cactus.
I should probably start my story with that. It was early Saturday morning.
The spring sun flooded our apartment with a soft, golden light. My husband, John, had gone on a business trip to New York for a whole month.
He worked for a large construction company, and such long absences were frequent.
I had grown accustomed to his absence, although, of course, I always missed him. Taking advantage of the fact that I was alone in the apartment, I decided to do a little furniture rearrangement. I’d been wanting to change the decor a bit for a while, give it a fresh look, but John was conservative and preferred everything to be in its place.
He was especially reverent about his cactus collection, which he’d been collecting for several years.
On the windowsill of our room, there was a row of thorny plants of different shapes and sizes. John cared for them with a special tenderness, which he rarely showed me.
Among all this thorny company, one cactus stood out. Large, with fleshy leaves and long, sharp needles.
John called it “General.”
This cactus appeared in our house about three years ago, and my husband always treated it with special affection.
Even on business trips, he left me detailed instructions on how to care for it. It was strange, of course, this attachment to a prickly windowsill dweller, but I didn’t think much of it. People can have all sorts of quirks and passions.
That morning, I decided to move the dresser that was against the wall opposite the bed.
For several months, I had been obsessed with the idea that it would look much better next to the window. Perhaps if I move it now, John, upon his return, will appreciate my efforts and won’t object to such changes.
I moved the dresser away from the wall and began to slowly move it around the room. It turned out not to be as easy as I thought.
The story doesn’t end here –
it continues on the next page.
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