A Cruel Twist of Fate by Karina Oleksiienko

The first month I was going
through some thoughts and memories in my head, thereby trying to find any excuse for myself. But it is time to face the truth – my action could not be justified. A couple of weeks, the realization of what I did wasn’t oppressing me. Maybe merely because I didn’t know how was he and what happened to him.
Once I was drinking coffee not far from the office and updating my social networks on the lunch break. I came across a help post online about the accident in which by a cruel twist of fate I was responsible. I closed this post about the serious condition of one man and fund-raising for helping him. Honestly, I didn’t want to remember everything that had happened, however, my conscience and humanity prevailed of it all. The whole next night I spent searching for that post, when I’d almost lost my hope, I finally found it. A 25-years-old woman created it, and as it later turned out, she was pregnant.
I transferred her all the money I saved in the hope that my conscience would leave me alone, and it would no longer torment me. Then this girl found me by the bank details. She wrote me a message of thanks and gratitude, because the amount money was big. She asked for a meeting in order to say thank you in person. I didn’t know what to do in this situation. How can I look her in the eyes after this? I did this to her. It was, like, insane. But still I found some strength to go to this meeting.
The woman was very beautiful. I saw her smile through tears. She told about the accident, and I understood that he was her husband. Of course, she told me about the baby, and she was so tired, although she tried not to lose hope. She kept repeating that there are enough good people in this world. If she knew why I helped her… “Doctors didn’t give any guarantees that he'd get out alive”, she said. We drank some coffee together, and I went home. All her words were killing me from the inside. I couldn’t stop thinking about the accident. He was in a coma and his treatment cost $1,500 for each day. I couldn’t forget the look of his wife, it often flashed before my eyes. She was suffering because of me, I understood that I couldn't let her do everything alone.
A few weeks later, I called her to find out how things were going. Though she only burst into tears, and then whispered in awkward manner that he died a few days ago. It was as if something has died forever inside of me. I wondered why do I have so much humanity and empathy. I’ve never noticed anything like this before. I decided to sell the car because she’s about to give a birth. I felt so awful, I essentially killed her husband with my own hands. I could have got out of the car. I could have helped and taken him to the hospital that time. But instead I had just chickened out and driven away. How I hate and despise myself for that.
I found a client and sold my car. I didn’t care that I had to sell it a way cheaper as it was an urgent sale. On the way to her with all this money I suddenly asked myself “What will I tell her? Why do I continue helping her after the death of her husband?” I didn’t find the strength to tell her the truth. I just came up with a story about my wife and how she died. We were sitting all evening in the kitchen, she was crying and holding my hand. I realized that I was going down and drowning in my own lie.
A few months later she gave birth to a boy. We were getting along really good, I was helping her with everything she needed. I didn’t notice how I fell in love with her, but what I had done that night never left me. I suggested her to live together, and after a while she agreed. I was like a robot. I was working almost 24/7, because I couldn’t look into her eyes, into the eyes of a kid whose life I destroyed by killing his father. I kept saying her that I want a better life for us, a better future, that I’m working so hard to earn more money. Now I feel like I'm losing my mind. This is the punishment which I’ll bear until I die. I wish I was in prison rather than I have this.
I love her and it is quite possible that she feels the same. Nonetheless it seems to me that I forced myself to love, that I had to take her under my care. Every evening I want to confess, but considering all the pros and cons I understand that I won’t do any better to anyone. I realize with horror that her child is bringing up by his father’s killer, that every night she goes to bed with a man who destroyed her family. Moreover, I completely understand that this is an illusion of an idyll which I created myself.