I married Kostas eighteen years ago. Youd have to see the mans situation thentragic, really, and all thanks to his ex-wife, who packed her bags and took off with her sweetheart, leaving him and the kids behind without a backward glance. Kostas and Eleni had married for love, or so it seemed. Eleni brought two beautiful bambakia into the world: a boy, Nikos, and a girl, Vasilia.
When the children were four and three, life dealt Kostas a blowhe lost his job at the port. Suddenly, every euro mattered. Eleni tried to find any kind of work, even cleaning the neighbours verandas, to keep bread on the table. And what did Kostas do? Spent his afternoons at the kafeneio, sharing a packet of cigarettes and moaning about the government over endless frappés. The mans only exercise was raising his glass higher.
Eleni, exhausted and clutching anxiety for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, soon caught the attention of Manolis, a businessman who probably had never eaten lentil soup out of a cracked bowl. The poor woman couldnt resist, so off she went, abandoning house and hearth, leaving Nikos and Vasilia behind. Luckily, our neighbourhood is full of yiayiadessaints, honestlywho fed the kids moussaka and checked on their homework.
Meanwhile, Kostas remained oblivious, stuck at the kafeneio with his friends, not noticing that Eleni and half her wardrobe had vanished. By the time reality knocked on his door, it was too latethe authorities had already taken the children to a foster home.
I met Kostas at the wedding of mutual friends in Santorini. He had a melancholy airvery Nikos Kazantzakisso of course I was hooked. We talked, and I took it as my personal Olympic event to help him snap out of his misery and reorganise his life.
After our wedding, I suggested we bring back the kids from the foster home. I cant have children myself, but my heart ached for them. From the first day, I treated them as if theyd grown under my own vine. They responded like true Greeksloud and loving, hugging and bickering all at once. Eighteen years have flown by since.
All this time, Nikos and Vasilia had no idea I wasnt their biological motherit never even occurred to them. And then one sunny afternoon, Eleni reappeared as if shed just gone out for tzatziki. She met the kids and dropped the news that she was their real mother. Nikos gave her a polite nod and said, You might have brought me into the world, but Maria is the only mother I know. Vasilia, of course, softened much fastershed forgive the Cyclades for being windy.
At first, I was ready to grab my evil eye charm when I heard about their meetingsI mean, betrayal is betrayal, no matter how you reheat it. But looking at Eleni, I could see how heavy her regret sat on her shoulders. And honestly, we Greeks know theres room at the table for one more plate, one more story, one more mother. If she wants to try mending things, Ill help her. These children are lucky; theyve ended up with two mothers. Thats something you dont see even in a soap opera.
