З життя
Чоловік покинув мене, але свекруха прийшла на допомогу
Життя розбилося на мільон шматочків, коли чоловік, Олексій, кинув мене. Він забрав усі наші гроші, щоб купити собі квартиру, і зник, залишивши мене саму в орендованій хаті у Львові з нашою шестимісячною донечкою на руках. Я була в розпачі, не знаючи, як жити далі. Але раптом з’явилася свекруха, Людмила Іванівна. Дізнавшись про моє становище, вона примчала до мене. Я готувалася до глузувань — адже наші стосунки завжди були напруженими — але замість цього вона різко сказала:
— Збирай речі. Ти з онукою переїжджаєш до мене.
Я намагалася заперечити — ситуація здавалася неймовірно незручною. Ми з Людмилою Іванівною роками сварилися, кидаючи один одному злі слова, і жодного разу не промовили нічого доброго. Але тепер, коли я опинилася в біді, ця жінка, яку я вважала майже ворогом, стала єдиною, хто простягнув мені руку допомоги.
Моя власна мати відмовила мені в притулку. Її дім був зайнятий старшою сестер та її дітьми, і мама танцювала під її дудку, не бажаючи мене прийняти. Я була шокована, але все ж вимовила:
— Дякую, Людмило Іванівно. Я дуже вдячна за вашу допомогу.
Вперше я щиро подякувала свекрусі, і в цю мить щось у мені зламалося.
— Годі церемоній! Ти ж не чужа, — махнула вона рукою, беручи мою донечку на руки. — Ходімо, моя хороша. Дай мамі зібратися, а ми з тобою побазікаємо. Будеш жити з бабусею, сонечко? Звісно, будеш! Бабуся читатиме тобі казки, водитиме на прогулянки, заплітатиме косички…
Я слухала її ніжне бурмотіння і не вірила своїм вухам. Ця жінка, яка колись звинувачувала мене, що я «піймала» її сина на дитині, і назвала мою доньку «невдахою», тепер колихала її з такою любов’ю, ніби це була її власна дитина.
Я зібрала речі, і ми переїхали до свекрухи. Людмила Іванівна звільнила для нас велику кімнату, а сама перебралася в маленьку. Побачивши мій здивований погляд, вона буркнула:
— Чого вилупилась? Дитині потрібно місце, скоро вона почне повзати. А мені самій багато простору не треба. Розташовуйтесь, за годину буде вечеря.
На вечерю вона подала парові овочі та варену курку, додавши:
— Ти ж годуєш. Якщо хочеш, можу щось підсмажити, але для малечі ліпше дієтичне. Вирішуй сама.
У холодильнику я помітила цілу пачку дитячого пюре в баночках.
— Час починати прикорм, як думаєш? Якщо ці не підійдуть, купимо інші. Не соромся, кажи, — промовила вона з посмішкою.
Я не витримала і розплакалася. Її доброта, така раптова і щира, зруйнувала всі мої стіни. Ніхто й ніколи не піклувався про нас із донечкою так, як ця жінка, яку я вважала своїм найлютішим ворогом. Вона обняла мене, тихо шепочучи:
— Тихше, доню, тихше. Чоловіки такі, біжать туди, куди вітер повіє. Я сама виростила свого Олега — його батько пішов, коли йому було вісім місяців. Не дам своїй онучці рости без підтримки. Годі сліз, збирайся!
Крізь сльози я зізналася, що не чекала від неї такої людяності, і знову подякувала:
— Дякую вам величезне. Якби не ви, я не знаю, куди б ми з донечкою поділися.
— Тут і моя провина, — зітхнула вона. — Не так виховала сина, ось він і виріс таким безвідповідальним. Я виправлю його помилки, як зможу. Іди умийся і лягай спати. Ранок буде кращий.
Перший день народження донечки ми святкували втрьох: я, моя малеча і Людмила Іванівна — наша рятівниця, яка стала справжньою бабусею. Коли донечка заснула на обідній сон, ми з нею пили чай із тортом на кухні, як раптом почувся дзвінок у двері. Свекруха пішла відчиняти.
— Мам, хочу познайомити тебе з однією людиною, — почувся голос Олега. — Це Катерина, моя дівчина. Мам, можна ми поживемо у тебе півроку? Роботи немає, на оренду грошей не вистачає.
Почувши його, я замерзла. Серце стиснулося від страху, що свекруха впусти— Сьогодні тобі вдалося переступити поріг цього дому, але завтра я зміню замки, — холодно сказала Людмила Іванівна, зачиняючи двері перед його обличчям.
You’re Robbing My Son Blind—He Can’t Even Afford a Light Bulb! On Sunday morning, I was curled up on the sofa with a blanket while my husband drove over to his mother’s to “change some light bulbs.” But of course, the real reason for summoning her darling boy was something else entirely: “Son, have you forgotten it’s Igor’s birthday today?” My husband’s the generous type—his salary barely lasts a week. Thankfully, he still gives me cash for the bills and groceries, but the rest? He blows it all on new video games and whatever gadgets go with them. I don’t mind; better my man enjoys his hobbies than squanders his time (and money) in pubs or nightclubs. Besides, I once read that the first forty years of childhood are the hardest for any man. I’m not telling you this for sympathy, just so you understand why my husband always has empty pockets. I have no such problem—even manage to save. I often lend him money in emergencies, but when it’s for his mum, niece, or sister, I always say no. Naturally, I remembered Igor’s birthday. Last week, I bought his present myself. Before my husband set off, I handed it over and settled down to watch a film. I didn’t go—the mutual animosity between me and my in-laws made sure of that. They think I don’t love him, accuse me of being mean because I refuse to fund their expenses or mind my sister-in-law’s kids. Once, I watched them for an hour, but they picked them up half a day late, making me miss work—when I dared complain, his mum and sister called me shameless and rude. After that, any requests to babysit were met with a firm “no.” Didn’t bother me if my husband watched the kids—he enjoys their company. Not long after my husband left, he returned—with the whole family in tow, nieces and all. His mum barged in, coat still on, and declared: “We’ve decided that, for Igor’s birthday, he’ll get the tablet he wanted—two grand it cost. You owe me a thousand pounds for your share. Pay up.” I might have bought the lad a tablet—but nothing that expensive. Obviously, I refused to hand over any cash. That’s when my husband started guilt-tripping me for being stingy. I turned on the laptop and called Igor over. In five minutes, we picked and ordered a gadget he really wanted—job done. Thrilled, Igor dashed off to his mum, who’d been sulking in the hallway. My sister-in-law always had sticky fingers—nothing in our house was safe. My mother-in-law, meanwhile, ignored my thoughtful gesture and exploded with indignation: “No one asked for your help. You were meant to give money! You’re with my son, and he’s always skint, can’t even buy a lightbulb. Hand me a thousand pounds now—you know full well that money belongs to my boy!” She reached for my handbag on the nightstand. I glared at my husband and hissed, “You’ve got three minutes to get them out of here.” In less than three minutes, he’d grabbed his mother and chucked her and the lot of them out the door. So, yes, I’d rather my husband waste his wages on games than have his mother snatch every penny. At least he spends it on things that make him happy, not on those freeloaders. Sometimes, I genuinely think I’d have been better off marrying an orphan!
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