З життя
«Моя вагітність на задньому плані: бути безкоштовною прислугою»
У них я безоплатна прибиральниця й кухарка – моя вагітність нікого не хвилює
У невеличкому містечку під Полтавою, де ранкові тумани обіймають старі будинки, моє життя у 27 років перетворилося на безкінечне служіння чужим капризам. Мене звуть Соломія, я дружина Тараса, і через кілька місяців у нас з’явиться дитина. Але мій крихкий вагітний світ руйнується під тиском свекрухи та її родини, для яких я — лише безоплатна покоївка. Живе́мо ми в трикімнатній квартирі, що належить бабусі Тараса, і це стало моїм прокляттям.
Любов, що завела у пастку
Коли я зустріла Тараса, мені було 23. Він був турботливим, з м’якою усмішкою та мріями про сім’ю. Ми одружилися через рік, і я була на сьомому небі. Його бабуся, Марія Іванівна, запропонувала нам жити у її просторій квартирі, поки ми не станемо на ноги. Я погодилася, думаючи, що це тимчасово, і що ми будуватимемо своє життя. Та замість затишку я потрапила у пастку, де моя роль — прибирати, готувати й мовчати.
Квартира велика, але в ній тісно від людей. Марія Іванівна живе з нами, а її донька, тітка Тараса, Оксана, із двома дітьми приходить майже щодня. Вони вважають цю квартиру своєю, а мене — частиною інтер’єру. З першого дня свекруха дала зрозуміти: «Соломіє, ти молода, от і вертися». Я думала, що зможу догодити, заслужити їхню любов, але їхня байдужість та вимоги зростають з кожним днем.
Рабство у чотирьох стінах
Моє життя — це безкінечний цикл прибирання та готування. Вранці я мию підлоги, бо Марія Іванівна не терпить пилу. Потім готую сніданок для всіх: їй — кашу, Тарасу — яєшню, а коли приходить Оксана з дітьми — ще й млинці чи бутерброди. Удень я чищу овочі, варю борщ, смажу котлети, бо «гості» хочуть їсти. Ввечері — гора посуду й нові вказівки: «Соломіє, картоплю на завтра почисти». Моя вагітність, мій токсикоз, мої втомлені ноги — нікого не хвилюють.
Марія Іванівна командує, як генерал: «Ти суп пересолила», «Фіранки погано випрала». Оксана додає: «Соломіє, ти б за моїми дітьми поглянула, я зайнята». Її діти, галасливі й зіпсовані, розкидають іграшки, псують дивани, а я прибираю за ними, бо «це ж родина». Тарас, мій чоловік, замість підтримки каже: «Мамо, не сперечайся з бабусею, вона вже літня». Його слова — як зрада. Я почуваюся рабинею у домі, який ніколи не стане моїм.
Вага вік у небезпеці
Я на шостому місяці, і мій стан — це не просто слова. Токсикоз мучить мене, спина болить, а втома валить з ніг. Але свекруха дивиться на мене з докором: «За мого часу народжували у полі й працювали до останнього». Оксана сміється: «Ой, Соломіє, не вигадуй, вагітність — це не хвороба». Їхня байдужість вбиває. Я боюся за дитину — стрес, недосипання, безкінечна робота не проходять безслідно. Учора я ледь не впала, коли несла відро з водою, але ніхто навіть не спитав, як я.
Я намагалася поговорити з Тарасом. Сльози котилися, коли я сказала: «Я більше не можу, я вагітна, мені важко». Він обійняв мене, але відповів: «Бабуся дала нам квартиру, потерпи». Потерпи? Скільки ще? Я не хочу, щоб моя дитина народилася у домі, де її мати — покоївка. Я хочу миру, спокою, турботи, але замість цього отримую докори й брудний посуд.
Остання крапля
Учора Марія Іванівна заявила: «Соломіє, ти маєш бути вдячна, що живеш у моїй квартирі. Працюй, а то вижену». Оксана підхопила: «Так, невістка має крутитися, а не скиглити». Я стояла, стискаючи ганчірку, і відчувала, як у мені щось ламається. Моя дитина, моє життя, моє здоров’я — для них це ніщо. Тарас, як завжди, промовчав, і це добило мене. Я не хочу бути їхньою прибиральницею, їхньою кухаЯ збираю речі, беру свої заощадження в гривнях і йду, навіть якщо це означає почати все з нуля.
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