З життя
Когда родной человек в беде: Почему рука помощи не протягивается?
Почему, когда тёща слегла, я не в силах даже воды ей подать
Думаете, знаете все байки о злых свекровях? Моя история переплюнет любой анекдот. Эта женщина превратила мои будни в бесконечный сериал, где я — загнанная героиня, вынужденная двадцать лет изображать идеальную невестку, глотая оскорбления и едкие замечания. И вот, когда казалось, жить стало чуть легче, судьба подкинула новую проверку — у неё инсульт.
А теперь представьте: от меня ждут, что брошу работу, оставлю своих малышей и стану круглосуточной сиделкой — кормить с ложечки, менять памперсы и убаюкивать. Обязана, мол. Но не могу. Не хочу. И дело не только в том, что я десять лет пробивалась до должности старшего бухгалтера, а дома ждут двойняшки. Дело в другом.
Не забуду, как она явилась на нашу с Сергеем свадьбу, приведя его бывшую однокурсницу Алёнку. Чуть со стыда не провалилась сквозь пол ресторана. Как шептала моим детям, что папа «исправит ошибку» и найдёт «нормальную маму». Как за глаза твердила соседкам, что я безрукая халтурщица, хотя это я тянула ипотеку, пока её сынок «искал себя» в бесконечных хобби.
Теперь же, по её логике, я должна «вернуть добро» за «помощь с внуками». Хотите правду? Её помощь — это крики, когда малыш плакал: «Сама виновата! Надо было давать фенхель, а не эту химию!» И стояние у плиты с критикой: «У Наташки из 45-й квартиры борщ прозрачный, а у тебя — помои».
Позвонила её дочери Лизке — та живёт в Питере, двое детей-школьников. Даже не перезвонила. Словно не её мать в больнице. А я, с моими трёхлетками, должна бросить всё? Только потому, что я «семья»?
Сергей, как водится, на её стороне. У неё талант — вертеть им, как хочет. Объясняла, кричала, плакала — бесполезно. Сказал: «Не будешь ухаживать — развод и дети останутся со мной». После двенадцати лет брака.
Моя мама, ангел во плоти, уговаривает: «Потерпи, дочка, бог терпел и нам велел». Но я больше не могу. Не хочу сдерживать ярость, глядя на ту, что двадцать лет травила меня, как крысу.
И не смейте называть меня бесчувственной. Я носила суп одинокой соседке Клавдии Петровне, когда та сломала ногу. А этой… Не смогу. Знаю — сорвусь, накричу, выплесну всю горечь, что копилась с тех пор, как она «случайно» вылила мой свадебный торт на пол.
Скажите — разве это справедливо? Человек, гробивший чужие жизни, теперь требует, чтобы жертва стала его спасителем?
Не смогу. Не стану. А осуждающие пусть сами возьмут к себе таких «родственников» — проверят свою святость на прочность.
И напоследок — тем, кто ещё станет свекровью. Запомните: ваша невестка — не служанка. И когда-нибудь вам понадобится не просто её прощение, а глоток воды в дрожащих руках. Учтите это. Пока не стало поздно.
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