З життя
Моя невістка відкрито заявила про ненависть до мене та звинувачує в руйнуванні її шлюбу
Ви собі уявляєте: моя невістка навіть не намагається приховати, що я їй не подобаюсь! Вона кидає це мені в обличчя при кожній зручній нагоді, не соромлячись ані трохи. Найстрашніше те, що мій син знає про це! Так, ось вона я — шестидесятирічна жінка з тихого містечка під Львовом, яка мріяла бути люблячою матір’ю та свекрухою, оточеною теплом і пошаною. Я завжди розуміла, що виховувати єдину дитину — це ризиковано. Не можна класти всі яйця в один кошик, але хто міг подумати, що це обернеться таким кошмаром?
Моя невістка, Наталка, з першого погляду видалася мені надто різкою, надто енергійною, наче буря, яку неможливо вгамувати. Коли Іван, мій син, вперше привів її додому, я відчула холодний подих, дивлячись в її темні, проникливі очі. Вона дивилася так, ніби сканувала кожну дрібницю, кожну мою зморшку, кожен куток кімнати. Інтуїція шепотіла: “Бережись”, але я відмахнулася. Вирішила, що це просто нерви, і намагалася прийняти дівчину, яку мій син обрав собі за дружину. Що може піти не так на першій зустрічі з майбутньою невісткою? О, як я помилялася!
Перше, що впало в око — її пихатість. Я читала в журналах, що одним з ознак токсичної людини є грубість до тих, хто нижче за статусом. І в свої роки я все ще вірю таким речам. Того дня ми сиділи в кафе, і Наталка накинулася на офіціанта, як яструб на здобич. Її десерт, бачите, виглядав “неапетитно”, і вона вимагала замінити його, та ще й з таким тоном, ніби хлопець був її особистим слугою. Я намагалася виправдати її — можливо, нервується, може, день невдалий. Але тепер я знаю: це був перший дзвіночок, який я проігнорувала.
Друге — її зовнішній вигляд. Вибачте, що кажу про це, але її наряд того дня був просто викликом. Глибокий виріз, коротка спідниця — ні, скоріше обтягуючий комбінезон, який ледве прикривав тіло. Спортивний стиль? Модний каприз? Не знаю, що зараз у тренді, але це кричало про неповагу. Вона знала, що йде знайомитися зі мною, з матір’ю свого нареченого, і могла б обрати щось скромніше, якби хоч трохи мене поважала. Але ні, їй було все одно.
Коли вони одружилися і почали жити разом, мені стало сумно. Я сумувала за своїм єдиним сином, за його дзвінким сміхом в нашому домі. Місяць я трималася, не телефонувала, не втручалася в їхнє життя. Та згодом почала потроху набирати номер — він же моя дитина, моя кров, хіба я повинна виправдовуватися за це? Виявилося, Наталку це дратувало. Вона не приховувала свого роздратування і навіть говорила Івану при мені: “Поклади трубку, досить з нею балакати”. Стояла поруч, а я все чула — кожне її слово, гостре, як ніж.
Я не хотіла спровокувати конфлікт, але зустрілася з Іваном наодинці і запитала прямо: що відбувається? Він зітхнув і розповів. У Наталки, виявляється, непросте минуле: був хлопець, вагітність, він її покинув, не взявши відповідальності, і вона втратила дитину. Після цього її психіка дала тріщину — довелося звертатися до лікарів. Іван запевняв, що вона просто переживає стрес, що це тимчасово, що консультації психолога все виправлять. Але я бачила інше: її погляд, її різкість — це не просто нерви, це щось глибше. І я не могла вдавати, що вірю в його слова.
А потім стався вибух. Через кілька днів після нашої розмови Наталка дізналася, що Іван говорив зі мною про неї. І тут вона зривалася. Телефонний дзвінок вночі став для мене як грім серед ясного неба. Вона кричала, звинувачувала мене в тому, що я хочу зруйнувати їхній шлюб, що я зла баба, яка мріє позбутися від неї. Її голос тремтів від люті, і я зрозуміла: вона любить Івана, але ця любов хвора, липка, як павутина. Єдиний промінець світла в тій темряві — її почуття до нього справжні. Але мені від цього не легше.
Іван не захистив мене. Я не розумію, чому мій син, мій хлопчик, якого я виховувала з такою любов’ю, не може сказати їй ні слова всупереч. Він наче під її владою, під її поглядом, який тримає його, як поводок. Він не грубіянить мені, але кожного разу повторює: “Мамо, я дорослий. У мене своя родина. Я сам вирішу, коли телефонувати, коли приїхати”. Формально він правий, але я бачу: це вона диктує йому правила. Вона керує їхнім життям.
До речі, вони живуть в її квартирі — трикімнатній, новій, з блискучим ремонтом. Я розумію, як важлива власність у наші дні, особливо в місті. Але чи варто заради цього рвати зв’язок з матір’ю? Невже квадратні метри дорожчі крові? Я задаю собі ці питання, і серце стискається від болю.
Я все ще сподіваюся, що час розставить все по місцях. Можливо, потрібно трохи потерпіти, дати їм шанс розібратися. Але з кожним днем я все ясніше бачу: мені пора відпустити. Я виконала свою справу як мати — виростила здорового сина, дала йому крила. А далі — його шлях, його вибір. І все ж в глибині душі я молюся, щоб ця буря вщухла, щоб ми знову стали сім’єю. Але поки я стою на узбіччі їхнього життя, дивлячись, як мій син розчиняється в її світі, і не знаю, чи вистачить у мене сил дочекатися змін.
A Life Back in Order – “Lada, I Forbid You From Speaking to Your Sister and Her Family!” My Husband Gave Me an Ultimatum, Enraged at My Bond With My Sister Natasha, While His Own Drinking and Cheating Tore Our Marriage Apart – But When a Stranger Turned Up With His Secret Son, I Finally Found The Strength To Break Free and Discover True Happiness with Kind-Hearted Dr. Herman Lewis
LIFE, SORTED Lydia, Im forbidding you from seeing your sister and her family again! They’ve got their life, weve got...
Bitterness at the Bottom of My Soul “The children’s home has been waiting for you for ages! Get out of our family!” I screamed with a trembling voice. The target of my wild indignation was my cousin, Dima. God, how I loved him as a child! Blond hair, bright blue eyes, cheerful nature — that was Dima. …Relatives often gathered around the festive table. Of all my cousins, I singled out Dima. He could spin tales with his tongue like a lace maker and he drew brilliantly. Sometimes he would churn out five or six sketches an evening. I would stare, entranced by their beauty, quietly gathering his drawings and hiding them in my desk. I carefully treasured my cousin’s artwork. Dima was two years older than me. When he turned 14, his mother died—gone so suddenly, she just didn’t wake up… The question arose—what would happen to Dima? Naturally, they first turned to his father, but finding him was no easy feat. He and Dima’s mother were long divorced, and the new family “couldn’t be disturbed.” The rest of the relatives just shrugged: “We have our own families, our own problems.” Turns out, during the day, family is there, but come nightfall, not a soul to be found. So, with two kids of their own, my parents became Dima’s guardians—after all, Dima’s late mother was my dad’s younger sister. At first, I was happy that Dima would be living with us. But then… On his very first day in our home, Dima’s behavior set me on edge. To comfort her orphaned nephew, my mum asked, “Is there anything you’d like, Dima? Don’t be shy, just say.” And Dima immediately replied, “A model train set.” Now, this wasn’t a cheap toy. I was shocked—your mum just died, the most important person in your life, and all you want is a train set? How could you even think of that? But my parents immediately bought him his dream. Then it was, “Buy me a tape player, jeans, a designer jacket…” This was the eighties, mind you, and not only was this stuff pricey, but it was impossible to get. My parents made sacrifices for the orphan, even at our own expense. My brother and I understood and didn’t complain. …When Dima turned sixteen, he discovered girls. And he wasn’t afraid to show his affection. Worse yet, he started making advances toward me—his own cousin. But as a sporty girl, I skillfully dodged his unwelcome attention. We’d even come to blows. I would cry and cry. I never told my parents—they didn’t need the heartache. Kids don’t talk about such things. After I fended him off, Dima wasted no time turning to my friends, who actually competed for his attention. …But Dima was also a shameless thief. I remember my piggy bank: saving on school lunches to buy presents for my parents, only to find it empty one day! Dima denied everything—didn’t bat an eye, didn’t blush, just outright lied. It broke my heart. How could he steal while living under our roof? He was wrecking our family from within, but Dima really didn’t understand why I was upset. He truly believed everyone owed him. I began to hate him. That’s when I finally screamed at him: “Get out of our family!” I lashed him with my words—said things that can never be taken back… My mum barely managed to calm me. From that day on, Dima ceased to exist for me. I ignored him completely. Later, I learned the other relatives knew what a “character” Dima was—they lived nearby and seen it all. Our family lived across town. Even Dima’s former teachers warned my parents: “You’re making a big mistake. Dima will ruin your other children too.” …At a new school, he met Katy—she loved Dima all her life. She married him straight out of school. They had a daughter, and Katy put up with his lies and cheating without protest. As they say: single life is hardship, married life is double. Dima joined the Army, stationed in Scotland. There, he started another family—he somehow managed it during leave. When his service ended, he stayed in Scotland. He had a son there. Katy, not hesitating, went after him and, by hook or by crook, brought him back home. My parents never received a word of thanks from cousin Dima—not that they expected it. Now, fifty years on, Dmitri is an active member of the local Anglican church. He and Katy have five grandchildren. On the surface, all seems well, but the bitterness of life with Dima remains… No amount of sugar could ever sweeten it.
SORROW AT THE BOTTOM OF MY HEART Youve needed a childrens home for years! Get out of our family! I...
Bittersweet Happiness – “What’s wrong with that young lady? She’s a good girl. Modest, neat, a hardworking student. She loves you,” Helen Edwards chastised her son. “Mum, I’ll handle it…” Denis clearly ended the pointless conversation. Helen left the room. “He’ll handle it… How many girls has he turned away… Nearly forty, and soon no one will do. Nothing’s ever right for him…” she thought with a heavy sigh. “Son, dinner’s ready,” Helen called from the kitchen. Denis responded instantly, tucking into his mother’s homemade stew. “Thank you, Mum. Delicious, as always.” “You should be saying that to your wife, not me,” Helen couldn’t let it go. “Mum…” Denis drank his compote and prepared to leave. “Wait, son. Do you know, I once visited a fortune-teller? She took one look at me and said: ‘Your son will have happiness, but it will be bittersweet.’” “Oh, Mum, don’t believe such things,” Denis grinned. …Through the years, different women—some loved, some not—came and went in Denis’s life. …Inna was smart, cultured, shockingly wise for her age. She often gave sound advice to the nine-years-older Denis. At first he liked this, but then he began to see Inna more as a mentor than anything else. Everything felt colourless. They split up. Polly had an eight-year-old son. Try as he might, Denis couldn’t get through to the boy, though he loved Polly. She was beautiful, but too headstrong. Whenever they quarrelled, he’d try to patch things up with gifts. The arguments felt senseless. Something was always missing—maybe peace and stability. Vera was everything he’d ever wanted in a woman. Denis almost married her. She was decent, pure, balanced—he felt like he had to “wear kid gloves” just to speak to her. He even moved into her flat. He was ready to start a family. But… He came home unexpectedly from a work trip to find Vera in bed with her old school friend. Classic… After that, Denis moved back in with his mum. Enough romance, he decided. “I’ll be a bachelor—a solid family of one,” he joked to his mum. Helen would shrug and sigh: “Will you ever find your one, son?” But fate had its own plan. Suddenly, unexpectedly. Denis was travelling for work, claimed his usual bottom bunk in the train carriage. A woman entered: “Excuse me, would you mind swapping? Can I have your lower bunk? Please.” “No trouble,” Denis replied. He looked her over—nothing remarkable. Yet his heart skipped. “Maybe she’s the one…” He clambered onto the top bunk and dozed off… “Glad you’re awake! Come, have some tea,” the stranger cooed. Denis climbed down and they started talking. “Larissa,” she introduced herself. “Denis. Nice to meet you, Larissa.” They talked throughout the evening. Denis felt instantly at ease. He didn’t try to impress her; everything just flowed, as if he’d known her forever. They exchanged numbers, just in case… A couple of weeks later, he couldn’t resist calling her. One thing led to another… Dates, kisses, promises… Denis couldn’t imagine his life without Larissa. At forty years old! He’d always let previous girlfriends go easily—but not this one… He wanted to lose himself entirely in her life. Larissa surrounded Denis with love, care, and understanding. Three months in, he offered his heart and hand. “Denis, I’m seven years older than you. I have three children. We live in a council flat,” Larissa admitted. She never lied. “I know, Lara. I’ve met your kids—you’ll all move in with me. It’s sorted. I love every inch of you. You’re my last and only,” said Denis, kissing her tenderly. “All right, Denis, let’s give it a try,” murmured a shy Larissa. “No, not try, Lara. We’ll be together. For good,” Denis squeezed her hand. “Do you hear me? Forever.” When Helen learned his plans, all she could say was: “You’ve really outdone yourself this time… The plainest girl of them all…” …Nine months later, their daughter was born—a child with Down’s syndrome. Denis felt both joy and worry for Larissa. Would she cope? Having a child with special needs is never easy. …Today, Denis and Larissa’s daughter is eight. The whole family adores her. Denis worships Larissa. Bittersweet, but happiness…
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