З життя
Моя свекруха виховала ідеального сина, але не чоловіка.
Вибачте, але за всієї моєї поваги, я не можу називати свою свекруху мамою. Коли я виходила заміж, саме цього і прагнула, була така щаслива, коли Олександр зробив мені пропозицію, але тоді я собі уявляла наше сімейне життя трохи по-іншому. Дуже хотіла вийти заміж, любити і бути коханою. Заздрісно спостерігала за щасливими родинами своїх подруг, слухала їхні історії про те, як добре їм живеться в шлюбі, який сповнений любові і турботи одне про одного.
Мріяла про родину, де чоловік буде моїм лицарем, моєю підтримкою та прихистком, а наші діти зростатимуть у щасливому домі, наповненому любов’ю. Дуже хотіла бути ніжною, коханою дружиною, і дати своєму чоловікові все, що зможу.
Коли вперше побачила його відношення до свекрухи, подумала, що вона виховала його саме таким, якого я мріяла мати поруч. Під час розмови, що відбулася перед нашим шлюбом, мама мого чоловіка сказала слова, які назавжди залишаться в моїй пам’яті: “Моя дорога, в житті мого сина завжди була тільки одна жінка. Пам’ятай, ніколи не буде важливішої за мене.” Тоді повністю не зрозуміла сенс цих слів, але з плином часу, на жаль, усвідомила.
Спочатку нашого шлюбу мене не турбувало, що чоловік дбає про маму, навіть вражала його вихованість і міцний зв’язок з матір’ю. З плином часу стало заважати, що він ніколи їй не відмовляв. Виконував її найхимерніші прохання, виходив з дому о п’ятій ранку, бо мама подзвонила, що їй захотілося свіжих булочок, або бігав по всьому місту в пошуках дешевших ліків, щоб мамусі не довелося витрачати декілька гривень більше. Якщо вона дзвонила, що в неї скриплять двері, вдягався і виходив, не кажучи мені ані слова. В нашому домі двері теж потребували ремонту, але мого чоловіка це не цікавило, важлива була тільки мама, я була для нього невидимою.
Одного разу, коли Олександр приїхав за мною після роботи, вона подзвонила і звинуватила мене в безсердечності та ліні. Я використовую свого чоловіка, замість того, щоб дати йому відпочити. Звичайно, могла б повернутися додому поїздом або автобусом, але не вбачала у своїй поведінці нічого поганого. Адже Олександр мій чоловік і я повинна бути для нього найважливішою жінкою в житті.
Наступного дня хотіла поговорити з чоловіком про ситуацію, але, як завжди, він не бачив жодних проблем. Відразу після нашої розмови подзвонила свекруха і попросила відвезти її на дачу. Мій коханий лише сказав, що це його мати, і він не може їй відмовити.
Олександр чудовий син, але він ніколи не повинен був бути чоловіком жодної жінки, бо ніхто не витерпів би такого ставлення. Мати Олександра не соромилася дзвонити серед ночі, скаржачись на погане самопочуття й безсоння, ця егоїстка не турбувалася, що ми повинні виспатися і вранці йти на роботу. Що в такій ситуації робив мій чоловік? Викликав таксі, бо випив кілька чарок ввечері, і їхав перевірити, чому мама не може заснути. Замість подяки вона його облаяла, щоб не дозволяв собі випивати ввечері, адже мати будь-якої миті може потребувати допомоги.
Звичайно, він може утриматися від всього, не лише від алкоголю, але чи не має чоловік права на нормальне життя, лише тому, що він син такої вимогливої та ревнивої жінки? Моя свекруха руйнує наш шлюб, вважаючи, що її син досі належить лише їй, а я – просто дружина, хоча повинна бути для нього важливішою.
На щастя, у нас немає дітей. Бо вони одразу зрозуміли б, що не можуть розраховувати на батька, бо бабуся має пріоритет. Після років принижень і перебування на другому місці, я впала у депресію, але навіть тоді не могла розраховувати на підтримку і турботу з боку чоловіка. Найбільше підтримала мене моя подруга, розуміючи, яка це підступна хвороба. Я тоді так сильно розраховувала на хоча б кілька слів підтримки, співчуття та розуміння з боку коханого, але замість цього він знову захопився роботою в саду матері.
Так, визнаю, що програла, не змогла стати для нього тим, ким була мама, хоча дуже старалася. Шкода, що всі мої зусилля залишилися непоміченими Олександром. Він дійсно закоханий в одну жінку – в свою матір. Ті слова любові, що він говорячи мені, були просто формальністю, угодою між нареченою та нареченим.
Я ніколи не прагнула ідеалу, бо вони не існують, я хотіла щирого почуття. Хороший чоловік не мусить, як Олександр, укладати одяг в шафах за лінійкою, у відповідному поєднанні кольорів. Він може вийти з друзями на пиво і повернутися додому після півночі, але не мій чоловік, він був вихований як ідеальний син.
Дуже рада, що зрештою зрозуміла, що мій чоловік ніколи не буде таким, яким я його уявляла. У нас немає дітей, бо він боявся, що обов’язки вдома поглинуть його і він не матиме достатньо часу для мами.
Олександр дбав про маму, як про нікого іншого в світі, я прийняла той факт, що ніколи не виграю. Вирішила, що знайду чоловіка, якого покохаю всім серцем, і для якого я також буду найважливіша. Я завагітніла і чекаю на свого маленького принца, для якого буду всім світом, який буде мене любити та потребувати.
Я пообіцяла собі виховати сина справжнім, відповідальним чоловіком, який колись створить власну сім’ю і зробить свою жінку щасливою.
He Hated His Wife. Hated Her… They Spent 15 Years Together, Fifteen Mornings Waking Up Side by Side—But Only in the Last Year Did Her Habits Begin to Drive Him Mad, Especially One: Stretching Out Her Arms in Bed and Sleepily Saying, “Good Morning, Sunshine! Today Will Be a Wonderful Day.” What Seemed a Simple Phrase, Her Slim Arms, Her Sleepy Face, Now Filled Him with Disgust. She’d Rise, Walk Past the Window, Gaze Out for a While, Then Slip off Her Nightdress and Head to the Bathroom. Early in Marriage, He’d Adored Her Body, Its Natural Confidence That Seemed Almost Indecent—But Now, Though She Was Still Beautiful, Her Nakedness Made Him Angry. Once, He Even Considered Pushing Her to Hurry Her Morning Routine but Only Managed a Gruff: “Get a Move On—I’ve Had Enough!” She Refused to Rush or Let His Affectionless Hostility Change Her Pace—She Knew About His Affair, Even Recognized the Young Woman He’d Been Seeing for Three Years. Time Dulles the Sharp Sting of Pride, Leaving Only a Lingering Sense of Uselessness. She Forgave Him—the Aggression, the Neglect, His Need to Relive His Youth—But She Wouldn’t Let Him Rob Her of Living Mindfully, Cherishing Each Moment. She’d Made Up Her Mind When She Learned She Was Ill. The Disease Was Slowly Consuming Her; It Would Win Soon. Her First Urge Was to Confess to Everyone—To Lessen the Brutal Truth by Sharing the Burden with Loved Ones. Yet She Endured the Hardest Day Alone, Accepting Her Fate, and Then Resolved to Remain Silent. Life Slipped Away, Yet Each Day She Gained the Wisdom of a True Observer. She Found Solace in a Quiet English Countryside Library, a Ninety-Minute Walk Each Way. Every Day, She’d Hide in the Narrow Aisles Marked “Life & Death’s Secrets” by the Elderly Librarian and Lose Herself in Books She Hoped Contained Every Answer. He’d Go to His Lover’s Flat, Where Everything Felt Warm, Bright, Familiar. Their Love Affair Had Grown Wild—Three Years of Passion, Jealousy, Heartache, and Asphyxiating Desire. Today He Came With a Decision: Divorce. Why Torment All Three of Them? He Didn’t Love His Wife—No, He Hated Her—and Here, He Could Start Fresh, Find Happiness. He Tried to Recall His Feelings for His Wife, but There Was Nothing—He Couldn’t Even Remember Caring for Her on That First Day. He Pulled Out a Photo of Her from His Wallet, Tore It Into Pieces—Determined to End It. They Arranged to Meet at the Restaurant Where, Six Months Earlier, They’d Celebrated Fifteen Years as Husband and Wife. She Arrived First. He Stopped Home to Find the Divorce Papers, Ransacking Drawers in a Panic Until He Spotted a Dark Blue Folder He’d Never Seen Before. He Ripped Off the Seal, Expecting Dirty Secrets—But Found Only Medical Reports, Official Documents. His Wife’s Name on Every Page. Realisation Struck Like Lightning; She Was Ill. He Googled the Diagnosis: “6–18 Months Life Expectancy.” Six Months Had Already Passed. He Remembered Little of What Happened Next—Only the Words “6–18 Months” Looping Relentlessly in His Mind. She Waited for Forty Minutes. No Answer from His Phone. She Paid the Bill and Went Outside. The Autumn Weather Was Glorious—The Sun Gentle, Comforting. “Life Is Beautiful, the World So Wonderful, So Warm.” For the First Time Since Her Diagnosis, She Felt Sorry for Herself. She’d Found the Strength to Hide Her Secret from Everyone, Sparing Them the Pain at the Cost of Her Own Crumbling Life. After This Year, She Would Be Nothing but a Memory. She Wandered Down the Street, Watching Bright Faces Filled With Hope Of Winters and Springs Yet to Come—As If the Future Were Theirs To Shape. She Would Never Know That Feeling Again. Bitterness Swelled and Burst Forth as Tears She Couldn’t Stop… He Paced the Room. For the First Time, He Felt The Swift Passage of Life as a Physical Ache. He Remembered His Wife Young, Full of Hope When They First Met—He’d Loved Her Then. In That Moment, Fifteen Years Vanished: Happiness, Youth, and Life Still Ahead. In Her Final Weeks, He Became Devoted, At Her Side Every Hour, Overcome by a Joy He’d Never Known. He Was Terrified She’d Leave—He Would Have Given His Own Life to Save Hers. Had Someone Reminded Him Of His Hatred Just a Month Ago, He’d Have Sworn: “That Wasn’t Me.” He Witnessed Her Battle to Say Goodbye, Weeping Secretly at Night When She Thought He Slept—He Understood No Punishment Was Worse Than Knowing Your Days Are Numbered. He Saw Her Fight for Every Moment, Grasping Even the Smallest Hope. She Died Two Months Later. He Covered the Path from Home to Cemetery in Flowers. He Wept Like a Child as Her Coffin Was Lowered—He Felt Centuries Older. At Home, Beneath Her Pillow, He Found a New Year’s Wish She Had Written: “To Be Happy With Him Until My Last Day.” They Say All New Year’s Wishes Come True—Perhaps They Do, For That Year He Wrote: “To Be Free.” In the End, Each Got Exactly What, It Seemed, They Had Wished For…
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