З життя
Нам за 60, ми розлучаємося після 35 років шлюбу
Мені шістдесят два, йому — шістдесят вісім. Ми розлучаємось… Після тридцяти п’яти років шлюбу.
Мене звуть Ганна Іванівна, мені шістдесят два. Мого чоловіка звати Богдан, йому шістдесят вісім. Ми разом більше тридцяти п’яти років. Здавалося б, життя вже налагоджене, діти виросли, дім наповнений спогадами, попереду — спокійна старість удвох. Я вірила, що в нас усе добре. Так, побут, так, мало романтики. Та ж ми — родина.
На Новий рік діти, як завжди, «підкинули» нам свого кота Миколу та поїхали святкувати десь у Карпати. Ми з Богданом залишилися вдвох. В один із цих довгих вихідних він сказав, що хоче поїхати в рідне село на цвинтар — провідати батьків, за одно заїхати до сестри. Я провела його без зайвих запитань.
Минув тиждень. Він повернувся — зовні все як завжди. А ще через кілька днів він раптом заявив, що подав на розлучення. Спокійно, без істерик. «Я так більше не можу. Я зустрів людину, яка мене розуміє. І яка зможе мене… вилікувати».
Я просто оніміла. Спочатку подумала — жартує. Але він говорив це абсолютно серйозно. Виявилося, поки я доглядала за домом, прала його сорочки та варила борщ, він відновив зв’язок зі своєю давньою коханкою — з жінкою, з якою зустрічався ще до нашого шлюбу. Вона знайшла його через інтернет. Живе в тому ж місті, де й його сестра. І коли він поїхав «на могилки», насправді провів три дні в неї.
Вона — вдова. І, за його словами, у неї «все є»: трикімнатна квартира в Києві, дача під Івано-Франківськом, кілька авто і… здібності екстрасенса. Вона, мовляв, практикує народну медицину, лікує травами, робить масажі, читає аури і, як він висловився, «вміє розпізнати хвороби на енергетичному рівні». Навіть рак, якщо він на початковій стадії, може «заговорити».
Вона пообіцяла йому здоров’я, турботу і, як бонус, дачу з авто в подарунок — якщо він розлучиться і одружиться з нею. Ось так, за три дні, розвалилося все, що ми будували десятиліттями.
Він вимагав, щоб я терміново пішла до ЗАГСу і подала на розлучення. Я відмовилася. Сказала, що не буду брати участь у цьому цирку. Тоді він сам подав документи. Про те, що призначено засідання, я дізналася випадково — від знайомої в суді. Прийшла, приголомшена, і вимагала пояснень.
А він написав у позові, що ми «не жили разом вже шість років» і «не спали в одному ліжку п’ятнадцять років». Усе це брехня. Так, між нами була холодність, так, ми більше були як сусіди — але жили під одним дахом, ділили побут, розмовляли, вирішували спільні справи. І я не можу зрозуміти, як людина, з якою я провела всю свідому життя, могла так легко викреслити мене заради якоїсь самозванки з трав’яними відварами та обіцянками «енергетичного очищення».
Зараз я чекаю суду. Сплю погано. Іноді просто не маю сил піднятися з ліжка. Усе руйнується. Не так страшний сам розлучення, як ось ця зрада. Він живе в нашій квартирі, але розмовляє зі мною, як із чужою. Холодно, відсторонено, ніби я його набридла, ніби увесь цей час він мене терпів. А коли я, як остання наївна жінка, попросила його опам’ятатися, він лише знизав плечима: «Ганно, ми вже давно живемо як сусіди. Я хочу бути з тими, хто мене цінує».
Мені страшно. Не за себе. За ту жінку, яка була зі мною все життя — ту, яку я вже не впізнаю в дзеркалі. Як мені тепер жити, коли все, що я вважала міцним, виявилося ілюзією? Коли ти шістдесят два роки була дружиною, а за одну зиму раптом перетворилася на нікому не потрібну стару?..
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!
Youre robbing my son, he cant even afford a lightbulb. One Sunday morning, I was curled up under a blanket...
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