З життя
Не запросили на весілля, бо «чужа», але коли знадобилася моя квартира, раптом стала «рідною»
Мого сина оженився майже десять років тому. Його обраниця, Оксана, вже була одружена раніше і привезла у нашу родину доньку від першого чоловіка. Я прийняла її та дівчинку, як рідних, відкрила їм своє серце, не роблячи різниці. Усі ці роки я намагалася підтримувати молодих: то грошима виручала, то з дітьми сиділа, щоб вони могли перепочити від безкінечних турбот. З невісткою у нас завжди було натягнуто — не сварилися відкрито, але між нами висіла холодна стіна, яку я так і не змогла пробити.
Перший чоловік Оксани справно платив аліменти, але бачити доньку не бажав — просто викреслив її зі свого життя. А минулого року моя онучка, яку я вважала своєю кровинкою, вийшла заміж. І тут почалося. На весілля нас із сином не запросили. Причина? Свято було тільки для «членів родини», а нам, виходить, не знайшлося місця. Мій син, що виховав цю дівчинку майже десять років, вкладав у неї душу, замінив їй батька, виявився зайвим. А ось її біологічний батько, той самий, що роками не згадував про дочку, крім як надсилати гроші, красувався серед гостей, наче мав на це право.
Ця новина вразила мене, наче блискавка. Я любила цю дівчинку, раділа її успіхам, допомагала, чим могла, а у відповідь отримала лише байдужий погляд і зачинені двері. Я вважала її своєю онучкою, а вона викреслила мене зі свого життя, навіть не оглянувшись. Син мовчав, хоча я бачила, як біль гризе його ізсередини — він проковтнув цю образу, сховав її глибоко, але вона нікуди не ділась. Мені було боляче вдвічі — за себе і за нього, за цю несправедливість, що розчавила нас обох.
Рік тому мені дісталася у спадок маленька однокімнатна квартира в нашому містечку під Вінницею. Я вирішила здавати її, щоб додати трохи до своєї скромної пенсії — жити на одну її важко, а зайва копійка ніколи не завадить. І раптом дзвінок. Дзвонить Оксана, голос м’який, майже ласкавий — не впізнати. Каже, що її дочка, моя «онучка», очікує дитину, а молодим ніде жити. Просить звільнити квартиру, віддати її їм, щоб вони могли там оселитися. Я остовпіла. На весіллі ми були чужими, непотрібними, а тепер, коли мова йде про житло, я раптом стала «близькою родичкою»?
Її слова повисли у повітрі, як гіркий докір. Я ще не дала відповіді, але всередині все кричить: «Ні!» Можливо, я чіпляюся за минуле, тримаюсь за цю образу, як за якір, але пробачити таке зрадництво не можу. Серце ниє від спогадів — як я раділа її першим крокам, як купувала їй подарунки, як вважала її частиною своєї душі. А тепер вона і її мати дивляться на мене, як на ресурс, який можна взяти і викинути, коли він більше не потрібен.
Я не розумію, як мій син, мій Олексій, терпить це приниження. Як він живе з жінкою, яка не цінує ні його працю, ні його жертви, ні його матір? Він мовчить, ховає очі, і я бачу, як він повільно гасне в цьому шлюбі. А я стою перед вибором: поступитися і знову проковтнути образу чи нарешті сказати «досить», захистити хоча б крупицю власної гідності. Квартира — це не просто стіни, це моя опора, мій маленький острівець у старості. Віддати її тим, хто викреслив мене зі свого життя, коли я була не потрібна? Ні, це понад мої сили.
Я все ще розриваюся. Частина мене хоче бути доброю, великодушною, як личить матері та бабусі. Але інша частина, та, що втомлена від болю і обману, шепоче: «Ти їм нічого не винна». І цей внутрішній конфлікт терзає мене день і ніч, залишаючи лише тінь від тієї жінки, що колись вірила в силу родини.
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