З життя
«Невістка попросила мене рідше приходити. Я перестала… поки одного дня вона не зателефонувала з проханням про допомогу»
Після весілля мого сина я намагалася бувати в їхньому домі якомога частіше. Приходила не з порожніми руками — завжди щось смачненьке готувала, приносила солодощі, спекла пиріжки. Невістка хвалила мої страви, з задоволенням куштувала першою. Мені здавалося, у нас склалися теплі, душевні стосунки. Я щиро раділа, що можу бути корисною, бути поряд. А головне — що я входжу в їхню сім’ю не як чужа, а як рідна людина.
Але одного разу все змінилося. Я зайшла до них, і вдома виявилася лише невістка. Випили по чашці чаю, як зазвичай. Але я відразу відчула — у її погляді щось тривожне, ніби вона хоче щось сказати, та вагається. І коли розмова нарешті відбулася, вона стала ударом у саме сердце.
— Було б краще, якби ви приходили рідше… Краще, якби Андрій сам вас відвідував, — промовила вона, опустивши очі.
Я не чекала такого. У її голосі пролунав холод, а в очах… дратівливість? Не знаю. Після тієї розмови я перестала ходити. Просто зникла з їхнього життя, щоб не заважати. Син почав навідувати нас один. Невістка більше ніколи не з’являлася в нашому домі.
Я мовчала. Нікому не скаржилася. Хоч усе всередині стискалося від образу. Я не розуміла — у чому моя провина? Я ж лише хотіла допомогти… Усе життя старалася тримати мир у сім’ї. А тепер моя участь стала для когось тягарем. Боляче усвідомлювати, що тобі не раді.
Минув час. У них народилася дитина — наш довгоочікуваний онук. Ми з чоловіком були на сьомому небі від щастя. Але й тут ми не лізли напрошуватися: приходили лише за запрошенням, брали малюка на прогулянки, щоб не заважати. Робили все можливе, щоб не бути зайвими.
І ось одного разу — дзвінок. Невістка. Тихим, майже офіційним голосом сказала:
— Ви не могли б сьогодні посидіти з дитиною у нас? Мені треба терміново відлучитися за справами.
Вона не попросила — вона просто поставила перед фактом. Ніби це нам потрібніше, ніж їй. Ніби ми благали її дати нам цю можливість. А ще нещодавно вона просила мене не приходити…
Я довго думала, як вчинити. Гордість шепотіла — відмовити. Але розум нагадував: це шанс. Шанс не заради неї — заради онука. Заради Андрія. Заради миру в сім’ї. Та я відповіла інакше:
— Краще привезіть малого до нас. Ви ж просили, щоб ми не приходили без потреби. Не хочу порушувати ваш простір.
Невістка замовкла. Але за кілька секунд погодилася. Привезла дитину. А у нас з чоловіком того дня наче свято було. Гралися, сміялися, гуляли — день промайнув миттю. Яке ж щастя бути бабусею та дідусем! І все ж усередині залишився присмак гіркоти. Я не розуміла: як тепер поводитися?
Залишитися такою ж стриманою? Чекати, поки вона перша зробить крок? Чи стати мудрішою та переступити через образи? Заради онука я готова на багато. Готова пробачити, закрити очі на гіркі слова. Готова знову спробувати налагодити стосунки.
Але чи потрібна я їм? Чи потрібна я їй?
Я не знаю, чи зрозуміє вона, як легко зруйнувати те, що будується роками. І як важко потім збирати все те по шматочках…
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