З життя
Свекруха хотіла втрутитися в наші плани щодо житла. Чи мала вона на це право?
Теща хотіла поділити нашу квартиру. Чи мала вона право втручатися?
Ми з коханим одружилися шість років тому. Після народження сина вирішили продати мою однокімнатну квартиру, взяти іпотеку і придбати більшу. Ми подумали, що незабаром нашій дитині знадобиться власна кімната, а нам з чоловіком потрібно трохи приватності.
Нарешті ми придбали омріяну квартиру, оформили її на мене, тож я була єдиним власником. Але, оскільки ми купили її у шлюбі, у разі розлучення житло було б розділено між нами в рівних частках. В мене залишились кошти від продажу моєї передшлюбної квартири, які ми також вклали.
Коли ми оселилися в новій, більшій квартирі, не уявляли, що колись можемо розлучитися і мати серйозні проблеми. Однак згодом у нашому шлюбі щось пішло не так. Можливо, ми набридли одне одному, або робили помилки від початку і не вміли належно дбати про наш союз.
Я думаю, мій чоловік поділився нашими сімейними проблемами з мамою. Впевнена, він робив це з добрих намірів, можливо, потребував поради мудрої жінки, яка привела його на світ. Однак усе виявилося навпаки.
Нещодавно зателефонувала моя свекруха і сказала, що прийде на обід. Мене насторожила її візит, адже зазвичай ми самі її відвідуємо. Мати мого чоловіка рідко приходить до нас, аргументуючи це незручністю. Я подумала, що, можливо, вона сумує за онуком або сином. Ми вирішили приготувати святкову вечерю.
Того дня моя свекруха Марія прийшла до нас ще до повернення чоловіка з роботи. Я знаходилася в кімнаті, сервіруючи стіл. Вона не обмовилася з онуком жодним словом, а прямувала до кімнати, де я була, і зачинила за собою двері.
– Наталю, хочу з тобою серйозно поговорити. Недавно я дізналася, що у вас із Олександром проблеми в стосунках. Боюся, якщо дійде до розлучення, ти знищиш мого сина і позбавиш його всього.
Я ледь не втратила дар мови від цього твердження і негайно запитала свекруху:
– Чому ти думаєш, що ми розлучаємося? Чому тебе цікавить, як ми з чоловіком поділимо наше спільно нажите майно? Роки тому ми обговорювали з Олександром, що робити в разі розлучення. Це лише наша справа.
– Мене зовсім не влаштовує те, що відбувається у вас. Добре знаю, як у наші дні дружини намагаються відібрати все в чоловіків. Жінки роблять багато, аби утримати себе та дітей. Тому наполягаю, щоб ви поділили це зараз, поки не почався серйозний конфлікт. Думаю, ти повинна переписати половину квартири на мого сина, щоб він не залишився на вулиці, якщо щось станеться.
Я була вражена цією безцеремонністю.
– Розумію, що ти не враховуєш, що половину нашої квартири придбано за гроші від продажу моєї передшлюбної квартири. Крім того, я почала виплачувати іпотеку, коли вийшла з декрету, але не має значення, ми все ще в шлюбі.
– Усі нерухомості, набуті подружжям під час шлюбу, повинні при розлученні ділитися навпіл, тож не бійся.
– Хочу знати, чи обговорювала ти це з сином?
– Навіть не збираюся, адже чоловікам не потрібно заглиблюватися в такі речі. Взагалі-то, я ще вирішу, чи говорити з ним на цю тему.
– Послухай мене! Я не планую дискутувати з тобою з цього приводу. Олександр і я самі вирішимо, як діяти, якщо до чогось дійде, без твоєї допомоги. Дуже ціную і вдячна за твою турботу про наш шлюб, але не хочу продовжувати цю розмову. Можеш почекати, поки Олександр повернеться з роботи, я йду прогулятися, мені потрібно заспокоїтися. Марія, однак, не стала чекати і уникнула зустрічі зі своїм сином. Вона була дуже засмучена розмовою з Наталею і не хотіла, щоб він щось помітив.
Я пішла одягатися, і за три хвилини почула, як зачинилися двері. Мій чоловік повернувся додому через пів години після того, як свекруха пішла, і був здивований, що мати його не дочекалася. Я намагалася якнайспокійніше передати йому всю розмову з матір’ю. Коли емоції вщухли, він сказав, що не знає про плани матері і не обговорював це з нею.
Олександр пообіцяв серйозно поговорити зі свекрухою, щоб вона більше не піднімала таких тем. Після візиту матері чоловіка я довго не могла заспокоїтися, можливо, сказала щось зайве, але була нервовою. З іншого боку, вважаю, краще показати іншій людині її місце, навіть якщо це твій родич.
My Husband Brought a Colleague to Our Christmas Dinner, So I Asked Them Both to Leave
Where did you put the napkins? I told you to get out the silver ones, they go far better with...
I’m 45 and I’ve Stopped Hosting Guests at Home: Why I Now Prefer Celebrating in Restaurants and Value My Own Comfort Over Entertaining, Even if It Means Declining Impolite Visitors Who Never Reciprocate
I’m 45 now, and honestly, I don’t let people come round to my house anymore. You know how some people...
Drifts of Destiny
Drifts of Fate Matthew, a thirty-five-year-old solicitor, can’t stand New Year’s Eve. For him, its less celebration and more endurance...
“We’ll Be Staying at Yours for a While Because We Can’t Afford Our Own Flat!” — My Friend Told Me. At 65, I Live an Active Life, Exploring New Places and Meeting Fascinating People, but an Unexpected Visit From an Old Friend and Her Entire Family Turned Into a Nightmare That Ended Our Friendship Forever
“We’ll be staying at yours for a bit, as we can’t afford a place of our own!” my friend told...
You Don’t Deserve It — “After my divorce, I thought I’d never trust anyone again,” Andrew admitted, fidgeting with his empty espresso cup. His voice cracked and wavered so convincingly that Kate found herself leaning closer. “You know, when someone betrays you, you lose a part of yourself. She left me with wounds I thought would never heal… I honestly didn’t think I’d survive.” Andrew’s stories poured out for a long time: about his wife who never appreciated him, the pain that wouldn’t let go, the fear of starting over. Each word settled in Kate’s heart like a warm little stone. She imagined herself as the woman who could restore his faith in love—how they’d heal his scars together, how he’d realize true happiness was possible with her by his side. He first mentioned Max on their second date, casually dropped in between dessert and coffee… — “I have a son, by the way. He’s seven. Lives with his mum, but stays with me every weekend. The court said so.” — “That’s wonderful!” Kate beamed. “Children are a blessing.” She started daydreaming: Saturday morning breakfasts for three, trips to the park, TV evenings together. The boy needed a woman’s care, a mother’s warmth. She could become a second mum—not a replacement, but someone close, someone family… — “Are you sure you don’t mind?” Andrew watched her with a crooked smile she mistook for wariness at the time. “A lot of women run when they hear about a kid.” — “I’m not most women,” she said proudly. Her first weekend with Max was a celebration. Kate made blueberry pancakes—his absolute favourite, as Andrew had tipped her off. Patiently, she helped him through his maths homework. She washed his dinosaur T-shirt, pressed his school uniform, made sure he was in bed by nine sharp. — “You should have a rest,” she told Andrew after he’d sprawled out on the sofa with the remote. “I’ve got this covered.” Andrew nodded—or so it seemed then, gratefully. But now she realized it was the nod of a man taking his due. Time marched on. Kate worked as a logistics manager, out by eight, home after seven. Decent salary by London standards—enough for two. But there were three. — “Hold-up on site again,” Andrew would say as if announcing a hurricane, “Client’s pulled out. But there’s a big contract coming, I promise.” The “big contract” hovered on the horizon for a year and a half, sometimes getting closer, mostly never arriving. But the bills always came—rent, utilities, internet, groceries, child support for Marina, new trainers for Max, school contributions. Kate paid all of them, quietly. She skimped on lunches, brought in tupperware pasta, walked home in the rain to save on cabs. She hadn’t had a manicure in a year—did her own nails and tried not to remember the luxury of professional treatments. Three years, and Andrew had given her flowers exactly three times. Kate remembered each bouquet—cheap roses from the convenience kiosk near their tube stop, droopy and with snapped-off thorns. Probably on special offer… The first was an apology after Andrew called her hysterical in front of Max. The second came after an argument about a friend who visited unannounced. The third, when he missed her birthday because he lingered with mates—simply forgot. — “Andrew, I don’t want expensive gifts,” she tried to keep her voice gentle. “Just… sometimes I’d like to know you’re thinking of me. Even a card…” His face contorted instantly. — “So it’s all about money for you, is it? Presents? Don’t you care about love? Or what I’ve been through?” — “That’s not what—” — “You don’t deserve it.” Andrew spat the words at her like dirt. “After all I do for you, you still complain.” She fell silent. She always did—it made things easier. Easier to live, to breathe, to pretend everything was fine. Yet, for mates’ nights, Andrew always found cash. Pubs, football at the local, café Thursdays. He’d come home tipsy, reeking of sweat and cigarettes, flop onto the bed without noticing Kate was still awake. She convinced herself this was how love worked. Love meant sacrifice. Love meant patience. He would change, surely. She just had to be even more attentive, love even harder—after all, look at what he’d suffered… Talk of marriage became a minefield. — “We’re happy as we are, why do we need a piece of paper?” Andrew waved the question away like a pesky fly. “After what happened with Marina, I need time.” — “It’s been three years, Andrew. That’s a long time.” — “Now you’re pressuring me—always pressuring!” He stormed off, ending the conversation. Kate longed for children of her own. She was twenty-eight, the ticking biological clock growing louder each month. But Andrew wasn’t interested in a second round of fatherhood—he had a son, and that was enough for him. Then came that Saturday—she asked for just one day. One day. — “The girls are inviting me over. We haven’t seen each other in ages. I’ll be back by evening.” Andrew looked at her as though she’d announced she was emigrating. — “And Max?” — “He’s your son, Andrew. Spend the day with him.” — “So you’re abandoning us? On a Saturday? When I’m expecting to relax?” She blinked. In three years she’d never left them alone. Never asked for a day to herself. She cooked, cleaned, tutored homework, washed, ironed—while holding a full-time job. — “I just want to see my friends. It’s only a few hours… And he’s your son. Can’t you spend a day with him on your own?” — “You’re supposed to love my child as much as me!” Andrew suddenly roared. “You live in my flat, eat my food, and now you’ve got the nerve to make demands?!” His flat. His food. Kate paid the rent. Kate bought the food. Three years supporting a man who yelled at her for wanting to spend a day with her friends. She looked at Andrew—twisted face, throbbing temples, fists clenched—and saw him for the first time. Not as a wounded soul, not a helpless victim in need of rescue, but an adult who had learned to expertly exploit kindness. Kate, to him, was not a beloved partner, not a future wife. She was a walking wallet and a live-in maid. That was all. When Andrew left to drop Max back to Marina, Kate took out her suitcase. Her hands moved calmly, no shakes, no doubts. Passport. Mobile. Charger. A couple of shirts and jeans. The rest could be bought later. The rest didn’t matter. She left no note. What could she explain to a man who never valued her? The door closed behind her quietly, no fuss, no drama. The calls started within an hour—one, then another, then a barrage—a shrill, endless trill that made her phone quiver. — “Kate, where are you?! What’s going on?! You’ve gone, there’s no dinner! Am I supposed to go hungry now? What the hell?!” She listened—his voice angry, demanding, full of righteous indignation—and marvelled. Even now, as she’d left, Andrew thought only of himself. How inconvenient this was. Who would make his tea? No “sorry”. No “what happened”. Just “how dare you”. Kate blocked his number. Blocked him on Messenger. On every social platform—brick by brick, she built herself a wall. Three years. Three years with someone who never loved her. Who used her empathy as a disposable resource. Who convinced her that self-sacrifice was love. But that’s not love. Love doesn’t humiliate. Love doesn’t reduce someone to a servant. Kate walked through the twilight streets of London and for the first time in ages, she could breathe. She vowed she’d never again confuse love with self-neglect. Never again give herself away to those who prey on pity. And always, always choose herself. Just herself.
I never thought Id be able to trust anyone again after my divorce, Andrew was turning an empty espresso cup...
My Ex-Husband’s Son from His New Marriage Fell Ill – He Asked Me for Financial Help and I Refused!
Im 37 years old. Ive been divorced for a good ten years now. My ex-husband was unfaithful and I couldnt...
What You Really Want Isn’t a Wife, But a Live-In Housekeeper
You dont need a wife, you need a housekeeper. Mum, Mollys chewed my pencil again! Sophie shot into the kitchen,...
My Children Are Well Provided For, I Have a Bit Put By, and Soon I’ll Be Taking My Pension: The Story of My Friend Fred, the Beloved Local Mechanic, and the Family Who Couldn’t Let Him Rest
My kids are sorted, Ive got a bit tucked away, and soon enough, Ill be drawing my pension. A few...