З життя
Син закрив двері перед моїм обличчям, коли я прийшла з домашньою їжею о сьомій ранку — його дружина винна!
Вранок почався для мене болюче. Я прийшла до сина із домашньою їжею о сьомій годині ранку, а він просто захлопнув двері перед моїм носом. Я певна — це все його жінка.
Наше життя з чоловіком завжди оберталося навколо одного-єдиного — нашого сина. Народили ми його пізно, і з першого дня дали собі слово: він ніколи не відчуватиме того, що відчувала я у дитинстві. Я росла без тата, а мати була холодною, далекою, наче кімнатний квітку поливала, але не бачила в мені людини. Я не знала материнської теплоти й пообіцяла собі — мій хлопчик не відчує тієї самотності, що гнітила мене.
Олег став нашим сенсом. Ми працювали без відпусток, без себе, заради нього. Коли він закінчив школу, взяли кредит, щоб купити йому квартиру поряд. Десять років виплат, важких, але ми впоралися. До його весілля у нього вже був свій дім.
Не забуду, як на весіллі урочисто вручила йому ключі. Його наречена, Соломія, та її майже розплакалися. Сватья тоді тільки й говорила, що «для своєї донечки все зробить», але в результаті — ні посагу, ні допомоги, усе на нас.
Ми й далі допомагали — хто ж, як не батьки? Я готувала їхні улюблені страви, приносила продукти, купувала побутові дрібниці. Соломія дзвонила, питала, де що лежить — адже нічого сама не складала. Я робила все від душі. Не чекала нічого взамін… окрім простого «дякую».
Та вдячність, схоже, залишилася десь у минулому. Замість неї — холод і дратівливість. А вчора я зрозуміла: тут мене більше не хочуть.
Все почалося як завжди. До роботи я йду о восьмій, і вже о сьомій стояла біля дверей Олега. Принесла тушковану курку, свіжу, пахучу. І нові шторки — щоб підходили до того сервізу, що купила їм минулого тижня. Хотіла зробити приємне. Засунула ключ у замок… але він не повернувся. Замок змінили. Навіть не попередили.
Я стояла, ніби чужа. Постукала. Двері відчинив Олег. Я посміхнулася, простягла контейнер, почала розповідати про шторки… Але він навіть не слухав. Дивився на мене кам’яним поглядом.
— Мамо, — сказав він різко. — Ти серйозно? Сьома година! Ти вриваєшся до нас на світанку й чекаєш подяки? Це ненормально. Якщо ще раз таке буде — ми переїдемо. І не скажемо куди.
І він захлопнув двері. Не взяв ні їжу, ні шторки. Я стояла, ніби вдарена по голові. Довелося будити сусідку, щоб передала, що їжа в неї.
Їхала на роботу з неначе каменем у горлі. Тряслася. Як так можна? Я віддала йому свої кращі роки, ніколи не жила для себе. А тепер… я просто зайва.
Зараз усі кажуть, що батьки нічого не винні дітям. Але ми з чоловіком не такі. Ми зробили все. І більше. А тепер — «мам, не лізь». Навіть «спасибі» не сказали, лише погроза: «переїдемо».
А ж Олег ніколи не був таким. Це вона — Соломія. Вона змусила його змінити замок. Вона переконала його, що мати — це проблема. Що турбота — це вторгнення. Та хіба ж це справедливо?
Іноді думаю — може, я дійсно винна? Може, треба було відійти? Але як не допомагати? Як не підставити плече, коли знаєш, що можеш полегшити їм життя?
Тепер сиджу й думаю: як жити далі? Мій син, той самий Олежка, заради якого я дихала — відвернувся. І все через жінку, я вирішила, що я — завада.
А найгірше — він навіть не зрозумів, наскільки мене вразив.
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