З життя
Сыновья вновь появились, когда я решила отдать квартиру племяннице.
Пять лет мои сыновья не появлялись на пороге, но стоило мне заикнуться о передаче квартиры племяннице — как слетелись, словно в неё воронье.
У меня двое сыновей — Дмитрий и Алексей, трое внуков, две невестки… А жила я, в общем-то, как бобылка. За все эти годы — ни звонка, ни гроша помощи. Но как только зашла речь о квартире, вдруг вспомнили, что у них есть мать. Примчались, устроили сцену. Стало ясно: им от меня нужно только жильё.
Когда они родились, я думала — вот, моя старость будет в надёжных руках. Ошиблась. Заботится обо мне не родная кровь, а племянница — Наталья. У неё, между прочим, свои родители: мой брат и его жена.
Наверное, мы с покойным мужем где-то оступились в воспитании. Пока отец был жив, сыновья хоть изредка появлялись. Но как только его не стало — испарились. Целых пять лет я их не видела.
А живут-то они в том же городе — не за тридевять земель, а в паре остановок на маршрутке. Оба с семьями, оба при делах. У меня трое внуков, но младшую, Катю, я даже ни разу не обняла. А мне тяжело — ноги болят, после перелома еле передвигаюсь. Дозвониться — целая история. Вечно одни обещания: «Вот на выходные заедем», «Вот поможем». Но дальше слов — ни шагу.
Как только соседи сверху затопили кухню, я решила позвать сыновей — потолок подправить. Позвонила Дмитрию — пообещал. Позвонила Алексею — тоже пообещал. Никто не пришёл. Пришлось искать мастера. Заплатила три тысячи рублей — не жалко, но обидно до слёз: неужели я стала для них чужой?
Потом сломался холодильник. Я в технике не разбираюсь, а в магазинах пенсионеров часто обманывают. Попросила сыновей — пусть помогут выбрать. В ответ услышала: «Тебе там всё объяснят». Пришлось звать брата — приехала Наталья с мужем, сами всё уладили.
А потом грянул карантин. Сыновья стали звонить раз в месяц, сухо спрашивали: «Как ты там?» — и всё. Советовали: «Сиди дома, заказывай продукты». Но как это делать — не подсказали. Зато Наталья сама приехала, показала, как пользоваться приложением. Она каждый день звонит родителям, заказывает им еду, лекарства. И меня не бросила.
Поняв, что сыновья забыли про меня, Наталья стала навещать. Помогала по дому, убирала, готовила, сидела рядом, когда я болела. Просто приходила — поболтать за чаем. На все праздники звала к себе: у неё своя семья, родители, брат… и я. Её дочка зовёт меня бабушкой.
И я подумала: почему бы не оставить квартиру ей? Она ничего не просит, но делает всё от души. Это не подарок — благодарность.
Когда собралась к нотариусу, вдруг позвонил Дмитрий. Спросил, куда я еду. Я честно ответила. И тут полились крики: «Ты с ума сошла!» Я выслушала — и поехала.
А вечером — стук в дверь. Стоят оба сына, с внучкой, с пирогом. Казалось бы, чудо. Но дело, конечно, не во мне. Сразу начали: «Наталья тебя выгонит! Она тебе не родня, а мы — твои дети!»
Я посмотрела на них и сказала: «Спасибо за заботу, но решу сама». Они хлопнули дверью и пообещали, что больше я внуков не увижу.
Что ж, дорогие мои. Пять лет вас не было — и ничего. А теперь явились только из-за квартиры. Вы для меня — чужие. Квартира достанется Наталье. Если однажды она и правда меня выставит — что ж, мой выбор. Но я в неё верю. У неё есть сердце. В отличие от вас.
*Вывод: родство — не в фамилии, а в поступках. Иногда чужая кровь ближе, чем своя.*
Twenty Years Later, I Recognise My Younger Self in the Boy On the Eve of His Wedding, Arthur Suspected Martha of Cheating—Even Though She Swore She Was Faithful, He Refused to Listen. Two Decades On, He Met Her Son—His Spitting Image… They Shared a Storybook Romance—Passionate, Extraordinary, and the Envy of All Around Them. Just as They Prepared for the Wedding That Never Happened, Martha Revealed She Was Pregnant. Instead of Joy, Arthur Accused Her of Infidelity, Insisting the Baby Couldn’t Be His. Devastated, Martha Gave Birth and Raised the Child Alone, Despite Pleas from Friends Who Saw Her Devotion. Arthur Offered Abortion, but She Refused—and Waited in Vain for His Apology. They Lived Separate Lives. Whenever Their Paths Crossed, Arthur Looked Away, Refusing to Recall the Past He’d Buried. Raising Her Son as a Single Mum Was a Struggle, but Martha Poured Her Heart into It, Working Multiple Jobs to Give Him a Good Life. Her Son, Chris, Became Her Pride and Protector, Earning a Degree, Serving in the Forces, and Finding Work. He Stopped Asking About His Father—He Understood Without Words. At Twenty, Chris Was the Image of Arthur—The Man Martha Had Loved So Deeply. One Day, Their Paths Crossed: Martha, Arthur, and Chris, All Together. Arthur Couldn’t Deny the Likeness and Was Stunned into Silence. Three Days Later, Arthur Came to Martha and Asked, “Can You Forgive Me?” “Long Ago…” Martha Whispered. And So, the Stories of ‘Daddy’ Came Alive—As Chris Met His Father for the First Time.
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