З життя
Зрада онлайн: секрет сестри мужа
Зрада у мережі: таємниця невістки
Мене звуть Оксана, і моє сердце розривається від болю та сумнівів. У нашому затишному містечку над Дніпром я сама виростила сина, віддаючи йому всю свою любов. Тепер, коли він знайшов щастя, я зіткнулася з жахливим відкриттям: моя невістка, здається, зраджує йому. Фотографії на сайті знайомств, її брехня та страх розкриття поставили мене перед тяжким вибором: сказати синові правду чи мовчати, щоб не зруйнувати його світ? Я боюся, що мій вибір змінить усе.
Мені 46, і я – матір-одиначка. Мій син, Богдан, якому 27, – моя гордість. Його батько кинув мене, дізнавшись про вагітність, і в 19 років я залишилася сама з немовлям. Щоб Богдан ні в чому не потребував, я працювала на двох роботах, а моя мама стала моєю рятівницею, допомагаючи виховувати хлопчика. Богдан виріс розумним, добрим, ніколи не завдавав клопотів – ані в дитинстві, ані в юності. Після школи вступив до університету, а тепер працює інженером, добре заробляючи. Я завжди мріяла, щоб він був щасливим.
Коли Богдан привів додому Маріанну, я насторожилася. Вона була вражаючою, але занадто любила себе: її сторінка в соцмережах рясніла фото, де вона позувала в брендовому одязі. Маріанна здавалася мені вибагливою, але я бачила, як сяють очі сина. Він був божевільно закоханий, і я мовчала, не бажаючи втручатися. Через півроку вони одружилися, і весілля повністю оплатив Богдан. Маріанна не працювала, і це мене коробило. «Чоловік має забезпечувати родину, – сказав син. – Якщо Маріанна не хоче працювати, то й не треба. Я заробляю достатньо». Він навіть допомагав мені грошима, і я вирішила не лізти в їхнє життя.
Але сумніви не відступали. Маріанна здавалася мені зарозумілою, і я відчувала, що вона не цінує Богдана. Він носив її на руках, а вона сприймала це як належне. Я намагалася відганяти ці думки, але все змінилося, коли я вирішила влаштувати особисте життя. У мої роки я виглядаю молодше, і подруга запропонувала зареєструватися на сайті знайомств. Спочатку ідея здалася дивною, але я погодилася.
Одного разу, переглядаючи профілі, я натрапила на сторінку, від якої кров застигла в жилах. Це була Маріанна – моя невістка. Її акаунт був активним, із десятками фото, включаючи відверті, яких я ніколи не бачила в її соцмережах. Вона позувала в спокусливих сукнях, з томним поглядом, ніби вабила чоловіків. Я сиділа, не зводячи очей, відчуваючи, як гнів і біль затоплюють мене. Як вона могла? Богдан працює, утримує її, а вона за його спиною фліртує з незнайомцями!
Я вирішила поговорити з Маріанною. Коли я прийшла до них, вона зустріла мене зі звичайною посмішкою, але, побачивши мій погляд, зблідла. «Маріанно, я бачила твій профіль на сайті знайомств», – сказала я, намагаючись стримувати себе. Вона занервувала: «Я… нічого про це не знаю! Хтось вкрав мої фото з мережі!» Але її тремтячий голос і метушливі очі зраджували брехню. «Там є фотки, яких немає в твоїх соцмережах, – різко перервала я. – Поясни». Маріанна запанікувала: «Будь ласка, не кажіть Богдану! Він і так мене ревнує, це його засмутить!» Її благання лише посилили мої підозри. Якщо вона невинна, чого так лякається?
Я хотіла повірити їй, але не могла. Фото, її нервування, її прохання мовчати – усе кричало про зраду. Я повернулася додому, і цілу ніч мене гризли думки. Богдан обожнює Маріанну, живе для неї, а вона, схоже, обманює його. Моя душа розривалася: розповісти синові правду, ризикуючи розбити його серце, чи мовчати, дозволяючи їй його використовувати? Я згадувала, як важко мені було виховувати Богдана самій, як я мріяла, щоб він знайшов щастя. І тепер це щастя під загрозою через брехню.
Кожного дня я повторюю в думках тойЯ лежу в темряві, стискаючи фотографію Богдана дитячих років, і розумію, що завтра я повинна зробити вибір, від якого залежить наше життя.
You’re Robbing My Son Blind—He Can’t Even Afford a Light Bulb! On Sunday morning, I was curled up on the sofa with a blanket while my husband drove over to his mother’s to “change some light bulbs.” But of course, the real reason for summoning her darling boy was something else entirely: “Son, have you forgotten it’s Igor’s birthday today?” My husband’s the generous type—his salary barely lasts a week. Thankfully, he still gives me cash for the bills and groceries, but the rest? He blows it all on new video games and whatever gadgets go with them. I don’t mind; better my man enjoys his hobbies than squanders his time (and money) in pubs or nightclubs. Besides, I once read that the first forty years of childhood are the hardest for any man. I’m not telling you this for sympathy, just so you understand why my husband always has empty pockets. I have no such problem—even manage to save. I often lend him money in emergencies, but when it’s for his mum, niece, or sister, I always say no. Naturally, I remembered Igor’s birthday. Last week, I bought his present myself. Before my husband set off, I handed it over and settled down to watch a film. I didn’t go—the mutual animosity between me and my in-laws made sure of that. They think I don’t love him, accuse me of being mean because I refuse to fund their expenses or mind my sister-in-law’s kids. Once, I watched them for an hour, but they picked them up half a day late, making me miss work—when I dared complain, his mum and sister called me shameless and rude. After that, any requests to babysit were met with a firm “no.” Didn’t bother me if my husband watched the kids—he enjoys their company. Not long after my husband left, he returned—with the whole family in tow, nieces and all. His mum barged in, coat still on, and declared: “We’ve decided that, for Igor’s birthday, he’ll get the tablet he wanted—two grand it cost. You owe me a thousand pounds for your share. Pay up.” I might have bought the lad a tablet—but nothing that expensive. Obviously, I refused to hand over any cash. That’s when my husband started guilt-tripping me for being stingy. I turned on the laptop and called Igor over. In five minutes, we picked and ordered a gadget he really wanted—job done. Thrilled, Igor dashed off to his mum, who’d been sulking in the hallway. My sister-in-law always had sticky fingers—nothing in our house was safe. My mother-in-law, meanwhile, ignored my thoughtful gesture and exploded with indignation: “No one asked for your help. You were meant to give money! You’re with my son, and he’s always skint, can’t even buy a lightbulb. Hand me a thousand pounds now—you know full well that money belongs to my boy!” She reached for my handbag on the nightstand. I glared at my husband and hissed, “You’ve got three minutes to get them out of here.” In less than three minutes, he’d grabbed his mother and chucked her and the lot of them out the door. So, yes, I’d rather my husband waste his wages on games than have his mother snatch every penny. At least he spends it on things that make him happy, not on those freeloaders. Sometimes, I genuinely think I’d have been better off marrying an orphan!
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