I have a very close friend, her name is Helena. Until recently, I thought that Helena was doing great in life and that she was the luckiest person in her marriage.
Helena got married when she was 19 to her husband. He was 28 at the time, and he loved Helena dearly. He did everything for her. He bought her an apartment, took her on vacations, bought her the best clothes.
When their son was born, he was overjoyed. He took care of the baby, cooked for her, helped his wife with everything. My friends and I looked at Helena and frankly envied her. Men like that are one in a billion. She was lucky.
But recently Helena came in crying. I, of course, opened a bottle of wine about it. Alcohol always helps to sort out a lot of things. So my friend began to tell me.
She and her husband had been married for 20 years. For the first seven years everything was perfect. And then at some point she thought that she should have tried harder for the court, too. It’s not the way he likes it. She relieved him of housework, went to the store on her own, started earning more than he did.
And after a while there was nothing left of her former husband. He’d come home from work, put his feet up on the table and yell through the whole apartment, “Woman, bring me something to eat. He does not help with anything else, does not try, does not make gifts, only exploits.
It turns out that with her love and gratitude, her friend made a monster out of her husband.
