I lived with my mother and grandmother in the same small town. When I turned 20, I moved to the city. There I found a job and rented an apartment.
My mother and grandmother also thought about moving. Mom was afraid to sell her house in the countryside. In general, she was afraid of any obstacles in her way. It seemed to her that she would be cheated, money would be stolen, she would be kicked out of her newly bought apartment. I decided to take out a mortgage and when they sold the house, they would cover part of the expenses. The risks were minimal, my mom was calm.
A year later we implemented this plan. The money from the sale was just enough to pay off the mortgage. I registered the property in my mother’s name and I lived with no worries, because I succeeded in my mission.
Money from the sale remained – to help me solve the housing problem, my mother did not even think. And I didn’t know how to ask. My husband and I were saving up on our own, we were not waiting for help from anyone.
Earlier my mother and grandmother lived in the same house, but in separate rooms, but now they had to share the same living space. My mother started to go berserk. She literally drove the old lady out. She yelled that it was a mistake, that now she couldn’t find a job and make a life for herself. The worst part was that she blamed everything on her 75-year-old mother, who had devoted her whole life to her.
Her grandmother just annoyed her. The sound of the TV, the walking, the sighing–even the smallest little things pissed her off. As soon as she heard some sound, she immediately started yelling at her grandmother.
The old lady often came to see me and stayed until evening. I even gave her the key to our apartment, my husband didn’t mind. I always knew that my mother was an unsociable person, but I certainly didn’t expect this from her. She is rude to me too, but what is my fault?
It’s good that at least the mortgage was closed on time, or else I would have had to pay for my mother’s debts. Why did I even agree to this venture? I think my grandmother would have lived more peacefully in the countryside, at least she was the mistress of her own house. Now she keeps silent and swallows her insults. For all these years she has made herself only one enemy: her own daughter.
I feel so sorry for her. She never even spoke a word to her mother. And now? Is this gratitude? Scandals and humiliation are all my grandmother hears from my mother’s lips. All that remains is to endure.
