A few years ago my mom got married. The wedding went according to all the rules, everything was as it should be. Her newly married husband moved into her apartment. She has a small one-room apartment, but they have plenty of room.
My husband is a serviceman. We have our own place. Since the military have good conditions regarding buying an apartment on credit, we decided to buy a two-room apartment.
I always dreamed of living in such an apartment. It is bright, spacious, with high ceilings. In such an environment you want to walk around, throwing an expensive silk robe over your shoulders with a glass of wine in your hand.
We took a long time to equip our little nest, to make repairs. We were in no hurry, since there was no reason for that. We wanted to do the perfect renovation. The kind we dreamed of. The final reason for the slow renovation is budget. Although we live pretty well, we do not print money, we have to earn it. I entrusted my mother to oversee the repairs. She lives near our apartment, just two stations away on the subway.
A month ago we had a vacation. We arrived without informing anyone about the visit, and immediately went to his apartment. It’s hard to convey the emotions I had when I saw the children running around there.
It turned out that my mother had allowed her new husband’s daughter to live in our apartment. To say that I was shocked is nothing to say. I immediately dialed her number and asked her to come with her husband. The mother didn’t understand at all why I was outraged and what she had done wrong.
“Well, what’s wrong with that? You are hardly ever here, you live far away. That the apartment should stand empty in vain? But she can’t rent, her budget doesn’t allow her to, and with two small children, she can’t find a job.
When I asked why she came to the capital, if she was in such a deplorable situation, no one gave me a coherent answer. The kitchen was stained with grease, and the furniture had been painted on by children.
My husband said that we give her a deadline to move – three months. This is enough to decide where to move out and how to continue to arrange their lives. However, my mother started trying to make us feel guilty:
“How can you kick a mother and her children out on the street? That’s why you don’t have children of your own. You’re really selfish.
My husband and I didn’t understand why we had to rent our house for free to someone we didn’t know. We said firmly that we would give her three months to move out. Finally, I took a picture of the apartment and its condition at the time, so that my mother’s husband’s daughter did not decide to ruin our property out of revenge. I don’t understand how my mother could do that. It turns out that her husband’s daughter is more important to her than me, her own daughter.
