We met Monica at work-we often bumped into each other in the canteen. At first we just ate at the same table, then we started communicating more closely, we went on dates. She was a very comfortable person, with whom you could go to the cinema, or to the market for groceries. That’s exactly the kind of woman I needed in my sixties. She also clearly liked me, because she and the night I tried to stay with me to watch or read something late, and have breakfast together a very tasty homemade pancakes and coffee, brewed by me.
I didn’t even know until a while ago that Monica had been married once before and had a grown son from that marriage. He was thirty-seven, still without a family of his own and without a wife, and he seemed jealous of his mother, or jealous of me, because from the first days he heard about Monica and me, he showed me in every way that he did not want us to be happy. When I stayed with them overnight once, in the morning her son took a count of the money from his stash and accused me of having something missing that no one else could take but me.
After that, I never went to their house. I asked Monica to come and live with me, leaving my son’s apartment, I asked her to marry me, I offered to take her on vacation with me, and all I heard was one answer: “My son won’t like it. So our happiness did not last long – Monica left me a week before my birthday because her son was against our relationship. She is almost a “grandmother”, what kind of marriage can we talk about? At work, she shuns me, pretending that nothing happened between us. For the rest of her life, will she think only about her grown-up son, and will she do anything to please him?
