When my son said he was getting married, I cried with emotion. < img src = "https://zycie.news/crrops/861ec6/620x0/1/0/2025/04/07/79wlw3q9ras9ckfbfbf73i8w50tbk0x4nakvr6x4bu.jpg" alt = "old lady @pexels" styles = "background-color: rgba (171,148,129.1)" > < p > not because I was afraid of myself & ndash; But because I dreamed of being happy. I was waiting for this moment. M & oacute; wił: & ampquo; mum, we will live together, it will be brighter & rdquo;. M & oacute; j house was always open to him. So I took them both & ndash; His and his wife & ndash; with an open heart.

< P >At first it was fine. A bit quiet, a bit unnaturally, as if a stranger moved cups in my kitchen. But I was m & oacute; give me time, get used to it. I cooked, shared ice ice & oacute; wka, bathroom and life. But she & hellip; She did not come to live. She came to take over.

< P > The first was the salon. My favorite seats & ndash; The old, upholstered in floral material, with which I watched my son & four armored & & ndash; They went to the trash without asking. & AMP; Bdquo; It's old lumber, mom. Time for changes & rdquo;. Mom. But with a distance. Cooler.

< p > then kitchen. Pots moved, spices thrown out. & AMP; BDQUO; here will be my p & oacute; łka & rdquo;. She started closing the bedroom door, and I felt like an intruder in my own home.

< p > Son was silent. Or maybe he didn't want to see. M&P; Oacute; Wił: & AMP; Bdquo; Don't overdo it, mom. After all, it only organizes a little &.

I will never forget the day, which I will never forget.

< p > & ndash; You know, it would be better if you moved somewhere else – She said coldly, holding a cup from my porcelain. & ndash; Two adult people need space. And you & Hellip; you have already done yours.

< p > I looked at my son. He didn't say a word. Stood next to the shadow, like a stranger.

< p > I packed into two suitcases. I took a photo album, my husband's watch and a dress for the holidays, which I will never wear. And I left. From your home. From your life.

< p > Now I sleep on a couch at a friend from my youth. Every evening I look at the ceiling and ask: < br /> How is it possible that the mother can give life, give everything & Hellip; and be thrown like an old armchair ?

< p > because first she got rid of furniture. Then & ndash; me.

Natasha Kumar

By Natasha Kumar

Natasha Kumar has been a reporter on the news desk since 2018. Before that she wrote about young adolescence and family dynamics for Styles and was the legal affairs correspondent for the Metro desk. Before joining The Times Hub, Natasha Kumar worked as a staff writer at the Village Voice and a freelancer for Newsday, The Wall Street Journal, GQ and Mirabella. To get in touch, contact me through my natasha@thetimeshub.in 1-800-268-7116