Taken from life. “I gave them a roof over their heads”: the daughter -in -law threw me like an unnecessary piece of furniture

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.