Sometimes I look at their wedding photo, hanging in a frame above the dresser. < img src = "https://zycie.news/crrops/7de356/620x0/1/0/2024/11/30/ix1hgwzrpmguoe2ueyplgtsd7dijiuhuda7qcbwu.jpg" alt = "old lady @pexels" styles = "background-color: rgba (182,172,168,1)" > < p > smiling, in love, young.

< p > then I believed that they would create a family I always dreamed of & ndash; stable, faithful, based on respect.

< p > I did not know that one day this frame would start to remind only of a lie in which we all live now. ~ 60 > < p > m & oacute; j son was in love with ears.

~ 60 > from the first meeting m & oacute; he was delighted with her.

< p > he saw the best in it.

< p > A I ?

< p > I & hellip; pr & oacute; I caused to trust his election.

< p > though intuition & ndash; this mother's & ndash; She whispered something else for me.

< p > A few months ago I noticed that M & oacute; j son is dim.

< p > returned p & oacute; Silent as if he were not there.

> I didn't want to wrap M & Amp; Oacute; and I didn't want to press.

until he finally confessed, with tears in his eyes:

< p > — & AMP; Bdquo; Mom, she betrayed me. ” < p > I stopped my breath.

< p > — & bdquo; with Kim ? & Amp; RDQUO;

< P >& Amp; MDASH; & AMP; BDQUO; with a colleague from work. She knew I would find out about it. She did it consciously. & Amp;

< p > I wanted to go to her immediately.

< p > say what I think about her.

< p > throw away all anger, b & oacute; l, & oacute; d.

< p > but then m & oacute; j son said something else:

< p > — & AMP; Bdquo; I don't want children to know anything. For them everything must look normal. & Amp;

< p > and yes & Hellip; I entered the role of which & oacute; ra tears me every day into pieces.

< p > grandchildren run to me smiling, and I tear them, having a picture of their mother in my head in the arms of another man.

< p > We sit together at the table.

< p > she serves the soup, as if nothing happened.

< p > laughs at me, m & oacute; wi < p > A I & Hellip; I smile through clenched teeth because I can't afford anger.

< p > no if their small eyes look straight at me.

< p > I play each day

< p > for my son, which & oacute; ry with b & oacute; lem tolerates this game.

< p > for children who do not understand anything.

< p > for the appearance of & oacute; in which & oacute; they hold this family entirely like a thin thread.

< p > but nobody sees how the soul is slowly inside.

< p > I would like to ask her:

< p > — & AMP; BDQUO; How could you do it to someone who gave you everything ? & ~ rdquo;

< p > but I can't.

< p > because I learned that sometimes the greatest strength is silence in the name of higher values.

< p > and sometimes & hellip; This silence is the greatest suffering.

< p > and although I still play & ndash; It is getting harder and harder to breathe in this theater of lies.

< p > This may also interest you:

< p > see, as we wrote about in recent days:

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