When my daughter brought him to our house for the first time, I was happy. < img src = "https://zycie.news/crrops/12d305/620x0/1/0/2025/03/31/wy9jy1dtq6thurszsnmibcdsahpgw86gasliqvk.jpg" alt = "old lady @pexels" styles = "background-color: rgba (79,73,69.1)" > < p > I saw him look at her with tenderness. How he embraces it, as he listens, as he smiles.

< p > I felt a lot & oacute; j. I thought: & AMP; BDQUO; My C & Amp; Oacute; Rka came across a good man. ” < p > I did not judge him by appearance or by the fact that his family lives in a villa in the suburbs, and I & ndash; in a two -room apartment in an old tenement house.

< p > because not a fortune, and the heart matters.

< P >I thought so. Over time, I started noticing trifles. He didn't like it when I talked at the table. He looked with pity when I talked about my work in a grocery store.

< p > I didn't laugh at my joke & oacute; w. He did not thank for dinner. But I thought it was just fatigue. Or I am oversensitive.

< p > until. One day I heard a conversation by accident. M & oacute; that his parents invite everyone to the co -inferiority of dinner.

< p > Son -in -law said: < br />< br /> & mdash; & AMP; Bdquo; Maybe it's better not to invite your mother. You know how they are. And your mother & Hellip; is so simple. &

< p > I froze.

< P > & AMP; BDQO; straight. < p > as if it was something embarrassing. As if my life, my origin, my modesty & ndash; were something that needs to be hidden.

< p > c & oacute; Rka was silent. She didn't defend me. She did not say: & AMP; BDQUO; This is my mother. Thanks to it I am who I am. < p > only sighed. As if she agreed. Then I understood. I am a background for them. Someone who is not m & oacute; in no loud. Who does not show.

< p > who can be a pom & oacute; c, cook, take care of the grandson & hellip; but it is better not to make too much m & oacute; < P > Wr & oacute; I was home.

< p > I sat in the kitchen, where each thing was captured with effort, each cabinet folded with my own hands.

< p > I thought that maybe I have no education, the title & oacute; in, money. But I have dignity.

< p > and although my heart hurt, I promised myself one thing:

< p > I will not let anyone else make me feel worse just because I am myself.

< P > A simple woman. But with a heart that he will never understand.

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