I’m Not Broken! The Perfect Wife
When he found out I was expecting, my boyfriend left me. Perhaps I didn’t realize that his love for me wasn’t as deep as I thought. Neither he, his parents, nor his sister, who was close to me, wanted to look at their daughter, granddaughter, or niece. But I demanded nothing in return. Everyone made their choice: he found a new girlfriend, and I had the baby without a husband.
At the time, my mother said, “Leave. I’ll let you come back if you have an abortion.” My mother raised me on her own, without my father. She didn’t want the same for her daughter and had every right to feel that way. But I’ll never say anything similar to my daughter.
We will support each other. In our home, there won’t be any moping over financial struggles or lack of male help. I had just graduated from university and was working, but managed to secure a spot in student housing and eventually got a small flat. With my salary, I got some furniture and household items. I had nothing beforehand. Juice and fruit for pregnancy care? Hardly. It was enough if I could manage bread and milk. There was exhaustion, tears, and severe lack of sleep.
But I didn’t want anyone’s pity. I kept smiling. His friends would visit me. I spoke kindly of him, not dwelling on our differences. I needed strength for the child I was carrying. I once heard the phrase: no one owes you anything. It was blunt, but essentially true. Why should anyone save me when I took responsibility for my own life and my little one’s?
My daughter was born in December. We welcomed the New Year together. My new student friends gathered around, played the guitar, drank tea, and took turns helping with the laundry. Little Mary helped in her way: eating, sleeping, and cooing happily in between. Many told me our home was wonderfully cheerful and light. And I began to notice one of the students visiting more often and staying longer.
He was kind, skilled, and, by the way, handsome. Alex was four years younger than me. I locked away my heart, forbidding myself to make plans and simply enjoying each moment together. Then I met his mother. She asked through him if she could visit us and… on the first day called me “daughter.”
Now, my husband and I live in another dormitory. Everything in our room is crafted by his own hands. He says I’m the perfect wife. I reconciled with my mother. She adores her granddaughter. On weekends, we visit his parents in a nearby town. Mary runs into her other grandmother’s arms, and they spend two blissful days together.
I shudder to think: if I had somehow clung to someone who didn’t love me, would I have what I do now? I’d only have a husband who ignored me, a mother-in-law sure I ruined her son’s life, guilt, and tears in my pillow.
I’ve been given far more than I ever asked for.
