Oliver and I first crossed paths when we were both twenty-seven years old. At that time, Oliver had already finished university with honours and was preparing to defend his dissertation. His academic achievements were impressive. Moreover, hed managed to earn enough to buy a cosy two-bedroom flat and a parking space. After graduation, he had plans to buy a car. A year later, we had our wedding. And a year and a half after that, our daughter was born. When we both turned thirty, our little girl was already two months old.
As his birthday approached, I suggested we celebrate at a restaurant with his parents. But Oliver declined, saying he wished to spend his special day quietly, just with ushis girls. So thats exactly what we did. The next day, after work, he went to see his parents, but he didnt stay long. He came home swiftly, sat heavily on the settee, and began to cry. I was frozenseeing a grown man, an independent father, weeping like a lost boy.
I tried to soothe him, to bring him comfort. Thats when something inside him cracked open. He told me that as a child, hed been smacked for the smallest things: for kicking a football, dirtying his clothes, leaving an ink blot in his exercise book. Both his mother and father doled out the punishments.
When I grew up, he said, they stopped hitting me, but I never once heard a kind word from them. I finished college with distinction.
And what of it? Its only college, they said. Youre going to university now. So Oliver trudged on to university degrees he didnt need.
He bought a flat.
Its only fifty square metres, they scoffedthough their whole house was no bigger than thirty.
He got marriedShes a tiny, frail thing. Can she really bear children? they whispered.
But she did.
And who knows where that child comes from? Theres nothing of us in her! they snapped.
In the end, they threw a fit when he didnt throw a party to mark their wedding anniversary.
Ungrateful son! they pronounced, as if it were a sentence.
That night, Oliver turned to me and asked, Am I truly so terrible that my own parents cant love me? I told him that some people simply arent capable of love. He was unlucky to be born into that kind of family. But now, he has me, and our daughterwe love him dearly. After all, he is the best man in the world.
Dont you notice how your daughter beams with happiness when you return from work? I asked. Remembering the way our little girls eyes gleam when she sees her father, Olivers storm began to settle. And at last, a gentle smile found its way to his face.
