She’s 12, he’s 22, and her mum is 32. Yesterday, he became her mum’s husband. Today, they both told her about it.
The girl shut herself in her room and didn’t come out all day. They called for her, her mum came to the door, offering to take her to the cinema, to the amusement park, or for a visit to someone. She stayed silent, lying on her bed. At first, she cried. Then she fell asleep. Later, she just stared at the ceiling, lost in thought. By evening, she was so hungry that she came out on her own.
It took her a couple of years to get used to it. She resisted every word from her mum. She watched them together with a scornful look, often being cheeky, rude, and full of hate.
Her mum’s younger sister tried to talk to her, but she wouldn’t listen. She even considered running away, and one day she actually did. She sat crouched in the stairwell of the neighbor’s house until night, up the stairs that led to the attic. Cold, she eventually went over to her mum’s sister.
When her mum came to get her, the girl had warmed up and had dinner. Her mum’s hands were trembling slightly, and her eyes were tearful. Her mum came alone to find her.
They took a taxi back home. She observed her mum’s profile. Her mum looked old. But he was handsome.
For the first time, he disappeared for a whole month. The girl didn’t ask her mum any questions, and her mum didn’t volunteer any explanations. But things felt like they used to. Just her and her mum. Their relationship even warmed a bit. The girl felt at ease.
Then, he returned to the apartment—her mum’s young husband. The girl resigned herself to the fact that he had entered their lives to stay.
She’s 18, he’s 28, and her mum is 38. Once, she passed him a knife across the table while they were having lunch and deliberately let her hand linger a little longer in his. She looked him directly in the eye. He looked back into hers. Her mum paled and lowered her head. They finished their meal in silence.
Another time, when her mum was out, she approached him, pressing her forehead against his back, holding her breath. He froze for a moment, turned around, gently held her shoulders, and asked her not to be foolish.
She broke into tears. Why, why, why?! What did he find in her mum? She was old! Didn’t he see the wrinkles on her neck? Why would he want someone old?
He brought her a glass of water, sat her down in a chair, covered her with a blanket, and left, closing the door with a soft thud. She sobbed quietly, swallowing tears, realizing she needed to move to a dorm or find an apartment. She had just been brushed off like a kitten, disregarded, shunned.
He was handsome. She dreamed of him. He stayed away. Her mum remained silent. They both moved through the house like shadows.
He came back after several days. Her mum was out, leaving her alone again. She was sitting at the kitchen table, drinking tea and writing notes.
When he approached her, her heart skipped a beat. He sat across from her and, looking her in the eye, spoke tiredly: he loved her mum, not her, and she needed to accept that so they could both stop stressing each other out. You’re a big girl now, he said.
He never broke eye contact as he spoke.
The now-grown girl lay awake all night with dry eyes and an empty mind. In the morning, she stumbled upon him and her mum in the kitchen, kissing. She felt sick and barely made it to the bathroom in time.
A place in a dorm became available. Her mum asked her to come back. A little time passed, and she even helped her with the money for an apartment.
She’s 25, he’s 35, and her mum is 45. Oddly, the relationship almost repaired itself. She visited them, they had meals together, chatted, and laughed. Her mum’s sister once told her: thank goodness you grew up.
Her mum was happy and calm, and he was still as handsome as ever—too handsome. She found herself comparing every admirer to him and didn’t like where that thought led.
Then, she had an unfortunate love affair. Hopeless. He was married and wasn’t leaving his wife. But she loved him, lingered outside his work, cried. She didn’t want to be a lunchtime affair. It was all very bitter, torn, painful. He took her to the seaside, showered her with gifts. He wondered if it wasn’t enough for her. Did they really need to put labels on it, like some grand ceremony? And toothbrushes in a shared glass. He had that experience. Even the greatest love grows tedious with mundane routine, with shared chores.
She disagreed, stubbornly shook her head. She remembered how her mum was kissed by her husband in the kitchen. And she, foolishly, ran to the bathroom, sick with disgust. Why didn’t she realize living together could be different? Beautiful. Peaceful. Real.
That year was tumultuous for her. She rarely went home, ran into her mum at cafes a few times, visited them once. Her mum lost a little weight. Understandable—she always took looking after herself seriously.
Her mum’s husband was still handsome, and she, mature and understanding everything now, finally felt her mum’s presence.
She’s 28, he’s 38, and her mum is 48. She landed a job in another city and left. Well, she sought a job in another city to escape the past relationship that had consumed nearly three years of her life.
In the new place, she settled in, calmed down. She even started seeing a colleague—unmarried and quite nice. It seemed like it was time to think about marriage, children, and making life decisions.
Her mum’s husband came to her new city on a business trip. They went for lunch together. It was easy and fun. She told him about her new life in detail, asked about him and her mum. He answered her questions. Her gaze drifted to his hands, and she felt an intense, physical desire for him to hug her…
He seemed to understand. He fell silent, trying to find words, careful not to offend. He said it all the same. He loved her, the little headstrong girl, he knew and felt her pain, her grievances, her desires, and they would always remain good friends. She could always count on his help.
It was awkward for both. She shook her head and laughed: what exactly did she expect from him?
Later, he called her and said her mum wasn’t well and wanted her to visit. She called her mum right away, who sounded worn out but was putting on a brave face. Of course, darling, you can visit over the weekend. Not this one, no. Finish your tasks. How about the next one? Yes, I’ll be glad to see you, I’ve missed you terribly. Have you forgiven me, her mum suddenly asked. For him? I know you liked him, I saw it immediately. I regretted how things turned out countless times. Please forgive me. The last thing I ever wanted was to hurt you.
Later, he called again to say her mum was in the hospital and she needed to come. Two days, she had two days of work. She’d come. It’s not long, is it? No, not long, come, they’ll have the tests and diagnosis by then.
She arrived but didn’t make it in time for her mum. He stood in the hospital corridor, his eyes empty. Handsome and distant. He looked at her heavily and turned to the window.
After the funeral, she wandered the apartment like a ghost. She moved things, washed already clean dishes, brewed tea only to pour it cold, cleaned the windows again.
He occupied himself somehow as well. He returned home late from work, didn’t eat dinner, quietly slipped into the bedroom.
One day, while he was out, she peeked in there. It smelled of her mum’s perfume and past happiness. Her heart ached seeing her mum’s photos on the dresser, wall, bedspread… Abruptly, she shut the door.
She thought she never really understood them. Thought she never truly would.
