I found myself pregnant at sixteen, still a student at school. In our small village, this was a real scandal. People would point at me in the street, and my parents had nowhere to hide from the shame. My father wouldn’t even look at me.
It would have been better if youd died than brought this disgrace on us! Go to your grandmothersI cant take this anymore.
So, I left for my grandmothers cottage in the neighbouring village, where she lived by herself at the very edge of the town. The old house was cold and uncomfortable, but I endured it. The worst part was in the later months of pregnancyno one came to help, no one cared for me. When labour started, the ambulance barely made it in time. Still, I managedI gave birth to my son and raised him in that same draughty cottage.
Everyone said I should find myself a husband, but I didnt want that. I lived and worked for my sons sake. When Michael grew up and left to study, I too set off for work in Italy.
Before then, I hadnt considered leaving; I simply couldnt abandon my child. Compared to our village life, work abroad felt like absolute heaven. I cared for an elderly woman, a lovely lady who treated me very kindly. I earned well, and sometimes the signora would give me an extra hundred or two euros as a thank you. Thanks to those earnings, within a few years I could buy my son a one-bedroom flat and make sure he was provided for.
But money changed Michael. He stopped visiting his grandmother, and that hurt. Still, I continued to send him five hundred euros every month and put the rest aside for my own homeno way was I going back to that crumbling old cottage.
A few years passed and Michael decided to get married. Of course, I paid for the wedding and helped furnish their new place. I thought, at last, I could save for myself. But in five years they had two children, and when the war started, my daughter-in-law fell pregnant with a third. I carried on supporting them financially. Even so, I managed to save twenty thousand euros for a flat of my own. A friend was selling a lovely little one-bedroom with all new fittings, and I arranged with her to buy it.
In the summer, I returned home to sort the paperwork with the solicitor, but then Michael dropped a bombshell.
Mum, we sold the flat and bought a house. Weve made the first payment, now you need to give us the money for the second.
What money?
Eighteen thousand euros.
What? Im about to buy my own place!
Mum, you cant do that. Weve moved now; you must see three children cant live in a one-bedroom. I was counting on you.
Why didnt you save up? You could have told me! No, youll have to find the money yourselfIve already agreed to buy the flat. Maybe I can help a little later, but Im not giving you all of it.
Mum, dont you care where your grandchildren will live?
Of course I care. I sent you five hundred euros every monthyou might have saved it. Youd have the money by now.
Youll earn enough for your house in a couple more years. Why now? Youll just head back to Italy anyway!
And if something happensif I get ill or need to come back suddenly? Where will I live?
With grandmother in the village!
Then you go live there with your children!
I stood my ground and refused to give him the money. I cant lose my flat now. Michael took it badly and stopped speaking to me. Ive heard that hes borrowed money wherever he could. But was I supposed to keep supporting him again? How much more can one person give?
