My friend had a girlfriend. He loved her. But he did not dare to marry her yet. She gave him a daughter. My friend used to visit her on weekends. He felt good with her. He felt free in her apartment, unlike his parents’ apartment. They had a lot of books at home, like in a library. Her parents were strict.
She grew up without parental supervision, ate whatever she had to or what the neighbors gave her. The mother was not interested in where and how her daughter lived. But she was good, studied well, loved to read books.
My friend became her first love. He introduced her parents to the chosen one. The mother almost fainted: was she raising a son for such a girl? Who was she? Her mother was a drunk, her father an alcoholic. And then she said: “Either me or her; if you choose her, you can forget about us”.
My friend chose the third option: love and marriage are different things. His mother found the right couple for him. Now he has been living with two women for twenty years – one in his head, the other in his heart.
He has made a career. Two charming daughters grew up in the family. And his beloved lived in a distant village, waiting for the next meeting. He came to her on weekends and could do whatever he wanted. Next to her he felt like a full-fledged person. They had a daughter, smart, beautiful.
And then one day he came – and never went back. His mother threatened him, but he finally made his choice. He will live with the woman he loves.
