I am Billy, I am thirty-five years old. My wife’s name is Maria, she’s thirty-three years old. This is our second marriage. Neither of us had children from our first marriages. And we were not in a hurry to have children together. We were comfortable together. The two of us. And quarrels between us were not rare. And if another quarrel turns into a scandal, and that into a divorce? What would happen to the child? And if it were not for my neighbor, Miranda, we would have been dragging our feet for a long time. I was born and raised in this house. Maria brought me here.
It was customary for us, I mean among the neighbors living in the house, to leave children under the supervision of neighbors. Miranda used to babysit me herself, and my mother used to sit with her children. It was normal for us. Therefore, when a neighbor asked me to look after my grandchildren for a couple of days, I was not surprised and, of course, agreed. Maria also agreed to take a kind of maternity test. The youngest was four years old, and the eldest was already five and a half years old.
I managed to immediately find contact with the boys. We walked, played, and learned to read. Maria cooked us various treats and looked after the boys’ appearance. I felt like a full-fledged family. But everything changed when Miranda did not return by the deadline, in the evening of the third day I tried to call her, but she didn’t answer the phone. I put the boys to bed. And my wife started to panic. She was haunted by the idea of a fix. As if the neighbor deliberately threw the children on us.
And in the morning she didn’t even cook breakfast. She was lying in the room with an alienated look. Miranda came back the next day. As it turned out, the bus broke down, and she forgot her phone at home. I realized that my wife was not ready for responsibility. She left us with the kids. She did not pass the test. So I filed for divorce. And I do not regret it.
