Мой муж намного старше меня - на 20 лет

My husband is much older than me - by 20 years

It was not a marriage of convenience, as many people thought when they married a man twenty years older than themselves. I didn't feel comfortable with my peers, they seemed too immature and unreliable to me.

Another thing is when a man has a stable income, he knows how to communicate with women, and is devoid of youthful ambitions. With such a person, life's adversities are not terrible, he knows how to support and foresees the slightest changes in the relationship. And the age difference is a small price to pay for peace and happiness.

Of course, my parents were against our union. But if the father somehow tried to understand, the mother did not give rest. She threw tantrums, broke dishes, collected my things and threw them out of the house. Then she drove me away, then called me back.

My mother is such a person that if she doesn't know something, she starts composing, so much so that everyone will believe it. Her opinion should always be authoritative, and, due to its bad nature, negative.

Therefore, all the neighbors, friends and relatives knew that my man was much older than me. And also that he has half the country like me, and even more children. He steals money from the state and does not pay taxes, and eats babies for lunch.

Yes, I knew that he had an ex-wife, but they divorced a long time ago and on her initiative. He also has a daughter, my age, and she lives with her mother. He still gives her pocket money, although her daughter has a job.

Yes, he has a lot of women – because of his specialty, he is forced to communicate with aspiring stars, and there are many young beauties among them. But if he chose me out of all the variety of options, then it means a lot.

Throughout our developing romance, my phone rang incessantly. Everyone considered it his duty to warn that "this is temporary", "he will play and throw", "who will need you spoiled", "he probably has a wife and a brood of children", etc.

Yes, the event for our village was large-scale, and since most of the inhabitants lived by rumors, soon my relationship history was overgrown with unprecedented details and facts.

But I didn't care much about strangers. I tried with all my might to convince my mother that I love this particular man and that everything is serious between us.

It turned out to do this only after my chosen one met his parents. Then he made a pleasant impression, and besides, he officially asked for my hand in marriage. He promised not to give me offense and to provide everything necessary.

His business and two-bedroom apartment were located in another city, so immediately after a modest ceremony at the registry office and a two-week vacation on the sea coast, we moved to live there.

Of course, not everything was smooth, but this is expected. The difference in ages, characters, and life values before marriage left their imprints on the characters. And he also started having financial problems, and had to sell part of the business to stay afloat.

We got used to it for a long time, and even almost got divorced once. But I never complained to my mother about my husband. On the contrary, in our conversations, most often she moaned for life. The fact that the father drank and began to dissolve his hands, and the younger daughter is now afraid to return to spend the night. And that he almost burned down the house, suspecting my mother of treason.

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I was very worried about her, and after consulting with my husband, I offered to come to stay with us. And if my father does not calm down, she promised to help find housing and work in our city.

My mother agreed, and together with my younger sister, she spent a month in our apartment. My husband and I took on all the expenses for food and entertainment, we never mentioned the division of household duties.

When the father came to his senses and realized that it was unbearable to live alone, he began to persuade his mother to return. He promised to stop drinking and never raise his hand again. She, without thinking twice, agreed and on the occasion of her departure, we arranged a family dinner in a cafe.

Imagine my surprise when my sister called a week later and told me that my mother complained to all her friends about how hard it was for her to live at a party.

That our apartment is small, the bed is uncomfortable, that I am a bad hostess. That with my and my husband's earnings, we eat caviar with black spoons, and my mother was fed medium-quality soups. That it would be possible to go to restaurants more often, and not sit at home.

And in general, it doesn't stick in our bed, it's not worth it – well, the age is the same – and, of course, I hold on to money and an apartment. And we don't have children for the same reason.

I was very disappointed, because I offered help from the heart and tried my best to make my mother's life easier. And to blame me for the fact that we treated her incorrectly, and even behind my back with strangers is disgusting. We called her on the phone! She claimed that she liked everything! That she was grateful for the respite that she had needed for a long time.

I knew about her character and evil language, but I never thought that it would turn against my kindness. I don't even want to talk to her, I haven't picked up the phone for several weeks. Someone has children sitting on their necks and pulling money, but I have always aspired to independence, I did not want to be a burden. And at the first opportunity, I was glad to be useful. And I was doused with mud. And who! My own mother.