My husband and I have been unable to conceive a child for seven long years of marriage. According to the tests, everything was fine, both were healthy, but there were no children. Different poses, counting of successful days, ovulation calendar and even a trip to the shaman, everything was in vain. It’s as if we were guilty of something and worked out hard karma in this life.
Meanwhile, they were dripping on the brain from all sides. His parents were waiting for the heirs of the «great dynasty», that’s how they called their family, stretching back to the times of the Russian aristocracy. My parents just wanted to babysit their grandchildren, because I was their only daughter, the only hope for a prosperous old age. I worked for two, my husband did not lag behind. Parents sat on their necks and at the same time dripped on the brain every day.
— Sveta, you’re still working, and when will you give birth to my grandchildren? How long do we have to wait, we’re going to die soon, and you’re still working and working, come to your senses, daughter.
My mother called every day, my father only agreed with her. The other side did not let up either. My husband’s parents even started telling me that I was worthless and they needed a new, healthy and fertile daughter-in-law. Plus, society was dripping, all friends were already making second and third children, and we didn’t have the first one. And after all, we were happy, we didn’t need anyone, but public opinion prevailed.
We decided to adopt a child. Yes, not his own, but our parents were happy about that, too. The boy was chosen older, he was eight, he even went to school. He was a quiet child, his parents were not alcoholics or drug addicts, they died in an accident, and his relatives did not dare to take him in. He even looked like my husband and I, we told new acquaintances that he was ours, native, and they had no doubts.
But one day he threw a tantrum, started calling us by name, shouted and called his parents. We barely calmed him down, and when the guests left, we sat down for a serious conversation.
— Call us Mom and Dad. Ok?
— You’re nothing to me. My mom was beautiful, but you weren’t. And her hair was different, you don’t look like her, and in general you’re nobody to me. I hate you.
— Stop talking to your mother like that, do you want to make her cry? I won’t let you, do you want to be punished? Go to your room quickly.
— I’ll go, and you don’t dare come to me.
I cried all night, my husband calmed me down. We didn’t understand where this aggression came from. We didn’t do anything wrong to the boy, got him into a good school, bought toys, treated him like a native. He didn’t talk to us all week, refused to go to school. We didn’t know whether to start beating him, punishing him, or just talking heart to heart. He ignored us, but a week later he came to me.
— I’m having a terrible dream. Can I sleep with you?
My husband was on a business trip, I allowed the boy to sleep in my bed. I couldn’t sleep for a long time, looked at his face, tried to find at least something native, but the face was so alien, and then I realized that I would never love this boy. Perhaps he felt it, or was also closed and unable to love.
When my husband returned from a business trip, I was drinking. He found me tired and drunk.
— Hey, what’s wrong with you? That little bastard again? Did he hurt you? Do you want me to deal with him?
— No, I don’t want to. I don’t want anything, nothing.
— Come on, stop crying. Tell me, what should I do? It hurts me to see you sad. You weren’t like that before.
— I don’t love him, let’s bring him back to the orphanage.
— Are you drunk? How much have you drunk, two empty bottles, won’t you feel bad?
— I want this boy to leave our house. I don’t like him, I don’t like him. It was a mistake, take him back, let him go back, I don’t need him, I don’t love him, I don’t love him…
My husband calmed me down and put me to bed. The next morning I didn’t get out of bed, I was sick and dizzy. I was ill for a whole week, and when I came to, the boy was no longer in our house. The husband wrote a refusal, and lawyers he knew helped speed up the case. I didn’t see him again, didn’t say goodbye to him, and didn’t feel sorry for him at all. I didn’t love him, and after that I didn’t want to have my own.
I was not ready for motherhood. Now we live together with my husband, without children, apparently this is not for us. But sometimes I remember that boy, I wonder how his fate turned out. I hope he found those who could love him.