I raised my son alone. My husband left when the child was not even a year old.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Since then, I worked in two places. Our small family depended entirely on my shoulders. Most often my mom helped me out. Sometimes I had to call a nanny, but it was expensive.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I was grateful to my mom for her help, although I sometimes noticed odd things. She could forget something important, say things out of place, as if she were floating in the clouds. But I blamed everything on fatigue or age.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
And then one day my son said to me:<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2014 Mom, can you stop working so much?<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2014 No, sweetheart, \u2014 I smiled and stroked his head. \u2014 We need money: for housing, food, your toys. Why are you asking?<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2014 Oh, nothing\u2026 \u2014 he shrugged, \u2014 just curious.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I didn\u2019t pay attention then. I thought it was just childlike curiosity. But a few days later something happened that turned everything upside down.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
In the evening I came home after my shift. My son ran up to me, hugged me tightly, and suddenly burst into tears.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2014 Mom, please, don\u2019t leave me with grandma anymore.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I froze.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2014 Why, honey? Do you miss me? Or did grandma punish you?<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2014 She\u2026 she acts strange. I\u2019m scared.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2014 What did she do?<\/p>\n\n\n\n
My son looked away, his voice trembled:<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2014 It hurt\u2026 Please, don\u2019t let her come anymore.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
A chill ran through me. But the child couldn\u2019t really explain anything \u2014 he was trembling and fell silent, as if he were afraid to even speak. I called my mom. She insisted everything was fine, that they played, and that my son was just making it up.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
But I saw it: my son wasn\u2019t lying. His eyes were full of real fear.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The next day I took a day off. I told my mom I was going to work, but I hid in the closet in the bedroom. My heart was pounding so loudly I felt like she would hear me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I saw my mom enter my son\u2019s room. At first it looked harmless \u2014 she fixed the blanket, put a toy back in its place. But then\u2026\u00a0<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Suddenly she grabbed the child\u2019s hand, twisted it, and then took a rope out of her bag and tied his wrists.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
My son cried and called for me. My mom came up and roughly covered his mouth with her hand. But the most terrifying part began after that. She lifted her head toward the ceiling and said:<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2014 See? I did it the way you told me\u2026<\/p>\n\n\n\n
She listened to someone invisible, then began to laugh \u2014 low, hysterically.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2014 No, no, he won\u2019t go anywhere\u2026 He\u2019s ours\u2026<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I couldn\u2019t hold it in anymore, I jumped out of the closet:<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2014 Mom! What are you doing?!<\/p>\n\n\n\n
She turned around. Her eyes were wild, full of manic shine.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2014 The voices told me to, \u2014 she said calmly.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2014 What voices?!<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2014 They\u2019re with me. They are always with me\u2026 \u2014 she smirked, then suddenly burst into tears and laughed again.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
My son was sobbing, I rushed to him, untied his hands, hugged him tightly. My mom stood still, whispering something into the emptiness.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I took my mom to the doctor. There, after examinations, I heard the diagnosis \u2014 schizophrenia.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I felt scared and hurt. This was my mom, the woman who once protected me, raised me, loved me. And now\u2026 she could have harmed my son.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
I raised my son alone. My husband left when the child was not even a year old. Since then, I worked in two places. Our small family depended entirely on my shoulders. Most often my mom helped me out. Sometimes I had to call a nanny, but it was expensive. I was grateful to my […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":1757,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-1756","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","","category-uncategorized"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/virli.site\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1756","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/virli.site\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/virli.site\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/virli.site\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/virli.site\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=1756"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/virli.site\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1756\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":1758,"href":"https:\/\/virli.site\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1756\/revisions\/1758"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/virli.site\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/1757"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/virli.site\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=1756"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/virli.site\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=1756"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/virli.site\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=1756"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}