“Well, in the end, he didn’t come,” Valentina sighs bitterly. “My husband and I don’t even bother anymore; we’ve gotten used to it. Always the same. First promises, then silence.”
“What happened this time?” I ask. “Did your daughter-in-law not let you go again? I remember you two never really getting along.”
“Or maybe she didn’t let him. Although my son has never clearly stated that she’s the one holding him back. But it’s noticeable… He used to come more often. And now, nothing. She’s found a way to tie him down. We’ll even have to hire workers to repair the roof, because my son, just imagine, can’t get out even one day,” Valentina says, barely containing her resentment.
He’s referring to his 40-year-old son, Adrián. He left his hometown twelve years ago and settled in Madrid. He works as a mechanic. Before, he did everything with his hands; now, he just supervises. He got married in the city and bought an apartment. He did it all on his own. He met his wife, Lucía, late in life—they were both older when they got together.
“She hadn’t had any serious relationships before,” Valentina continues. “And now I understand why. She has a very difficult personality. We didn’t get along from the very beginning. I tried, I really did. But she… it was as if she decided from the very beginning that I was her enemy.”
“I’ve heard her on the phone a couple of times,” the neighbor chimes in, “as if she were mocking me, even when she said hello. I don’t understand what my son sees in her.”
Lucía hardly ever speaks to Adrián’s parents. Once a year, with her permission, he can visit them. And that, without her. This year, Adrián promised to come in the spring to help with the roof. He even bought the tickets. But her daughter-in-law, as it turned out later, messed things up.
“She’s pregnant,” Valentina says with annoyance. “Now, according to her, he can’t leave her alone. Even though she’s a grown woman, a nurse, what’s going to happen to her? She’s been going at it for two weeks.” He resisted at first, but then…
“So, are you going to take her by the hand to work?” Valentina’s husband asks, shaking his head. “Her parents live nearby, so they can help her. Why does she have to give up everything for her?”
“Exactly,” Valentina agrees. “I’m sure it’s her mother who’s pushing her. ‘Don’t let him go, or he’ll come back and get a divorce.’ Her youngest daughter, by the way, is now alone with a child. She lives with them now.”
“But Adrian isn’t like that,” I object. “He’s a decent man. So why don’t you come together?”
“What are you saying!” she exasperated. “Lucia will never come with him. My husband called her once, and she made such a scene that he told me not to bother my son again. It’s useless.”
—And what did she say to him?
—That we’re always asking him for things. That we’re keeping him away from his family. That he no longer has the strength to deal with us. That his vacations should be spent with his wife and son, not “indulging the whims of his parents.” And that he’s not interested in our house, that we should keep it.
—How shameless! And your son?
—He says it’s not his fault. That he doesn’t want any trouble. That he’s worried about the pregnancy. I understand. But it’s not fair. We raised him, we gave him everything we could. And now he can’t come home even one day?
Valentina’s husband couldn’t stand it any longer. He told his son he wouldn’t wait any longer; he’d hire some bricklayers and do it all himself. He wanted him to stay with his wife, since she meant more to him than his parents.
“But he doesn’t understand,” Valentina murmurs. “There may be many women… But there are only one father. And they don’t last forever.”
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