Acolhi uma mendiga com um bebé porque ela me lembrava a minha falecida filha – O que ela fez na minha casa chocou-me profundamente
A noite caía pesadamente sobre Lisboa, trazendo consigo uma brisa fria que me fazia encolher dentro do meu casaco. Tinha acabado de sair do cemitério, onde visitara o jazigo da minha Sofia. Um ano. Um ano desde que a doença a levara, deixando um vazio imenso no meu peito. Enquanto caminhava pelas ruas movimentadas, com o coração apertado, vi-a.
Estava sentada num banco de jardim, debaixo de um candeeiro fraco, aninhada contra o frio. Nos seus braços, um embrulho pequeno – um bebé. Os seus cabelos, claros e despenteados, emolduravam um rosto magro e pálido, e os seus olhos… ah, os seus olhos! Eram da mesma tonalidade de verde-água que os da minha Sofia, cheios de uma tristeza que me trespassou a alma. Foi como se o tempo parasse. Naquele momento, não vi uma mendiga; vi a minha filha, com um filho ao colo, perdida e desamparada.
Sem hesitar, aproximei-me. “Senhora, está tudo bem? Precisa de ajuda?” A sua voz, quando respondeu, era fraca, quase inaudível. “Não, obrigada. Estamos bem.” Mas os seus olhos denunciavam a sua mentira. O bebé começou a chorar baixinho, e ela tentou acalmá-lo, mas as suas mãos tremiam.
Não suportei a ideia de vê-los ali, na rua, naquelas condições. A memória de Sofia aterrorizava-me, a urgência de ajudar, de proteger, apoderou-se de mim. “Por favor, venha para minha casa”, propus, surpreendendo-me com a minha própria impulsividade. “Tenho um quarto vazio, comida quente. Não podem passar a noite aqui.”
Ela hesitou, desconfiada, mas o choro do bebé intensificou-se, e o desespero nos seus olhos deu lugar a uma relutância em aceitar a ajuda. Acabou por anuir, e juntas, na fria escuridão da noite, caminhámos para a minha casa.
Em casa, tratei de lhes dar o que comer e um banho quente. O bebé, uma menina de poucos meses, era adorável. Dei-lhe umas roupinhas que tinham sido da Sofia quando era bebé, guardadas com carinho. A jovem, que se chamava Mariana, agradeceu com um sorriso fraco, mas os seus olhos continuavam a expressar uma profunda dor e cansaço.
Os dias que se seguiram foram estranhos. Mariana era calada, mas gentil. Ajudava nas tarefas domésticas, e eu observava-a a cuidar da sua filha, que ela chamava de Clara, com um amor incondicional. Quanto mais eu a via, mais forte ficava a semelhança com a minha Sofia. Os mesmos gestos delicados, a mesma forma de rir, a mesma doçura no olhar. Era como ter um pedaço da minha filha de volta.
Comecei a sentir um afeto profundo por Mariana e Clara. A solidão que me consumia desde a morte da Sofia parecia diminuir. A casa, antes tão silenciosa, encheu-se de vida com o choro e as risadas da Clara. Eu sonhava em dar-lhes uma nova vida, em ser uma avó para a Clara, em preencher o vazio que a perda da Sofia tinha deixado.
Uma tarde, decidi ir às compras. Antes de sair, comentei com Mariana que estaria de volta em uma hora. “Não se preocupe com nada, Mariana. Sintam-se em casa”, disse, com um sorriso. Deixei a carteira e o telemóvel na sala, sobre a mesa de centro, sem preocupações. Confiava nelas.
Quando regressei, uma hora depois, a casa estava estranhamente silenciosa. Chamei por Mariana e Clara, mas não houve resposta. O meu coração começou a acelerar. Percorri os quartos, a cozinha, a sala de estar. Ninguém.
Foi então que o meu olhar recaiu sobre a mesa de centro. A carteira estava lá, mas aberta. O meu telemóvel… tinha desaparecido. Fui ao meu quarto, e o pequeno cofre onde guardava as joias da família e algumas economias estava aberto, vazio.
O choque foi avassalador. Não era apenas o dinheiro, as joias. Era a traição. A pessoa em quem eu tinha depositado a minha confiança, que eu tinha acolhido com o coração aberto, tinha-me roubado e fugido. A imagem de Sofia, que eu tinha projetado em Mariana, desmoronou-se. Senti uma dor lancinante, mais profunda do que a dor do roubo. Era a dor da desilusão, a sensação de que, mais uma vez, a vida me pregava uma partida cruel.
Sentei-me no sofá, as lágrimas a escorrerem-me pelo rosto. A casa, antes cheia de uma nova esperança, voltou a ser um lugar de silêncio e vazio. A minha generosidade, nascida da minha dor e do meu amor pela minha filha, tinha sido explorada. E a chocante verdade era que, no fundo, eu não tinha acolhido Mariana por ela, mas pela minha Sofia. E a mendiga, com os olhos da minha filha, tinha-me roubado o que me restava: a fé na bondade humana.
My Cold War with My Conservative In-Laws Ended Differently from What I Expected
I’ve always been a patient person. I got to practice my patience when my father remarried following my mom’s death. So, when my in-laws tried to get me to break up with my husband before we could get married, I just used what I had learned earlier in life to withstand their onslaught.
You know, sometimes trying to find your place in someone else’s family can be really tricky. At least, it was for me when I met my husband’s family. See, I’m originally from Morocco, while my husband, Jeremy, was raised by an extremely conservative family from Georgia. That should be enough to give you an idea of what I faced.
Man and woman on a date | Source: Getty Images
I immigrated to the US shortly after my mother passed away. I was 11 at the time, and it felt like my entire world was coming to an end. To add to this, my dad married a new woman only a little over a year after Mom’s death. Naturally, adjusting to life in a new country and coming to terms that there was a new woman in my mom’s place was jarring.
My stepmom wasn’t a bad person, but we never got along. I think she felt insecure about the fact that she could never have kids, so she would often be mean and distant toward my sister and me. She used to try to upset us all the time by doing petty things that she knew would make us uncomfortable, but luckily my mom had taught me to always smile when people were intentionally being mean to me.
A young girl in an airplane | Source: Getty Images
This turned out to be a great defense mechanism, and my stepmom couldn’t bear that her tricks weren’t working on me. Eventually, things died down and we made our peace, but I would never forget how effective it was to just smile through whatever petty new ploy she had devised to try and upset me. It truly was one of the greatest gifts my mom had ever given me.
But my stepmom was a minor hindrance compared to Jeremy’s family. When I met them for the first time, I knew I was in for a lengthy cold war.
A woman yelling at a young girl | Source: Getty Images
I met Leona, Jeremy’s mom, and the rest of the Fergus family at one of their family dinners. By that time, I had been dating Jeremy for almost a year, and they had used every excuse to avoid inviting me to their dinners. This time, Jeremy ensured that they couldn’t weasel out of meeting me, and he even told his mom to prepare a few dishes that I could eat, since I steer clear of any pork and alcohol.
While my loving boyfriend was sure there would be something for me, I knew better than to just blindly trust people who clearly had misgivings about me to respect my personal choices, so I ate as I would before a fast and prepared myself for sitting around the dinner table while everyone enjoyed their meal.
A large dinner table with people sitting around it | Source: Getty Images
When we showed up at Jeremy’s parents’ house, the family greeted me with half-hearted smiles and quick hugs before we all settled down to eat. I knew the greetings would be awkward and stiff, but what I didn’t anticipate was Leona bringing a peppy blonde woman up to me with a huge smile and saying, “Oh, Aleah, you just have to meet Diane, Jeremy’s last girlfriend. We’re all still very close and I thought you two might hit it off.”
Diane looked slightly embarrassed, and shook my hand with a smile that seemed to say, “I’m sorry, I know, but what could I do?” I introduced myself and we exchanged a few pleasantries before she greeted Jeremy with a huge hug. She immediately launched into a conversation with him about what was going on in his life, ignoring me completely. Jeremy answered a few questions, grabbed my hand, and steered me to our seats.
A woman shaking another woman’s hand | Source: Getty Images
At the table, things just got worse. Leona opened all the dishes, and every single thing had pork in it. The mac and cheese had bacon bits in, the mashed potatoes had lard in, and even the turkey was wrapped in bacon. After unveiling all the food, Jeremy’s mom looked at me, apologized for all the pork, and offered me a drink. “I don’t drink, but I’ll gladly take a glass of water,” I said with a smile. Slightly crestfallen, Leona got up to get me one.
During the meal, the entire family kept making off-handed, passive-aggressive, and slightly racist comments clearly directed toward me. Meanwhile, Diane was showered with compliments. You’d expect she was royalty with how the family sucked up to her. But I knew exactly how to handle the situation.
A woman enjoying a glass of water | Source: Getty Images
Instead of letting my annoyance show, I once again employed my mom’s wisdom. I smiled at every so-called joke, and even threw a few of my own compliments at Diane. I told Leona how lovely the spread looked, and thanked her profusely when she went to refill my cup of water. I could see Jeremy’s mom seething at my pleasant demeanor.
The night ended and we said our goodbyes. I refrained from complaining to Jeremy about his family. I could handle it. But things didn’t get better from there. Family dinners were suddenly off-limits to anyone who wasn’t also a Fergus — although Diane was apparently an exception — so I would often spend Christmas on my own or with my sister. They never drove a wedge between myself and Jeremy, and imagine their shock when he eventually proposed.
Two sisters celebrating Christmas together | Source: Getty Images
Now, Leona and the rest of the family never bothered to learn anything about my culture. They assumed the wedding would be a regular ceremony, but Jeremy and I had planned on blending traditions. So when all the women, Diane included, showed up wearing white, I was all smiles, complimenting their outfits all the way. This didn’t go down well.
Meanwhile, my outfits were made up of every color imaginable, and I outshone them in every photo. There’s even one picture of Leona with the biggest sour expression I had ever seen. It was a wonderful day.
A traditional wedding dress | Source: Getty Images
But the unspoken feud came to a head last Christmas when Leona suggested I host. Naturally, I accepted, even though I knew she only offered because she hoped I would be overwhelmed. Fortunately, she didn’t count on the fact that I often cooked, and had been since I was a young girl. So my spread was something to marvel at.
Mashed potatoes, mac and cheese, turkey, glazed ham, Brussels sprouts, green bean casserole, roasted carrots, and potatoes, freshly baked bread, corn bread, and an entire assortment of pies. Even I was impressed. But of course, with her plan in ruins, Leona did the next best thing. She started shouting at me.
A big dinner | Source: Getty Images
“You’ve got to be kidding me! How could you of all people have managed this?! I know you hired a catering company, Aleah! Just to make me look bad. Admit it!”
Surprised at her outright anger, I looked at her, then at Jeremy. Luckily he stepped in.
“Mom, Aleah slaved away for two days to make sure we had a great Christmas dinner. I don’t think you acting like this is very mature or fair. She has been nothing but a good host, and you accuse her of being petty, like a child who had hoped to one-up someone. I think you owe her an apology, or you should leave.”
There was a long pause. Everyone wondered what would happen next, plates in hand.
A woman cooking dinner | Source: Getty Images
Leona took a deep breath and looked at me. “You won,” she muttered and sat down dejectedly. Before Jeremy could say another word, I walked over to my mother-in-law, got on my knees before her, and took her hands in mine. “Leona, this isn’t a competition. I love your son deeply and I don’t want this cold war between us.”
She looked at me with new-found respect, and I could see the hatchet was buried. The war between us ended with a big hug and a great dinner, and although we still differ about things, we have grown quite fond of each other over the last few months.
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