She recalled how she’d once persuaded her husband to privatize the house in all three of their names. Her husband had been against it, but she insisted. Their only son—how could they leave him without a share? Life is long, and no one knows what challenges lie ahead. Daniel finished his tea and stood from the table. Every day was the same.
He’d leave, claiming he was job-hunting, but return late, heavily drunk. When he finally fell asleep, Clara stood by the window, staring at the city’s night lights, lost in heavy thoughts. She agonized over how to handle what was happening, feeling it boded ill for both Daniel and herself.
Exhausted by worry, she’d go to bed but couldn’t sleep, waking with a throbbing head and high blood pressure. But this was only the beginning of her troubles.
Daniel started bringing drinking buddies home. If it was just one, Clara could manage. Once Daniel went to his room and passed out, she’d kick the unwanted guest out.
But dealing with whole groups was harder. Over time, the house reeked of alcohol and dirty clothes, the air thick with a heavy stench. Every morning, Clara, swallowing tears, cleaned the filthy kitchen, trying to restore some semblance of order.
Talking to her son was futile. He brushed her off, and once even raised his hand at her. Daniel was built like his father, and how could she, a frail woman, stand up to him? In desperation, Clara went to a neighbor, a former police officer, and shared her troubles, hoping for advice.
“You could call the cops. They’d take him, but they won’t hold him more than forty-eight hours. He’ll come back, and it’ll be worse for you.”
“He’s not working? What’s he drinking with?” the neighbor asked. “He takes money from my purse. Now I hide it.
Recently, he found my wedding ring and earrings and sold them the next day. I didn’t even have time to hide them. There’s no point anymore.
Believe it or not, neighbor, I’m ready to sin just to escape this nightmare.” “I can’t take it anymore,” Clara said, blushing with shame but unable to hold back her despair. “Hang in there, Clara.
Eventually, he and his buddies will slip up. They’ll get caught stealing somewhere, and he’ll get time.
For now, just endure.” “If it gets unbearable, come to me,” the neighbor said. “Easy to say.”
“Endure.” But how, when the house constantly stank, was filthy, with drunk men or even homeless people wandering around? Clara stopped cooking because everything in the fridge was eaten clean.
She left them only bread and canned food, going half-hungry herself. Where could she turn for help? Who could protect her? At night, Clara didn’t sleep, crying and praying to God, begging Him to take her to her husband in heaven. She felt it was better to die than live in such horror.
She could never have imagined living out her final days like this—hungry, broken, with an alcoholic son who stole from his own mother. Gradually, Clara became a stranger in her own home, like a guest abandoned in her own house.
She often wondered when her Daniel had turned into this person. Why did it happen? He’d grown up a bright, calm boy, always their pride. She and her husband rejoiced in his successes, believed in his future, always supporting him with advice and money. Thank goodness her husband didn’t live to see this.
He’d never have accepted their son becoming this way. He despised drunkenness and those who succumbed to it. One day, Daniel came home not alone but with a woman who immediately sparked unease in Clara.
She was heavily made-up, dressed in cheap clothes, and Daniel introduced her as Kate, announcing to his mother that he planned to marry her. Clara instantly knew Kate was as much an alcoholic as her son. Now they drank together, their days filled with arguments and even fights.
Clara sat in the dark in her room, trying not to interfere, waiting patiently for the latest storm to pass. She feared that if she went out, she’d catch their wrath. In the mornings, Kate sometimes washed dishes and cleaned up after their nightly binges, and for that, Clara was grateful.