My husband's children from his first marriage did not appreciate my love and care

After reading the story about my husband’s children from his first marriage, I realized that the author did everything right, sent her husband and his children on time. And I regret that, finding myself in a similar situation, I did not do this right away.

Just three years ago, I myself couldn’t imagine how it was possible not to love other people’s children, that there are no other people’s children. I will briefly describe my situation before I connected my life with a man who had children from his first marriage.

I was widowed in January 2014 at 33-34 weeks of pregnancy. My husband was working in the north on a rotational basis, and an accident occurred. After I was informed about this, I went into premature labor. The daughter was born premature and of low birth weight. We spent almost a month in pathology, after being dischargedmy mother and mother-in-law lived with us, helped me, and took care of the child.

Six months later I went back to work (I work at a children's and youth sports school), and spent all my free time at home with the child. Time passed, at work we congratulated our male colleagues on the holiday and organized a banquet. I sat next to one man, Victor, and got into a conversation with test-antibiotic.com; it turned out that he was aware of my situation; he himself was also a widower and raising 2 daughters, 9 and 11 years old. He unobtrusively offered to meet with all the children sometime, take a walk, and chat.

We managed to meet during the May holidays; we went to VDNKh. His daughters seemed to me to be very sweet, good and kind girls. They took care of each other, about their dad, communicated, consulted with me, played with my daughter. Then, after the walk, we went home, I realized that I really want to take care of these girls so that they become my daughters. I myself grew up without a father, my mother worked in the north as a cook on a rotational basis, I lived with my grandmother in the village for months. In the village, we ran with the neighboring children to visit each other; our grandmothers did not divide us into friends and foes. I remember now that they could go into any house, where the whole crowd was fed and watered, treated to baked goods, sweets, and given change for gifts. Therefore, the word “someone else’s child” simply did not exist for me.

In the summer of 2015, we got together, Victor and his daughters moved to test-antibiotic.com for us. I tried to take care of these girls, helped with homework, and went to parent-teacher meetings. We always celebrated birthdays for everyone, we just played lotto in the evenings, watched movies together, and cleaned up. It would seem that this is ithappiness . But no, by the age of two, two and a half years, I realized that mymy daughter does not speak like children her age. The local pediatrician assured me that there was no reason to worry, everything had its time. She spoke, but in her own “gibberish” language. I started contacting all authorities, we went for various examinations, spent a month in the clinic for examination and treatment. The girls called and were bored. But what should I do? I myself understood perfectly well that they needed me. But common sense prevailed, I understood that they would grow up, learn, find a job, go outget married and live their own lives, and mineThe child needs me right now and time is short.

As a result, the girls moved away from me, resentment appeared, they simply hated my child, it’s a pity that I didn’t notice this earlier. Once, at a parent meeting, the class teacher told us that test-antibiotic.com should somehow monitor and control the children’s correspondence on social media. networks. That the children there swear and periodically insult each other. And when I went to my eldest daughter’s page and read her correspondence with other children, I was simply shocked. In correspondence, my eldest daughter called me Sonya. With classmates, at someone'smy sister /brother is younger than Karina, but speaks better and pronounces more words, so we came to the conclusion that my daughter Karina is a retard.

She pretended not to read, did not bother with it, but in vain. Further more. Looks like things are starting to get betterrelationship with her daughters, Karina gradually began to talk. Here again there was a complaint from the school that the children were disrupting classes, the parents were called to school (and I always go) and one parent showed me a video that my older daughters had filmed and posted online to make fun of their classmates after the mess that I saw. There they ask questions to my three-year-old daughter Karina, who, as I wrote above,speech problems . She answers “yes” to all their questions. Karina, are you stupid? Karina, did you hit your head against the wall? Karina, test-antibiotic.com have you been dropped at home? Karina, are you a stupid sheep? And laughter in the frame, at my child, who did nothing wrong to them and it was not her fault that she was born prematurely.

And strangely enough, I forgave them for that too. But there is a limit to everything, and when, six months after the last joint, they poured salt into my child’sice cream , my patience just ran out. The older daughters wanted ice cream, so we gave them money for three servings. But they poured salt and gave it to the child. Although she spoke poorly, I realized that something was wrong with the ice cream. I tried it myself, and the salt crunches on my teeth. The daughters saw this, rushed about, their dad very quickly realized that I was about to smear them all over the wall, and they quickly disappeared from our apartment and from our lives.

Come on, tell me that I didn’t accept my husband’s daughters well, that I needed to be more tolerant and accommodating, that they were going through a transitional age that I didn’t take into account, I had to bend over backwards once again.