My mom and I lived in the same apartment with my grandmother. I don't know why, but my grandmother didn't love my mother, and therefore me. I was born in the 90s, the story happened when I was 8 years old. Mom then was very sick, did not work, and therefore there was almost no money, not to say about grandmother (she had a very good pension and work was then). She carried separate meals with us, wrapped the foods in a pack and watched that no one would touch (in the flesh before measuring the line of distance). And here, in one of the beautiful moments, when she once again praised my three-born brother, who was successful in everything, smart and generally "not a child, but gold", I replied: so he has grandmother Nastia, and I have you (the names changed). She did not talk to me after a year. I still remember the moment when we had no food for 2 days (we delayed the salary), ate bread and water, and she, seeing this, with me eating a sandwich with ivory.



And now she’s offended by me and asks: why don’t I call her, why don’t I always congratulate her on holidays?