I am currently 24 years old and pursuing a career as a diplomat. However, when I was ten years old, an unfortunate incident occurred in my family. My father had been unfaithful to my mother for a long time before packing his belongings and leaving her. My mother and I were left alone, and it had a profound effect on me.

I missed having my father with me. After a month, he returned to our house with his new girlfriend and asked that my mother share the apartment. He was entitled to one room under the law. He made the decision to sell his stake. He didn’t care who we lived next to, and he was completely unrecognizable to me. He’d changed a lot while living with this woman. Unlike me, my mother handled the incident calmly.

We all waited in the hallway for the buyer of the room and our prospective neighbor to arrive. My mother was conversing with my father. “You should be ashamed of yourself. You didn’t pay a dime for this flat, and now you want a piece of the action. “You don’t care who lives with your daughter,” my mother told him.

“Why should I be ashamed?” he retorted angrily. According to the law, I am entitled to a part. That’s all there is to it.” When he expressed his “conscience,” I felt like attacking the woman and scratching her face. We got lucky with our neighbor. Varya was ten years my senior. She assisted my mother with housework, and we became like one big family.

chatting with her after school, discussing boys, and new TV series, and talking about everything under the sun. We lived together like this for the next six years. During this time, Varya saved up for her own apartment, and my mother saved up to buy her share of our apartment. Varya moved out, but we still keep in touch.

One year later, we received news that my father had passed away. I didn’t feel any sadness; I was indifferent. I hadn’t seen him in over seven years. My mother told me that now, 1/4 of the apartment in which my father lived with his new wife, according to the law, should belong to me. I went to process the documents. Before we went to the lawyer, my father’s wife decided to talk to me. “Dear, how about you give up your share?

You and your mother didn’t spend a dime, and you shouldn’t feel ashamed to steal what isn’t yours.” “According to the law,” I said, “it belongs to me.” I walked back inside the lawyer’s office. We completed all of the paperwork, and I sold the room in her apartment. Allow her to go through what we went through with my mother. “Revenge is a dish that should be eaten cold,” said Mario Puzo in my favorite novel, “The Godfather.”