My Mom Was Super Rich But Her Toyboy Stripped Her Of All Her Wealth
Hello! My name is Russell and I'm twenty years old. Is this the way every story here starts? And then they start complaining about how terrible their life is, blah-blah-blah. Well, I will begin my story differently — everything is fine with me. At least, I prefer to think of it that way — I don't like to seem like a whiner to people.
But my story started with death, as many sad stories here do. When I was seven years old, my grandfather, my mother’s father, died. But there was very little grief as he, frankly speaking, was a really mean man. But he was also a very rich man! I didn't know him at all, because he refused to talk to his daughter or to meet his grandson, so I can talk about this with a bit of optimism.
My mother spoke very little about her father. I only knew that as soon as he had the opportunity, my grandfather sent my mother to a private school, somewhere up in the Swiss Alps. This school was supposed to transform her into a “beautiful noble lady,” but the transformation failed. The only thing that my mother got from this education – was that she now had no doubt about her European background.
This fact didn't prevent her from jumping at the opportunity to marry the first guy that crossed her path and that just so happened to be my father. My grandfather did not approve of having some woodcutter as his son-in-law... And, no, he wasn't exaggerating, my old man has really been working as a woodcutter all of his life. So, my mother didn't have the blessing from my Grandfather before she got married. And along with this, for the better part of her married life, she didn't get a penny from my Grandfather's pockets.
That’s why my childhood was pretty nice, but poor. Dad worked hard, trying to make enough money for his family to live, and my mother stayed home to raise me. From the age of twenty-five, approximately, she suffered from a chronic hereditary joint disease. The arthritis even prevented her from doing housework, but my mother somehow managed to cope. And she also couldn't get a job because if it. But then my grandfather died, and everything that he owned became my mother’s. I don't think she had ever counted on that.
But my mother got everything: grandfather’s home, his business, and his bank savings. As soon as she legally had the inheritance, she sold everything that could be sold and... left my dad and I. I have every reason to believe that it wasn't just the bad joints, but also the dubious moral qualities, that were genetically transmitted to my mother from my grandfather. Dad took this all philosophically, and calmly gave her the divorce, without any claim for her money. First, he had his pride, and second, he didn't have money for a decent lawyer.But let me remind you — I am not complaining. There are some advantages to being raised with only a father. It's cool in its own way, something like living in a true bros’ club... Ah, never mind. After the divorce, my mother flew to Europe. Life in a relatively small city near the Canadian border seemed boring and depressing to her. You do remember her “European Background", right? Well, she perceived the Old World as a place for high society. Maybe, the transformation into a “beautiful noble lady” had finally been completed? Anyway, as soon as she was done with all the formalities, my mother began her journey through every country in Europe. Yep, she never bought a house or an apartment. Instead she just regularly changed cities and countries, met new people, and lived a luxurious life, as she imagined it for herself.
I learned all of this through the most detailed reports about her life by talking on Skype and these huge archives of photos she was sending me. Yes, oddly enough, my mother didn't cut off contact with me and she even tried to ”remain friends” with my father. However, my mother didn't send us any money, and neither I nor my father asked for anything. Over ten years, my mother took me to Europe three times for vacation: once to the island of Crete, once to the north of Scotland, and once to Romania. So I saw with my own eyes that my mother spent money... moderately enough — her luxury was more demonstrative, than real, more intended to make a good impression in pictures... as it is often the case on the Internet by the way. The only thing she didn't do was work – and that made sense considering her arthritis had progressed and brought her more and more physical pain. But I still wondered quietly — how much money did the late Scrooge, my dear grandpa, have?
But a couple of years ago a new character popped up in this story. His name was Mark...文本并非一一对应，仅供参考
LearnAndRecord
2015年2月8日
2019年12月31日
第1788天
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