Should I tell her that my son doesn’t love her at all?
My name is Sarah Johnson, and I live in Keswick, where the serene landscapes of the Lake District embrace this quaint town. I write to you because my heart is burdened with anxiety, and I find no peace. I confided in my best friend about my distress, but instead of support, I was met with wide eyes and a sharp: “Are you out of your mind? Don’t wade into a storm that’s not yours to weather!” Her words stung, but they didn’t help—I need to find a way out, or this weight will suffocate me.
The trouble is with my son, Alex. He’s 25 and lives with a girl, Emily, in our home. I’ve no grounds to complain: they occupy his room, both work, and don’t rely on us. Emily is a gem: well-mannered, gentle, with a kind heart. But I know my son better than anyone else, and I see the truth he hides behind his smile: he doesn’t love her. Alex takes care of her—tender, attentive, always ready to help. He fulfills her wishes like a knight from a fairy tale: showers her with flowers and gifts on every occasion, picks her up from work after long shifts, even if it’s the dead of night. When their days off align, they get away—sometimes visiting friends in the countryside, skiing in the mountains, or relaxing at hot springs.
Recently, Emily took a bad fall while skiing, crashing down the slope almost breaking everything. Alex carried her down the mountain to their hotel and raced to the hospital in the nearby town. While she lay with her leg in a cast, he looked after her like a child: feeding her, comforting her, never leaving her side. To an outsider, he seems like the perfect man, madly in love. But I know the truth: it’s a facade. He doesn’t love her. His heart is silent, and it’s tearing me apart.
Before Emily, Alex had someone else—Helen. Their love was like a storm: sharp edges, fights, tears, break-ups, and make-ups. They argued fiercely, then made up with such passion that the walls shook. Helen was his first real love—the kind that scorches everything inside. I hoped they would settle down, adjust to each other’s quirks, but suddenly she flew off to Germany, leaving him alone. For six months, Alex was a shadow—lost, he hardly ate, barely slept. I watched over him, coaxed him, cared for him like a baby, fearing he wouldn’t survive. Then Emily came along—completely different from the first. She’s calm like a lake on a still day, listens, comforts, never raises her voice. She’s a light in our home, but I see: for him, it’s not love, but duty, gratitude, anything but affection.
So here’s my tormenting question: should I tell her the truth? You may call me crazy, but I can’t live with this knowledge. Sooner or later, this truth will erupt like molten lava and destroy everything. I imagine the hell awaiting this girl—sweet, pure, undeserving of such pain. Her disappointment will be devastating, it will crush her like a delicate flower underfoot. She’s done nothing to deserve this, and I stand by, watching her walk towards the abyss, unaware of what’s ahead.
My friend is right—I’m stepping into territory where I could get burned. But how can I remain silent? My motherly instincts scream: save her, warn her, don’t let her be shattered! I see how Emily looks at Alex—with such trust, such tenderness, it makes my heart ache. And him? He plays the part, and plays it well, but I know his eyes—there’s no spark, nothing like there was with Helen. He’s kind to her, but it’s not love, and I can’t pretend I don’t notice.
Sometimes, I wonder: am I wrong? Have I imagined his lack of love because of my fears for him? But no—I feel it in my bones, in every cell. Alex is with her because it’s convenient, because she’s good, not because he can’t breathe without her. This thought gnaws at me day and night. To tell Emily? To shatter their world she considers her happiness? Or remain silent until he makes a move that will destroy her? I fear that if I stay silent, I’ll be complicit in her pain. But if I speak, I’ll break it all myself, and she’ll hate me, and my son will curse me.
Please, help me with some advice! I’m not crazy, I’m just a mother who sees more than she wishes to. It pains me for both—Emily, who gives her heart to someone who won’t take it, and Alex, living this lie. What do I do with the truth that’s burning inside me? How do I protect her without losing my son? I’m at a crossroads, and each choice feels like a knife in my chest. I beg you, show me how to find peace in this hell I’ve created with my own thoughts.
