Should I tell her that my son doesn’t love her at all?
My name is Susan Smith, and I live in Keswick, nestled quietly by Lake Derwentwater in the Lake District. I’m writing to you because my heart is heavy with worry, and I can’t find peace. I shared my burden with my best friend, but instead of support, I received wide-eyed disbelief and a sharp: “Are you completely out of your mind? Don’t get involved where you’ll be swept away by someone else’s pain!” Her words stung, but they didn’t help—I need a way out, or I’ll suffocate under this weight.
It’s all about my son, Alex. He’s 25 and lives with his girlfriend, Emily, in our home. I have no reason to complain: they occupy his room, they both work, and they don’t depend on us financially. Emily is a gem—kind, gentle, with a good heart. But I know my son better than anyone, and I see the truth behind his smile: he doesn’t love her. Alex cares for her—he’s tender, attentive, always ready to help. He fulfills her wishes like a knight in a fairy tale: every holiday he brings her flowers and gifts, picks her up after long shifts even if it’s late. When they have the same days off, they go away—to visit friends in the countryside, skiing in the mountains, or to hot springs.
Recently, Emily had a bad fall on a slope—luckily not breaking anything, but it was close. Alex carried her down the hill to the hotel and later rushed her to the hospital in Carlisle. While she was laid up with a cast, he took care of her like a child: feeding her, comforting her, never leaving her side. From the outside, he’s the perfect man, madly in love. But I know it’s a façade. He doesn’t love her. His heart is silent, and it tears me apart.
Before Emily, Alex had someone else—Sophie. Their love was like a storm: sharp edges, shouting matches, tears, breakups, and reconciliations. They would argue fiercely and then make up with a passion that made the walls shake. Sophie was his first real love—the kind that burns everything inside. I waited for them to settle down, to adjust to each other, but then she suddenly left for Germany, leaving him alone. For six months, Alex was a shadow: wandering aimlessly, not eating, not sleeping. I ran after him, coaxing him, watching him like a baby, afraid he wouldn’t cope. Then came Emily—completely different from the first. She’s calm, like a lake in still weather, able to listen, to comfort, never raises her voice. She’s a light in our home, but I see that, to him, it’s not love—it’s duty, gratitude, anything but emotion.
And here’s my torturous question: should I tell her the truth? You might call me crazy, but I can’t live with this knowledge. Sooner or later, the truth will erupt like lava and destroy everything. I imagine the hell awaiting this girl—sweet, pure, undeserving of such pain. Her disappointment would be devastating, crushing her like a fragile flower under a boot. She’s done nothing to deserve this, yet I watch her heading towards a cliff, unaware of what lies ahead.
My friend is right—I’m stepping into a situation that could backfire on me. But how can I stay silent? My mother’s heart screams: save her, warn her, don’t let her get broken! I see the way Emily looks at Alex—with such faith, such tenderness, that my heart aches. And him? He plays the part, and plays it well, but I know his eyes—there’s no spark, none of what existed with Sophie. He’s kind to her, but it’s not love, and I can’t pretend I don’t notice.
Sometimes I wonder: could I be mistaken? Maybe I’ve imagined his lack of love, out of my own fears for him? But no—I feel it in my skin, in every cell. Alex is with her because it’s convenient, because she’s good, not because he can’t breathe without her. And this thought gnaws at me day and night. Tell Emily? Shatter their world, which she considers her happiness? Or stay silent until he makes a move that destroys her? I fear that if I remain silent, I’ll be complicit in her pain. But if I speak, I’ll break everything myself, and she’ll hate me, and my son will curse me.
Please, help me with advice! I’m not crazy; I’m just a mother who sees more than she wants. I feel pain for both of them—for Emily, giving her heart to someone who won’t accept it, and for Alex, living this lie. What do I do with this truth that burns inside me? How do I protect her without losing my son? I stand at a crossroads, and every choice feels like a dagger in my chest. I’m begging, tell me how to find peace in this hell I’ve created with my thoughts.
