My ex-husband promised our son a flat, but on one condition—I must remarry him.
I’m sixty and live in Norwich. Never in my wildest dreams did I think that after all I’d been through, after twenty years of silence, my past would come crashing back into my life with such audacity and cynicism. What hurts most is that the one bringing this past back is none other than my own son.
Once, at the age of twenty-five, I was wildly in love. John—a tall, charming, and cheerful man—seemed like a dream come true. We married quickly, and a year later, our son, James, was born. The initial years were like a fairytale. We lived in a small flat, dreamed together, and made plans. I worked as a teacher, and he was an engineer. It seemed nothing could shatter our happiness.
But over time, John began to change. He stayed late more often, lied, and became distant. I tried not to believe the rumours and turned a blind eye to his late returns and the smell of another woman’s perfume. However, at some point, it became clear: he was cheating. Not just once. Friends, neighbours, even my parents—all knew. Yet, I tried to keep our family intact. For our son’s sake. I endured it for too long, hoping he’d come to his senses. But one night, I woke up to find he hadn’t come home, and it hit me: I couldn’t do it anymore.
I packed up, took five-year-old James by the hand, and moved in with my mum. John didn’t even try to stop us. A month later, he moved abroad, supposedly for work. Soon, he had another woman and erased us from his life. No letters, no calls. Complete indifference. I was left alone. Mum passed away, then dad. James and I went through it all together—school, clubs, illnesses, joys, graduation. I worked three shifts so he wouldn’t need anything. I didn’t pursue a personal life—there was no time. He was everything to me.
When James got into university in Leeds, I helped however I could—care packages, money, support. But buying a flat was beyond my means. He never complained. He always said he’d manage on his own. I was proud.
A month ago, he visited with news: he planned to marry. The joy was short-lived. He was anxious and avoided eye contact. Then he blurted out:
“Mum… I need your help. It’s about Dad.”
I was stunned. He said he’d recently reconnected with John. That his father had returned to England and offered James the keys to a two-bedroom flat he’d inherited from his grandmother. But—on one condition. I must marry him again and let him move into my flat.
I was speechless. I looked at my son, unable to believe he was serious. He continued:
“You’re alone, Mum… You have no one. Why not give it another go? For me. For my future family. Dad’s changed…”
I silently went to the kitchen. Kettle, tea, trembling hands. Everything blurred. For twenty years, I’d done everything myself. He hadn’t once asked how we were. And now he returns… with an “offer.”
I returned to the living room and calmly said:
“No. I won’t agree.”
James flared up. He started shouting, accusing me. Said I’d always been selfish. That it was my fault he didn’t have a father. That now I was ruining his life again. I stayed silent. Each word was like a dagger to the heart. He didn’t know how exhausted I’d been from sleepless nights. How I sold my wedding ring to buy him a winter coat. How I went without so he could eat well while I did not.
I don’t feel lonely. My life may have been hard, but it’s been honest. I have my work, my books, my garden, and my friends. I don’t need someone who once betrayed me and now returns, not for love, but for comfort.
James left without saying goodbye. He hasn’t called since. I know he’s upset. I understand him. He wants the best for himself—just as I did once. But I can’t trade my dignity for square feet. That’s too high a price.
Maybe he’ll understand. Maybe not soon. But I’ll wait. Because I love him. A true love—with no conditions, without properties, and without “if’s.” I gave birth to him out of love. I raised him with love. And I won’t let love become a commodity now.
As for my ex-husband… he can stay in the past. That’s where he belongs.
