My life took an unexpected turn when, at sixty years old, a piece of my past came crashing back with boldness and insensitivity, all orchestrated by none other than my own son. I reside in Oxford and would never have imagined that after decades of silence, life would surprise me like this.
When I was twenty-five, I was madly in love. Robert was tall, charming, and full of life, the embodiment of my dreams. We married quickly, and within a year, our son, Thomas, was born. The first years felt like a fairy tale. We lived in a small flat, dreaming and planning together. I was teaching, and Robert was working as an engineer. It seemed nothing could shatter our happiness.
However, Robert changed over time. He would come home late, lie, and grow distant. I tried not to believe the rumors, overlooking his late returns and the unfamiliar perfume scent. Yet, it all became clear: he was unfaithful, repeatedly so. Everyone knew — friends, neighbors, even our parents. I persevered, hoping to keep our family together for Thomas’s sake. I endured for too long, hoping Robert would see sense. But one night, as I lay awake waiting for him to come home, I realized I could continue no more.
I packed our things, took Thomas, who was five, by the hand, and left for my mother’s. Robert didn’t try to stop us. A month later, he moved abroad supposedly for work. Soon, he found another woman, and it was as if we never existed in his life — no calls, no letters, complete indifference. Left alone, I faced new challenges. First, my mother passed, then my father. Thomas and I went through school, activities, illnesses, joys, and graduation together. I worked three jobs to ensure he had everything he needed, putting aside my own life for him. He became my world.
When Thomas was accepted into university in York, I supported him however I could – care packages, money, moral support. But I couldn’t afford to buy him a flat. He never complained, insisting he could manage. I was proud of him.
A month ago, he visited with news: he was getting married. My joy was short-lived as he seemed nervous, avoiding eye contact. Then he blurted out:
“Mum… I need your help. It’s about Dad.”
I was stunned. He explained he had reconnected with Robert, who had returned to England. Robert offered Thomas the keys to a two-bedroom flat he inherited from his grandmother, but there was a catch. I would have to remarry Robert and allow him to reside in my home.
I was speechless, staring at my son, struggling to believe his earnestness. He continued:
“You’re alone, Mum… There’s no one else. Why not give it another shot? For me. For my future family. Dad’s changed…”
I silently retreated to the kitchen. Kettle, tea, shaking hands. Everything blurred before me. I had carried everything on my shoulders for twenty years. Not once did he ask how we were. And now, he returns with a “proposal.”
Returning to the living room, I calmly said:
“No. I won’t agree.”
Thomas flared up, shouting accusations, claiming I always thought only of myself, that because of me, he didn’t have a father. That I was once again ruining his life. I stayed silent, each word cutting deep into my heart. He didn’t know about the sleepless nights of exhaustion. How I sold my wedding ring to buy him a winter coat. How I denied myself, so he could have meat instead of me.
I don’t feel alone. My life, though tough, has been honest. I have my job, my books, my garden, my friends. I don’t need someone who once betrayed me and returns now for comfort, not love.
Thomas left without saying goodbye and hasn’t called since. I know he’s hurt, and I understand him. He wants the best for himself, just as I once did. But I cannot trade my dignity for square footage. It’s too high a price.
Perhaps he will understand, perhaps not soon, but I will wait because I love him. Truly, with no conditions, no flats, no “what-ifs.” I bore him out of love and raised him with love. I won’t let love become a commodity now.
As for my ex-husband… he belongs in the past, precisely where he should stay.
