**Diary Entry**
I’m a mother to two grown sons. The eldest has been married for years, living in another city, visiting only twice a year. My younger boy, Oliver, though—he’s always been my rock. I’ve given everything for him: pushed him through university, lent him money when he was figuring himself out, and finally breathed a sigh of relief when, at 27, he landed a solid IT job with a good salary. We shared my cosy two-bed flat in Manchester, living comfortably, just the two of us.
Then he brought home Emily, his girlfriend. She seemed sweet and gentle, so I had no objections. But when, a few months later, he announced they were getting married, I felt uneasy. Not because of her—but because Oliver still hadn’t fully grown up. He’d never learned to fight for comfort or endure hardship. Everything had always come easy to him.
They married and moved into a rented flat. I kept my distance, only dropping off meals now and then. Then, six months in, Oliver sat me down with a serious look.
“Mum, Emily and I talked… We need to save faster for a mortgage deposit. Half our wages go on rent. Maybe you could stay at the cottage for a bit while we live here? It’s warm, convenient—you’d move back once we’ve saved enough.”
My stomach dropped. The cottage—a damp, unheated little place in the Lake District, a two-hour train ride away. I teach at a school—waking at 5 a.m. just to catch the train, and in winter? Impossible. But worse—I knew if I agreed, things wouldn’t go as planned.
I know my son. Comfort becomes habit. The moment he settled into my warm, cosy flat, the mortgage plan would drift into “someday.” Promises wouldn’t change that. Comfort is a trap, and if he stopped pushing forward, stopped striving—who’d bear the weight of that later?
I don’t want to live in that cottage. And I won’t enable laziness, not even for my own boy. I fought for my comforts—no one handed them to me. Why should I sacrifice my health, time, and peace for someone else’s convenience?
The next day, I told him firmly, “No. I won’t move. But I’ll help with rent—I’ll cover a portion so you can keep saving. But this is my home.”
He was furious. He and Emily stopped calling, stopped visiting. The silence stings—I never wanted this rift. But I know I did right. I didn’t make life harder for him—I stopped him from running from it. And that matters more than temporary peace.
Someday, he’ll see I didn’t refuse him—I protected him. Protected us. Real love isn’t always bending. Sometimes, it’s saying no when they want the easy way.
