“It breaks my heart to say this, but I can no longer keep it to myself. My son—the only child I carried, raised, and loved—now acts as though I no longer exist. And all this began when she came into his life: his wife, my daughter-in-law. To this day, I still don’t understand what I did wrong. Where did I misstep? How could my own flesh and blood turn away from me so coldly?
I raised him alone. There were men in my life, but none who stayed—some took advantage of my kindness, others simply vanished. Perhaps it was my nature, or maybe I longed for love so deeply that I mistook fleeting affection for the real thing. In the 90s, I worked myself to the bone, scraping by on nothing, so he’d never go without. I pushed through exhaustion, sparing no effort, sacrificing sleep, all for him.
Then came a man who was our saving grace—married, yes, but he helped. Most importantly, he secured my son a job at an oil company. He wasn’t much, but he gave us support—both emotional and financial—when no one else would. Thanks to him, my son became an engineer, finished college, trained, and built a career. I believed in him even when he dreamed of starting his own business rather than settling for a factory wage. I gave him money, even when I had nothing but bread and water for myself.
Then he brought home a girl. Pretty, but flighty, or so I thought then. She fell pregnant quickly. I was overjoyed—I’d have a granddaughter! I helped arrange the wedding. A friend lent them money for rings, and that’s when I first felt uneasy. She picked a ring that cost more than the entire budget, consulting no one. I gently suggested they choose matching, modest ones—after all, the money was meant for both. She looked at me with pure venom. From that moment, I was her sworn enemy.
I bit my tongue. Endured it. I even bought them a car so he could earn extra after shifts. Then everything crumbled. They sold the car, money grew tight. Her parents sneered, ‘What sort of man can’t provide for his family?’ Soon, they divorced. My son spiralled into drink, lost his licence. I dragged him back from the brink. Helped him. Then came a business venture. The moment money flowed again—she returned. And he let her. While he began avoiding me.
The business is in my name—because of his debts. He pays in drips, but it’s never enough. He turned to gambling, desperate to win back his wife, his family, his stability. I gave him more—for employees, rent, expansion. He promised it would work. I believed him. Then he demanded more—that I quit my job to help him. I did, gave everything, and now I just wait. Often, they forget me. I can’t even afford gifts for my granddaughter. They only call when they need something.
He gave me a car—sleek, modern. But I can’t fuel it, can’t insure it—he won’t give me the money. Sometimes he takes it, returns it broken. Once, when I needed it urgently, the engine wouldn’t start. And still, I repay the loan on his last car—the one in my name. At first, he covered it, then stopped. And me? I stay silent. Because I’m his mother.
I signed over a share of my flat to them. They don’t invite me for holidays—not Christmas, not birthdays. Once, I visited him at work—he shouted at me. Said I shamed him. For what? I don’t drink. I wrote for literary journals, joined the Writers’ Guild, read books, worked my whole life. I’m not some drunken old woman from the estate.
Sometimes I just apologise—for everything, though I don’t know what. Just, ‘Sorry if I’ve done wrong.’ Now—I’m blocked. Can’t call. Can’t text. Silence swallows me, and I fear I’ll lose my mind to this emptiness. I sit by the window, watching strangers’ children pass, and wonder: What crime did I commit? Why has my son—my everything—decided I’m no longer needed?
I weep from a pain I can neither speak nor endure. Weep because the one who should have been my pillar is now the farthest soul from me. All I have left are memories—and hope. Hope that one day, he’ll remember how I held his hand when he was afraid. How I stood by him when the world turned its back. And he’ll understand: a mother doesn’t betray. A mother—just loves.”
