I’m the mother of two grown sons. My eldest has been married for years, lives in another city, and visits twice a year. But my youngest, James, has always been my pride and joy. I’ve spent my life supporting him—helping him through university, giving him money while he found his footing, and rejoicing when things finally fell into place. At 27, James landed a well-paying job at a tech firm, and with my cosy two-bedroom flat, we got on like a house on fire.
Then he brought home Emily, his girlfriend. I had no objections—she seemed sweet and level-headed. But when, a few months later, he announced they were getting married, I felt uneasy. Not because I disliked her, but because James still seemed too inexperienced for such commitments. He’d never learned to push through hardship, always preferring the easy way out. They married and rented a place—I kept my distance, dropping off meals or helping when asked.
Six months in, James came to me with a solemn look.
“Mum, Emily and I have been thinking… We need to save faster for a mortgage deposit. Half our wages go on rent. Maybe you could move to the cottage for a bit while we stay in your flat? It’s got all the comforts—heating, proper plumbing. We won’t overstay—just until we’ve saved enough.”
I froze. The cottage was a damp, unheated little place an hour and a half from town by train. I teach at a school—getting up at five every morning to catch the first train, and winters there were unbearable. But more than that, I knew if I gave in, things wouldn’t go as planned.
I know my son. He adapts to comfort quickly. The moment he settled into my warm, cosy flat with Emily, the urgency of saving would fade. Even if they promised it was temporary, comfort has a way of stretching deadlines. Comfort is a trap. If he stopped striving, stopped growing—who’d bear the consequences later?
I didn’t want to live in that cottage. And I wouldn’t enable laziness, even for my own child. I’d fought hard for my stability—no one handed it to me. Why should I sacrifice my health, time, and peace for someone else’s convenience?
The next day, I told James firmly but kindly:
“No. I won’t move. But I’ll help you with rent—I’ll cover part of it so you can save faster. But this is my home, and I’m staying.”
He was furious. He and Emily stopped calling, stopped visiting. The distance hurts, 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 harmony.
One day, he’ll realise I didn’t refuse—I protected him. Protected us. Real love isn’t always giving in. Sometimes, it’s saying no when the easy path beckons.
