**Diary Entry**
My son is so controlled by his wife that he only meets me in secret.
I, Margaret Elizabeth, raised my son, Edward, alone. Perhaps it’s my fault he grew up so dependent on her, but the realisation breaks my heart. My childhood friend, Claire, told me bluntly: “You coddled him too much.” Her words stung, but they made me think. Now I live in a small town near York, barely seeing Edward or my granddaughter because his wife, Victoria, has taken over his life, and I’ve become a stranger in it.
Edward was born long after I’d forgotten about his father, with whom I’d lived in a common-law marriage for four years. My dad, a successful businessman, gave me a flat after university so I’d feel independent. In my youth, that place was full of parties, but everything changed when I met him. Love felt eternal—until the pregnancy surprised us. There was never any question of not keeping the baby; I’d already imagined holding my child. His father tried to win me back, but I pulled away. We split before the birth. My parents urged me to stay for Edward’s sake, but I insisted, “I’ll be both mother and father to him.” Dad just sighed, “Your choice.”
When Edward was seven, my father passed. Until then, we lacked nothing—toys, clothes, holidays—my son had it all. He never threw tantrums, and friends marvelled, “How did you raise such a well-mannered boy with so much privilege?” I’d smile. “I just love him. He’s the only man in my life.” Back then, I never imagined my “only man” would grow up and choose another woman, pushing me aside. I was consumed by his schooling, his future. To keep him out of compulsory service, I pulled strings, and he “served” in an office role. Every day, I brought him lunch, just to see him smile.
After that, Edward went to university, where in his third year, he met Victoria. The moment I saw her, my stomach dropped. She was beautiful, but her gaze—cold, calculating—made me uneasy. I knew then: this girl would dominate him. And she did. He became her shadow, catering to her every whim, spending his wages on gifts, inventing surprises just to please her. Victoria didn’t even need to manipulate him openly—she simply let him worship her, and he dissolved into her. Our conversations became just him gushing about her. I felt him slipping away but hid my hurt, forcing politeness.
Before the wedding, Victoria made her demands clear: it had to be extravagant. I spent nearly all my savings to indulge her. But it wasn’t enough—I signed my flat over to Edward and moved in with my mum. A mistake. When Victoria learned it was only in his name, she erupted. The next day, Edward rushed to the solicitor and added hers. I felt the ground vanish beneath me—my sacrifice meant nothing. From then on, Victoria resented me, and the home I’d once owned became a place I was no longer welcome.
When their daughter, Lily, was born, things worsened. Victoria had Edward wrapped around her finger: he worked, provided, obeyed her every command at home. Then she invented reasons to keep Lily from me. “She’s allergic to your cats,” she claimed. “You bring fur on your clothes—it harms her.” Absurd, but Edward believed it. He wouldn’t meet my eyes when he asked me not to visit: “I’ll stop by sometimes.” His words cut like a blade. The boy I’d raised was a stranger now, bending to his wife’s will, letting her wall him off from me.
Now Edward sneaks over like a thief. We chat awkwardly for half an hour, his eyes darting away, before he hurries off, terrified of upsetting Victoria. I barely see Lily—only at school plays or dance recitals, under Victoria’s watchful glare, never allowed a proper hug. My granddaughter’s eyes are starting to mirror her mother’s coldness, and it terrifies me. My heart aches—I’m losing not just my son, but her too.
I want to fix this, but how? Victoria’s built a wall I can’t breach. Edward, my sweet boy, is her puppet now, and I’m an inconvenience. Claire was right: I shielded him too much, and now he can’t stand up to her. But how do I mend this without tearing his family apart? Every secret visit is a reminder of what I’ve lost. I live with this pain, dreaming of holding Lily, of a real talk with Edward—but Victoria stands between us, an immovable barrier. And I fear this rift may never heal.
