**Diary Entry**
I raised my son alone, hoping he’d be my support in life, but instead, he’s become a burden—him and his wife. I gave everything to him, sacrificed all I had to make sure he grew up right. But what did I get in return? Indifference, laziness, even betrayal. The son I loved so much, along with his wife, has become nothing but trouble, and now I’m left with an impossible choice: throw them out or keep enduring this, watching the last of my strength and hope fade away.
My name is Margaret Wilkins, and I live in a small town up in Yorkshire. My son, James, was always my pride—polite, kind, obedient—never any trouble. As a single mother, I worked two jobs just to give him a decent life. I dreamed he’d grow up to be my rock, that he’d help me the way I’d helped him. But those dreams crumbled like dry biscuits the moment he became a man.
After secondary school, James refused to go to university. “Mum, education’s not for me,” he said and signed up for the army. I hoped service would teach him responsibility, that he’d come back ready to build a future. Instead, he let me down. Study? “No thanks.” Work? “Only if it suits me.” His demands were ridiculous—high wages, easy work, no effort at all. He got a job in a warehouse but quit after a month, saying it “wasn’t his thing.” Half a year he spent lounging about the house, doing nothing. I fed him, bought his clothes, paid for everything on my tiny pension, barely scraping by myself.
Then James brought home his wife—Emily, an eighteen-year-old girl with no job and no plans. Her arrogance stunned me—she acted like the world owed her everything, though she had no education, no ambition. Naturally, they moved in with me. My small flat, already cramped, turned into a battleground. I tried talking to them, pointing out the mess, the idleness, but every word was met with anger. “Mum, we’ll sort ourselves out!” James would snap. Emily just rolled her eyes. Their words felt like mockery.
One day, I snapped. “Sort yourselves out somewhere else, then!” I shouted. “I can’t feed you both on my pension! I can hardly manage for myself, and you’re living off me!” My voice shook with anger and pain. I gave them an ultimatum: by the end of the month, they were to pack their things and leave. James looked at me like I’d betrayed him, Emily scoffed, but neither argued. Still, deep down, I’m afraid—what if they don’t go? What do I do with my own son?
I’m torn between love for James and sheer frustration. He’s my blood, my boy, the one I gave up everything for. But now, he doesn’t think of me at all. His indifference, his laziness, his choice of a wife just as useless—it feels like a slap in the face. Emily only makes it worse—she doesn’t cook, doesn’t clean, lives off me as if I owe it to her. I watch my life drain away while I carry them both, and it breaks my heart.
What do I do? Kick them out and lose my son forever? Let them stay and lose myself? Every day, I look at James and search for the boy I loved, but all I see is a stranger who’s forgotten what gratitude means. My hope for his support is gone, and now I stand on the edge, wondering if I’ll ever find the strength to step forward.
