My heart aches with sorrow and shame for my own son. Five years ago, my son, Thomas, shattered his family, betraying his wife, who was caring for their newborn twins. While Emma, my former daughter-in-law, spent sleepless nights tending to the babies, he was secretly building a new life with another woman. I, Margaret, live in Manchester and still cannot come to terms with his actions. His new partner, Gemma, represents the ruin of all that was good, and I refuse to accept her. My son has become a stranger, and I don’t know if I’ll ever forgive him.
Five years ago, Thomas divorced Emma. Their twins were only a few months old. I later discovered he had been unfaithful while she, exhausted from sleepless nights, gave everything to their children. His mistress, a young and determined woman named Gemma, gave him an ultimatum: divorce or she would leave. Thomas chose her. Emma was left alone with two infants, and I couldn’t bear to see her suffering. My heart broke knowing my son was capable of such cruelty—abandoning his wife and children for a fleeting passion. How could he build his happiness on someone else’s sorrow?
I made it clear to Thomas I would never accept Gemma. He was wrong if he thought I’d tolerate his betrayal. But he didn’t listen. A year later, he proposed to her, and they married. I refused to attend the wedding—I was too ashamed. As a mother, I couldn’t watch him destroy everything our family held dear. Now, Thomas and Gemma live in a rented flat in the city centre, raising their own child. I know he’s my grandson, but the thought of him leaves a lump in my throat. My true grandchildren—the twins—live with Emma, and I love them with all my heart. For them, I would do anything.
Thomas and I barely speak. I invited him for Christmas, hoping he’d come alone, but he refused, saying he wouldn’t attend without Gemma. And I don’t want to see her—not now, not ever. Meanwhile, Emma gladly accepted my invitation. We have a wonderful relationship, and she’s become like a daughter to me. Over the holidays, we gathered in a warm family circle: the children sang carols, and Emma helped me prepare the feast. Watching her, I saw how deeply she had suffered. She devoted herself entirely to the twins, forgetting her own needs. Her life is an endless cycle of care, and my heart breaks for her.
Emma doesn’t look at other men—she can’t let go of the past. I’ve tried talking to her, but she still carries the pain of betrayal. This is our life now: we lean on each other, I help with the children, and she calls me her second mother. It warms my heart, but it doesn’t dull the ache. Thomas didn’t even call to wish me happy holidays. I find myself wondering: will he ever understand the damage he’s done? Will I ever forgive him for breaking our family and leaving those children without a father? Life will never be the same, but I’m grateful for Emma and the twins—they give me the strength to keep going, despite the bitterness and disappointment. The hardest truth is that love doesn’t shield us from pain, but it’s the one thing that makes the pain bearable.
