My heart aches with sorrow and shame for my own son. Five years ago, my son, Richard, shattered his family, betraying his wife, who was caring for their newborn twins. While Olivia, my former daughter-in-law, stayed up night after night, soothing 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, Sophie, represents nothing but broken happiness to me, and I refuse to accept her. My son has become a stranger, and I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to forgive him.
Five years ago, Richard divorced Olivia. Their twins were just a few months old. I found out he’d been unfaithful while she, exhausted from sleepless nights, gave everything to their children. His mistress, a young and persistent woman named Sophie, gave him an ultimatum: either he left his wife or she would walk away. And Richard chose her. Olivia was left alone with two infants in her arms, and I couldn’t bear to see her suffering. My soul tore apart knowing my son could be so cruel—abandoning his wife and children for a new infatuation. How can someone build happiness on another’s tears?
I made it clear to Richard straight away that I would never accept Sophie. He was wrong if he thought I’d tolerate his betrayal. But my son didn’t listen. A year later, he proposed to Sophie, and they married. I refused to attend the wedding—I was ashamed of him. As his mother, I couldn’t watch him destroy everything our family held dear. Now, Richard and Sophie live in a rented flat in the city centre, raising their own child. I know he’s my grandchild, but every time I think of him, my throat tightens. My true grandchildren—the twins—live with Olivia, and I love them with all my heart. For them, I’m willing to do anything.
Richard and I hardly speak. I invited him for Christmas, hoping he’d come alone, but he refused, insisting he wouldn’t come without Sophie. And I don’t want to see her—not now, not ever. Meanwhile, Olivia gladly accepted my invitation. We get on wonderfully, and she’s become like a daughter to me. At Christmas, we gathered in a warm family circle—the children sang carols, and Olivia helped me prepare the festive meal. Watching her, I saw how deeply she had been hurt. She’s devoted herself entirely to the children, forgetting her own desires. Her life is endless care for the twins, and it pains me so much.
Olivia doesn’t look at other men; she can’t let go of the past. I’ve tried talking to her about it, but she still carries the weight of betrayal. This is our life now—we support 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. My son didn’t even call to wish me a happy Christmas. I ask myself—will he ever understand the damage he’s done? Will I ever be able to forgive him for tearing the family apart and leaving his children without a father? Life will never be the same, but I’m grateful for Olivia and my grandchildren—they give me the strength to carry on, despite the bitterness and disappointment.
