Last month, my daughter and I attended my niece’s wedding at a cosy little restaurant in Manchester. The celebration was utterly charming—every detail perfectly arranged, the bride glowing with joy, and the guests basking in the warmth of love. Afterwards, my daughter, Poppy, stayed the night at my place—we live in different towns. The next morning, I found her by the window, staring blankly into the distance, tears streaming down her cheeks. My girl was crying, and my heart ached.
I rushed to her side: “Poppy, love, what’s wrong? Yesterday was lovely!” She looked up at me, her eyes brimming with sorrow, and whispered, “Yes, the wedding was beautiful. I never had one like that. And now I never will. When I got married, there was no dress, no party…” Her voice trembled, and suddenly, I remembered the day she tied the knot. It felt like a punch to the gut.
Ten years ago, I’d begged her to have a proper wedding. I wanted my only daughter to sparkle in a white gown, with her hair done, nails polished, and makeup flawless. I was ready to pay for everything—the reception, the photographer, you name it. “Poppy, it’s your day!” I insisted. But she brushed me off, saying weddings were outdated. I was horrified when she turned up at the registry office in jeans and a T-shirt. No flowers, no smiles—just a signature, and off they went. Her wedding was as cheerful as a rainy Tuesday in November.
That was Poppy all over. In school, when her classmates were fussing over prom outfits, she rocked up in shorts, collected her diploma, and left. No dances, no memories. Her marriage was the same—soulless. The idea of children? Out of the question, even though her husband, Oliver, dreamed of a family. Normally, these things are discussed *before* the wedding, but Poppy, young and fiercely ambitious, thought kids could wait. She wanted to live for herself—build her career, relish her freedom. Four years in, Oliver had enough. He left because he wanted to be a dad.
They divorced. Oliver remarried quickly, and now he’s got three children. Poppy, though, is alone. She dates, but every time, it’s the same: “I don’t need anyone.” But I see the loneliness in her. She’s always been fiercely independent, but now that independence feels like emptiness. And there she was, sitting by my window, admitting, “Mum, I regret not having a child. I’m 38, and I’ve got nothing.” Her words shattered me.
Now Poppy dreams of a baby. She says when I’m gone, she’ll have someone to live for. But I worry for her. A child is a huge responsibility, and Poppy barely makes ends meet. She works herself ragged, yet money’s always tight. I can’t help her financially, and it breaks my heart. I hold her, try to comfort her, but her eyes are full of bottomless sadness. She’s missed so much—the wedding, the family, the warm memories. Now that emptiness is choking her.
But I still believe Poppy has a chance. She’s only 38—life isn’t over. If she wants it, she’ll find love, marry, have a child. The key is not to dwell on the past. You can’t turn back time, but you can learn to treasure what you have right now. I pray my girl finds happiness, that her eyes sparkle again. For now, though, all I see are her tears, and it breaks my heart.
