The Light in the Window: A Path to Happiness
Victor, or Vicky as his mum called him, had long since passed his thirty-eighth birthday. But to Anna Wilson, a professor at the local university, he remained her little boy, her precious treasure. She never saw him as a grown man capable of living his own life.
Anna had never married. She had devoted herself entirely to her work and her son, whom she’d had at thirty-six. Victor was born frail, and she did everything to help him grow strong. Her care knew no bounds: she dressed him, spoon-fed him, even brushed his teeth for him. By three, Victor had become a sturdy, sweet little lad, but Anna never let him out of her sight.
Trouble began at nursery. The teachers criticised Anna:
“Your son can’t do anything for himself! The other children dress themselves, but he just waits for help.”
She dismissed their concerns:
“He has a mother! If you can’t manage to dress him, find another job!”
In the end, she took Victor out of nursery and hired a nanny who, like her, never let him do anything alone. Victor grew used to others making decisions for him. By the time he started school, Anna found a new minder—a retired neighbour who watched his every step. She even secured doctor’s notes excusing him from PE. Food, clothes, routines—she chose them all.
“Eat your sandwich, you can’t be full yet,” Anna would say, carefully spreading butter on bread before handing it to ten-year-old Victor.
He obeyed without question—arguing with Mum was pointless.
Victor wasn’t heavy by nature, but lack of exercise and constant feeding took their toll. By twenty, he was a tall, pleasant-looking but slightly pudgy young man. He enrolled at the university where his mother taught. Colleagues smirked when they saw Anna waiting in the cloakroom to help him into his coat. His jacket sleeves had mittens sewn on strings—so he wouldn’t lose them.
Victor studied dutifully and, after graduation, stayed on as a lecturer—just as his mother insisted. At twenty-six, she decided it was time he married. She chose his bride herself. Victor didn’t object. But the marriage quickly fell apart.
“She wasn’t who she pretended to be!” Anna fumed. “She said Victor was too helpless, criticised my care. I wouldn’t stand for it, so I got them divorced!”
Ten years later, she found him another wife. But that marriage ended too, declared “unsuitable” by Anna.
Laura, the second wife, had their son Jamie after the divorce. Anna demanded a paternity test, which confirmed Victor was the father. But for the first time, he stepped out of her control. He went to Laura’s to meet his son.
Laura lived modestly in a rented flat. Holding two-month-old Jamie, something in Victor shifted.
“I’m staying with you,” he said firmly.
He called his mother later to say he’d collect his things. Anna sobbed all night, unsure how to win him back. She didn’t even know Laura’s address. Victor avoided her, picking up his belongings when she was out.
Yet one day, he invited her to Jamie’s birthday party. Anna arrived laden with gifts, beaming with joy.
“For my grandson, Jamie Victor Wilson!” she proudly told shop assistants.
Victor met her at the door with Jamie in his arms.
“Say hello to Grandma, son,” he said. “Mum, no one could care for him better than you. Laura’s parents are gone, as you know.”
He handed Jamie to her. Anna held back tears, though her heart swelled.
“You’re giving him a fork?” she gasped, eyeing Laura. “What if he pokes himself?”
“It’s a child-safe one,” Laura replied.
“And his socks? Does he put them on himself?” Anna pressed.
“He does,” Victor cut in. “He’s been doing it ages.”
“Drinks from a cup? Doesn’t he spill?”
“If he does, he’ll learn to be neater,” Victor smiled.
“Rides a bike? What if he falls?”
“We’ll help him up,” he said. “And if he cries, we’ll comfort him.”
Anna was the only guest. The table was set with warmth, and for once, she felt truly appreciated.
“Mum, Laura and I remarried,” Victor said. “Jamie has my surname now.”
“Maybe move in with me?” she ventured. “Three bedrooms, and I’m so lonely…”
“No, Mum,” Victor said gently. “We want our own place. Saving for a mortgage—we’ll manage.”
Anna spent the day bonding with Jamie.
“Let me have him sometimes,” she pleaded.
“Just don’t spoil him rotten!” Victor laughed.
“What else are grandmas for?” she countered. “It’s so bleak without you… Work doesn’t help. I’m happy with you all. Thank you, Laura, for my grandson!”
“And thank you for your son,” Laura smiled. “Jamie couldn’t wish for a better dad.”
Back home, Anna was swallowed by silence. Rooms once full of life now felt cold. She opened her laptop and typed:
“For sale: 3-bed flat in central Oakridge, 700 sq ft. Spacious kitchen, separate WC, third floor. Quiet close with playground. Near schools…”
But after a pause, she closed the draft and searched for smaller flats instead. Her eyes landed on a modest one-bed near the uni.
“I’ll keep this one for Jamie,” she decided. “They’re renting a single room—how could I allow that? I’ve savings, and if not, I’ll take a loan—my salary covers it.”
A week later, Anna turned up unannounced. Laura stiffened, but her mother-in-law smiled and laid keys on the table.
“It’s clean, furnished,” she said, almost apologetic. “I’ve bought a one-bed closer to work. Just a bed and desk there, but I’ll manage.”
Victor and Laura stared.
“Mum, what about you?” Victor asked.
“I’ll be fine,” she said. “Jamie needs a home.”
Little Jamie toddled over, arms outstretched.
“Wants his gran,” Victor grinned.
Anna swept him up, spinning as they laughed.
“Sunlight’s back in my window!”
Her heart, so long locked in loneliness, now beat with joy. She knew—for that smile, for her family, she’d made the right choice.
