Light in the Window: A Path to Happiness
Edward, or Eddie as his mother called him, had long since passed the age of thirty-eight. Yet to Evelyn Whitmore, 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.
Evelyn had never married. She devoted herself entirely to her work and her son, whom she had borne at thirty-six. Edward was born frail, and his mother did everything to strengthen him. Her care knew no bounds—she dressed him herself, fed him by hand, even brushed his teeth. By three, he had grown into a sturdy, sweet child, yet Evelyn never let him out of her sight.
Problems arose at nursery school. The teachers chided her:
“Your son can’t do a thing for himself! The other children dress themselves, but he just waits for help.”
She dismissed their criticism: “He has a mother! If you can’t manage to dress him, find another job!”
In the end, she pulled Edward from nursery and hired a nanny who, like her, denied the boy any independence. He grew accustomed to others making decisions for him. By the time he started school, Evelyn had found a new minder—a retired neighbour who monitored his every move. She obtained medical notes excusing him from sports. Meals, clothes, routines—all were her choice.
“Eat your sandwich, you can’t be full,” she’d say, carefully buttering the bread before handing it to ten-year-old Edward.
He’d obey without argument. There was no arguing with Mother.
Edward wasn’t heavy by nature, but lack of activity and overfeeding took their toll. By twenty, he was a tall, pleasant-looking but slightly stocky young man. He enrolled at the university where his mother taught. Colleagues smirked when they saw Evelyn waiting in the cloakroom to help him into his coat. His jacket sleeves had mittens sewn on with elastic—so he wouldn’t lose them.
Edward studied diligently and, after graduation, stayed on as a lecturer—his mother insisted. At twenty-six, she decided it was time he married. She chose the bride herself. Edward didn’t object. But the marriage collapsed quickly.
“She wasn’t who she claimed to be!” Evelyn fumed. “Said Edward was too dependent, criticised my care. I wouldn’t stand for it and had them divorced!”
Ten years later, she found another bride. Again, she orchestrated a divorce, declaring her “unsuitable.”
Helen, Edward’s second wife, had their son Michael after the split. Evelyn demanded a DNA test, which confirmed his paternity. But for the first time, Edward slipped from her control. He went to Helen to meet his boy.
Helen lived modestly in a rented flat. The moment he saw two-month-old Michael, something changed.
“I’m staying with you,” Edward said firmly.
He called his mother later to say he’d collect his things another time. Evelyn wept all night, unsure how to win him back. She didn’t even know Helen’s address. Edward avoided her, retrieving his belongings while she was out.
Then one day, he invited her to Michael’s birthday. Evelyn arrived laden with gifts, beaming.
“For my grandson, Michael Edward Whitmore!” she announced proudly in the shops.
Edward greeted her at the door, Michael in his arms.
“Meet your grandmother, son,” he said. “Mum, you’ve no rivals in spoiling him. Helen, as you know, lost her parents years ago.”
He handed Michael to her. Evelyn fought back tears, though her heart ached.
“You let him use a fork?” she gasped, eyeing Helen. “What if he pokes himself?”
“It’s a child’s fork, perfectly safe,” Helen replied.
“And his socks? He puts them on himself?”
“He does,” Edward cut in. “He’s been dressing himself for ages.”
“You let him drink from a cup? What if he spills?”
“If he does, he’ll learn to be careful,” Edward smiled.
“And he rides a bicycle? What if he falls?”
“We’ll help him up,” Edward said. “And if he cries, we’ll comfort him.”
Evelyn was the only guest. The table was set with warmth, and for the first time, she felt valued.
“Mum, Helen and I remarried,” Edward said. “Michael has my name now.”
“Perhaps you’d move in with me?” she ventured. “The house feels so empty…”
“No, Mum,” Edward said gently. “We want our own home. We’re saving for a mortgage. It’ll be all right.”
Evelyn spent the day with Michael, and they bonded instantly.
“May I take him sometimes?” she asked.
“Just don’t spoil him rotten!” Edward laughed.
“What’s a grandmother for?” she countered. “Without you, I’m so lonely… Work isn’t enough. With you, I’m happy. Thank you, Helen, for my grandson.”
“And thank you for your son,” Helen smiled. “Michael has the best father.”
Returning home, Evelyn felt the oppressive silence. Rooms once full of life now seemed frigid. She opened her laptop and began typing:
“For sale: three-bedroom house in central Oakford, 700 sq ft. Spacious kitchen, separate bathroom, second floor, charming garden with a play area. Near schools and parks…”
But after a moment, she closed the draft and searched instead for smaller flats. Her gaze settled on a modest one-bedroom near the university.
“This house I’ll keep for Michael,” she decided. “They’re renting a single room—how could I allow it? I’ve savings enough, and if not, I’ll take a loan. My salary will cover it.”
A week later, Evelyn arrived unannounced. Helen stiffened, but her mother-in-law smiled and laid keys on the table.
“The house is clean, furnished,” she said, as if justifying herself. “I’ve bought a flat near work. Only a bed and desk for now, but I’ll manage.”
Edward and Helen were speechless.
“Mum, what about you?” Edward asked.
“I’ll be fine,” she replied. “Michael needs a home.”
Little Michael toddled over, arms outstretched.
“He wants his gran,” Edward chuckled.
Evelyn swept him up, spinning around the room, laughing:
“My window’s full of light again!”
Her heart, so long imprisoned by loneliness, now beat in time with joy. She knew—for that smile, for her family, she’d made the right choice.
