It breaks my heart that my son wants nothing more to do with me—his wife has torn our relationship apart.
How painful it is to admit, even to myself, that my only child has turned away from me. That I lived my life for him, sacrificed so much, only to end up alone. I don’t know where I went wrong. Maybe I’m difficult. Maybe I forgave too much. Maybe I loved him to my own ruin.
I raised my son alone. There were men in my life, but they were useless—some looking for gain, others for rescue, and a few just after my wages. I carried everything myself. Back in the ’90s, there was no time for tears—I worked myself to the bone just so he could eat properly and go to school. I went without, buying nothing for myself—everything went to him.
Then fate brought me a married man—judge me if you like, but he was the one who helped my son find his way. He worked in oil and got my son into the same line of work. The money wasn’t much, but it came when it was needed most. The real gift wasn’t the cash—it was the support.
My son finished college, then university, but no one hired him without experience. He worked at a factory, hated it—wanted to earn, not just labor. I backed him in everything, believing one day he’d have his own business. I spent my last pennies just to keep him from losing his way.
Then he brought *her* home. Pretty, but empty-headed. Silly, spoiled beyond her years. But if it was his choice, I accepted it. Pregnancy, marriage, hopes. I dreamed of being a grandmother, giddy as a schoolgirl. I even arranged their wedding.
A friend of mine helped—gave them money for wedding rings. I told my daughter-in-law, “Choose something sensible. This amount is for both of you.” She picked a ring three times the price, not caring if her husband went without. From that moment, I was her enemy—just for setting a boundary.
But I stayed quiet. Bought them a car so my son could work extra shifts. Thought I was making life easier. Then it all fell apart. The baby was difficult, crying all night. My son worked around the clock, couldn’t help. Her parents started whispering, “What kind of father is he?” “What kind of husband?” They sold the car. Income dropped. Then came the divorce. My son started drinking, lost his license. Everything collapsed.
I dragged him back up. Made him stand again. He got back on his feet, even started his own business—but it’s all in my name because of his debts, bailiffs, loans. And yes, he gambled—tried to win it all back at once. Failed. I helped again, covered wages, kept the business afloat. Anything to see him succeed.
When money returned—so did she. They’re together again. But now he avoids me. Everything’s in my name, yet I’m treated like an outsider. They rent a place, live separate lives. She never calls, never writes. My granddaughter is spoiled, uninterested in anything. And my son says, “Grandmothers should help.” I don’t refuse when they ask—but they only ask when they need something.
Then he said, “Quit your job, I need help.” I did. Now I’ve no income, waiting for him to give me anything for food. Often, he doesn’t. He gave me a car—but won’t pay the insurance. Takes it back, returns it. When I drove it myself, it broke down—faulty from the start. I’m terrified.
I even took out a loan for his car. At first, he paid. Now? Nothing. He ignores my calls. The house we lived in? He split it with his ex-wife long ago. Now he doesn’t invite me for Christmas or birthdays. I’m only welcome when they want a babysitter for their café outings.
Recently, I visited him at work—he yelled at me. Said I embarrassed him. Why? I don’t drink. Was in the Writers’ Guild. Spent my life helping him. I just wanted to see my son.
Now they’ve blocked me. Can’t even call. I cry at night, lost. I gave that man everything—and this is how he repays me. I still beg for forgiveness: “If I ever said the wrong thing, I’m sorry.” Silence in return.
I keep asking myself—where did I go wrong? What did I do? Why does my son want nothing to do with me? That question hurts worse than anything.
