So, imagine this—our family was always proper, steady, dependable. My Callum, my only son. His real dad left before he even turned three. My second husband, Nigel, became his proper father—raised him, guided him, was there for everything. Nigel and I never had more kids, so all our love, care, and hopes went into Callum. He grew up kind, clever, polite. The sort of lad any mum would be proud of. Then it all fell apart when *she* came along.
Holly. I remember her from that day in the shop, even before he first brought her home. She was at the till, arguing with the cashier over something trivial. I thought right then—girls like that? Trouble. Arrogant, sharp, ice-cold. Never crossed my mind she’d end up in my house one day.
When Callum introduced her as his girlfriend, I was gobsmacked. I *knew*—she’d drive a wedge between us. And I wasn’t wrong. After that first visit, he barely came home. Always had some excuse—work, errands, too knackered. Family gatherings? He’d show up alone. If I tried to talk to him, he’d shut down, avoid eye contact, change the subject. I could feel him slipping away. And I couldn’t do a thing about it.
Then came the final blow.
Last summer, at my niece Poppy’s birthday—garden party, chatter, laughter. My sister jokes, “So when are we getting grandkids? Callum’s been married ages, it’s about time!” I froze. *Married?* Turns out, six months prior, Callum and Holly got hitched. Abroad. No ring, no ceremony, no photos. And no us. Just quiet, secret, like we—his parents—didn’t exist anymore.
My chest ached. Couldn’t even speak. Just walked inside. Later, he rang. Said he didn’t want to upset us. That I’d never liked Holly anyway, why ruin his big day—or ours. Said it all casual, like he was talking about buying a new hoover. I listened to his voice and didn’t recognise my own son.
Part of me gets it. He wanted to avoid drama. Keep it simple. Not rock the boat. But family isn’t about convenience. It’s about sharing the big things. Being together. He did it all behind our backs. And yet—I used to hold his hand when he was scared of the dark. He once promised he’d only marry someone I’d love too. How did it change so fast?
Now? I don’t even know what to do. I don’t *hate* Callum. He’s my son. I love him. Always will. But her? I’ll never forgive her. Not for the wedding. For *staking her claim.* Quiet, catlike. Convincing him family’s something you can erase with a plane ticket.
He thinks he dodged a row. He only made it worse. He could’ve tried to bring us together, given us a chance. Now? There’s a wall between me and that woman. Not anger. Just… cold. Indifference. And that’s worse.
Time’ll pass. Maybe I’ll bite my tongue—for him. For future grandkids. But my heart won’t warm the way it did. Because one day it hit me: I’m not part of my son’s life anymore. And no amount of *cheerio* will bury that pain.
