**Diary Entry**
I’ve been pacing the flat all evening, restless, unable to settle. For days now, Daniel has been coming home late—last night, it was nearly dawn. I snapped at him, told him he could at least call so I wouldn’t worry. We argued. And now here I am again, counting the hours, wearing a path in the carpet.
“He loves me, yes, but a phone call wouldn’t hurt. Sooner or later, he’ll marry. I’ll have to get used to it. Who knows what sort of wife he’ll end up with? More heartache, I’m sure. Best not think about it. He’s grown, of course, but it still stings.” I couldn’t stop the spiral of worry.
I used to laugh at mothers who clung too tightly to their grown sons. Now I’m no better. Every girl Daniel’s brought home—if he bothered to introduce us—I’ve found lacking. Like every mother, I thought he’d consult me on something as important as marriage. After all, I know what’s best for him. The thoughts kept coming, relentless. If only he’d come home already.
The door’s latch clicked, and I startled, even though I’d been listening for it. “Finally!” I rushed toward the hall but stopped halfway, retreating to the kitchen instead. I sat at the table, hands folded.
“Mum, why are you still up?” Daniel stood in the doorway.
“You know how I fret. You could’ve called,” I said, unable to mask the reproach.
“Mum, I’m a man. I’m not reporting every move to you.”
“Where were you?” My voice was sharp.
“At Sophie’s.” His tone softened.
“Another girl. I doubt she’ll be the last. But you’ve only one mother.” The jealousy slipped out before I could stop it.
“Another? She’s the only one—like you, Mum.” He kissed my cheek. “Don’t speak ill of her. You’ll regret it later. And how else would I find a wife if I never courted anyone? You always said not to marry the first girl I met. Didn’t you?”
“I did,” I admitted. “So… you’ve chosen a wife, then?”
Daniel crouched beside me, eyes searching mine. My heart swelled—he looked so like his father just then. The same smile, the same warmth.
“I have, Mum.” He rested his head on my knee.
“Then let me meet her,” I said, softening.
“I will. Only…” He hesitated.
“What? Is something wrong with her?” I nearly asked if she was some stray he’d picked up, like the puppies he used to drag home as a boy. Compassion’s a virtue, but you can’t keep them all. Back then, I’d fake allergies—sneeze dramatically until he rehomed them. That trick wouldn’t work now.
The words burned my tongue, but his warning glance silenced me.
“She’s perfect, Mum. Beautiful, cooks well—at least to my taste. But she’s not alone.”
“Are you in love with a married woman?” Panic must’ve shown on my face because he quickly added,
“No, nothing like that. She has a son. He’s five.”
“Five?” I gasped. “How old is she?”
“Mum, don’t shout. Yes, she’s older.”
“I see.” Rage tightened my chest. My boy, my sunshine, the one I’d move mountains for—in love with an older woman, a mother already!
“What do you see, Mum? I love her. People make mistakes—you’ve said so yourself.”
“Yes, but some mistakes last forever. And young, carefree girls don’t interest you now?” The bitterness tasted vile.
“This is why I didn’t tell you. I knew you wouldn’t understand.” He stood abruptly. “Remember that girl at your work? The one left heartbroken with a child? You said she’d find a good man to be a father to her girl. Why can’t that man be me?”
“Darling, love fades. I loved your father madly, and he left us for another.”
“Exactly, Mum. No guarantee a young girl would stay with me forever. I love Sophie. And her boy. He’s brilliant. If you reject her, I won’t leave her. Understood? Let’s leave it here.”
“Daniel, I raised you hoping you’d be happy—”
“Enough. It’s my life. If you meddle, I’ll go.” He turned and left.
“Son…”
Morning came, and he left for work without breakfast. Days passed in silence. He came home late, shut himself away. I didn’t know how to fix it. It felt like yesterday I was rocking him to sleep, tending scraped knees—now he’s a man with his own life. Accepting that isn’t easy.
“We need to talk,” I ventured once.
“We’ll talk when you’re ready to listen.”
“He really loves her,” Marjorie, my eldest colleague, said at lunch. “Push him away, and you’ll lose him.” I’d confided in her, desperate for advice.
“I know I’m wrong, but I couldn’t help myself,” I whispered, voice cracking.
“Did you expect him to stay tied to you forever? He needs your support, not your disapproval. Did your mother-in-law welcome you straight away?”
“Not at first. But I was younger than my husband—no child in tow.”
“And she still found faults. Mothers always do—we resent anyone who takes our sons. Some make peace with their daughters-in-law; others wage war. It never ends well. He hasn’t married her yet. He comes home. He’s hurting too. He wants you to show wisdom, to love him despite your pride. Go meet this Sophie. See what’s so special about her. He’s not going to war—just getting married. The heart wants what it wants.”
Gradually, I calmed. Three weeks of silence was enough. I steeled myself to visit Sophie, to ask her to let Daniel go. I got the address from his friend.
Tuesdays and Fridays, Daniel goes to the gym after work. I had an hour or so. It’d be rude to show up empty-handed—too aggressive. A cake? Too conciliatory. A toy, maybe—for the boy, not her. The child’s innocent.
I wandered the shop, getting lost in choices. This lorry today, that train next time—though there’d *be* no next time.
At the door, a lovely woman answered. A little boy peeked behind her, grinning until he saw me.
“Hello, I’m Daniel’s mother,” I said.
“I thought so. Come in. Oliver, go to your room,” Sophie nudged him gently.
The flat was cosy, spotless. Oliver returned with a toy aeroplane, demonstrating its *engine roar*.
“That’s smashing. I brought you something.” I handed him the lorry.
His eyes lit up. For fifteen minutes, we played, testing its doors, racing it across the floor.
“You like it?”
“Course! How’d you know I wanted this one?”
“A guess. I’ve a son too—grown now.”
I forgot why I’d come. Sophie drifted in and out, leaving us to bond. Only Daniel’s imminent return reminded me.
“I should go.”
“Won’t you wait for Daniel?” Sophie asked, leaning in the doorway.
“You’ll come back?” Oliver’s hope undid me.
“I will.” And I meant it.
Walking home, I kept seeing Oliver’s joy. How easily he’d called me *you*, claimed me as his own. Warmth spread through me. Sophie hadn’t interfered—just let us be.
Back home, the silence struck me. One day, Daniel *wouldn’t* return. The thought hollowed me out. I wept.
Next morning, I told Marjorie about my *confrontation*—how I’d longed to hug Oliver, breathe in that sweet, powdery scent only children have.
Then Daniel called, casual as anything, inviting me for pie at Sophie’s. Of course he knew I’d been.
After work, I bought another toy for Oliver and four colourful glass mugs.
“Cheers, Mum.” Daniel kissed me like old times. “Four mugs?”
“I thought—three for you, one for me… when I visit.”
Sophie smiled.
“Better make it five, Mum. I’ve been waiting for you to ask Sophie properly.” He pulled out a velvet ring box. “Marry me?”
“*What?*” I gasped. “Are you— Is she—?”
“Not yet,” he teased, wrapping an arm around me. “But someday. A girl. You *do* want to be a grandma, don’t you?”
“You’re my grandma?” Oliver’s face lit with wonder.
