The Mother Who Owed Me Nothing
Sophie and James were preparing for their wedding. The day before the celebration, Sophies mum, Margaret, dropped by to meet her future in-law. The gathering took place at Jamess mums housePatricia. They chatted about wedding details and shared a meal. The next morning, as Margaret got ready to leave, Sophie walked her out.
“So, what do you think of James?” Sophie asked.
“Hes lovely,” Margaret smiled, then heaved a sigh.
“Mum, whats wrong?” Sophie frowned.
“Just be careful with his mum. You dont know her well yet.”
Those words soon made perfect sense.
When Sophie discovered her mother-in-law planned to move in with them, she laid it out plainly:
“Its me or your mum, James.”
“Im not choosing,” he replied calmly. “Things stay as they are, and she sorts herself out.”
“So you wont let her move in?”
“Already told her no.”
“Howd she take it?”
“Not well. Called me ungrateful and said Id regret it.”
“Predictable.”
Patricia had retired earlyshed spent years as a flight attendant.
“Enough,” shed declared, securing a generous pension, certainly larger than most.
But she quickly realized her lavish tastes outstripped her budget. The solution? Shift expenses to her son.
“I raised you, educated you. Now its your turn to step up,” shed told James when he was just 23. “Starting next month, you cover rent and groceries.”
“Fine,” he agreed. “But if Im paying, you stay out of my life.”
She agreedand, to be fair, barely bothered him. James had been mostly raised by his grandparents while she chased her own pursuits, unsuccessfully.
Years passed. James moved in with her as a teen. For five years, he paid the bills while she spent her pension on herself.
At fifty, Patricia met Jamess new wife.
“Youre so polished!” Sophie remarked awkwardly at their first meeting. “Not what I expected from a retiree.”
Learning the couple would live with her, Patricia beamed. “Brilliant!” she said, thinking, *Now I wont have to cook.*
Sophie assumed sincerity, but James clarified:
“She didnt dare kick us out. Ive paid for everything the last five years.”
Margarets visit soon shattered fragile illusions:
“Watch that woman, love. She lives for herself. Shell drop you the moment youre inconvenient. Stand by your manI like him. But his mums rotten luck.”
Six months later, Patricia fell in love. A man named Andrew started appearing. Then
“Youve got two weeks to move out. Selling the flat. Im off to York.”
“Youre joking,” James gaped.
“Its my flat. My parents bought it.”
“And youre kicking us out?”
“Absolutely. All legal.”
James wordlessly grabbed his coat and left. That evening, they packed, moving in with a mate looking for tenants. A month later, Patricia sold up and vanished with Andrew.
Days after, James tried borrowing money.
“Not a chance. Other plans,” she said coolly.
“Well, good luck then,” he muttered.
“You too,” she smiled, not even hugging him goodbye.
A year passed. Patricia calledAndrew had taken her money and vanished. Homeless, she announced, “Im moving in.”
“No. Take whats left, get a mortgage.”
“A mortgage? At my age? On my pension?”
“Get a job. Sort yourself out.”
“You wont help?”
“I owe you nothing, Mum.”
She exploded: “Ungrateful! I raised you!”
“Just following your example,” he said quietly.
Patricia couch-surfed until the money ran out. Rejection followed rejection. Then she returned.
“Mum, youre not ill or elderly. Get a job. Rent a room. Figure it out.”
“Dont you feel sorry for me?”
“No. You remind me of that grasshopper sang all summer.”
Later, Patricia landed not a job but another marriageto the first bloke with a house.
But thats another story entirely.
