My son was my friend and my rock all my life, but after his marriage, we became strangers.
He was always my closest ally, the one I could rely on. But once he married, everything shifted.
I never imagined my own child could change so much under someone elses influence. My only son, William, had always been a golden boypolite, kind, always ready to lend a hand. Thats how he grew up, and thats how he stayed well into adulthood. Before he married, we were inseparablewe met often, talked for hours about nothing and everything, shared our joys and sorrows, supported each other. Of course, I kept my distance where I shouldnever interfering beyond what was needed. But everything crumbled when she came into his lifeCharlotte.
For their wedding, Charlotte and William were gifted a newly renovated one-bedroom flat in the heart of London by his parents. It became their own little haven. I was never invited over, but my son showed me pictures on his phonebright walls, brand-new furniture, a cosy atmosphere. After my husband passed, I barely had a penny to my name, so I decided to hand down nearly all my jewellerygold chains, rings, earrings Id collected over the years. I told Charlotte, “If youd rather melt them down, I dont mind.” I just wanted to help them, give them a good start.
But Charlotte She showed her true colours quickly. A woman with a sharp tongue, cutting as a blade. I noticed how she sifted through the wedding envelopes stuffed with cashher curiosity about how much each contained worried me. On one hand, that mightve made her a thrifty wife, but on the otherbest stay wary. Too many women these days see their husbands as walking wallets, spending their money freely, then divorcing, taking half, and hunting for the next one. Id never want that for William, but the dread eats at me.
Six months after the wedding, Charlotte announced she didnt want children yet. “Not now,” she saidtheir little flat wasnt suitable. Shed throw up her hands: “What can we do? I wont take a loan, and who knows when well afford a proper house? William isnt some high-flying executive yet.” She spoke as if thinking aloud, but I heard the calculation in her voice. Meanwhile, I live in the house my late husband started building. Its unfinished, with gaps in the walls. In winter, the cold seeps into my bonesmy pension doesnt stretch far enough to heat it properly. Then Charlotte said it: “Sell your house, buy a small flat, and give us the rest for a bigger place. Then well think about children.”
Do you see what that means? She wants me, old and worn, to cram into a shoebox while they take the best for themselves. And whos to say they wouldnt push me into a care home after? At first, I nearly agreedif theyd just help me out a bit each month. But now? Not a chance. With someone like Charlotte, you must keep your guard upshed stab you in the back without blinking.
After that talk, William visited a few times. He gently hinted that her idea wasnt so bad: “Why do you need such a big house? A flat would be easiercheaper to run, too.” I stood firm: “The citys growing. In five or ten years, this land will be worth double. Selling now would be daft.” Once, I offered a swapthey could live in my house, and Id take their flat. After all, its the same thing, isnt it? But Charlotte refused. She didnt like that the house needed work, investment, while Id live carefree in their ready-made flat. She wants comfort, even if my offer made more sense. Thats just how she isand theres no changing it.
Then I fell ill. Badlyfever, cough, headaches so fierce I couldnt rise from bed. I called William, begging him to bring food, medicine. I knew they were busy, but I hadnt the strength to boil water. Once, Id have never doubted hed drop everything to come. Now? He showed up the next day. Mixed some Lemsip for me, left an unboxed packet of paracetamollikely expiredshrugged, and left. Thank God for my neighbourshe brought soup, fresh meds, everything I needed. What if she hadnt? What wouldve become of me?
My boy was my light, my pillar all my life. I trusted him completelymore than a son, he was my friend, part of me. But marriage erased it all. Were strangers now, and I cant mend it. Hes my only child, my love, my prideyet now I see his hearts no longer mine. He chose her. Charlotte planted herself between us like a brick wall, and Ive been left on the other sidealone, cast aside, forgotten. My head says the bond is broken. Its time for him to choosehis mother or his wife. And the choice is plain as day. Still, my heart clings to hope that hell remember what I was to him, that hell come back. But every day, that hope fades like mist under a foreign sun.
