**Diary Entry 12th June**
For six long hours, I kept asking myself: *Why was my daughter-in-law so hostile toward us?*
For six endless years, I wondered: *Why did she treat us with such coldness?*
I havent spoken to my son Thomas in six years. Not even a word. I wasnt even invited to his wedding. I knew his wife, Sophie, was to blame. I couldnt grasp why, but her actions left me heartbroken.
My husband and I have three sons together, and he has another from his first marriage. Of course, I love them all, but Thomas, the eldest, was so longed for that he remained my pride and joy.
Six years ago, Thomas met Sophie. Trouble began almost immediately. At first, I thought well of her. Her first visit to our home in Manchester went smoothly. But the second timeeverything changed. We were at the dinner table when she suddenly turned to Thomas and said, *”You dress terribly. Ill buy you some proper clothes.”* He laughed it off: *”No need, everyone has their own style.”* I agreed with him. Sophies face darkened, but she stayed silent.
The next day, Thomas kissed me goodbye, but Sophie didnt even come near me. At the time, I didnt realise the damage was done. Only later did I understandthat one remark had sealed her resentment toward me.
I wasnt invited to their wedding.
Months of uneasy silence passed before Thomas invited us to a birthday gathering in Brighton, where Sophie was from. My husband and I planned to stay in a hotel, giving the couple space, but Thomas insisted we stay at Sophies flat, warning we might not see much of hershe was busy with her parents’ shop.
We arranged to meet for lunch, but Sophie never showed. Days later, Thomas called: *”Mum, Im marrying Sophie.”* Then he added they wanted a small registry office ceremony, no fuss. I didnt mindI told him I was happy for him.
A week later, another call: *”Sophie doesnt want you at the wedding. Just Dads invited.”* His brothers werent welcome either. The pain was indescribable. I handed the phone to my husband, who said firmly, *”If shes not welcome, none of us are coming.”* Thomas hung up in anger.
For days, Sophie tried reaching me, but my husband intercepted every call. Finally, she got through, her tone sharp: *”Oh, there you are!”* My patience snapped. *”I dont want to hear from you again,”* I said. That was our last conversation.
Soon after, they moved to Brussels. Two years passed without a word. My sister wrote to them; Sophie replied, *”Thomas has a new family now.”* In truth, he only kept in touch with his brother William, meeting him occasionally but never visiting us. Six yearsgone.
A few months ago, I tried reaching out, missing Thomas terribly. I sent two apology lettersone to him, one to Sophie. No reply.
When my mother passed three years ago, Thomas didnt come to the funeral. Nor when his aunt died. In six years, we received just one brief texton my husbands birthday. Silence ever since.
A part of me died with that silence. By chance, I heard theyd moved again, but I dont even know where. I think of Thomas every day. The worst part? I still dont understand *why*. For years, I blamed Sophiebelieved shed taken him from us. But perhaps I started it all wrong. How I wish things had been different!
Two months ago, my husband and I won a short holiday to Brussels. Wandering a quiet village square, we stopped by a playground, dreaming of grandchildren. A little boy ran up to us, chasing a football. He looked just like Thomas at that age. I smiled; my husband kicked the ball back, and they played togetheruntil a voice called, *”Oliver!”*
I couldnt believe it. There stood Thomas and Sophie! Hugs and tangled explanations followed. Wed all been too stubborn, too hurt, to reach out. But that question*”Where are the grandparents?”*changed everything.
We left our tour group, staying in that little Belgian village as if starting anewwiser, kinder, ready to mend what was broken.
Now, we make up for lost time, cherishing each moment. Love and respect, it turns out, can heal even the deepest wounds.
