**”She’s living off my money”**those words froze me in horror. **”Mum’s a burden on my back”**that single sentence turned my blood to ice. Even now, I cant forget the day I read my sons message, the words that chilled me to the bone. My life in our Manchester flat was turned upside down, and the pain of his words still echoes in my heart.
Years ago, my son, Edward, and his wife, Charlotte, moved in with me right after their wedding. We celebrated their childrens births together, nursed them through illnesses, and watched their first steps. Charlotte took maternity leave with their first, then the second, then the third. When she couldnt manage, I took sick days to look after the grandchildren. Our home became a whirlwind of chorescooking, cleaning, laughter, and tears. I had no time to rest, but I grew used to the chaos.
I counted down to my pension like a lifeline. I marked the days on the calendar, dreaming of peace. But the calm lasted only six months. Every morning, I drove Edward and Charlotte to work, made breakfast for the grandchildren, fed them, took them to nursery and school. With the youngest, I walked in the park, then came home to cook lunch, wash up, and clean. In the evenings, I took them to music lessons.
My days were meticulously planned. Still, I stole moments for my passionreading and embroidery. It was my refuge, my quiet corner in the storm. Then, one day, Edwards message came. When I read it, I stood frozen, unable to believe my eyes.
At first, I thought it was a cruel joke. Later, Edward admitted hed sent it by mistake, not meant for me. But it was too latehis words scorched my soul: **”Mums a burden on my back, and were still spending money on her medicine.”** I told him I forgave him, but I couldnt live under the same roof anymore.
How could he write such a thing? Every penny of my pension went into the household. Most of my medicines were free as a retiree. But his words laid bare his true feelings. I stayed silentI didnt make a scene. Instead, I rented a small flat and moved out, claiming Id be better off alone.
The rent swallowed nearly all my pension. I had barely anything left, but I refused to ask Edward for help. Before retiring, Id bought a laptop, despite Charlottes mocking**”Youll never figure it out.”** But I did. A friends daughter taught me how to use it.
I began photographing my embroidery and posting it online. I asked old coworkers to spread the word. Within a week, my passion brought in my first earnings. Small sums, but they gave me hopeI wouldnt vanish, wouldnt humiliate myself before my son.
A month later, a neighbor asked me to teach her granddaughter to sewfor a fee. The girl was my first pupil. Soon, two more joined. The parents paid generously, and slowly, my life began to steady.
But the wound in my heart hasnt healed. I hardly speak to Edwards family now. We only meet at gatherings.
