“Mum lives off my money” those words chilled me to the bone. “Mums a burden on my back” I still cant forget the day I read my sons message, which sent ice through my veins. My life in our Leeds flat turned upside down, and the pain of his words still echoes in my heart.
Years ago, my son Oliver and his wife, Emily, moved in with me right after their wedding. We celebrated the births of their children together, got through illnesses and first steps. Emily was on maternity leave with the first, then the second and third. When she couldnt manage, I took sick days to look after the grandkids. The house became a whirlwind of chorescooking, cleaning, laughter, and tantrums. I barely had a moment to breathe, but I got used to the chaos.
I counted down the days till my pension, dreaming of some peace. But the calm only lasted six months. Every morning, Id drive Oliver and Emily to work, fix the kids breakfast, feed them, drop them at nursery and school. With the youngest, Id stroll in the park, then head home to cook lunch, clean, and do laundry. Evenings were spent shuttling them to music lessons.
My days were packed to the minute, but I stole little moments for my passionreading and embroidery. It was my quiet refuge in the madness. Then one day, Oliver texted me. When I read it, I froze.
At first, I thought it was some cruel joke. Later, he admitted hed sent it by mistake, not meant for me. But the damage was donehis words scorched my soul: *”Mums a burden on my back, and were still spending money on her meds.”* I told him I forgave him, but I couldnt live under the same roof anymore.
How could he say that? Every penny of my pension went on the house. Most of my meds were free as a pensioner. But his words laid bare what he really thought. I stayed quiet, didnt make a scene. Instead, I rented a tiny flat and moved out, saying Id be better off alone.
The rent ate nearly my whole pension. I had almost nothing left, but I refused to ask Oliver for help. Before retiring, Id bought a laptop, despite Emilys scoffing that Id *”never figure it out.”* But I did. A friends daughter taught me how to use it.
I started photographing my embroidery and posting it online. I asked old coworkers to spread the word. Within a week, my hobby brought in my first earningssmall, but enough to prove I wouldnt vanish or grovel to my son.
A month later, a neighbour knocked, asking if Id teach her granddaughter to sewfor pay. That little girl was my first student. Soon, two more joined. Their parents paid generously, and bit by bit, my life steadied.
But the wound in my heart hasnt healed. I barely speak to Olivers family now. We only see each other at Christmas.
