Are you out of your mind, Mum?! my son roared, his face flushed scarlet. You with the neighbour? That odd old bloke over the hedge?
I stood in the kitchen, a rag still clutched in my hand, unprepared for his fury. I managed only a thin smile and a simple answer: I was seeing Mr. Thomas Hargreaves. Wed been talking for months, enjoying each others company, and, I thought, I might have fallen in love.
Dads been dead for less than three years! my boy screamed. How could you?
A sick feeling rose in my throat. I tried to sit, but he was already storming toward the door.
Dont call me. I dont want anything to do with you, he snapped, slamming the door so hard the windows rattled.
Silence fell like a shroud.
I was left alonenot the familiar, quiet loneliness Id grown accustomed to over the years, but a hollow ache where the man Id birthed, raised and loved lay empty. Had I done anything wrong? I hadnt chased love; it had crept up quietly, over the garden fence, through shared teas and laughter among the roses. And now my own son declared I was no longer his mother.
Do I have any right to happiness?
I lay awake that night, staring at the ceiling, his voice echoing in my head: I dont want anything to do with you. Those words cut deeper than any grief Id known. Even Georges funeral had been tragic but natural. This felt like a wound torn from a childs heart.
Thomas messaged me the next morning: Im thinking of you. Im here if you want to talk. I didnt reply. Guilt gnawed at menot for him, but for my son. It felt as if Id shattered something irreversible.
All day I drifted through the house like a phantom. Family photos on the mantel, mugs proclaiming Best Grandma, my grandchildrens drawings stuck to the fridgeevery object reminded me Id once been part of a steady whole: a mother, a grandmother, a wife. Now I swore I was selfish.
In the evening my daughter, Rose, appeared with a slice of cake and a glass of raspberry juice, just as she always did. She sat down, met my eyes.
I heard what happened.
I nodded, trying not to crumble.
What do you think about it? I asked softly.
She shrugged. Honestly? Im not sure. Dad was a great man. Its hard to picture you with anyone else. But youre not a young girl anymore. You deserve affection, companionship. She paused, then added, Just understand Charlie. He lives in his memories.
I live in the everyday, I said. And its terribly lonely.
Rose held my hand gently. I dont know what to say, Mum, but Im with you.
Her words were a bandagewont heal the scar, but they gave me the strength to rise the next morning and walk into the garden, as I always had.
Thomas was waiting by the gate, his awkward smile and a thermos of tea in hand.
Can I have a moment? he asked.
I nodded. He took a seat beside me on the bench.
Im sorry for everything that spilled out, he murmured. I never meant to trouble you.
Its not your fault, I replied. Maybe I simply dont deserve things like this.
He looked at me with a seriousness Id never seen before. Dont say that. You have a right. So do I. For years weve lived by the rules, doing whats expected. Perhaps its time we do something our way.
Warmth rose in my throat. I gave no answer, but I didnt flee. I stayed, sharing a quiet that soothed rather than hurt.
Three weeks passed. Charlie never called, never replied. The grandchildrens laughter was gone, as if a razor had cut away the life Id known. Each day hurt, yet I began learning to breathe again.
Thomas and I met almost daily. Nothing spectacularjust tea on the bench, occasional grocery runsbut it was enough to feel alive, to feel seen, not as a widow or a grandma, but as a woman.
One afternoon, returning from the greengrocer, I spotted my sons car parked under the house. My heart froze. For a breath I wanted to turn back, hide, pretend I wasnt there. Instead I walked straight in.
Charlie sat at the kitchen table, alone, the childrens toys gone.
I came to say I think I went too far, he said without looking up. I still cant accept it.
I sat opposite him. I dont expect you to accept. I just ask you not to reject.
He stayed silent for a long moment. You know how much I loved Dad.
I know. I loved him too. Hes gone, and Im still here. I wont die while Im still living.
Finally his eyes met mine, a mixture of anger, pain, and a flicker of understanding. This will be hard for me.
Itll be hard for me too, I said. But I wont stop loving you because you cant agree with my choices.
He rose, stepped forward, and gave me a brief, tight hug. No words followed, but the gesture was enough for a start.
I still cant be sure it was the right decision. Love doesnt wait for everyones approval. When it arrives, you must take it, even if it means someone turns their back, even if it hurts. Only then can you feel truly alive again.
