I Don’t Want Your Son Living With Us After the Wedding: A Story of Choosing Family Over Marriage Plans

Author Walton MerrittReading 8 minViews 2

I dont want your son living with us after the wedding.

Aunt Claire, could you please help me with my maths homework? Ben asked quietly, looking up hopefully at his fathers fiancée. Ive got a test tomorrow, and Dad wont be home till late.

I really dont have the time, sweetheart, Claire replied, not taking her eyes off her laptop. The weddings in two weeks and Ive still got so much to sort out. You do want everything to be perfect for your dad and me, dont you?

Of course, he replied, voice trailing off in disappointment as he shuffled away to his bedroom. He didnt like Claire at all, but his father seemed so happy. For Dads sake, hed try to put up with it.

Bens mother was gravely ill and unable to care for him any longer.

No eight-year-old should have to witness their own mother suffer like this! With those words, Bens father, Richard, had brought his son to live with him. Richards fiancée wasnt exactly thrilled by the turn of events, but biting her tongue before the wedding seemed the wisest choice.

Whenever Richard was around, Claire put on an award-winning act as the sympathetic, doting soon-to-be stepmum. But the moment he left for work, Ben was met with cold, stony silence. She had no interest in raising someone elses child.

A few days before the wedding, Richards computer broke. He borrowed Claires laptop to send an important email. But, for reasons he couldnt later explain, he glanced at her browsing history.

With each second, Richards face clouded over. He snapped the laptop shut, then marched into the lounge, where Claire was watching telly.

Whats all this nonsense about sending my son off to boarding school? he demanded, struggling to keep calm.

What are you on about? Claire frowned. You said youd just send an email. Clearly, youve been snooping everywhere! Dont you have any shame?

I just want an answer, he replied, ignoring her accusations. What gives you the right to decide what happens to my son?

Exactly, your son! Claire snapped, throwing the remote onto the sofa. Well have our own childrentogether. Ben will just get in the way. Hes failing at school, barely managing Cs and Ds. What sort of example is that?

Hes traumatised! Richard shouted, unable to hold back any longer. His mums dying, hes been wrenched away from everything he knows, and now youre scheming to get rid of him! Instead of supporting him, youre plotting ways to send him off!

Dont shout at me! Claire retorted, outraged. Im not obliged to bring up your child. Hes got a grannylet her take him, if you dont like my plan.

And when, exactly, were you going to share this brilliant idea? Richard continued, his anger undiminished. A week after the wedding? A month?

In a couple of days, Claire answered, without a hint of remorse. Why bother dragging it out? I already have a friend in social services who can help get it all sorted quickly. Hell be better off there.

Well, let me tell you this, Richard said quietly but firmly. I will never abandon my son. I love Ben more than anything in the world.

And what about me? Claire shot upright. Dont I matter? Dont you love me too? Well, I dont want your son living with us after were married. Its him or mechoose.

My son. Without a second thought, Richard said flatly. Theres no shortage of women in the world, but Ive only got one son.

Oh, get real! Who else would look at you, other than me? Claire spat, trembling with rage. Or do you think some other woman will love your precious boy? Dont make me laughnobody wants a child that isnt theirs.

Youve got an hour to collect your things and leave. Take the gifts as wellI really dont care. Richard shrugged on his coat, paused at the door, then spoke gently. I dont want to see you again. If you ever thought I was besotted with you, you were wrong. All I wanted was a new mum for Ben, nothing more.

Wait, Richard! What about the wedding? Claire stammered, stunned. She had expected apologies and desperate pleasnot this. Was he really ending it?

Havent you understood? Richard replied, incredulous. There wont be a wedding. Ive made my choiceand it isnt you. Pack your things. If youre still here when I get back, I wont be polite.

The door slammed behind him, leaving Claire alone in the flat. She sank onto the sofa, completely at a loss. Shed already considered this place her own, and now she was being forced out.

The bell rang. Claire leapt up and hurried to the door, pasting on a hopeful smile. Richard must have changed his mindsurely he wouldnt end things that easily

Parcel for you, said a cheerful delivery boy. Sign here, please.

Claire nearly snapped the pen out of fury as she signed. The courier gave her an odd look before scurrying off.

Inside the box, gleaming in white satin, was her wedding dressabsurdly expensive. In a fit of rage, Claire hurled the dress across the room, trampling it until it was nothing more than a useless rag.

Fuming, she snatched up her phone and rang her friend.

Whats happened? came her friends groggy voice. Cant sleep before the wedding, is it? Or are you just frantic with pre-wedding jitters? she added sarcastically.

There isnt going to be a wedding! Claire hissed, switching to speaker. Im packing. Can you come and get me?

Whats wrong? her friend instantly sobered up. Did he upset you?

Oh, he certainly did! Claire wailed and launched into her rant. At the end, there was silence. Oi, you fallen asleep or what?

Did you really want to be rid of his boy?

Obviously. Why would I want to be saddled with him? Claire scoffed. Id much rather have my own child.

You know what? her friend answered after a long pause, voice cold. I dont understand you. And, to be honest, I dont want to. I never realised you were capable of something like this.

I couldnt care less what you think, Claire snapped, struggling to zip her suitcase. Are you coming or not?

No, her friend replied icily. Ring someone else.

Fine, Ill just ring a taxi

********************************************

Richard picked Ben up from school and they strolled to the park together to feed the birds. Ben, grateful for his dads attention, couldnt help but ask:

Dont you need to help Aunt Claire with the wedding plans? He paused, anxiety in his eyes, bracing himself for the answerDad would say yes, and theyd just head home

No, Richard replied, surprising him. There wont be a wedding after all. Youre not too upset about Claire not living with us, are you? Richard asked, suddenly worried. In sending her away, hed never even considered how his son might feel.

Not upset at all, Ben replied, eyes sparkling with happiness. Not one bit. Honestly, Dad, I didnt like her. She never cared about me.

Well, then, Richard said, hugging his son tightly, for now its just the two of us. But one day, Im sure well find someone who loves you as her own.Ben smileda genuine, heartfelt smile that Richard hadnt seen since before everything changed. They watched the birds swoop and scatter, their laughter mingling with the rustling leaves. For the first time in months, the world seemed gentle again.

On the walk home, Ben slipped his hand into his fathers. Dad, can we have pizza tonight? And maybe watch that silly movie Mum used to love?

Richard squeezed Bens hand. Absolutely. I think Mum would have liked that.

And so, in their small, sunlit kitchen that evening, they shared pizza, laughter, and storiesold memories healing, new ones being made. Outside, the city glowed with possibility; inside, father and son found warmth in each otherthe promise that, together, they could face whatever tomorrow brought.

Some families were chosen by fate, others by choice. Richard and Ben, bound by both, knew they were enough. And as dusk fell, quiet and golden, a sense of hope settled over their homefragile, yes, but stubbornly bright.

Who Slept in My Bed and Creased the Sheets… A Story My Husband’s Mistress Was Barely Older Than Our Daughter – Chubby Cheeks, Innocent Eyes, a Nose Piercing (He Forbade Our Daughter When She Wanted One). It Was Impossible to Be Angry at Her – I Looked at Her Bare Blue Legs and Cropped Jacket and Wanted to Say, “If You Plan to Have Kids With That Idiot, Buy a Winter Coat and Put Tights On Under Your Jeans.” Of Course, I Said Nothing. I Handed Her the Keys, Grabbed My Bags, and Headed to the Bus Stop. “Excuse Me, Mrs. Johnson, What’s That Thing Under the Kitchen Counter?” She Called After Me. “Is It For Storing Dishes?” Unable to Hold Back, I Shot Over My Shoulder: “I Usually Hide My Husband’s Mistresses’ Bodies There, But You Can Use It For Plates.” Without Waiting for Her Reaction or Looking at Her Shocked Face, I Walked Down the Stairs, Pleased With Myself. Well, That’s It – Twenty Years of Marriage Down the Drain. It Was our Daughter Who First Discovered Her Dad’s Mistress. She Skipped School, Came Home Expecting Nobody, and Found the Young Nymph Drinking Cocoa From Her Favorite Mug – Wearing Nothing But a Few Shreds, With Dad Splashing in the Shower. Smart Girl as She Is, She Immediately Called Me: “Mum, I Think Dad Has a Mistress and She’s Wearing My Slippers and Drinking From My Mug!” Just Like a Fairy Tale, I Thought – My Daughter Was Upset, But More Because Someone Touched Her Things Than Because of Her Dad’s Betrayal. Who Slept in My Bed and Creased the Sheets… Unlike My Daughter, I Didn’t Take It So Badly. Sure, My Ego Was Bruised – The Girl Was Young and Gorgeous, While I Was Carrying Extra Weight and Cellulite and All The Signs of a Forty-Something. Still, I Felt Relief – No More Night Calls, Weird Work Schedules, Coffee Shop Receipts Where My Husband Never Took Me… He’d Never Been Caught Red-Handed, Always Covering His Tracks And Making Me Feel Like The Guilty One For Suspecting Him. “It Was the First Time,” He Lied. “Like a Comet Fell Out of Nowhere.” That ‘Comet’ Was a Hotel Worker Where He Stayed on Business – She Was Just Twenty, and Apart From a Pretty Face, She Wasn’t Much Else. Not Even Brains – As She Chased Him all the Way to London, Renting a Grubby Room on Savings. So They Met at Our Flat – Easy for Showers and Laundry. No Wonder I Kept Finding the Washing Machine on the ‘Quick Wash’ Setting Instead of ‘Mixed Fabrics’! The Apartment Belonged to My Husband, Inherited From His Father Before Our Wedding, and With Divorce Imminent, My Daughter and I Had to Move Out to My Nan’s Flat on the City’s Edge. My Daughter Complained – How Would She Get to School? “Why Not Stay With Us?” He Suggested – Earning Himself Another Round of Insults. At Least Our Daughter Could Tell Him What She Really Thought Now. The Early Days Were Tough – New Bus Routes, New Shops, Over an Hour to Work and School. But We Settled In – I Changed Jobs, My Daughter Started College, Closer Than School. No Time to Be Sad – Life’s Practicalities and Exams Kept Us Busy, and Once Things Settled, There Was No Room Left for Regret. That Girl, His Mistress, Rang Me Occasionally – Asked What Setting to Bake Pies, Where to Put Dishwasher Tablets. Once She Even Stopped By, Bringing Forgotten Photos Needed For Prom. My Ex Couldn’t (Or Wouldn’t) Come, I Was Ill, and My Daughter Refused Point Blank to Return to the Old Flat – Bad for Her Mental Health. “Nice Place You’ve Got,” She Said Nervously, Looking at Faded Wallpaper and Dated Lamps. I Just Smiled – Yes, Nice Enough, What Can I Say? It Was Modern and Comfortable Over There – I’d Worked Twenty Years for It. Let Them Enjoy It. But That Visit Came Back to Bite Me – One Evening, About a Year Later, The Door Lock Clicked. “For You?” I Asked My Daughter. She Just Stared. On the Threshold Stood That Girl – Red-Eyed, Mascara Trails Down Her Cheeks, Sporting a Gym Bag. “What’s Happened With Steve?” I Asked. “Something Has! I Caught Him With the Secretary! Thought I’d Surprise Him Since He Was Working Late, and…” She Broke Down, Sobbed Like a Child, Face Buried in Palms. “What Do You Want From Me?” I Asked, Eyeing the Bulging Gym Bag. “Can I Stay Here Tonight? I’ve Got No Money. I’ll Take the Train to Mum’s Tomorrow.” “How Will You Get There With No Money?” “I Thought You’d Lend Me Some…” I Didn’t Know Whether to Laugh or Cry. My Daughter Decided For Me: “Get Out!” She Snapped, Adding a Few Choice Words She’d Never Used Before. I Gave Her a Disapproving Look. “Come In, Love,” I Said. “It’s Night – I’m Not Putting You Out On The Street.” Things Got Worse. My Daughter Was So Furious She Announced: It’s Either Me Or Her. I Shrugged – Your Choice, You’re an Adult. Go to Your Dad If You Want. “As If! I’ll Go Stay With Natalie!” I Ordered Her a Taxi For the Night; Then Spent The Evening Comforting The Hapless Mistress With Tea and Calming Drops. Money? I Lent Her, What Else Could I Do – But Not To Stay With Me. Even Drove Her To The Station. She Kept Thanking Me, Apologizing, Swearing She’d Start Over – Get an Education, Avoid Married Men. “Mum Always Said I Was Hopeless. Turns Out She Was Right.” Putting Her on the Train and Waving Goodbye Was A Step Too Far. My Daughter and I Made Up Quickly, Though She Still Couldn’t Understand How I Let That Homewrecker Stay In Our House. I Hugged Her Hairy Head, Smiled and Said: “You’ll Understand When You’re Older.” My Ex-Husband Called a Week Later. He’d Seen the Light, Dumped the Mistress, Ready for a Happy Reunion. “Run Out of Clean Shirts?” I Asked. “Well, Yes,” He Sighed. “She Never Learned To Do Laundry – I’ve Worn Grubby Ones for a Year Now.” Of Course, I Didn’t Take Him Back. Didn’t Gloat, Didn’t Suffer. But I Had To Admit – Something Had Lifted From Me After That Night; My Heart Felt Lighter, I Smiled More. Got a Dog, Walked It in the Evenings. Met a Nice Neighbor – So What If He’s Ten Years Older, I’m No Spring Chicken. And Life Moved On.

The Waiter Rushed Over to Take Away the Kitten, but a Six-Foot-Tall Gentleman Scooped Up the Crying Fluffy Baby and Placed Him on the Next Chair: “A Plate for My Feline Friend! And Your Finest Meat!” “Let’s wear something bold—almost like the young nymphs—and head to a swanky restaurant. Time to show ourselves off and size up the men…” So declared one of the three friends—a headteacher of a prestigious, exclusive private school, always armed with the cleverest words her profession demanded. These “nymphs” were all thirty-five—the perfect age, in their view, for short skirts and blouses that revealed rather than concealed. Deep necklines, flawless makeup, every piece of battle armor in place. The restaurant matched their expectations: posh, elite, and outrageously expensive, but well within their means. With a reserved table, they settled in, basking in admiring looks from men—and resentful glances from their companions. Of course, conversation turned to the main topic: men. Dreams, desires, and requirements. Each dreamed of her ideal—tall, fit, charming, and decidedly wealthy. The kind who’d carry you, indulge whims, spare you dull chores and chatter. And if noble-born, even better. “Just not like… those.” The friends glanced at a trio of cheerful, slightly pudgy men with thinning hair, surrounded by pints, chips, mountains of steak, and enthusiastic talk of football and fishing. Their laughter was loud, genuine, and utterly unrefined. “Dreadful.” “How gauche.” “Ugh.” The verdict was unanimous: uncouth, rough, clearly lacking sophistication and utterly unfit for such dazzling ladies. But then, something happened that changed the night’s tone in an instant. He arrived—stepping out of the latest model red Ferrari. “Lord Charles Saxon Coburg!” the waiter announced with grandeur. The friends perked up like pointer dogs catching a scent. Tall, athletic, with distinguished silver hair and a suit worth more than most homes. Diamond cufflinks and a blindingly white shirt completed the look. “Ahh…” “Oh wow…” “Mmm…” Necks craned, eyes grew bolder. “This is a real man,” one whispered, “A lord, a stunner, and a millionaire,” said the second. “I’ve always dreamed of the Bahamas—since childhood, actually.” The third stayed silent, but her gaze spoke volumes. Within ten minutes, the ladies were invited to the Lord’s table. They strode over grandly, casting condescending glances at other guests—especially at the football-and-steak trio. The Lord was charming, a master conversationalist, spinning tales of lineage, stately homes, and priceless art. Tension simmered between the friends—each knew only one would be invited to continue the night. Dinner was an icebreaker: lobsters, platters of seafood, and rare vintage wine. The ladies gazed dreamily at the Lord, imagining a future far beyond the dining room. Rosy-cheeked and glowing, they were at their best. The Lord shone too—cracking high-society jokes and sharing stories of the elite. At this point, it hardly mattered where he’d invite them next. Outside, the restaurant had a small garden. The irresistible aroma wafted out, and soon a tiny, skinny grey kitten tiptoed in—hungry, hopeful, and sitting right at the Lord’s feet. But the Lord’s face twisted in disgust. He callously pushed the kitten away with his shoe. The little one skidded several feet, bumping into the table leg beside the football pals. Silence blanketed the restaurant. “I despise filthy, mongrel creatures,” the Lord declared loudly. “At my estate, we have purebred hounds and the finest horses.” The waiter rushed to appease him: “We’ll sort it out right away, our apologies…” He headed for the football table but one of the men—a giant, nearly two meters tall, red-faced and fists clenched—was already up. His friends tried to restrain him. He silently lifted the kitten onto a chair. “A plate for my furry friend!” he thundered. “Your very best meat. Now.” The waiter paled and sprinted to the kitchen as applause rippled through the room. One of the “nymphs” stood and joined the titan, declaring: “Move over, and get a lady a whisky.” The Lord was speechless. Moments later, the other two friends joined them, bestowing the Lord with icy glares. Not all left together that night. In one group: a man, a woman, and a grey kitten. Time passed. Today the first friend is married to the giant—now the owner of a major investment firm. Her two friends wed his mates, both renowned solicitors. The three weddings were held the same day. Their lives are different now—nappies, cooking, housework. All have daughters born close together. But to enjoy the old favourite restaurant, they send their husbands off to football or fishing, call for a babysitter, and meet again—to talk about womanly matters, and men. As for Lord Charles Saxon Coburg—he was arrested a year later, exposed in a high-profile trial as a romance scammer who duped countless women. Real men, thankfully, are a different breed. I’m speaking of those three—chubby, balding, unpolished, and lacking airs, but truly noble-hearted. That’s just how it is. There’s no other way.

Julia Steps Off the Bus With Heavy Bags and Heads Home – “I’m Back!” She Calls Out as Her Family Rushes to Greet Her Saying They Felt She Was Coming. That Night, While They Sit Around the Big Family Table, a Knock at the Door Brings Unexpected Guests. Julia Looks at the Visitors and Can’t Believe Her Eyes Julia Sat Silently and a Bit Sad, Gazing Out the Window as the Bus Carried Her Away from Her Beloved Village. On Her Lap Was a Large Checkered Bag Packed with Essentials—Plus a Bundle of Warm Pasties from Grandma, Filling the Bus with the Tempting Aroma of Fresh Baking. Unable to Resist, Julia Unzipped Her Bag, Pulled Out Two Golden, Crispy Pasties, and Offered One to a Young Man Nearby Who Had Kindly Given Up His Window Seat for Her. “Want one?” she asked. “Yes, please!” he replied eagerly, swallowing hard. “I’m Julia,” she introduced herself. “And I’m Stephen! Heading off to uni?” he asked. “Yep! There’s no college or uni close to home—only tractor school, and I’m definitely not a tractor driver!” “I’m off to uni too,” sighed Stephen. “But I like the countryside.” It was a four-hour journey to the city. By the time they arrived, the two had chatted and become friends, exchanging numbers before heading their separate ways. *** The hustle of entrance exams passed swiftly—both Julia and Stephen were accepted at their chosen universities and over the moon. Worries and exam nerves were behind them; the future was full of big plans and hope. One day Stephen called Julia: “Julia, fancy celebrating our exams at a café?” Julia was delighted, not least because she liked Stephen—he was easygoing, genuine, and comfortingly familiar, so different from the city types. They met in the city centre at a quirky café called “Hippo.” They watched sightseeing boats cut across the river as tour guides bellowed into megaphones. “I wonder why this café is called Hippo?” Julia mused. Stephen laughed. “Probably because if you keep eating the cakes here, you’ll turn into one!” “Sounds about right!” Julia snorted, munching her cake. Soon “Hippo” became their regular spot, and setting up dates was: “Let’s meet at our table.” That evening, they shared their first, unforgettable kiss—tender and passionate. Time passed; Julia grew closer to Stephen than anyone else, except her parents. One day Stephen suggested, “Julia, move in with me! Let’s marry in summer.” “Is this your proposal?” Julia teased. “Sort of!” “Then I’m supposed to ask, like in that old film, remember? ‘Aren’t you worried I’ll always be in your sight?’” “Flutter around as much as you like!” Stephen grinned, twirling Julia round in the street. Julia returned to the flat she shared with friends glowing with happiness. “You’re radiating joy! Spill!” Vera, her flatmate, asked. “Oh girls, I might move in with Stephen soon!” Julia sang. “Are we invited to the wedding?” Marina cheered. “The wedding’s for summer! We’ll just live together for now.” “Don’t rush it, Julia—lots can happen before summer!” Vera warned. Julia laughed it off. “Vera, you’re such an old soul! Everyone does this now.” “I’m not old—I just don’t trust these informal arrangements. My mum’s a solicitor—I know how they end…” Vera grumped. “Alright, Vera, don’t be mad—I was kidding,” Julia soothed. *** Julia brushed off Vera’s worries as nonsense—who needs a stamp in a passport when love is so rare and true? Yet, the conversation nagged at her, making her hesitate about moving in with Stephen. Eventually, he stopped asking. One December day, Julia and her friends wandered the festive city, shivering in the sparkling snow. Spotting “Hippo,” Julia chirped, “Let’s warm up inside—Stephen and I love it here!” “Look—Stephen’s already there!” Marina remarked glumly, nodding at the window. Julia saw Stephen laughing with a younger girl across “their” table… She turned away, quietly: “I think I’ll head home.” “We’re coming too!” Vera and Marina chorused. Back at the flat, her friends tried to reassure Julia, but the way Stephen looked at the girl stuck in her mind. Their table, their café—it felt like a betrayal. Julia stopped answering Stephen’s calls and asked her friends to turn him away at home. When he finally caught her at uni he asked, “Julia, what’s wrong? Are you seeing someone else?” Julia shot him a furious look. “You’re asking? Nice job flipping it! Let go, I’m late for my exam.” And with that, she slipped into the institute, leaving Stephen baffled. *** Julia finished her exams early and went home for Christmas, sure her family’s cosy house would help her get over the hurt and betrayal. And indeed, her spirits lifted stepping off the village bus, surrounded by diamond-sparkling snow and old trees twinkling in the winter sun. Her arms full of gifts for her family, she smiled at the familiar scene—the old Christmas tree outside was even decorated, just like when she was little. “Happy Christmas!” she called, stepping inside. “Julia, darling!” her family cried, rushing to hug her. “We knew you were coming!” It was a joyful day—though winter nights arrived early, Dad cheered, “Let’s light up the tree!” That evening, as they sat at their big family table, someone knocked at the door. “Probably neighbours dropping in,” Mum shrugged, heading to answer it. But she returned not alone—she was with Father Christmas and his helper. “Stephen?” Julia gasped, peering at Father Christmas and the helper—the same young woman she’d seen at the café. “How did you find me? What is all this?” Stephen burst out laughing, the girl too. “Your friends told me where to find you. Also, let me introduce you—this is my younger sister, Irene!” “My sister?” said Stephen. “Yes, sister!” Irene confirmed. “We do look alike, if you check!” Julia felt relief flood her—she scolded herself for assuming the worst instead of simply asking. Stephen then knelt. “Since your whole family’s here, with my own kin as witness, Julia, will you marry me?” He offered her a little box with a ring. “Yes—yes, of course!” Julia cried, hugging him. “This is the best Christmas ever!” “And there’ll be lots more wonderful Christmases together—just promise we’ll talk through misunderstandings from now on!” Stephen said. “I promise!” Julia beamed.