Megan never imagined that a day that started as a celebration would become her point of no return. She and Anthony had come to his mother’s birthday party—Margaret’s big milestone. The woman was glowing, surrounded by flowers, congratulations, and attention. The whole banquet was meticulously planned, every detail perfect—all for her shining moment.
“And now, a few words from her son, Anthony!” the host announced cheerfully.
Megan, like the other guests, turned toward the stage. Her husband stood up, smiled, adjusted the microphone.
“Mum, thank you for everything. And for your birthday, I’ve got a special gift,” he said with a mysterious grin.
What happened next left Megan stunned. Anthony handed his mother… the deed to a countryside cottage. Not just a card, not a token gesture—a full cottage, with a garden, a fence, a cosy little house, even a patio. Everyone clapped, his mother burst into happy tears. Only Megan sat frozen at the table, gripping the arms of her chair, face pale as the tablecloth.
*How could you, Tony?*
Megan couldn’t believe it. Just that morning, as they were getting ready for the party, she’d discovered that the savings account—where they’d been putting money for two years to buy a new flat—had been emptied. Every last pound. She hadn’t had time to ask him about it—he’d brushed her off, avoided the conversation. Now she understood. He’d spent it all on his *gift* for his mum. Without asking her. Without even discussing it. Just handed it over.
That money wasn’t just his. It was their dreams. Their little girl, Sophie, was about to start primary school, and Megan had wanted her to have her own room, her own childhood. She’d worked nights, picked up extra shifts, saved bonuses—all for *their* future. And now it had all vanished into Margaret’s dream—a cottage with flower beds.
The celebration was hers. The shame was Megan’s.
Anthony was the son of the year. *”Now that’s a proper lad!”* guests whispered. *”So thoughtful, not like the younger lot these days…”* the aunties sniffled. Megan watched him standing there, head held high, and knew—there was no place for her in that world anymore. Not after this.
When she stood up and walked out, no one noticed. Or maybe they pretended not to.
She walked home through the muggy evening, numb. The flat was empty—thank goodness Sophie was staying with her parents. Megan couldn’t have cried in front of her. But now? Now she could.
She pulled a bottle of prosecco from the fridge, flicked on the light, and for the first time in ages, she let herself cry—really cry. Without holding back. Without pride. Not from anger—just emptiness.
The argument was short.
*”What the hell were you thinking?!”* Anthony snapped as soon as he walked in.
*”Me?* You’re the one who made the call,” Megan said flatly. *”Spent our savings without asking. Made a big show. Bought your mum a cottage instead of a home for your own family. You decided everything—so you can live with it alone now.”*
“Come on, Meg, don’t be dramatic. We’ll save up again. It’s not like I bought it for some random woman—it’s *Mum*. We’ll all go there, have BBQs with Sophie—”
*”You go. But not with us. I’m filing for divorce. And suing you. Half that money was mine, and I’m getting it back.”*
Anthony left. Didn’t take any of his things—just slammed the door. An hour later, his mother called:
*”Who do you think you are? Single mum with a kid in a one-bed—who’s going to want you now?”*
Megan wiped her tears, smirked:
*”You should worry instead about who’d want your son now. Mummy’s boy, no backbone, no savings. But Sophie and I? We’ll manage. The one-bed’s just the start. We’ll get everything ourselves—no cottages, and definitely no thanks to you.”*
Justice won in the end.
The divorce went through fast. The court ordered Anthony to pay Megan back half the money—luckily, the withdrawal was all on record. He didn’t even fight for the flat—the scandal had been too loud, and maybe, just maybe, he’d felt a flicker of guilt.
With help from her parents, Megan found a place—a three-bed, just a little extra to cover the gap. Soon she and Sophie would move in—their fresh start, with no room for betrayal, shame, or lies.
Now, Anthony visits once a month to see Sophie. He lingers at the door, fidgets, apologises, says he *”gets it now.”* But there’s no going back. Megan learned it the hard way: if a man puts his mother above his own family, he’s no man at all.
And the best gift she got after that cursed birthday party? Freedom. The certainty that Sophie would grow up in a different world—one where love isn’t bought, where mothers aren’t dictators, just important. Where no one ever spends shared dreams on someone else’s cottage.
