At sixty, I live in Oxford. Never did I imagine that after all Id endured, following two decades of silence, the past would invade my life with such audacity and cynicism. What wounded me deepest was that the one who started this was none other than my own son.
At twenty-five, I was hopelessly in love. Henrytall, charming, wittyseemed the embodiment of a dream. We married quickly, and a year later, our son James was born. The early years felt like a fairy tale. We lived in a modest flat, dreaming and planning together. I worked as a teacher, he as an engineer. Nothing, it seemed, could shatter our happiness.
But Henry changed. He came home late, told lies, grew distant. I ignored the rumours, turned a blind eye to unfamiliar perfumes. Yet the truth became undeniable: he was unfaithfulnot once, but repeatedly. Friends, neighbours, even my parents knew. I held the family together for James sake, hoping Henry would come to his senses. Then, one night, I woke to find his side of the bed empty. I couldnt take it anymore.
I packed my things, took five-year-old James by the hand, and left for my mothers. Henry didnt stop us. A month later, he moved abroadsupposedly for work. Soon, he found another woman and erased him from his life. No letters, no calls. Just silence. I raised James alone. My mother passed, then my father. We weathered school, illnesses, triumphs, and his graduation. I worked three jobs so hed want for nothing. My life was his.
When James started university in London, I supported him however I couldpackages, money, advice. But a flat was beyond my means. He never complained, saying hed manage. I was proud.
Then, a month ago, he arrived with news: he was getting married. My joy faded when I saw his unease. Avoiding my gaze, he blurted:
“Mum I need your help. Its about Dad.”
I froze. Hed reconnected with Henry, whod returned to England and offered him the keys to a two-bedroom flat inherited from his grandmother. On one condition: I had to remarry Henry and let him move into my home.
Breath left me. My son couldnt be serious. He pressed on:
“Youre alone Youve no one. Why not try again? For me. For my future family. Dads changed.”
I walked to the kitchen, hands shaking as I made tea. Twenty years Id carried everything alone. Twenty years Henry hadnt cared. Now he returned with a bribe.
I met James in the sitting room. “No. I wont do it.”
He raged, shouting accusationsthat Id always been selfish, robbed him of a father, was ruining his life now. I stayed silent. Every word cut like a knife. He didnt know the nights Id wept from exhaustion, how Id sold my wedding ring to buy him a winter coat, how Id gone without so he could eat well.
Im not lonely. My lifes been hard but honest. I have my job, my books, my garden, my friends. I wont take back a man who betrayed menow returning not for love, but convenience.
James left without a goodbye. He hasnt called since. I understand his hurt. He wants whats best for him, just as I once did. But I wont trade my dignity for square feet. The price is too high.
Perhaps one day hell understand. Ill wait. Because lovetrue lovehas no conditions, no flats, no ultimatums. I brought him into this world with love. Raised him with it. And I wont let love become a transaction now.
As for Henry? Let him remain in the past. Thats where he belongs.
*Sometimes the hardest No is the one that saves your soul.*
