Sixty years old and living in Brighton, I never imagined that after all this timetwenty years of complete silencemy past would come crashing back with such arrogance. The cruelest twist? It was my own son who brought it to my doorstep.
At twenty-five, I thought Id found love. Williamtall, charming, full of laughterseemed like everything Id ever wanted. We married quickly, and within a year, our son, James, was born. Those early years felt like a dream. We lived in a small flat, made plans, built a life. I taught at the local primary school; he was an architect. For a while, nothing could touch our happiness.
Then, slowly, everything changed. William started staying out late, lying, growing distant. I ignored the whispers, the unfamiliar scents on his clothes. But eventually, the truth was unbearable: he was cheating. Not once, but habitually. Friends, neighbours, even my own parents knew. I stayedfor James. I held on, hoping hed come to his senses. Then one night, I woke to an empty bed and realised: I couldnt do it anymore.
I packed my things, took James by the handhe was only fiveand left for my mothers house. William didnt stop us. A month later, he moved abroad for work, or so he claimed. Soon, he had a new wife, and we might as well have been ghostsno calls, no letters. Just silence. I raised James alone. My mother passed, then my father. We endured everythingschool runs, illnesses, triumphs, graduation. I worked double shifts so hed never go without. My life wasnt my own, but I didnt care. He was everything.
When James got into university in London, I helped where I couldpacking his things, sending money. But a flat of his own? I couldnt afford it. He never complained, swore hed manage. I was so proud.
Then, a month ago, he came to me with news: he was getting married. But his joy faded fast. He wouldnt meet my eyes. Then the words tumbled out:
“Mum I need your help. Its about Dad.”
My blood turned to ice. He admitted hed been speaking to William again. That his father had returned to England, offering him the keys to a two-bedroom flat left by his grandmother. But there was a catch. I had to remarry William. Let him move into *my* home.
I couldnt breathe. Staring at my son, I waited for the punchline. But he kept going:
“Youre alone. Youve no one. Why not try again? For me. For my future family. Dads changed”
I walked to the kitchen. Filled the kettle. My hands shook. Twenty years Id carried us. Twenty years of silence. And now he waltzed back in with a *bargain*?
Returning, I said softly, “No. I wont do it.”
James exploded. Shouting, accusing. Said Id always put myself first, that Id robbed him of a father, that I was ruining his life *again*. I stayed silent. Every word cut deeper. He didnt know the nights Id gone hungry so he could have meat. How Id sold my wedding ring to buy him a winter coat.
Im not lonely. My life is hard but honestmy job, my books, my garden, my friends. I dont need a man who betrayed me once and now crawls back for convenience.
James left without saying goodbye. He hasnt called. I know hes hurt. I understandhe wants whats best for him. Just like I once did. But I wont trade my dignity for square footage. The price is too high.
Maybe one day hell see that. Maybe itll take years. But Ill wait. Because I love him. Real loveno conditions, no flats, no *what-ifs*. I brought him into this world with love. Raised him with it. And I wont let love become a transaction now.
As for William? He can stay in the past. Thats where he belongs.
