I fell in love with the neighbour. My son wouldnt have any of it.
What are you doing, Mum? Have you gone mad? he shouted, his cheeks as red as beetroot. You with the neighbour? That odd old man over the hedge?
I stood in the kitchen, a tea towel still clutched in my hand. I hadnt expected such a reaction. I managed only to say that I was seeing Mr. Harry. That we had been talking for months, that his company made me feel light, that I think I was in love.
—
Dads been dead for barely three years! my son wailed. How could you?
A sick feeling settled in my stomach. I tried to sit down, but he was already marching toward the front door.
Dont call me. I dont want to see you, he snapped, slamming the door so hard the glass rattled.
Silence fell.
I was left alone, and it wasnt the quiet I had grown used to over the years. It was a hollow ache, the emptiness left by the man I had given birth to, raised and loved for my whole life.
I hadnt done anything wrong had I? I hadnt chased love. It had crept up on me quietly, through the fence, over shared cups of tea, over laughter in the garden. And now my own son claimed I was no longer his mother.
Did I really have no right to be happy?
I didnt sleep a single minute that night. Lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, his voice replayed in my head: I dont want to see you. Those words cut deeper than any wound Id ever known. Even my husbands funeral had been a tragic, but natural, loss. This felt like tearing the bond with my own child.
Harry sent a message the next morning. Im thinking of you. Im here if you want to talk. I didnt reply. My guilt was not about him it was about my son. I felt Id done something irreversible.
All day I drifted through the house like a ghost. Family photos on the mantel, mugs that read Best Grandma, my grandchildrens drawings taped to the fridge every object reminded me that I had once been part of a stable picture: mother, grandmother, wife. Now I felt selfish.
In the evening my daughter, Emily, came in with a slice of cake and a glass of raspberry juice, as she always did. She sat down at the table and met my eyes.
I heard what happened, she said.
I nodded, trying not to crumble.
What do you think about it? I whispered.
She shrugged.
Honestly? Im not sure. Dad was a wonderful man. Its hard to picture you with anyone else. But youre not a young girl any more. You deserve tenderness, you deserve closeness. She hesitated. Just understand James. He lives in his memories.
I live day to day, I replied. And its terribly lonely.
She looked at me for a long moment, then gently squeezed my hand.
I dont know what to say, Mum, but Im with you.
Those words were a small bandage. They didnt heal the pain, but they gave me the strength to get up the next morning and step into the garden, as I always had.
Harry was waiting by the gate, his shy smile and a thermos of tea in hand.
May I sit for a moment? he asked.
I nodded. He took a seat beside me on the bench.
Im sorry everything got so messy, he said quietly. I never wanted to trouble you.
It isnt your fault, I said. Maybe I just dont deserve things like this.
Harry looked at me with a seriousness Id never seen before.
Dont say that. You have a right. I do too. For years we both lived by the rule do whats proper. Perhaps now its time to do something our own way.
Warmth rose in my throat. I didnt answer, but I didnt walk away. I stayed, sharing a quiet that didnt sting but soothed.
Three weeks passed. James never called. No messages. The grandchildrens laughter was gone. It was as if a sharp pair of shears had cut through the fabric of my life. The ache was constant, yet I began to learn how to breathe again.
Harry and I met almost every day. Nothing extravaganttea on the bench, gentle chats, the occasional shop together. Yet it was enough to remind me that I was alive, that someone saw me, not as a widow or a grandmother, but simply as a woman.
One afternoon, returning from the market, I spotted Jamess car parked beside the house. My heart froze. For a moment I wanted to turn back, hide, pretend I wasnt there. But I stood straight, walked in.
James sat at the kitchen table, the childrens toys long gone.
I came to tell you 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 it. I just ask you not to reject me.
He was silent for a long while.
You know how much I loved Dad.
I know. I loved him too. Hes gone, and Im still here. I refuse to die while Im still living.
Finally his eyes met mine, a mix of anger, hurt, and perhaps a flicker of understanding.
It will be hard for me.
It will be hard for me too, I replied. But I wont stop loving you because you cant agree with my choices.
James rose, stepped forward, and gave me a brief hug. He said nothing more, but that brief embrace meant everything as a start.
Im still not certain whether I made the right decision. Yet Ive learned that love does not wait for the moment it is convenient. When it arrives, you must welcome it, even if it means someone turns away, even if it hurts. Only then can you truly feel that you are alive again.
