Managed to get my son divorced and regretted it
Yesterday, my neighbour Margaret caught me on the stairs, grumbling again: My daughter-in-law dropped off my granddaughter for the weekend. I just cant get the girl to eat properly! Mum says princesses dont eat much! she tells me two bites and shes done! The childs practically fading away, shes so thin!
Margaret took a disliking to her son Jamess wife Emily from the very first moment she laid eyes on her. The trouble was, Emily was a whole seven years older than James, and he was still practically a boy, having only just finished his A-levels.
He didnt know women before he met her! Margaret would fume. Is it any wonder she caught his eye? She lured him in with her experience, thats all there is to it!
Truth be told, Emily was striking always perfectly turned out, looked after her figure, stylishly dressed, and had a career going for her. To me, it was no surprise James was smitten. Theres nothing magical about it men are visual creatures. And she was certainly something to behold.
Emily was careful about what she ate and kept to a strict diet. She brought up her daughter the same way: eat sensibly, dont overeat, think about your health and your appearance.
Just a few months after they started seeing each other, Emily fell pregnant. Whether she did it in defiance of her future mother-in-laws attempts to ruin their relationship, or if it was accidental, no one really knows, and it doesnt matter. What mattered was that James made his mind up to marry her, even though hed just turned 18 and Emily was already 25.
James went off to college after his A-levels, working part-time to support his new family, as theyd decided to move out and live on their own. Renting first, then scraping together enough to buy a small bedsit.
They were happy, but Margaret was relentless, always finding a fault with Emily. The cooking was wrong. The ironing wasnt up to scratch. The child wasnt dressed properly. Margaret claimed her daughter-in-law had nothing but flaws.
Eventually, Emily minimised contact with her mother-in-law altogether. She did everything for her daughter herself: nursery runs, gymnastics, chess club. She dashed from work to the nursery, then to after-school activities. And she still made time for the gym, the hairdressers, a manicure She was hardly home.
James would walk in to find an empty flat: his daughter at her classes, his wife either along with her or off attending to her own affairs.
One evening, there was a knock at the door their neighbour, Sarah, a widowed mother of two teenagers. A leak in the shared kitchen meant the tap needed sorting quickly before it flooded the place below.
James was handy. He shut off the water, found the tools and sorted the leak. While he worked, Sarah was making sausages and mash for dinner, and offered James a plate to thank him he happily accepted. Emily rarely cooked these days, caught up as she was, so a hearty meal was a novelty.
After that, Sarah began inviting James for dinner fairly often. Whenever his wife and daughter were out, the two would spend evenings on the communal kitchen, chatting over homemade cottage pie or apple crumble. Before they realised it, something sparked between them, and their friendship turned into something much more.
Word got around, as it does in bedsit buildings, and soon enough, Margaret heard whispers. She, of course, made sure Emily was told exactly where her husband was spending his evenings and with whom.
The row that followed was legendary. Emily, ever proud, threw James out, suitcases packed and slammed into the corridor. With nowhere to go and too late to head to his parents, he turned to Sarah, who welcomed him.
At the time, their daughter was six. James was 25, Emily 32, and Sarah was 39.
Margaret, my neighbour, was delighted at first when she learned her son had split from Emily. But when she realised he had moved in with a woman even older by a full 14 years who already had two children, she fell unusually silent.
It surprised me shed tormented Emily for years solely for being older, and now she accepted the new arrangement with a quiet resignation.
The divorce happened nearly fifteen years ago now. James and Sarah are still together, with no children of their own, but genuinely happy. These days, hes 40 and Sarah is 54. Margaret welcomes them both, without complaint, and a quiet contentment has settled over the family. I can see James is truly at peace.
What I learned from watching all this unfold is that happiness doesnt depend on age, or on what others think, but on how people treat each other and find joy together. If Id realised that sooner, perhaps Id have meddled less, and loved a bit more.
