**December 31, 2023**
I spend the holidays with my former daughter-in-law, not my son’s new wife. And I won’t apologise for it.
I turned sixty recently. Retirement, aching knees, exhaustion from life and people—just like so many women who carried everything on their shoulders, without help, without a man’s support. In my prime, I was a hairdresser—not the easiest job, especially when you’re on your feet all day, forcing a smile. My health isn’t what it used to be, so I only work occasionally now, mostly for friends.
My husband’s been out of my life for years. We divorced soon after our son was born—my ex was useless, lazy, only good for drinking with his mates and smoking in the flat. He thought work was beneath him but had no trouble living off my wages. I left without looking back, finally breathing freely. From then on, I did everything myself. Alone. Raised my son alone.
I did my best with him. Tried to be both mother and father. Yes, there were mistakes—time was short, and heart-to-heart talks were rare. I worked myself to the bone. When he grew up and enlisted, I thought, *Maybe now, things will be different for him.*
Then he came back. Brought home a quiet, warm, smiling girl—Claire. Married within months. I welcomed her gladly, even let them stay with me at first. We grew close, honestly. Never argued. Cooked together, watched films, talked about everything—recipes, books, life. With her, I felt at ease—like I’d gained a daughter.
Later, they moved out. Had a son—my first grandson. Claire refused to sit idle, went back to work. My son landed a decent job, then started his own business. I was proud—everything had worked out.
When I needed surgery, Claire took me to a private hospital without hesitation and paid for everything. Not a word of complaint. Just helped. I’ll never forget that.
Then, after nine years of marriage—divorce. Daniel, my son, walked out. Just packed his things and left. Said he’d fallen for someone else. Claire fought for their marriage, but he was ice. Later, she admitted she’d learned he’d had a mistress for two years. I couldn’t believe it.
The first time he brought his new girlfriend to me, I was horrified. Vulgar, sharp-tongued, manners like a fishwife. Every other word a swear, lips like overstuffed pillows, eyes empty. I tried talking to him calmly: “Are you sure this is the woman you want to build a life with?” He brushed me off. No wedding planned—his new love “hates celebrations.”
I stayed quiet. He’s a grown man; his choices are his own. But something inside me broke. Claire and I kept in touch. She visits with my grandson, calls, brings soup and fruit just like before. We haven’t lost each other. But with Daniel… it faded. As if he erased himself from my life.
On holidays, I stopped expecting him. I knew he’d bring *her*. And I don’t want that woman in my home. Don’t want to hear her screeching into her phone at my table. Don’t want my grandson hearing the way she speaks.
So at Christmas, Easter, birthdays—Claire comes. With my grandson. We set the table, drink tea, share old stories. We laugh. And I’m happy. I don’t have to invite pain into my life, not even for my son’s sake.
Daniel called recently, asked to visit. I said no. Flat-out: “Not with *her*. Come alone. But you won’t.” He hung up. Silence since.
And I’m not sorry. I’ve lived a hard life. I know who stood by me when I needed it most. And I won’t betray the one who never betrayed me.
I spend the holidays with my former daughter-in-law. Because she’s become more family than my own son. And no, I’m not ashamed.
