I always wanted a daughter, but God gave me a son. And I cried at his wedding…
When Oliver and Emily had their big, lively celebration, and every guest raised a glass to the happy couple, no one noticed the woman in the far corner of the hall quietly wiping her tears. It was the groom’s mother—Margaret Wilson. And she wasn’t crying from joy. Her heart ached—not from happiness but from loneliness, which she feared would now be her constant companion.
Years ago, her own mother had told her, *”You have a son, and one day you’ll be alone. Have another—maybe a girl next time. A daughter stays with her mother, but a son belongs to his wife.”* Back then, Maggie just brushed it off. She was young—she had her whole life ahead of her.
From the time she was a girl herself, she’d dreamt of a daughter. She imagined washing a little round face each morning, brushing soft curls, tying ribbons. She’d even picked a name—Sophie. She bought pink baby blankets and asked a friend to save her little girl’s clothes—just in case.
But fate had other plans. A boy was born—Oliver. And though he’d never be her Sophie, he was so gentle, sweet, and curly-haired that Maggie would look at him and think, *”Well… almost like a girl…”*
When he was small, strangers often mistook him for one. But then he grew—taller, stronger, confident. Yet he kept that kindness, that warmth. She was proud of him. Still, deep down, regret lingered—what if she *had* had her Sophie? What if she hadn’t been afraid, hadn’t walked away, hadn’t ended up alone?
The moment Oliver brought Emily home, Maggie knew. The way they looked at each other, the way they laughed—it was real love. She nearly asked him not to stay out late that night, but the words caught in her throat.
Oliver nodded anyway, but his eyes said it all—he wasn’t a boy anymore. He was his own man now.
When he announced, just six months later, that he’d proposed, Maggie’s breath hitched.
*”Shouldn’t you wait? At least finish university…”* she tried.
*”Mum, love doesn’t wait,”* he said with a grin. *”Emily and me—we’re unstoppable. I can do anything with her.”*
Their wedding was beautiful—music, dancing, laughter. And there, in the middle of the celebration, Maggie sat quietly, watching her boy. Not her little curly-headed son anymore, but a grown man, stepping into his own life.
Emily noticed. She came over, resting a hand gently on her mother-in-law’s shoulder.
*”Margaret… you’re crying. What’s wrong?”*
*”Nothing, love… just… emotions,”* Maggie murmured, turning away.
But Emily didn’t let go. So Maggie told her—about the daughter she’d wanted, the fear of being alone, how hard it was, just having a son. Emily listened. Then she hugged her tight.
*”Let me be your daughter,”* she whispered. *”I’d love that.”*
From then on, everything changed. Oliver and Emily got a flat, then bought a house. They lived on their own but always invited Maggie—weekends, holidays. Emily called often, asked for advice. And then… a granddaughter arrived. A little curly-haired angel—Oliver’s twin, and the *Sophie* she’d once dreamed of.
When Maggie held her for the first time, she cried again—but this time, from happiness. Emily simply smiled and whispered, *”You’re a grandma now. We love you so much.”*
Years passed. Oliver built a career; Emily started her own business. Maggie moved in with them—a spacious house, her own room, all the care a woman her age could wish for.
Now, she thinks back to that wedding, those tears, and smiles. She often sits in the garden with her neighbour—one whose daughter moved to Australia and calls once a month, the other with two sons who visit daily.
*”It’s not about who’s born,”* Maggie says. *”It’s how you raise them. I wanted a daughter… but fate gave me a son. And a daughter, too. Thank you, God.”*
And as she watches her granddaughter play in the sand, she silently tells her mother, *”You were wrong. A son *can* stay with his mother… if she raises him right.”*
