I’m just a mum. No right to love, no time for it.
My daughter Emily turned sixteen. My youngest, Oliver, is twelve now—almost teenagers. And me? I’m still just a mum. Not a woman, not a person with dreams or a right to a life of her own—just Mum. Mornings are school runs and breakfasts. Days are work. Evenings are clubs, homework, cooking dinner. Nights? Exhaustion and silent tears into my pillow. Quiet, so no one hears.
Their dad, James, and I split five years ago. No fights, no court battles. He just said one day I’d disappeared into motherhood, that the spark between us had gone. The truth? He’d already been messaging another woman—someone he’d known for ages.
I didn’t make it a drama for the kids. Told them it was for the best—now they had two homes. Of course it hurt. Emily stopped eating for a while. Oliver went quiet in the evenings. But they got used to it. I was always there for them. Dad? Just now and then—walks, cafés, cinema trips. He rented a flat in Manchester, lived with that woman. Never invited the kids over—said he wasn’t ready for them to meet her yet. I didn’t argue. Let them see him, keep that bond. Even though inside, I was shattered.
But they found out anyway. About the wedding. About her. Emily sobbed all night, then looked at me the next morning like *I* was the one who’d betrayed them. Oliver? He shut down completely. Stopped telling me even the little things. I didn’t blame them. It hurt them. But it hurt me too.
Then came New Year’s. The girls from work and I went to the office party. A nice restaurant, music, laughter. For the first time in years, I let myself just *be*.
And that’s when I met *him*. Daniel. Not some model from a magazine, but there was something in his eyes—warm, alive, real. Older, lived alone, his son grown up and long moved out. We talked. I gave him my number. And then it started.
He bought me flowers. Told me I was beautiful. Just because. Asked about my day. No demands, no judgement. And me? I hid those bouquets like a schoolgirl. Stashed gifts in the cupboard. Washed off my perfume before coming home. Felt like I was lying to everyone—especially the kids. I’d promised myself no steps toward happiness till they were grown.
Mum knew. Only her. She babysat when I sneaked out for dates. But one day… she slipped. Just mentioned to Emily in passing that I’d been seeing someone. Emily *exploded*.
*”You’re just like him!”* she screamed. *”You lied! You’re a hypocrite!”*
I stood there, speechless. My girl, my pride, hurling words like knives—each one hitting bone. Oliver? Walked straight to his room and barely spoke to me since.
I tried explaining. That I’m still their mum. That I’m still a person who wants warmth. That Daniel’s kind, good—he doesn’t want to replace anyone, just be there. But Emily won’t listen. To her, I’m a traitor.
Daniel wants to move in together. Wants to get married. Build a future. And me? I’m stuck. Because my daughter’s given me an ultimatum: *him or us*. And I’m tearing in two.
My heart whispers—*you deserve love*. Motherhood shouts—*the kids come first*. But I’m still a person, aren’t I? Or is being a good mum just… erasing the woman underneath?
I’m scared. Scared I’ll lose my last chance at happiness. Scared I’ll betray my children. Scared I’ll end up alone. And time’s running out…
What do I do? How do I make them see you can be a mum *and* a woman in love? How do I not lose myself for the people I’ve lived, breathed, fought for all these years?
Girls, if you’ve been here—tell me. Maybe you know the way. Because I… I’m tired of being a shadow.
