“Let her live alone—maybe then she’ll appreciate what she’s lost. And don’t you worry, son, your mum won’t let anyone push you around…”
“So, Maureen, your lad Oliver’s left his wife, hasn’t he?”
“He has. So what? Planning to spread that gossip all over the neighbourhood?” Maureen shot back, adjusting the shawl over her silver hair.
Oliver and Grace had been married just over three years. Not long ago, they’d had a baby girl—the granddaughter Maureen had dreamed of for years. But here was the trouble: Ollie, much as he’d always been, remained a mummy’s boy. All his life, he’d been a dreamer, a bit childish, spoiled by her endless fussing and forgiveness.
“What do I need a wife for?” he’d mused a couple of years back. “Just someone to nag me. Women—they’re all the same, always wanting you to provide and please.”
Maureen had brushed it off. So long as her boy was home, that was all that mattered. He never had much ambition for work, but she didn’t mind—he was close, under her roof. Who cared if he was nearly thirty? He was still her baby.
Then one day, out of nowhere, he announced he was getting married. He brought home Grace—quiet, meek, with eyes full of hope rather than confidence. Maureen approved—no sharp tongue, no wild streak, just a proper home-loving girl. She even bought them a little cottage in the nearby village to celebrate.
At first, it seemed fine. But Oliver wasn’t suited to married life. He flitted between odd jobs, mostly as a night watchman, then took up part-time work at a cemetery—”At least no one bosses me around there.”
“I can’t take it, Mum—she’s driving me mad!” he’d moan to Maureen. “First, she hates my job, then it’s not enough money, now she wants a new bathroom!”
“Oh, Ollie,” Maureen would sigh. “You’ve landed yourself a right one, haven’t you? A proper leech. Come stay with me for a bit—let her see what it’s like to manage on her own.”
From then on, Ollie was in and out—back to Grace, then back to Mum. Each return was filled with gripes and grudges. And Grace—once so meek and quiet—started snapping, shouting, crying. Until one day, after a blazing row, Oliver stormed out “for good.”
“She’s done my head in!” he ranted, slumping at Maureen’s table. “Can you believe she called me useless? Said I can’t provide! Let her feed herself and change the baby’s nappies, then. Not my problem anymore!”
“That’s right, love. Who does she think she is? Now, go on—eat your stew. Made it just how you like.”
He barely mentioned his daughter after that. “What’s so hard about it?” he’d shrug. “Feed her, put her to bed, take her for walks.” Grace, meanwhile, moved back in with her parents. Maureen had a few choice words for her before she left:
“What’s your excuse now? We gave you a home, a husband—still not good enough? You should’ve toughed it out like we did!”
The neighbours whispered: “Oliver’s got a daughter growing up without him, and there he sits, glued to the telly like nothing’s amiss.”
“Maureen, love, you ought to visit your granddaughter,” a neighbour said one day. “Grace is on her own with the little one. Her parents help, but you act like you’ve disowned them.”
“You’ve been listening to her tales, haven’t you?” Maureen scoffed. “Couldn’t keep a man—now she’s reaping what she sowed. As for the baby… I’ll fight for custody. She’s my blood!”
“You’re serious? Take a child from her mother? Your Oliver hasn’t even got a job—he’s only good for lazing about!”
“Don’t you start! He’s just… resting. Once he sorts himself out, he’ll be back on his feet.”
But years passed, and Ollie stayed put. No job, no plans. Just complaints about “nagging women” and whinging about how the world was against him.
“Ollie, maybe you should see Grace, check on your daughter…” Maureen ventured hesitantly once.
“What, Mum? So she can start again—‘you’re this, you’re that, where’s the money’? No thanks. I’m living for myself now!”
And finally, it hit her—deep in her gut, right in her heart.
“That’s enough, son,” she said one day. “I’m ashamed of what you’ve become. If Grace files for maintenance, you’re on your own. No more cover-ups. You’re not a boy anymore.”
Too late. Far too late. She’d raised a boy who blamed the world, not a man. Grace, by then, had remarried—a steady, decent bloke who treated her daughter as his own. And Oliver? He stayed with Mum. No family, no purpose, no will to change.
A mother’s love knows no bounds. But sometimes, it blinds you.
And if you don’t rip off that blindfold in time, you might wake up one day beside a stranger—a lazy, selfish grown man who thinks the world owes him everything.
