“Let her live alone for a while—maybe then she’ll realize what she’s lost. And you, son, don’t you worry, Mum won’t let anyone push you around.”
“So, Margaret, your Simon left his wife, didn’t he?”
“He did. And what’s it to you? Going to spread gossip around the neighbourhood now?” Margaret snapped, adjusting the scarf on her grey head.
Simon and Emma had been together just over three years. They’d recently had a baby—a long-awaited granddaughter Margaret had dreamed of for years. But the trouble was, Simon remained a mummy’s boy, just as he’d always been—dreamy, slightly childish, spoiled by her endless care and forgiveness.
“What do I need a wife for?” he’d said a couple of years ago. “Just to nag at me. Women are all the same—they’ll ride on your back and demand you provide and pamper them.”
Margaret had just waved it off—so long as her son was by her side, that’s all that mattered. He never had much drive to work, but she didn’t mind. He was home, close to her. What did it matter if he was nearly thirty? He was still her boy.
Then one day, as if on a whim, he announced he was getting married. He brought home Emma—quiet, unassuming, with eyes full of hope rather than confidence. Margaret approved—not a flirt, not sharp-tongued, a proper homemaker. She even bought them a small cottage in the next village to celebrate.
At first, things seemed fine. But Simon wasn’t cut out for family life. He drifted between odd jobs, mostly night-watch shifts, until he ended up working part-time at a graveyard—”at least no one bosses me around there.”
“I can’t take it, Mum—she pushes me too far!” he’d whinge to Margaret. “First she hates my job, then it’s the money, then she wants a new bathroom fitted!”
“Oh, sweetheart,” Margaret would sigh. “You’ve landed yourself a right one, haven’t you? Not a wife—a leech. Stay with me for a bit, let her see what it’s like on her own.”
From then on, Simon drifted between Emma’s place and his mother’s, returning home each time with fresh complaints. And Emma—the same meek, quiet Emma—started snapping back, shouting, crying. Then, after one final row, Simon stormed out, slamming the door behind him “for good.”
“She’s had enough of me!” he declared, slumping into his mother’s kitchen chair. “Can you believe it? She called me useless, said I couldn’t provide! Let her fend for herself now, nappies and all. I owe her nothing!”
“That’s right, love. Who does she think she is? Here, have some stew—just how you like it.”
He mentioned his daughter less and less. “What’s so hard about feeding her, putting her to bed, taking her out?” Meanwhile, Emma moved back in with her parents. Margaret had already scolded her:
“What’d you come crawling back for? We gave you a home, a husband—still not happy? Suffer like the rest of us did!”
The neighbours whispered—Simon’s daughter was growing up, yet he carried on as if nothing had changed, lounging at home, glued to the telly.
“Margaret, you ought to at least visit your granddaughter,” one neighbour said. “Emma’s raising that baby alone—her parents help, but you lot act like you’ve forgotten your own blood.”
“Oh, she’s filled your head with nonsense!” Margaret scoffed. “Couldn’t keep a man—now let her suffer. That baby? I’ll get custody. She’s my flesh and blood!”
“You’re serious? Take a child from her mother? Your Simon hasn’t even got a proper job—he’s only good for lazing about!”
“Don’t talk rubbish! He’s just… resting for now. Once he sorts himself out, he’ll stand on his own feet.”
But years passed, and Simon stayed idle. No job, no plans—just complaints about “difficult women” and how the world owed him.
“Simon, maybe go see Emma, visit your daughter…” Margaret ventured one day.
“What for, Mum? So she can start on me—‘you’re useless, where’s the money?’ I’m done. I’m living for myself now!”
Only then did it hit her. Properly. Deep in her bones.
“That’s enough,” she finally said. “I’m ashamed of the man you’ve become. If Emma files for child support, you’re on your own. No more covers. You’re not a boy anymore.”
Too late. Far too late. She’d raised not a man, but a resentful child. Emma, meanwhile, remarried—a steady, decent bloke who treated the little girl as his own. And Simon? He stayed with his mum. No family. No purpose. No will to change.
A mother’s love knows no bounds. But sometimes, it blinds.
And if you don’t pull the blindfold off in time, you might wake up one day beside a grown stranger—lazy, selfish, convinced the world owes him everything.
