**Diary Entry**
“Let her live alone—maybe then she’ll realise what she’s lost. And don’t you worry, son, I won’t let anyone walk over you.”
“So, Margaret, your Oliver finally left his wife, didn’t he?”
“He did. And what of it? Planning to gossip all over the neighbourhood now?” Margaret snapped, adjusting the shawl over her grey hair.
Oliver and Emma had been together just over three years. Not long ago, they’d had a little girl—the granddaughter Margaret had dreamed of for years. But trouble was, Oliver was, and always had been, a mummy’s boy. Drifting through life, a bit spoilt, wrapped in her endless doting and forgiveness.
“Why would I need a wife?” he’d mused a few years back. “Nothing but trouble. Women just cling to you, then demand you provide for them.”
Margaret had waved it off. As long as he was home, under her roof, that was enough. He never cared much for work, but she didn’t mind—at least he was close. So what if he was pushing thirty? He was still her boy.
Then, one day, like a switch flipped, he announced, “I’m getting married.” In came Emma—quiet, unassuming, her eyes full of hope rather than certainty. Margaret approved. Not a troublemaker, not flighty, just homely. She even bought them a little house in the next village to start their life.
At first, things seemed fine. But Oliver was hopeless at marriage. He drifted between odd jobs, mostly night shifts, then took up work at the cemetery—”at least there, no one bosses me around.”
“I can’t stand it, Mum—she nags me!” he’d complain. “First, it’s my job, then it’s money, then she wants a new shed.”
“Oh, Oliver,” Margaret would sigh. “What a wife you’ve ended up with. Bloody leech. Stay here a while, let her see what it’s like on her own.”
From then on, Oliver bounced between Emma’s and his mother’s. Each return home came with fresh grievances. And Emma—that meek, silent girl—started snapping back, shouting, crying. Until one fight too many, and Oliver slammed the door, leaving “for good.”
“She’s done with me!” he declared, settling at Margaret’s table. “Had the nerve to say I’m not a man if I can’t provide! Let her feed herself and change the nappies. Not my problem now!”
“That’s right, love,” Margaret nodded. “Who does she think she is? Go on, have some stew, made it just how you like.”
His daughter crossed his mind less and less. “What’s so hard about it?” he’d scoff. “Feed her, put her to bed, take her out.” Meanwhile, Emma moved back with her parents. Margaret didn’t hold back:
“What’re you crawling back for? We gave you a house, a husband—still not enough? Tough it out, like we all did!”
The neighbours whispered—Oliver’s girl was growing up, and there he sat, idle, telly on, as if nothing mattered.
“Margaret, you ought to visit your granddaughter,” one neighbour said. “Emma’s raising her alone, her parents helping. Meanwhile, you lot act like she don’t exist.”
“Don’t listen to her lies!” Margaret waved her off. “Couldn’t keep her man—let her stew. As for the girl… I’ll take her. She’s my blood!”
“You serious? Take a child from her mother? Oliver hasn’t got a job—all he’s good for is lazing about!”
“Don’t you badmouth him! He’s just… resting. Once he sorts himself out, he’ll be back on his feet.”
But years passed, and Oliver stayed put. No job, no plans. Just complaints about “difficult women” and whining that the world owed him.
“Oliver, love, maybe go see Emma, the girl at least…” Margaret finally ventured.
“What, Mum? So she can start on me again? ‘You’re useless, where’s the money?’ I’m done. I live for myself!”
And then, it hit her. Deep, right in the chest.
“Enough, son,” she said one day. “I’m ashamed of what you’ve become. If Emma files for child support, you’ll manage on your own. I’m done shielding you. You’re not a boy anymore.”
Too late. Far too late. She’d raised not a man, but a sulking child blaming the world. Emma, meanwhile, remarried—a steady, kind man who treated the girl 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.
Leave the blindfold on too long, and one day, you’ll wake up beside a stranger—a lazy, selfish adult who thinks the world owes him everything.
