Margaret Winchester couldn’t sit still—today her son, James, was bringing his fiancée home for the first time. She’d been bustling about the kitchen since dawn, setting the table just so, fussing over every detail. Emily struck her as lovely at once—polite, well-mannered, with a quiet charm. They chatted over dinner, but when James walked Emily home, he returned an hour later looking utterly defeated.
“Mum,” he muttered before she could ask, “it’s off. Emily called it quits.”
Margaret froze. “What? Why?”
His voice was hollow. “Because of you.”
Later, clutching a tissue, she dialed her best friend, Beatrice. “Bea, come over. I don’t know how to go on. I’m ruining my son’s life—might as well not exist.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Beatrice snapped. “I’m on my way.”
She and James had always made do in their modest rented flat in Manchester. No family support, no inherited property—just her working two jobs while he studied, scraping by but never complaining. Still, it gnawed at her: James never seemed serious about anyone. She’d nearly given up on grandchildren—until Emily.
Six months in, he’d proudly announced their registry office date. Margaret had prepared like it was a state banquet. But over dessert, Emily had hesitated. “Margaret… will you be staying here long?”
“Pardon? I live here.”
“In this flat? With James?”
The air shifted. By morning, Emily had canceled their date. By week’s end, the wedding was off. Her reason? She wouldn’t share a roof with his mother.
“I’m a burden, Bea!” Margaret sobbed. “I’d have helped—cooking, babysitting! She’s pregnant, for heaven’s sake!”
Beatrice fixed her with a look. “James needs his own life. You managed alone. He’s not a boy—he can’t play house with Mummy forever.”
“But my pension’s rubbish, and—”
“You’ll manage. Everybody does. Let him be happy. Do that, and you’ll have grandchildren, a grateful son, and Sunday roasts. Don’t, and you’ll lose the lot.”
The next day, Margaret and Beatrice cornered Emily. After an agonizing chat, Emily sighed. “Thank you for coming. I couldn’t say it myself. But… we won’t abandon you. If you need anything—”
“We?” Margaret blinked.
“Yes. I love James. We’re getting married. But we’ll live separately. Thank you for understanding.”
The wedding went ahead. James moved to Emily’s place. When their son arrived, Emily was the one who insisted Margaret stay over—”We need your help, Mum.”
Now, Margaret dotes on her grandson, bakes Victoria sponges, and beams when Emily whispers, “No idea how we’d cope without you, Mum.”
The end.
