Margaret Whitmore could not settle her nerves—today her son Edward was bringing his betrothed home for the first time. She had busied herself in the kitchen since dawn, setting a fine table, leaving nothing to chance. Jane struck her as lovely at once—sweet, unassuming, well-mannered. They exchanged pleasantries over supper, the conversation easy and warm. But when Edward returned from seeing Jane home, his face was dark with distress.
“What’s happened, my boy?” Margaret asked, her voice tight with worry.
“It’s over, Mum. Jane has broken it off,” he said hollowly.
“Broken it off? Whatever for?”
“Because of you, Mum.”
Margaret went very still. Could it really be true?
Later, barely holding back tears, she phoned her old friend Eleanor.
“Ellie, come round… I don’t know how to go on. I’ve become a burden to my own son—perhaps it’d be better if I weren’t here at all.”
“Don’t talk such nonsense!” Eleanor cut in sharply. “Stay put. I’ll be there shortly.”
She and Edward had always made do in their modest rented flat. They had no property of their own, no family to lean on. She’d watched him grow from a boy to a man, studied hard, earned his place at university, while she worked two jobs to keep the wolf from the door. It had been a hard life, but a close one. Only one thing gnawed at Margaret—her son had never courted anyone seriously. And oh, how she longed for grandchildren…
So when Jane appeared in Edward’s life, her heart swelled with hope. Six months later, he announced they’d applied for a marriage licence.
Margaret had prepared for their visit as though it were a grand occasion. Jane had seemed perfect. But over supper, the girl asked suddenly, “Margaret, will you be staying here long?”
“What do you mean? I live here.”
“In this flat? With Edward?” Jane’s brow furrowed.
“Yes. We’ve always shared it.”
“I see… Forgive me, I wasn’t aware.”
The conversation carried on, but something in Jane’s manner shifted. The next day, she refused to see Edward, and soon after, she called off the wedding. The reason? She would not share a home with his mother.
“I’m nothing but a burden to them, Ellie!” Margaret sobbed. “I’d have helped—with the house, with the baby… She’s expecting, you know!”
“Listen,” Eleanor said firmly. “Your boy must make his own way. You did the same in your time. He’s a man now—he must lead his family, not cling to his mother’s apron strings forever.”
“But I can’t manage alone. My pension’s barely enough, and the work’s drying up—”
“Then you will manage. Everyone does. And so will you. The important thing is not to stand in the way of their happiness. Do this right, and you’ll have a grandchild, a loving family, and your son’s gratitude. Refuse, and you’ll lose everything.”
Margaret made her choice. The next day, she and Eleanor went to see Jane.
“Thank you for coming,” Jane said after a long, quiet talk. “I wouldn’t have dared ask myself. But… thank you. And know this—we’d never abandon you. If ever you need help, we’ll be there.”
“We?” Margaret echoed, bewildered.
“Yes. I’m staying with Edward. I love him. But we’ll have our own home. Thank you… for understanding.”
The wedding went ahead. Edward moved in with Jane. And when their son was born, it was Jane who invited Margaret to stay—she needed the help.
Now Margaret dotes on her grandson, cooks hearty suppers, and one evening, Jane took her hand and said, “Thank you, Mum… I don’t know how we’d have managed without you.”
