“My kids won’t let me remarry…” A story about the struggle of being a woman caught between the past and the future
My name’s Evelyn, and I’m 44. Not long ago, I’d never have imagined I’d find myself in such an emotional trap. I spent my whole life with one man—my husband, the father of my children, my partner, my rock. We were together for over twenty years. Then, a year ago, he passed suddenly. His heart. Just like that, he was gone, without a goodbye, leaving the house empty and my soul with this gaping, icy hole.
We’ve got two kids. My son’s in his third year at uni—bright, grown-up, sensible. My daughter just finished school, started university—still so young, so fragile. I’m proud of them; they’re my whole world. But… they don’t see me as a woman. Just a mum. Just a widow.
Two months ago, Daniel came into my life. We met by chance at an exhibition I went to just to keep myself from losing it from loneliness. He was kind, thoughtful—a proper gentleman. Never pushed, never demanded, just… was there. We started seeing each other—walks at first, then dinners, talking till midnight. In his eyes, I felt like a woman again. Alive. Wanted. Loved.
Then, not long ago, he asked me to marry him. Simple, sincere: *”Evelyn, be my wife. Let’s start fresh. Together.”* I burst into tears. Not from sadness—from fear. Because I *knew* my kids wouldn’t take it well.
I gathered my courage and finally told them. Sat them down at the table, like when I’d first told them I was pregnant, or taught them to tie their laces, or waved them off on their first day of school. Only this time, it was different.
*”There’s someone in my life…”* I said quietly. *”His name’s Daniel. We’re together. And he’s asked me to marry him.”*
What came next wasn’t shouting—it was a storm. Anger, hurt, disbelief.
*”So you’ve already forgotten Dad?!”* my daughter nearly screamed, tears in her eyes.
*”You wanna bring some random bloke into our home?!”* my son snapped. *”You’re betraying him!”*
They looked at me like I was a stranger. I tried to explain—I haven’t forgotten. I remember every line on his face, his voice, his laugh, the smell of his aftershave. But he’s gone, my loves. And no matter how much I wish it, I can’t bring him back. I’m alive. I breathe. And I want to be with someone who makes my heart beat again.
But they didn’t hear me.
Now I’m stuck in limbo. I don’t know what to do. If I marry Daniel, I’ll lose my kids—they’ll cut me off, walk out of my life. If I say no to him, I’ll be alone. Because kids don’t stay forever. Today they’re here; tomorrow, they’ll have their own families, their own lives. And me? I’ll just be *”Mum, sitting alone in the flat.”*
I told Daniel, *”Give me time. Maybe they’ll understand. Eventually.”* He nodded. Held me. Said he’d wait. But I’m not sure how long his patience will last. And he’s got every right to walk away—he doesn’t carry my memories, my grief, my kids. He just wants to be with me. That’s not a crime.
It hurts that my children don’t see me as a person. I’ve lived honestly. I was a faithful wife, a devoted mother. I didn’t walk away, didn’t betray, didn’t wreck anything. So why, when I just want to be happy, do I have to apologise for it?
I don’t blame them. I get it—they’re scared. Afraid Daniel will erase their dad. That I’ll wipe out the past. But I won’t. He’ll always be with us—in photos, in stories, in memory. But *I’m* here. *I’m* alive.
Sometimes, at night, I sit by the window and watch the city, where every lit pane holds a story. Someone’s falling in love. Someone’s getting married. Someone’s having a baby. And some are just… living. And I think—I want to live too. Not just survive. Not just exist. *Live.*
I don’t know what I’ll choose in the end. But I know this much—I’m not a villain. I’m a woman. And I deserve happiness.
