My mother is convinced my girlfriend is only with me for the flat.
I live with my mother in a spacious three-bedroom apartment in the bustling heart of London. The place came to us after my parents’ divorcemy father left, abandoning us with everything. At first, he kept up a semblance of contact, calling now and then to check in, but as the years passed, those calls grew fewer. Now, he only reaches out with cold, mechanical messages during the holidays.
My mother, for her part, never quite rebuilt her love life. A few men crossed her path, but none made it past a couple of dates. Perhaps she never truly wanted to, or maybe she simply never found someone who could fill the space my father left.
As for me, relationships had long been treacherous ground. There had been dates, encounters, but nothing serious ever took root. I never clung to a romance just to avoid being alone. If there wasnt that rare spark, I said so plainly. Wasting my timeor someone elsesseemed senseless to me.
Then, one day, everything turned upside down in an unexpected whirlwind.
I met the love of my life.
When I first saw Emmas eyes, I knew instantly it was different. From the very beginning, I felt a rare and powerful bond between us. I was lost in her, burning with the desire to spend every free moment by her side.
Emma had come to London from a quiet village in the Lake District. She had enrolled at university and was fighting to build a new life in this vast city. She was ambitious, clever, gentle, and breathtakingly beautiful. We grew close at lightning speed, began courting, and for the first time, I tasted pure, radiant happiness.
But soon, I discovered that my joy was, for my mother, an open woundan unbearable insult.
She rejected my choice with fury.
I had always been honest with my mother. She knew every girl I had ever courted; I had never hidden anything from her. So when I told her about Emma, I expected the usual reactionperhaps a touch of wariness, but also natural curiosity.
Instead, a storm erupted.
She wouldnt even listen. The moment I mentioned that Emma was from out of town, she cut me off, shouting that this girl was only after my status, my comfort, andabove allour flat.
I was stunned, as if struck by lightning.
Where had such an idea come from? How could she judge so harshly someone she had never met, whose voice she had never heard, with whom she had never exchanged a single word?
My mother locked herself into relentless hostility against our relationship. She began making scenes, screaming until her voice cracked, collapsing in tears, hammering into me that I was about to make the worst mistake of my life. According to her, I was nothing but an opportunity for Emma, a way to settle in the city, and she would shatter my heart before casting me aside like an old rag.
I tried to defend myself, to explain that Emma had never hinted she wanted to live with me. She had her own rented lodgings, never asked me for money or help. She was independent, used to relying only on herself.
But my mother remained unmoved, unshakable as stone.
The pressure that crushed me.
At first, I tried to ignore her words. I trusted Emma; I knew she wasnt with me for the flat. But when the same accusations are hurled at you day after day, doubt eventually seeps in like slow poison.
I caught myself listening to my mothers venomous whispers.
I dissected Emmas every gesture, searching for hidden intentions where there were none.
Why was she so attentive? Was it a trick? Why did she give me gifts? Was she plotting something in the shadows?
I drove myself to the brink of madness.
Emma, of course, noticed something was wrong. She asked if I was all right, if something terrible had happened. I wanted to confess everything, but shame paralyzed me, gripping my throat like an unseen hand.
How could I tell the woman I loved that my own mother saw her as a heartless fortune hunter?
Love or family?
The conflict with my mother reached an unbearable peak.
She gave me an ultimatum, cold and sharp as a blade: either I ended things with Emma, or I could forget about having a normal relationship with her.
I was lost, teetering on the edge, my heart in tatters.
On one side, there was my mother. She had raised me, cared for me, and I felt an overwhelming duty toward her, a debt I couldnt ignore.
But on the otherdidnt I have the right to my own happiness? Didnt I deserve to love the one my heart had chosen?
My mother refused to hear my pleas. Her certainty was a wall of steel, unbreakable.
I realized I had to make a choice.
But which one?
Im terrified of being wrong. The thought of losing the woman I love more than anything makes me tremble, yet Im not ready to sever ties with my mother.
What if shes simply afraid of ending up alone, abandoned in silence? Or does she truly see something that my love has blinded me to?
Im torn between duty and passion, stretched to breaking point in endless torment. And for now, I dont know how to find my way out.
