My heart aches with pain and shame for my own son. Five years ago, my son, James, destroyed his family, betraying his wife, who was caring for their newborn twins. While Olivia, my former daughter-in-law, was up night after night soothing the babies, he was secretly building a new life with another woman. I, Margaret, live in Manchester and still can’t come to terms with what he did. His new partner, Charlotte, is nothing but a symbol of shattered happiness to me, and I refuse to accept her. My son has become a stranger, and I don’t know if I’ll ever forgive him.
Five years ago, James divorced Olivia. Their twins were only a few months old at the time. I found out he’d been cheating on her while she was exhausted from sleepless nights, giving everything to their children. His mistress, a young and persistent woman named Charlotte, gave him an ultimatum—either leave his wife or lose her. And he chose her. Olivia was left alone with two infants, and I couldn’t bear to see her suffering. My soul tore apart knowing my own son could do something so cruel—abandon his wife and children for a new fling. How could he think his happiness was worth their tears?
I made it clear to James straightaway that I’d never accept Charlotte. He was wrong if he thought I’d just let his betrayal slide. But he didn’t listen. A year later, he proposed to her, and they got married. I didn’t go to the wedding—I was too ashamed of him. As his mother, I couldn’t stand by while he destroyed everything our family held dear. Now, James and Charlotte rent a flat in the city centre and raise their own child. I know he’s my grandchild, but every time I think of them, my throat tightens. My real grandchildren—the twins—live with Olivia, and I love them with all my heart. I’d do anything for them.
James and I barely speak anymore. I invited him over for Christmas, hoping he’d come alone, but he refused, saying he wouldn’t come without Charlotte. And I don’t want to see her—not now, not ever. Olivia, on the other hand, gladly accepted my invitation. We have a wonderful relationship now—she’s like a daughter to me. On Christmas Day, we gathered together in a warm family circle—the kids sang carols while Olivia helped me cook the holiday meal. Watching her, I could see how much she’d suffered. She’d poured everything into her children, forgetting her own needs. Her life was an endless routine of caring for the twins, and it breaks my heart for her.
Oliva doesn’t date, doesn’t let go of the past. I’ve tried talking to her about moving on, but she’s still haunted by what happened. This is our life now—we lean on each other, I help her with the kids, and she calls me her second mum. It warms my heart, but it doesn’t ease the pain. My son didn’t even call to wish me a happy Christmas. I keep asking myself—will he ever realise the damage he’s done? Will I ever forgive him for breaking up our family and leaving those children without a father? Life will never be the same, but I’m grateful for Olivia and my grandchildren—they give me the strength to keep going, despite the bitterness and disappointment.
