My heart shatters from the pain and shame I feel for my own son. Five years ago, my son, William, tore his family apart by betraying his wife, who was caring for their newborn twins. While Emily, my former daughter-in-law, spent sleepless nights rocking the babies, he secretly built a new life with another woman. I, Margaret, live in Manchester and still cannot come to terms with what he did. His new woman, Charlotte, is to me the embodiment of ruined happiness, 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, William divorced Emily. The twins were only a few months old at the time. I found out he had been unfaithful while she, exhausted from endless nights, gave everything to their children. His mistress, a persistent young woman named Charlotte, gave him an ultimatum—divorce or she’d leave. And William chose her. Emily was left alone with two infants, and I couldn’t bear to see her suffering. My soul ached knowing my son was capable of such cruelty—abandoning his wife and children for a fleeting passion. How could anyone build happiness on another’s tears?
I told William straight away that I would never accept Charlotte. He was mistaken if he thought I would condone his betrayal. But my son didn’t listen. Within a year, he proposed to her, and soon they married. I didn’t attend the wedding—I was too ashamed. As a mother, I couldn’t watch him destroy everything our family held dear. Now, William and Charlotte live in a rented flat in the city centre, raising their child. I know he’s my grandson, but whenever I think of him, my throat tightens. My true grandchildren—the twins—live with Emily, and I love them with all my heart. For them, I would do anything.
William and I barely speak. I invited him for Christmas, hoping he’d come alone, but he refused, saying he wouldn’t step through the door without Charlotte. And I don’t want to see her—not now, not ever. Meanwhile, Emily gladly accepted my invitation. We have a wonderful relationship, and she’s become like a daughter to me. At Christmas, we gathered in warmth—the children singing carols while Emily helped me prepare supper. Watching her, I saw how deeply she had suffered. She gave herself entirely to the children, forgetting her own desires. Her life is an endless cycle of care, and it breaks my heart.
Emily doesn’t look at other men, unable to let go of the past. I’ve tried talking to her about it, but the betrayal still haunts her. This is our life now: we support each other, I help with the twins, and she calls me her second mother. It warms my heart, but the pain lingers. My son didn’t even call to wish me a happy Christmas. I ask myself—will he ever understand the damage he’s done? Will I ever forgive him for breaking the family and leaving his children fatherless? Life will never be the same, but I’m grateful for Emily and the twins—they give me the strength to go on, despite the bitterness and sorrow.
