My son has been my friend and my rock all my life, but after his marriage, we became strangers.
My son, James, has always been my closest companion and support. Yet everything shifted once he married.
I never imagined my child could change so much under someone elses influence. James, my only son, was always golden-heartedpolite, kind, and ever willing to help. Thats how he grew up, and thats how he stayed as an adult. Until his wedding, we were inseparable: we met often, talked for hours about everything and nothing, shared our joys and sorrows, and stood by each otheralways within reason, of course. I never meddled beyond what was needed. But everything crumbled when *she* entered his lifeSophie.
For their wedding, Sophies parents gifted them a newly renovated one-bedroom flat in central London. It became their cosy little nest. I was never invited inside, though James showed me photos on his phonebright walls, new furniture, a warm atmosphere. After my husband passed, I had little left to my name, so I handed over most of my jewellerygold chains, rings, earrings collected over the years. I told Sophie, Feel free to melt them down if you like. I only wanted to help, to give them a good start.
But Sophie? She revealed herself quicklysharp as a knife. I noticed how she scrutinised the wedding envelopes stuffed with cash, her curiosity about the amounts unsettling. On one hand, that mightve made her a thrifty wife. On the other? A warning sign. These days, too many women see their husbands as wallets, spending freely, divorcing, taking half, and moving on. I dread that fate for James, but the worry gnaws at me.
Six months in, Sophie declared she wouldnt have children yet. Not in this tiny flat, she said, throwing up her hands. We cant afford a bigger place until James climbs the corporate ladder. She spoke aloud, but I heard the calculation. Meanwhile, I live in the house my late husband began buildingunfinished, with gaps in the walls. Winter here is bitter; my pension barely covers heating. Then Sophie suggested, Sell your house, buy a studio, and give us the rest for a proper home. *Then* well think about children.
Do you see? Shed have me, old and worn, crammed into a shoebox while they take the best. And whos to say they wouldnt shove me into a care home next? At first, I considered agreeingif they helped me monthly. But now? Not a chance. With someone like Sophie, you must keep your guard up. Expect the worst.
After that talk, James visited a few times, hinting it wasnt a bad idea. Why do you need such a big house? An apartment would be simpler, cheaper to run. I stood firm: This areas growing. In ten years, this house will be worth double. Once, I offered to swaptheyd live here, and Id take their flat. Wasnt that fair? But Sophie refused. The house needed work, investment, while their ready-made flat was hassle-free. She wanted comfort, even if my offer made more sense. Thats just how she is. Unmovable.
Then I fell illproperly ill. Bedridden, burning with fever, too weak to boil water. I called James, begging him to bring food, medicine. Once, hed have dropped everything. This time? He came the next day, left an unboxed packet of Lemsip and expired aspirin on the table, shrugged, and left. Luckily, a friend stepped inbringing soup, fresh medicine, everything. Without her? What then?
James was my light, my whole life. I trusted him completelyhe wasnt just my son but my friend, a part of me. Marriage erased all that. Now, were strangers, and I cant fix it. Hes my only child, my love, my prideyet his heart isnt mine anymore. He chose her. Sophie built a wall between us, and Im left on the other sidealone, discarded. My head knows the truth: the bonds broken. He must choosemother or wifeand the choice is plain as day. Still, my heart clings to hope that hell remember me, that hell return. But day by day, that hope melts like snow in foreign sunshine.
