My son was my friend and my rock throughout my life. But after his wedding, we became strangers.
I never imagined my child could change so much under someone else’s influence. My only son, Alexander, had always been a golden boy — polite, kind, always ready to lend a hand. He grew up that way and remained the same as an adult. Until he got married, we were inseparable: we met often, talked for hours about anything and everything, shared our troubles and joys, supporting each other all the way. Of course, within reason — I never intruded into his life more than necessary. But everything fell apart when she came into his life — Claire.
For their wedding, Claire and Alexander received a gift from her parents — a one-bedroom flat in the heart of London, freshly renovated. It became their own little nest. I never visited them, but my son showed me photos on his phone: bright walls, new furniture, cozy ambiance. After my husband passed, I was left with nothing, and I decided to give the young couple almost all my jewelry — gold chains, rings, earrings, things I had collected over the years. I told Claire, “If you want to melt them down, I don’t mind.” I just wanted to do something nice for them, to help them get started.
But Claire… she showed her true colors right away. A woman with a sharp character, like a razor’s edge. I noticed how she peeked into the envelopes filled with money they received at the wedding — curiosity got the best of her. That was unsettling. On one hand, such sensibility could make her a good wife, but on the other — you need to watch your back around her. Modern women often see their husbands as wallets, spending their money as if it were their own, only to divorce and take half before searching for their next prey. I don’t want that fate for Alexander, but the worry gnaws at me from within.
Half a year after the wedding, Claire announced she wasn’t ready for children just yet. She gestured with her hands: “What can we do? I don’t want to take out a mortgage, and we’re not sure when we’ll be able to save up for a bigger place. Alexander hasn’t become a big boss yet,” she reasoned, and though she spoke aloud, I heard calculation in her voice. I live in a house my late husband started building. It stands unfinished, with holes in the walls. In winter, it’s as cold as a fridge — I can’t afford enough heating on my pension. Then Claire proposed, “Sell the house, buy a small flat for yourself, and give us the rest for a new home. Then maybe we can think about kids.”
Do you understand what that means? She wants me, old and frail, to downsize to a small place while they take the best. Who knows if they’ll take even that small place from me and ship me off to a nursing home. I briefly considered agreeing — if they at least helped me financially once a month. But now? No way! With someone like Claire, you have to be vigilant — she’s capable of anything.
After that conversation, Alexander came to visit a few times. He hinted that her idea might not be so bad: “Why do you need such a big house? It’d be simpler in a flat, lower bills.” I stood my ground, “The town is growing. In five to ten years, the property will be worth much more. Selling now is foolish.” Once, I suggested we swap. They could move into my house, and I’d take their flat. It’s essentially the same, right? But Claire refused. She didn’t like the idea of fixing the place up and investing in it while I lived in their gifted flat without a care. She wants convenience, even if my suggestion is more beneficial. That’s just how she is — you can’t change it.
Then I fell ill. Seriously, down to my bones. I lay in bed, unable to get up — fever, cough, splitting headache. I called Alexander, pleading for him to come, bring food and medicine. I knew they had little time, but I couldn’t cook — I barely had the energy to boil a kettle. I used to believe he’d drop everything and rush over. But now? He showed up the next day. He made me some powdered “Lemsip,” threw a pack of aspirin on the table — sans the box, probably expired — shrugged, and left. Thankfully, a friend saved me — she brought soup, medicine, everything I needed. But what if she hadn’t been there?
My son was my light, my support throughout my life. I trusted him implicitly — he was not just my son but a friend, a part of me. But the wedding erased it all. We grew apart, and I felt powerless to change it. He was my only child, my love, my pride, but now I see: his heart is no longer with me. He chose her. Claire stands between us like a wall, and I’m left on the other side — alone, abandoned, unnecessary. Reason tells me the bond we had is severed. It’s his turn to choose — mother or wife. And the choice is clear as day. Yet my heart still hopes he’ll remember who I was to him and return. But with every passing day, that hope melts away like snow under a foreign sun.
