My son was my friend and support throughout my life. But after his wedding, we became strangers.
I never imagined my child could be so influenced by another person. My only son, James, was always a golden boy—polite, kind, always ready to help. That’s how he grew up and stayed as an adult. Until he got married, we were inseparable: often meeting, talking for hours about everything, sharing troubles and joys, helping each other. Of course, within reasonable limits—I never overstepped into his life unduly. But everything crashed when she came into his life—Lucy.
At the wedding, Lucy and James received a gift from her parents—a one-bedroom apartment in the heart of London, freshly renovated. It became their property, their little nest. I never visited, but my son showed me photos on his phone: bright walls, new furniture, cozy. After my husband’s passing, I’d been left without a penny in savings, so I decided to give the young couple almost all my jewelry—gold chains, rings, earrings, saved up over years. I told Lucy, “If you want to melt them down, I don’t mind.” I wanted to do something kind for them, to support their new beginning.
But Lucy… She showed her true colors right away. A woman with a sharp character, like a blade. I noticed how she peeked into the envelopes with money they were gifted for the wedding—curious about how much was inside. It made me uneasy. On one hand, that kind of savvy could make her a good wife, but on the other, you had to be cautious with her. Modern women often see their husband as a wallet, spending his money as if it’s their own, then divorcing, taking half and moving on to find new prey. I don’t want such a fate for James, but anxiety gnaws at me.
Six months after the wedding, Lucy declared she didn’t want kids yet. Not now, saying their small flat made it impossible. She shrugged, “What can we do? I don’t want to take out a loan, and who knows when we’ll earn enough for a bigger place. James isn’t a big manager yet.” She was thinking out loud, but I heard calculation in her voice. I live in the house started by my late husband. It remains unfinished, with gaps in the walls. In winter, it’s freezing inside—my pension isn’t enough for heating this massive place. Then Lucy suggested, “Sell the house, buy yourself a flat, and leave the rest for us for a new apartment. Then we might consider kids.”
Do you understand what this means? She wants me, old and frail, to move into a tiny space, while they take all the best. And later, they might grab even that flat from me, packing me off to a care home. Initially, I thought about agreeing—if they’d at least help me with money once a month. But now? No way! With someone like Lucy, you have to be on guard—you never know what trick she’ll pull.
After our conversation, James visited several times. He hinted that her idea wasn’t so bad: “Why do you need a big house? It would be easier in a flat, lower bills.” I stood my ground: “The city is growing; in 5-10 years, houses will be more valuable. My plot isn’t the outskirts anymore, selling now is foolish.” Once, I suggested: let’s swap. They move into my house, and I’ll live in their flat. After all, isn’t it the same thing? But Lucy opposed. She didn’t like that the house needed fixing, money invested, while I’d live in their gifted flat without worries. She wants convenience, even if my option is more profitable. She’s like that—and there’s nothing you can do.
Then I fell ill. Seriously, through to the bone. I lay in bed, unable to get up—fever, cough, pounding headache. I called James, begging him to come, bring food and medicine. I knew the young couple had little time, but I was in no state to cook—I didn’t even have the strength for a cup of tea. Once, he would drop everything and rush over. But now? He showed up the next day. He made me a cup of instant “Lemsip,” tossed a pack of aspirin on the table—without a box, likely expired—shrugged, and left. Thank goodness for a friend who saved the day—bringing soup, medicine, everything I needed. And if she hadn’t been there? What then?
My son was my light, my support all my life. I trusted him implicitly—he was not just my son but a friend, a part of me. But the marriage erased all of that. We’ve become strangers, and I am powerless to change it. He is my only child, my love, my pride, but now I see: his heart is no longer with me. He chose her. Lucy stands between us like a wall, and I remain on the other side—alone, abandoned, unwanted. My mind insists: the bond we had is broken. It’s his time 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 come back. But daily, that hope melts away like snow under a foreign sun.
