My son was my friend and support all my life. But after he got married, we became strangers.
I never imagined my child could change so much under the influence of someone else. My only son, Alexander, was always a golden boy—polite, kind, always ready to lend a hand. That’s how he grew up, and that’s how he remained as an adult. We were inseparable until he got married. We often met, talked for hours about everything under the sun, shared our troubles and joys, and supported each other. Of course, within reason—I didn’t meddle excessively in his life. But everything fell apart when she appeared in his life—Marina.
At their wedding, Marina’s parents gave them a gift—a one-bedroom apartment in the heart of Birmingham, freshly renovated. It became their private haven. I never visited them, but my son showed me photos on his phone: light-colored walls, new furniture, cozy. After my husband died, I was left without a penny of savings, so I decided to give the young couple almost all my jewelry—gold chains, rings, earrings, collected over the years. I told Marina, “If you want to melt them down, I don’t mind.” I wanted to do something kind for them, to support them at the start.
But Marina… She showed her true colors right away. A woman with a character as sharp as a blade. I noticed how she peeked into the envelopes with money they received at the wedding, curiosity eating her up to know how much there was. It made me uneasy. On one hand, such savvy could make her a good wife, but on the other—one had to stay alert with her. Modern women often see their husband as a wallet, spending his money as their own, then divorcing, taking half, and hunting for the next prey. I don’t wish such a fate for Alexander, but anxiety gnaws at me inside.
Six months after the wedding, Marina said she didn’t want children yet. Not now, she claimed, it’s impossible in their cramped flat. 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. Alexander isn’t a big manager yet.” She mused aloud, but I heard calculation in her voice. I live in a house my late husband started building. It stands incomplete, with holes in the walls. In winter, it’s as cold as a freezer—I can’t afford to heat the whole place on my pension. Then Marina offered, “Sell the house, buy yourself a small flat, and give us the rest for a new house. Then we can think about children.”
Do you understand what that means? She wants me, old and frail, to move into a tiny space, leaving them the best parts. And later, they might take even that small flat from me, sending me to a care home. Initially, I thought about agreeing—if they at least helped me with money once a month. But now? No way! With someone like Marina, you have to be on guard—you never know what treachery to expect.
After that conversation, Alexander visited me several times. He hinted that her idea wasn’t so bad: “Why do you need a big house? An apartment would be easier, with lower utility bills.” But I stood firm: “The city is growing. In 5-10 years, houses will be worth more. My land is no longer on the outskirts; selling now is foolish.” One day I proposed: let’s swap. They move into my house, and I move into their flat. It’s the same thing, right? But Marina refused. She didn’t like the idea of having to repair and invest in the house while I lived worry-free in their gifted apartment. She needs comfort, even if my option is more beneficial. That’s just how she is—can’t do anything about it.
Then I fell ill. Seriously, to the bones. I lay in bed, unable to get up—fever, coughing, headache pounding. I called Alexander, begging him to come, bring food and medicine. I knew the young couple didn’t have much time, but I couldn’t even make a cup of tea. Before, I couldn’t imagine he wouldn’t drop everything to rush over. Now? He came the next day. He made me some powdered “Lemsip,” tossed a packet of aspirin on the table—without a box, probably expired—shrugged, and left. Thank goodness my friend saved the day—she brought soup, medicine, everything needed. What if she hadn’t been there? What then?
My son was my light, my stronghold all my life. I trusted him wholeheartedly—he wasn’t just a son but a friend, a part of me. But the wedding changed everything. We became strangers, and I’m powerless to change it. He’s my only child, my love, my pride, but now I see: his heart is no longer with me. He chose her. Marina stands between us like a wall, and I’m left on the other side—alone, abandoned, unwanted. Reason says the bond that once was is severed. It’s his time to choose—a mother or a wife. And the choice is clear as day. But my heart still hopes he’ll remember who I was to him and return. Yet with each passing day, that hope melts like snow under an unfamiliar sun.
