My youngest son asked me to move to the cottage. I said no—but helped in another way.
I’m a mother of two grown sons. The eldest has been married for years, lives in another city, and visits twice a year. But my younger boy, James—he’s always been my pride and worry. I’ve spent my life supporting him: putting him through university, helping with money while he found his way, and finally feeling relief when things began falling into place. At twenty-seven, James landed a well-paid job at a respected tech firm. We lived comfortably in my two-bedroom flat, getting along like a house on fire.
Then he brought home Emily—his girlfriend. I didn’t mind her; in fact, she seemed sweet and steady. But when, a few months later, he announced they were getting married, a knot formed in my stomach. Not because I disliked her—it was the thought that James hadn’t quite grown up. He’d never had to fight for comfort or endure hardship. He always wanted things easy, quick.
They married and rented a flat. I kept my distance, dropping off home-cooked meals occasionally and helping when asked. Six months in, James sat me down with a serious look.
“Mum, Emily and I have been thinking… We need to save faster for a house deposit. Half our wages go on rent. Maybe you could stay at the cottage for a bit while we live here? It’s got all the basics—heating, plumbing. We won’t be long—just until we’ve saved enough.”
My breath caught. The cottage—a damp, unheated shoebox an hour and a half outside London by train. I teach at a primary school; getting there would mean waking at four in winter. Even worse, I knew if I gave in, nothing would go as planned.
I know my son. He settles too easily into comfort. Once he and Emily moved into my warm, cosy flat, the urgency to save would vanish. Promises of “just a little while” would stretch into years because comfort is a trap. If he stopped pushing himself, stopped growing—who’d answer for that later?
I don’t want to live in the cottage. And I won’t enable laziness, not even for my own child. I worked hard for my comfort—no one handed it to me. Why should I sacrifice my health, time, and peace now for someone else’s convenience?
The next day, I told him calmly, firmly:
“No. I won’t move. But I’ll help you another way. I’ll cover part of your rent so you can save faster. This flat stays mine.”
He was furious. They stopped calling, visiting, inviting me over. The silence aches—I never wanted a rift. But I did the right thing. I didn’t make life harder for him. I stopped him from running from it. And that matters more than temporary peace.
One day, he’ll see I didn’t refuse him—I protected him. Protected us. Real love isn’t just giving in. Sometimes, it’s saying no when your child wants the easy way out.
