**Diary Entry – 26th October**
Everything in our family seemed steady, proper, and dependable—until now. My son, Thomas, is an only child. His birth father left before he turned three, but my second husband, Richard, stepped in and raised him as his own. We never had more children, so all our love and hopes rested on Tommy. He grew up kind, clever, and respectful—the sort of lad any mother would be proud of. Then *she* came along.
Emily. I first noticed her at the supermarket even before Thomas brought her home. She was arguing with the cashier over a trivial matter—sharp, abrupt, entirely self-absorbed. I remember thinking then, *That’s the sort of girl who’ll bring nothing but trouble*. I never imagined she’d end up in my living room.
The moment Thomas introduced her as his girlfriend, my heart sank. I knew she’d drive a wedge between us—and I was right. After that day, he visited less and less, always brushing me off with work, fatigue, excuses. Family gatherings? He’d show up alone. When I tried to talk to him, he’d evade, his eyes darting away as if ashamed. I could feel him slipping through my fingers, helpless to stop it.
Then came the blow I never saw coming.
It was summer, my niece Charlotte’s birthday party. The garden was warm, laughter in the air. Then my sister grinned and asked, *So when am I getting nieces and nephews? Tommy’s been married for months now!* I froze. *Married.* Six months ago, in Spain, he and Emily had quietly tied the knot—no rings, no celebration, no parents. Just a quick signature and a flight home, as if we no longer mattered.
My chest ached. I couldn’t even speak. I walked away, numb. Later, he rang. *Didn’t want to upset you,* he said, calm as if discussing the weather. *You never liked Emily anyway—why ruin the day for everyone?* I barely recognised his voice.
I understand—or try to. He thought he was avoiding drama. But family isn’t about convenience. It’s about sharing the big moments, standing together. Instead, he cut us out completely. Once, he held my hand when he was scared of the dark. Once, he promised he’d only marry someone I’d welcome. How swiftly things change.
I don’t hate him. He’s my son. I’ll always love him. But her? Never. Not for the wedding—but for stealing him from me, quietly, like a thief in the night, convincing him family is disposable with a plane ticket.
He thinks he dodged a fight. Instead, he’s built a wall. Not of anger—just ice. Indifference. And that’s worse.
Time might soften me. For him. For grandchildren. But my heart won’t ever be the same. Because now I know: I’m no longer part of my son’s life. And no amount of small talk will bury that pain.
**Lesson learned:** Silence doesn’t spare feelings—it deepens the wound. Some truths, however hard, should never be left unspoken.
