Should I tell her that my son doesn’t love her at all?
My name is Susan Smith, and I live in the quaint town of Windermere, nestled in the Lake District. I’m writing because my heart is heavy with worry, and I can’t find peace. I confided in my best friend, hoping for comfort, but instead, she stared at me in shock and retorted, “Have you lost your mind? You’re wading into a storm of someone else’s troubles!” Her words hit hard, but they didn’t help—I need to find a solution, or I’ll be crushed by this burden.
The issue is with my son, David. He’s 25 and lives with his girlfriend, Emily, in our home. I have no reason to complain: they take his room, both are employed and don’t rely on us financially. Emily is a gem: polite, gentle, with a kind heart. Yet, I know my son better than anyone, and I see the truth he masks with his smile: he doesn’t love her. David cares for her deeply—he’s gentle, attentive, always ready to lend a hand. He fulfills her wishes like a knight from a fairy tale: brings flowers and gifts on every occasion, picks her up from work even in the dead of night after her long shifts. When they have joint days off, they travel—sometimes to friends in the countryside, other times skiing or visiting thermal springs.
Recently, Emily had a nasty fall on a slope, injuring herself quite badly. David carried her from the hill to their hotel, and later rushed her to a hospital in Manchester. While her leg was in a cast, he cared for her like a child: fed her, comforted her, and never left her side. To outsiders, he was the perfect man, madly in love. But I know it’s a façade. He doesn’t love her. His heart is silent, tearing mine apart.
Before Emily, there was Hannah. Their relationship was tumultuous: sharp edges, yelling, tears, breakups, and passionate reconciliations. They fought fiercely but made up with such intensity that the walls seemed to shake. Hannah was his first true love—the kind that sears the soul. I hoped they would settle down, adjust their tempers, but she suddenly left for Germany, abandoning him. David was a shadow of himself for half a year: lost, barely eating or sleeping. I hovered over him, pleaded, watched him like a child, fearing he wouldn’t survive. Then Emily came along—a complete contrast to the former. She’s as calm as a still lake, a good listener, comforting, never raising her voice. She’s a light in our home, but I see: for him, it’s not love, but duty, gratitude, something other than affection.
And here is my agonizing question: should I tell her the truth? You might call me crazy, but I can’t live with this knowledge. Sooner or later, the truth will erupt like molten lava, destroying everything. I can envision the hell awaiting this sweet, innocent girl, undeserving of such pain. Her disillusionment will be crushing, like a delicate flower underfoot. She has done nothing to deserve this, and I stand by, watching her walk toward an abyss, unaware of what awaits.
My friend is right—I’m probing a space where I may get hurt. But how can I stay silent? My maternal heart screams: save her, warn her, don’t let her shatter! I see how Emily looks at David—with such faith, such tenderness, it tugs at my heart. And him? He plays his role, masterfully, but I know his eyes—there’s no spark, none of what he had with Hannah. He’s kind to her, but it’s not love, and I can’t pretend I see nothing.
Sometimes I wonder: am I mistaken? Maybe it’s my own fear for him that created this notion? But no—I feel it in my bones, in every cell. David is with her because it’s convenient, because she’s good, not because he can’t live without her. And this thought gnaws at me day and night. Tell Emily? Shatter the world she believes to be her happiness? Or remain silent until he makes a move that will destroy her? I fear that if I say nothing, I become complicit in her pain. But if I speak out, I’ll break it all apart myself, and she will hate me; my son will curse me.
Please, guide me with advice! I’m not crazy, I’m just a mother who sees more than she wishes. I ache for both of them—for Emily, offering her heart to someone who won’t take it, and for David, living in this deceit. What can I do with this truth burning inside me? How can I protect her without losing my son? I’m at a crossroads, every choice feels like a dagger to the chest. I beg, help me find peace in this torment, which I have inflicted upon myself with my thoughts.
