**Diary Entry – 3rd May**
The lad never came to visit. His wife forbade it. She insists we always want something from him.
Here in a quiet village in the Yorkshire Dales, where winter winds howl past the old stone cottages, Margaret and I sat waiting—hoping—for our son. But the hurt settled in, sharp and familiar, like the ache in my bones when the cold sets in.
“Looks like he’s not coming,” Margaret said, glancing at me, Edward, with that same tired resignation. “We’ve grown used to it. We don’t even get angry anymore.”
“What happened this time? Did Helen stop him again?” I frowned. “You two were never on good terms.”
“Maybe so,” Margaret replied, her voice trembling with unspoken grief. “But Michael never said such things to us. He used to visit more often, but now… His wife always has some excuse. Seems we’ll have to pay someone to fix the roof. He can’t spare a single day for us.”
She spoke bitterly of Michael, our forty-year-old son. Twelve years ago, he left for London, trading the village life for the city. He’s a mechanic—used to work with his hands, now just manages the garage. There, he married Helen, bought a flat, and somehow forgot the way home.
“He did all the work on their place himself,” Margaret recalled. “Helen just gave orders. They married late—she was over thirty. Never been wed before, and I see why. That temper of hers would put anyone off. We disliked each other from the start.”
“Hardly a surprise she stayed single so long,” I muttered. “Remember when you tried speaking to her? Disaster. What does Michael even see in her?”
Helen barely acknowledged us. She only let him visit once a year. This time, he’d promised to take leave in May—to fix our leaking roof. But then, as always, Helen had other plans.
“She’s expecting a baby,” Margaret said, bitterness sharp in her throat. “Says Michael can’t leave her alone. As if a grown woman, a nurse, couldn’t manage for a few days! Started nagging him weeks before his leave, even though the train tickets were bought.”
“Why does she do this?” I asked, though I knew the answer.
“First, she said she was scared to be alone. Then—” Margaret’s words faltered, tears welling.
“Then what? Does she lead him about on a leash? She’s got parents of her own—they’d move heaven and earth for her!”
“I think it’s them putting ideas in her head,” Margaret sighed. “They warned her—let a husband visit his family, and next thing, he’ll leave. Their other son-in-law did just that. Now their youngest lives with them. They’ve made Helen think Michael’s the same.”
“Not every man’s cut from the same cloth!” I snapped. “Michael’s never given them cause. And why couldn’t she come with him? What’s the harm?”
“Come here?” Margaret gave a hollow laugh. “She’d never set foot in this house. You know how she despises us. I tried talking to her—no use.”
I remembered when I’d phoned her, hoping to smooth things over. Disaster.
“What did she say?” I asked, dreading the answer.
“That we always want something, that we’re tearing Michael from his real family.” Margaret’s voice shook. “Said she’s tired of fighting us. A husband’s duty is to his wife and child—not his parents’ whims. If he’s on leave, he stays with her. And then—” Her breath hitched. “She said our house means nothing to her.”
“That woman!” My hands clenched. “And Michael?”
“He made excuses, but we know it’s not his fault,” Margaret whispered. “He’s putting it off to keep the peace. Worried about the baby, about her.”
I couldn’t take it. I rang him and let years of frustration pour out.
“Enough!” I shouted down the line. “I won’t wait for you anymore! I’ll hire a builder—you stay wrapped around your wife’s finger!”
Margaret stayed silent, but her heart was breaking. She understood my anger, but the old saying—”wives come and go, but parents stay”—cut deep. Michael was our only son, our pride. Now, a wall stood between us, built by Helen. She holds him tight, and he obeys, too afraid of her temper to push back.
I looked at the sagging roof, the way it leaked with every rain, and felt hope drain away. We worked our whole lives to give him better. Now, we pay strangers to mend what he once would have fixed without question. The sting of it choked me—but worse was knowing he’s slipping further away. Helen made it clear: her family is her and the child. We’re just a burden.
Margaret doesn’t know how to reach him. She dreams he’ll walk in, hug her like he did as a boy, and we’d patch the roof together, laughing at old stories. Instead, we get silence and blame. The family we built with love is cracking, and I fear the rift may never heal.
**Lesson learnt:** Blood may be thicker than water, but it’s no match for a wilful wife’s grip. Some battles, you can’t win—you just learn to live with the loss.
