In a quiet village nestled in the Yorkshire Dales, where the winter winds howl around old stone cottages, Eleanor and her husband, William, waited in vain for their son to visit. Their hopes crumbled, and their hearts ached with quiet resentment.
“Looks like he’s not coming,” Eleanor sighed, glancing at William. “We’re used to it by now, aren’t we?”
“What happened this time? Did Charlotte put her foot down?” William frowned. “You two never got on.”
“Maybe so,” Eleanor replied, her voice trembling just a little. “But Oliver never said anything like this before. He used to visit more often, but now… His wife always has an excuse ready. I suppose we’ll have to hire someone to fix the roof. Our own son can’t spare us a single day.”
She spoke bitterly of her 40-year-old son, Oliver, who’d left their village twelve years ago for life in Manchester. Once a hands-on mechanic, he now managed a garage. There, he’d married Charlotte, bought a terraced house, and somehow lost all his free will.
“He did the whole renovation himself,” Eleanor recalled. “Charlotte just stood there, telling him what to do. They married late—she was in her thirties. Never been married before, and I can see why—with that temper, you’d need the patience of a saint. We took an instant dislike to each other.”
“No surprise she was single so long,” William grumbled. “Remember when you tried talking to her? Absolute nightmare. What on earth does Oliver see in her?”
Charlotte rarely spoke to her in-laws. Once a year, if they were lucky, she’d let Oliver visit. This time, he’d promised to take leave in May to patch up their leaky roof. But, as it turned out, Charlotte had other ideas—ideas that involved Oliver staying exactly where he was.
“Charlotte’s pregnant,” Eleanor said flatly. “She’s forbidden him to leave her alone. As if a grown woman—a nurse, no less—can’t manage for a few days. She started nagging him two weeks before his leave, even though the train tickets were booked!”
“Why does she do this?” William asked, though he knew the answer.
“First, she said she was scared to be alone, then—” Eleanor trailed off, blinking back tears.
“Then what? Does she march him to work on a lead? She’s got parents, hasn’t she? They’d move heaven and earth for her!” William snapped.
“I think they’re the ones poisoning her against us,” Eleanor said. “They told her never to let a husband visit his family alone. Apparently, their other son-in-law used to visit his parents—then filed for divorce. Now their youngest daughter lives with them. So they’ve convinced Charlotte Oliver’s the same.”
“That’s ridiculous!” William burst out. “Oliver’s never given her reason to think that! And she could’ve come with him. What’s the problem?”
“Come with him?” Eleanor gave a wry laugh. “She’d never set foot here. You know how she feels about us. I tried talking to her, but it’s pointless.”
She remembered the time William had phoned Charlotte, hoping to smooth things over. It had gone spectacularly wrong.
“What’d she say?” he asked, though he already knew.
“Said we’re always demanding something, dragging Oliver away from his real family,” Eleanor said, voice tight. “That she’s tired of ‘fighting’ us. Apparently, a husband should care for his wife and unborn child, not cater to his parents’ whims. If he’s on leave, he should be with her. Oh, and she called this cottage a ‘dump’!”
“Charming,” William muttered, clenching his fists. “And Oliver? What’s his take?”
“He made excuses to you, but we know it’s not his fault,” Eleanor sighed. “Probably put it off to keep the peace. Worried about the baby, about her.”
William had had enough. In a fit of fury, he rang Oliver and let loose.
“Enough!” he roared down the line. “Don’t bother coming! I’ll hire a roofer, and you can stay under your wife’s thumb!”
Eleanor stayed quiet, but her heart splintered. She understood William’s anger, but the old saying—”You can replace a wife, but parents are forever”—cut deep. Oliver was their only son, their pride, and now a wall had grown between them, built brick by brick by Charlotte. She kept him on a tight leash, and Oliver, afraid of her temper, obeyed.
Eleanor gazed up at the sagging roof, which dripped with every downpour, and felt hope slipping away like the rainwater. They’d worked their whole lives to give Oliver a good start, and now they’d pay strangers to mend their home. The sting of it choked her, but worse was the dread that Oliver was drifting further away. Charlotte had made it clear: her family was herself and the baby. His parents were just baggage.
Eleanor didn’t know how to get her son back. She dreamed he’d visit, hug her like he used to, and they’d fix the roof together, laughing over old memories. Instead, she got silence and accusations. The family she’d built with such love was cracking apart, and she feared this crack would never mend.
